Six Times a Charm
Author: Deanna Chase
Date: 2013-09-19 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Paranormal Romance; Anthologies; Romance; Urban Fantasy; Fiction; Shapeshifters; Fantasy; Magic
Description: Six sexy, exciting, laugh-out-loud books from some of the top names in paranormal romance: • Haunted on Bourbon Street by Deanna Chase • The Accidental Demon Slayer by Angie Fox • Carpe Demon by Julie Kenner • Girl’s Guide to Witchcraft by Mindy Klasky • How to Date a Werewolf by Rose Pressey • Easy Bake Coven by Liz Schulte Dive into this six-in-one boxed set and meet six charming heroines who are fighting to find true love in a world full of magic. There's an empath who meets a ghost in her shower. An unsuspecting demon-slayer who juggles her supernatural career with the demands of a handsom
Publisher: Bayou Moon

About the Books

A Look at Haunted on Bourbon Street

Jade loves her new apartment—until a ghost joins her in the shower.

When empath Jade Calhoun moves into an apartment above a strip bar on Bourbon Street, she expects life to get interesting. What she doesn’t count on is making friends with an exotic dancer, attracting a powerful spirit, and developing feelings for Kane, her sexy landlord.

Being an empath has never been easy on Jade’s relationships. It’s no wonder she keeps her gift a secret. But when the ghost moves from spooking Jade to terrorizing Pyper, the dancer, it’s up to Jade to use her unique ability to save her. Except she’ll need Kane’s help—and he’s betrayed her with a secret of his own—to do it. Can she find a way to trust him and herself before Pyper is lost?

“Haunted on Bourbon Street sucked me in faster than I expected and once I reached the end, I kept looking for more pages. The supporting characters are all unique in their own rights and I can't wait to read book two.” —Stacy~Sizzling Hot Book Reviews

A Look at The Accidental Demon Slayer

Newly anointed with demon-fighting powers and suddenly able to hear the thoughts of her hilarious Jack Russell terrier, a preschool teacher finds a whole new world of dark and dangerous, including a sexy shape-shifting griffin she’s not entirely sure she can trust.

It’s never a good day when an ancient demon shows up on your toilet bowl. For Lizzie Brown that’s just the beginning. Soon her hyperactive terrier starts talking and her long-lost biker witch Grandma is hurling Smuckers jars filled with magic. Just when she thinks she’s seen it all Lizzie learns she’s a demon slayer-and all hell is after her.

Of course that’s not the only thing after her. Dimitri Kallinikos a devastatingly handsome shape-shifting griffin needs Lizzie to slay a demon of his own. But how do you talk a girl you’ve never met into going straight to the underworld? Lie. And if that doesn’t work how dangerous could a little seduction be...?

A Look at Carpe Demon

Kate Connor is your average, everyday mom with two kids, a husband, and one very big secret…she used to be a Demon Hunter. Now retired, she’s more interested in the domestic than the demonic. So when she catches sight of a demon in Wal-Mart, she tells herself it’s some other Hunter’s problem. But when that demon attacks her in her kitchen, retirement is no longer an option.

Now Kate has to kick a little demon butt, figure out why the creatures are trying to take her out and take over her home town, and at the same time take care of her 2 year old, deal with a hormonal 14 year old, and try to keep her past a secret from her daughter and her husband.

She’s a little out of practice, but hey…if she can juggle two kids and an impromptu dinner party, ridding the town of demons should be a piece of cake. Like the saying goes, Carpe Demon…and Kate intends to do just that.

“This book, as crammed with events as any suburban mom’s calendar, shows you what would happen if Buffy got married and kept her past a secret. It’s a hoot.”—Charlaine Harris, New York Times bestselling author

A Look at How to Date a Werewolf

Romance can be a hairy business--especially when you're a werewolf.

As the owner of Get a Mate Dating Service, Rylie is more than happy to step in and lend a hand to lonely lycanthropic hearts all over town. No matter how hopeless Rylie might be in finding her own soul mate, she has a knack for helping others find theirs.

Convinced that she is stuck with a family curse, Rylie is positive she will never find her true love. But when drool-worthy Jack Chandler shows up at her door, Rylie wonders if maybe the curse is finally broken.

But Rylie's life is about to become complicated courtesy of the after-dark crowd. When she begins receiving strange notes and harassment from a jilted client, events careen out of control.

Jack knows she's more hassle than he can handle. What he doesn't know is whether she's seriously in trouble…or simply delusional.

A Look at Girl’s Guide to Witchcraft

Jane Madison has a problem. Or two. Or three. She’s working as a librarian, trapped in absurd period costumes and serving up expensive lattes, all in an effort to keep her employer’s budget in the black. She has a desperate crush on her Imaginary Boyfriend, a professor who regularly uses her library. Her doting grandmother is determined to reunite her with her long-absent mother. And now she’s been told that the library can’t pay her a well-deserved raise – instead, she can live for free in an ancient, dusty cottage on the library grounds.

When Jane settles into her new, allergen-infested home, she discovers a hidden chamber lined with ancient books – a world-class collection on witchcraft. She begins to read a spellbook, never suspecting that she has the power to work actual magic. Her first spell awakens a smart-mouthed feline familiar. Her second makes her irresistible to men, starting with her geeky, shy co-worker. Those magical workings attract the attention of the local coven, specifically the warder David Montrose. Jane resents David’s interference even as she watches her powers spiral out of control. Before long, Jane doesn’t know who she should listen to: her well-meaning grandmother, her down-to-earth best friend, her bitchy familiar, her besotted co-worker, her coming-around Imaginary Boyfriend, or her overbearing astral enforcer.

Mindy Klasky’s newest work, Girl’s Guide to Witchcraft joins a love story with urban fantasy and just a bit of humor….Throw in family troubles, a good friend who bakes Triple-Chocolate Madness, a familiar who prefers an alternative lifestyle plus a disturbingly good-looking mentor and you have one very interesting read —SF Revu

A Look at Easy Bake Coven

For Selene Warren being a witch is no big deal. She dabbles in harmless magic with her friends and never thinks much about it. However, when a stranger who seems to know her shows up at her studio and her grandmother is brutally attacked, her simple life becomes complicated.

A world of elves, half-elves, fae—and one peculiar Sekhmet named Femi open up to her. She will discover that fairy tales are real, politics are ugly in any world, and there is a lot more to her life than she ever dreamed possible.

This new reality threatens swallow Selene whole, but with a forgotten past beating down her door, she will have to dive in to save her future.

Six Times a Charm

Haunted on Bourbon Street

Book One of the Jade Calhoun Novels

Deanna Chase

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

The Accidental Demon Slayer

Book One of the Biker Witches Novels

Angie Fox

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

Carpe Demon

Book One of the Demon Hunting Soccer Mom Novels

Julie Kenner

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

Girl’s Guide to Witchcraft

Book One of the Jane Madison Novels

Mindy Klasky

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

How to Date a Werewolf

Book One of the Riley Cruz Novels

Rose Pressey

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

Easy Bake Coven

Book One of the Easy Bake Coven Novels

Liz Schulte

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

Thank You

Copyright

Copyright © 2013 Bayou Moon Publishing

Copyright © 2011 by Deanna Chase
Copyright © 2008, 2011 by Angie Fox
Copyright © 2005, 2006, 2012 by Julie Kenner
Copyright © 2006, 2011, 2012 by Mindy Klasky
Copyright © 2013 by Rose Pressey
Copyright © 2012 by Liz Schulte

Cover Design: Stephanie Nelson
Interior Layout: The Printed Page
ISBN: 978-1-940299-03-7 eBook Version

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

Contents

About the Books

Six Times a Charm

Contents

Haunted on Bourbon Street

Chapter 1

Midpoint

About the Author

The Accidental Demon Slayer

Chapter 1

Midpoint

About the Author

Carpe Demon

Chapter 1

Midpoint

About the Author

Girl’s Guide to Witchcraft

Chapter 1

Midpoint

About the Author

How to Date a Werewolf

Chapter 1

Midpoint

About the Author

Easy Bake Coven

Chapter 1

Midpoint

About the Author

Thank you

Haunted on Bourbon Street

Book One of the Jade Calhoun Novels

Deanna Chase

Acknowledgments

A huge thank you to my first readers: Susan, Angie, Kaye, Fay, and Suzanne. Without your encouragement and enthusiasm for more chapters this book may never have come to completion.

A special thanks to Jenn, my hard working critique partner; Angie, my diligent proofreader; Rhonda, my editor; and Lisa, my book designer. Your hard work and support has helped turn my dream into reality.

To Greg, my husband, thank you for being you.

Chapter 1

There was no way I was sharing my new two-hundred square foot apartment with a ghost. To be honest, I didn’t know if the speculation was true, but I’d gotten the place at a steal because my landlord couldn’t keep it rented. Considering the abundance of documented ghost lore in the French Quarter, I wasn’t taking any chances.

On moving day I walked the two blocks to The Herbal Connection. The front window housed an elaborate book display of the title, Vampires of New Orleans. To the right were neat rows of Suck It wine with blood-tinged fangs on the labels. I grimaced. All signs led to the likelihood of just another tourist shop. Still, it was possible they had basic supplies I could work with.

As soon as I walked in I knew I’d found the perfect shop. The sandalwood scent dissipated and a gentle, salt-filled sea breeze tickled my senses. My favorite place on earth was the beach. Whoever ran the place was doing an excellent job. It took a highly skilled practitioner to cast an illusion tailored to each individual patron.

“Can I help you?” A southern drawl floated from the back of the shop. As she stepped from behind a display, my eyes settled on a more expensive, classier version of my Aunt Gwen. The two could almost be twins, except the shop lady had salon-dyed auburn hair and wore white linen slacks, topped off with a coral blouse, while Gwen had natural gray curls and always wore her standard red T-shirt and coveralls. Of course, Gwen rode her tractor daily, and I had no trouble picturing this woman sipping mint juleps on a veranda.

I smiled. “Hello. Yes, I need a sage and cedar smudge stick if you have it.”

“Of course we do, dear.” She crossed the room and held out her hand. “I’m Bea, owner of the shop.”

My clammy hand met her cool grip. “Jade. Nice to meet you.”

“Cleansing negative energy?”

I nodded.

She grinned. “You must be new in town.”

Looking down at my faded jeans and simple cotton T-shirt, I wondered if I had a fresh-from-Idaho vibe radiating off me. It was possible. I’d only been in New Orleans for a month. “Is it that obvious?”

She laughed. “No. I would have remembered if you’d been here before.”

Why? Did she have a photographic memory? While I’d been told my willowy frame and long strawberry-blonde hair combined with my pale Irish skin was striking, I hardly stood out in the sea of characters who wound their way through the French Quarter on a daily basis.

She rushed to explain. “Most people who come in here don’t know what they’re looking at. I know almost everyone in New Orleans who has knowledge of the craft.”

Oh. Doing a simple cleanse was miles from using craft. I didn’t particularly like being mistaken for one who manipulated spells.

She hummed softly as she packaged my items, and when I handed her my credit card she peered at me. The beach breeze vanished, replaced by the sandalwood scent. A warm sensation wrapped around me in a slow circle. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from Bea. She was reading me with a witch’s spell. Instantly I dropped my barriers and sent out my senses. If she could read me, I could do the same to her. Only, I wasn’t a witch. Empaths don’t need spells to read other people.

Excitement mixed with a heavy dose of curiosity radiated from her in light, feathery waves. I realized her energy was a lot like mine. Most people’s emotions are a little thick and sometimes hard to wade through. Hers felt light, inviting and familiar. What exactly could this woman do, and what had she learned about me? I’d assumed she was just a witch practitioner; now I knew she was also some sort of intuitive.

I stepped back, blinked, and the sea-salted air returned.

“There’s something special about you,” she said.

More like a curse. I pasted on a smile and pretended nothing had happened. “That’s what my mother always used to say.”

Her eyes sparkled, and she leaned in closer. “Very interesting, indeed.” She placed her hand over mine, and a spark sent a jolt to my shoulder.

Jumping back, I pulled my hand out of her grasp.

Her smile turned to a grin, and she clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, my dear! You simply must come by my house for tea some afternoon. We have much to talk about. Here’s my card.” She slipped it in the bag.

I grabbed the handle and turned to go. “Um, okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Jade. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

I waved as I pushed the door open to the street, knowing I wouldn’t call her. My last memory of my mother blowing me a kiss as she headed off to her coven meeting flashed in my mind. Tears burned the back of my eyes. I blinked them back. Bad things always seemed to happen when witches and intuitives got together. No. It didn’t matter how curious I was about Bea, I knew it was best to keep to myself.

***

Buildings, especially old buildings, often retain an imprint of emotions from previous residents. When I’d first visited my new place I’d sensed a profound sadness. It was easy to understand why new tenants hadn’t felt comfortable there. People didn’t need to be empaths for negativity to unknowingly work its way into their being.

Fortunately, after a thorough smudging, when I opened myself up the place felt brand new. No sadness, and no evidence of a ghost. If there was one, it was gone now. Satisfied, I spent the next few hours hauling my stuff up the three very steep flights of stairs, and by the time the delivery men arrived with my new mattress, I’d sweated enough to soak right through my shirt. I’d sent them off with their tip and was headed toward the shower when a knock sounded at my door.

I cast a longing glance at my bathroom before I answered. Mortification rooted me to my wide pinewood floors, and my face burned as I stared at the man who never failed to make my stomach quiver.

“Hey,” Kane said.

“Uh, hey.”

He held up a box wrapped in elegant gold paper. “I come bearing gifts.”

Did my landlord bring presents to all his new tenants?

“Pyper asked me to bring it up.”

Of course. Pyper was my boss and Kane’s business partner. Kane owned the building and, with Pyper’s help, managed the attached strip club. Pyper also ran the coffee shop next door, where I worked part time. I wasn’t certain, but I thought maybe they had something going on the side. “Thanks. That was sweet of her.” I opened the door wider. “Come on in. It’s moving day, so the place is a little messy.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to bother you.” His gaze traveled the length of my body. I couldn’t help myself. I knew I shouldn’t do it. Reading someone’s emotions was such an invasion of privacy, and I knew at that moment I resembled a character from a Tim Burton movie, but I let down my barriers and probed anyway.

To my surprise, mild appreciation mixed with humor filled my senses, until his gaze landed on my face. His energy changed to something close to pity. I flinched and raised my shields. Pity? The man felt pity for the way I looked. What else could I expect from a guy who owned a strip bar? Stupid, shallow, piece of… Whatever. It wasn’t like I would actually ever date him anyway. The strip club thing aside, he was taken. I think.

I tried to hide my scowl and reached for the gift. “Okay, then. Thanks for stopping by.”

“No problem.” He turned to go, then looked back. “Hey, do you want to come down to the club later? It’s ladies night.”

The invitation caught me off guard. I blinked. “Ladies night?”

“Yeah, free admission and free drinks all night.”

Right, because my idea of the perfect evening included watching naughty librarians and pussycats strip down to their dental floss, while drinking myself into oblivion. “No, thanks. It’s been a long day.”

He glanced past me into the apartment and nodded. “Right. Just thought I’d ask.”

I waited until he’d disappeared down the stairs then slammed the door. Son of a bitch. The closest thing to a date invitation I’d had in months had been to a strip club. What was wrong with me?

I flopped on my new mattress because I didn’t have any other furniture yet and plucked the envelope off the present. I let it slide through my fingers for a few moments before turning it over. It read: Jade, Welcome home. My foul mood vanished. A smiled tugged at my lips. I didn’t have many friends. Okay, I had one friend and right then, things were…awkward. It happens when your best friend starts dating your ex.

Being an empath has made it difficult to maintain personal relationships. When I’d been younger and hadn’t understood I was different, I’d alienated a lot of people with my ability. Let’s just say my perceptions weren’t appreciated. So Pyper’s attempt to reach out to me meant more than she could possibly know. Especially since I’d learned to keep my gift to myself. In the last ten years I’d only told one other person—my ex—about my ability.

Giddy with anticipation, I grabbed the box and carefully peeled away the tape, preserving the paper. For what, I didn’t know. I never save wrapping paper. In fact, people who did usually annoyed me. Not that I don’t want to save trees, I’m just usually too impatient to see what’s inside. Red tissue paper lined the inside of the white gift box. I fished through, finding a personal coffee maker, a mug with The Grind scrawled across it and a round jar of something called Honey Dust.

I read the label: An edible body powder.

Laughing, I put the jar down and ripped the card open. Heat radiated through my body as I read the words. Welcome to the building. Sincerely, Pyper and Kane.

Had the Honey Dust been Pyper’s idea or Kane’s? If it was Kane’s, somehow I thought I should be offended, but the image of him running his lips over my dusted skin sent ripples of anticipation through my body. I waved a hand in front of my face, fanning myself. Calm down, girl. Kane is Pyper’s man. Surely she had included it as a joke.

I set the mug and the coffee maker on the counter and carried the Honey Dust to the bathroom. The lure of my claw-foot tub was too much. As I waited for it to fill, I ran back to the kitchen to grab a bottle of merlot. My bags sat opened with stuff bulging out of them. Without any furniture, I had nowhere to store any of it, but I couldn’t have cared less. I had my own place, all to myself, and nothing else mattered. Except the bath waiting for me.

Content after slipping into the tub, I lifted the wine bottle to my lips. So what if I didn’t have any glasses yet? I wasn’t above drinking straight from the bottle.

An ominous rumble boomed outside, indicating an afternoon storm. Sighing, I set the wine on the floor, leaned back and closed my eyes, reveling in the rhythmic rain as it drummed on the roof.

When my toes started to prune I reluctantly pulled the plug and ran the shower to soap up and wash my hair. While drying off, I saw the round jar sitting on a shelf just to the left of the tub. The Honey Dust. My lips quirked into a small smile.

Feeling a little naughty, I opened the container. A sweet honeysuckle fragrance filled the bathroom. Before I could do anything else, the dust rose from the jar all on its own and swirled in a circle around me, caressing me with tiny invisible kisses.

I froze and then called out, “Hey, stop it right now!”

The whirlwind stopped at my command, and I almost choked on the thick dust of powder lingering in the air. Feeling utterly violated, I catapulted out of the tub, crying out when my ankle smashed against the side of the tub. With limbs flailing, I somehow managed to grasp the edge of the sink and save myself from cracking my skull on the toilet. How embarrassing would that be to be found dead, naked in your bathroom, in a pile of Honey Dust?

Breathing hard, I ran to the other room and pulled on the first clothes I found, grabbed my purse and slammed the door behind me. My bare feet moved faster than I thought possible down the stairs. As I jumped the last three steps into the hallway I angled right toward the exit, colliding with something—or someone—solid enough to knock me on my ass.

“Holy shit, Jade. Where’s the fire?” Pyper grunted, trying to get her feet back under her.

“Oh God! I’m so sorry.” I covered my face in horror.

“It’s all right. I’ll live.” Her voice floated down from above me. “Here, let me help you up.” When I didn’t respond, her tone went soft. “Are you okay?”

I peeked out from behind my fingers and squeaked, “I have a ghost.”

Her posture relaxed as she leaned against the wall. “Oh, okay,” she said, dismissing me.

“No really, I think the apartment has a ghost.”

“Why? ‘Cause Kane said so, and now every little thing is freaking you out?” She rolled her deep blue eyes.

“No. Because just now, as I was putting on a sampling of the Honey Dust you gave me, it kicked it up and made it whirl around me like a mini tornado. I didn’t even have the window open. You can’t tell me there isn’t something weird about that.” I pleaded into her widening eyes.

Great. I’d known her less than two weeks, and already I’d become the resident freak.

“Really? That’s interesting,” she said more to herself than to me. Standing up, she angled toward the stairwell. “Come on.” She put her foot on the first step.

“Where?” I didn’t move. She wasn’t seriously going up there, was she?

“Upstairs. I have to see this,” she said, her eyes now gleeful.

“No! I am not going back up there.”

“Come on, Jade, who will believe you if you don’t have a witness? Kane doesn’t count, since no one believes him either.”

“You go if you want. I’m going to stay right here.” I pressed against the wall.

“Oh no, you aren’t.” She grabbed my hands and tugged me up.

Planting my feet, I set my shoulders and didn’t budge as she tried to pull me along. “No.”

Looking me full in the face, she burst out laughing. The laughing continued until tears streamed down her face.

“What in the world makes you think this is so hilarious?” I demanded.

Gasping to catch her breath, she wheezed out, “The Honey Dust. You have a perv ghost.” Laughter overtook her again, causing her face to turn beet-red. It clashed with the blue highlights in her thick black hair.

I sighed, resigning myself. Her hysteria somehow calmed me enough to reconsider. “You are going to pee yourself laughing at my situation. Let’s go.” Moving past her, I headed back to my apartment.

My bravado quickly waned as we hit the second floor landing. Had it not been for Pyper’s firm hand on my wrist, I’m certain I would have turned and fled. When we reached my door I raised my eyebrow as Pyper took a key out and unlocked it. It was natural for her to have a key. I just wouldn’t have thought she kept one on her person. However, I said nothing and let her tug me into the room.

She walked to the bathroom and held the door wide open.

I crept up behind her and peeked over her shoulder. The harmless-looking Honey Dust jar sat capped in the middle of my bathroom.

I gasped.

“What?” Pyper turned to look at me.

“I, ah, well, I didn’t stop to put the cap on the jar. I just dropped it…” My voice trailed off as I backed away from the room. Legs turning to jelly, I sunk down onto my mattress. Pyper disappeared into the bathroom. Visions of me in a straitjacket, surrounded by white rubber walls, filled my mind.

A few minutes went by before she popped up beside the doorjamb. “Come in here,” she called as her head jerked back inside.

I sat motionless, my mind fixated on the rubber walls.

“Get in here,” she demanded.

My mind blank, I followed her voice and stopped in the door frame. Pyper was squatting, pressed up against the wall, studying the jar in the middle of the floor.

“What?” I asked.

“This is so interesting,” she replied, not looking up.

I waited for her to continue.

“The jar is in the middle of a layer of the Honey Dust. Do you see it?” She used her finger to make a circle in the air above the jar.

I glanced down. “Yeah. So?”

“There’s something missing.” Her eyes twinkled.

Looking back at the jar and the floor caked in dust, I saw nothing else out of place—or missing, for that matter. Puzzled, I stared at her.

“Footprints!” she exclaimed. “Where are your footprints? It looks like the whole jar was dumped in here. No way could you have dumped the whole jar out, replaced the top, and set it here without leaving footprints.”

I inspected the scene. The jar sat in the middle of my bathroom with a thick layer of Honey Dust covering the floor from the tub to the door. She was right. I couldn’t have placed the jar where it was without disturbing the smooth layer.

Pyper turned and walked into the main room. “Whoever you are, reveal yourself!”

My eyes flew open in shock. “What the hell?” I hissed. “You’re not supposed to invite ghosts to reveal themselves.”

“How else do you think I’m going to see it?”

“Shhhh.” I was terrified of what her invitation might bring.

An unfamiliar energy, mixed with bitterness and satisfaction, invaded my senses. I turned to Pyper, my voice barely a whisper. “Someone is here.”

“Huh?” She took a step toward me and then jumped, wrapping her arms around her chest. “What the hell was that?” She twisted her head, searching the room.

Ice numbed my hands and moved up my arms, making me shiver. I pointed to a shadow, black as coal, moving across the far wall. We stood, paralyzed, while the image grew larger and moved toward us. Pyper’s sudden fear inched its way into my awareness. Instinct took over, and I forced as much calm as I could in her direction.

Her panic started to ease, but just barely. I renewed my efforts, forcing my will toward her. Pain pierced my heart and shot through my veins. Gasping, I clutched my chest, staring in horror at the black shadow as something grabbed my essence and yanked.

“No!” I shouted in defiance and snatched my energy back.

The shadow hovered for a moment unmoving in front of us then shattered into a million pieces like confetti. I stood staring, transfixed by the cascade as it faded into nothing until Pyper tugged on my hand. I glanced at her, and we both ran for the stairs.

Chapter 2

“What was that?” Pyper huffed as we burst through the back door of The Grind, the coffee shop where we both worked. Luckily it was next door to my apartment building, because I had forgotten shoes again.

“No idea.”

She motioned for me to follow, leading me to her office.

I collapsed in the closest chair, grateful to have my shaking legs out from underneath me. What the hell had just happened? I’d sent calming energy to Pyper and ended up feeling like my essence had been sucked out. Only, it hadn’t had Pyper’s emotional signature. Something much more powerful had taken it.

“One thing’s clear. Your ghost is definitely a pervert,” Pyper said.

“Huh?”

“He felt me up. Didn’t you see me jump? He grabbed my boob.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “We need to call Kane. He’s the only person I know who will believe us.”

“No!” Walking around barefoot on Bourbon Street through sticky, alcohol-soaked garbage and drunken-induced bodily fluids during Mardi Gras held more appeal than telling him about my Honey Dust experience.

“Why not?”

“I don’t—” My phone buzzed. My hands trembled as I fished it out of my pocket. This was bad. The trembling only started when my energy was compromised. The screen flashed Kat’s name. I took a deep breath and hoped I sounded normal. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m outside the café. I was going to get you a chai latte, but it’s closed. Come get me so I can see your new digs,” she said.

I grimaced. “My apartment isn’t really available right now.”

Pyper sent me a questioning glance. “Are you okay? You don’t look too hot.”

Covering the phone, I whispered, “I’m fine.”

Kat raised her voice. “Hello…who are you talking to, and if your apartment isn’t available, where are you and where’s all your stuff? I’ve been home. Your room is cleared out. What’s going on?”

“I’m all moved in, it’s just…let me come get you, and I’ll tell you about it.” After Kat’s affirming response, I snapped the phone closed. “I need to go,” I told Pyper.

“Go where?” She stood up. “You can’t leave now. You look like you’re going to pass out.” She gently pushed me back into the chair.

“My friend is here. I can’t just leave her standing outside.” The motion of standing and sitting back down turned my stomach. Please don’t let me ralph right here.

“I’ll go get her.” She left before I could protest. How would Pyper find her? They hadn’t met, and Pyper didn’t even know Kat’s name.

A familiar energy drew my attention to the door as Kane walked in. He rummaged through the desk and pulled out a bag of mint chocolate cookies. “Pyper said you needed sugar and to make sure you stay put.”

I took a cookie, bit into it and shrugged in agreement. Where else would I go? Surely not to my new apartment. Panic bubbled in my chest. I couldn’t stay there. I’d never get any rest. Would Kane let me out of my lease? The queasiness returned as I thought of staying in Kat’s spare room for another night. Maybe I’d get lucky, and Dan would be out with the guys.

Kane offered me a soda from a small refrigerator.

“Thanks.” Clutching the can with one hand, I tried to open it with the other. Unfortunately my fingers shook too badly. I couldn’t even grab the tab to pop it.

“I got it.” Kane took the can. When he set it back on the desk it had a straw poking out the top. “Drink.”

“Thanks.” I took a long sip.

Kane grabbed a chair and sat next to me. His gaze shifted to my still-trembling hand. Balling it up in defiance, I pressed it into my thigh. I wasn’t this weak, damn it.

He reached over and covered my hand with his, sending a thick layer of protection through my weakened defenses. At first it felt like a cloak, shrouding me, but then it turned into more of an energy meld.

Whoa. That never happens. I could consciously take in others’ emotions if I wanted to, but it takes effort. Was he aware of the effect he had? Could he control it, or was it just happening? Warmth spread from his touch through my limbs, steadying my twitching muscles.

Heat prickled my neck under his watchful gaze. I tried to pull from his grasp, but his fingers tightened on mine. “Thanks, but I’m okay now,” I murmured.

He raised one eyebrow. “You look like you’re going to fall over any minute. I’m hanging on just in case.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” I said in a steady voice, drawing my hand from his. As our hands parted, the shivers started. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I glided my hands up and down my bare arms trying to generate heat.

“Here.” Kane stood, grabbed a sweatshirt from behind the desk and handed it to me. “Use this.”

“Thanks.” I pulled it over my head and was rewarded with a trace of his fresh rain-scented cologne.

“We’re here,” Pyper called from the doorway.

“Jade!” Kat ran to my side. “Are you okay? Pyper told me what happened.” She took my hand in both of hers. “Use me,” she whispered.

“Only if you calm down.”

Her panic swirled around me like a windstorm before she managed to reign her emotions back in. I squeezed her hand to let her know I appreciated the offer, but didn’t tap her energy. Irrationally, I didn’t want to taint what I’d just experienced with Kane.

Kat had been around the last time I’d been stupid enough to compromise my energy. When we were roommates our neighbor had witnessed a shooting and had been so distraught she’d stopped talking. I’d thought if I could ease her burden by siphoning her distress, she might be able to help the police investigation. It had worked. Too well.

While she helped the police nail down a suspect I spent a week in bed, recovering. For the first few days the only way I could get up was if Kat was touching me, lending me her strength. It had been her idea for me to try and take it. She’d said, “If you can take the bad stuff, why can’t you take the good?” Since I didn’t think I could get worse, I’d tried it and used her emotional strength to heal. Still, I’d had to take it from her. It didn’t just happen like it did with Kane.

“You need to lie down,” Kat said.

“I’m all right.” I looked her in the eye. “Besides, I’m not too keen on going up to my apartment right now.”

“Then you’ll come home with me.” Kat stood, tugging on my arm.

I pulled back and shook my head. “No. Thank you, but in my condition I don’t think I can stomach Dan.” Her boyfriend—my ex—and the reason I’d found my own apartment.

It was quite the shock to move to New Orleans and find that not only had Dan moved here as well, but he was also dating my best friend. I’d been more hurt by the fact that Kat had been afraid to tell me than I was that the two were dating. Dan and I had made such a mess of our relationship; there really was no hope of reconciliation on either of our parts. As for the two of them dating? I understood. The three of us had been inseparable in high school. It wasn’t unreasonable to think they might make a connection. Of course, since Kat had left Boise right after our college graduation, I hadn’t expected it to happen from two thousand miles away.

Kat sighed. “Jade—”

I cut her off. “No, Kat. I told you before I get sick to my stomach when he’s around.”

She studied me for a long moment. I knew she was thinking it was all in my head. I’d thought so too at first, but lately it was getting worse. Either way, I didn’t want to be in the same room with him. She pulled out her phone. “Okay, let me see what I can do.” After walking to the far side of the office, she dialed.

My heart swelled. Finally, she’d heard me about Dan.

Kat snapped her phone shut. “Okay, he’s on his way.”

“What? Dan’s coming here?” I stood up, ready to bolt from the room.

“No. Why would I call him? You know this is so not his thing. I called my friend, Ian. He hunts ghosts.”

***

I hadn’t known what I was expecting, but the person who showed up definitely wasn’t it. A man in his early thirties, looking as if he’d stepped out of a skateboarding magazine, strode up to me.

“Hi, Jade.” He waved.

“Ian? I didn’t realize it was you who was coming.”

His lips quirked into a lopsided, sexy little smile and pale blue eyes searched my face as he reached for my hand. I’d met Ian once before, shortly after I’d gotten to New Orleans. He’d been at one of Kat’s dinner gatherings. Grimacing in embarrassment, I realized I’d monopolized most of our hour-long chat. I hadn’t even remembered his name.

“Nice to see you again.” He paused and tilted his head toward a marquee on my building. It read, Hundreds of beautiful women and three ugly ones. “You live above a strip bar?”

I glanced at Kane’s club, Wicked, and shrugged. “The price was right.”

“Interesting marketing tactic.” He laughed.

Kat appeared beside me and handed over a pair of flip-flops she’d purchased from the corner store. “I’m off to get some food. Want anything?”

After Ian and I placed our orders, I gestured for him to follow me. My plastic shoes clattered on the brick pathway as we entered my wisteria-perfumed courtyard. Humidity hung in the air, finally warding off my chills. I shed the sweatshirt as I sat at a wrought-iron table. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

He shook his head. “Nope, perfect timing. You saved me from some rather dull reports, actually.”

“Reports? Ghost hunting reports?” Visions of a school lab, with Willow and Buffy fighting demons, filled my head.

“Oh, no. Research reports. I’m an assistant to a meteorologist at the University. I type up his reports and help out when needed.”

Nothing about his appearance—tousled sandy blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses and torn-up Converse—said professional. But his easy smile and the warm inner glow radiating from him put me at ease. “So, ghost hunting is a hobby of yours?”

“Sort of. More like an obsession. Tell me, what can I do for you?”

What did I want him to do for me? Validation? Expulsion of my ghost? “Well, I don’t know. What do you normally do?”

“There isn’t a lot of ‘normal’ about what I do.” His smile widened. “However, why don’t you tell me what prompted Kat to call me, and we can go from there?”

I took a calming breath and told him about the Honey Dust and the black shadow.

“Honey Dust?” His eyebrows rose with the question.

“It’s an edible skin powder.” I averted my eyes. When I dared a glance he was writing in a note pad, his lips turned up in a sly smile. I bent my head, hoping my face wasn’t as flushed as it felt.

He put down his pen and took a long swig from a can of Coke. “Ah, that is exactly what I needed,” he said with a sigh. “Long night last night, you know.”

“Oh?”

He started writing again. “Yeah, the video tape jammed, and we had to stop in the middle to fix it. Then, of course, we had to start all over. But the mood was shot, so we didn’t really get much action.”

I stared at him, my brow pinched in confusion.

He chuckled then sobered as I frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just I get that look a lot. I meant I was out late on an investigation. The best time for measuring paranormal activity is at night between nine p.m. and six a.m. We had some equipment issues.”

“Obviously, I know nothing about what you do.”

“No problem. I always forget not everyone lives, eats and sleeps ghosts twenty-four seven. Let’s get to it, shall we?”

I nodded, urging him on.

“I’ll need to inspect your apartment, but I’d like to bring my team, John and Riley. We each use different equipment to measure activity, so it’s better if I can get both of them here.”

I nodded again, and he took out his phone and dialed. Five minutes later, the other two men were on their way.

“Okay, where will you be while we do our thing?” Ian asked.

“Why?”

“After we take some base line measurements, I’d like to get you back up there to see if there’s any activity related to you. Sometimes spirits are attracted by certain energies.”

Of course they were. I wondered how I’d gone this long without one attaching itself to me. “I guess I’ll be here.”

“Perfect. As soon as my guys get here I’ll get right to work. Are you staying at Kat’s tonight?”

Was I? “I guess so. Staying at my place doesn’t seem like a great idea.” I bit my lip to keep from scowling.

Ian shrugged. “I haven’t ever seen a ghost do more than just spook someone, so you could probably stay at your place. We’ll be here late, though. Collecting data can take a while to get conclusive results.”

“Only spooking, huh? That’s good to hear.” Too bad I wasn’t like most people. With my energy I’d end up possessed.

After Kat returned, the three of us ate our po’boy sandwiches and chatted about nothing ghost-related. I’d almost forgotten why Ian was there until his phone buzzed and he had to go meet his fellow ghost hunters.

I handed him my apartment key. “Just come get me when you’re ready.”

“Will do.” Ian took a few strides before I stopped him.

“Wait, don’t you have a fee or something for this?”

“Um, yeah. I do, but let’s see where this goes first. Consider this a free consultation. If we need to proceed, then we can discuss it.”

“That’s awfully nice of you.” I smiled.

“Ah-ha! There it is. I wondered if I’d get a genuine smile out of you. Looks good.” He winked. “Consider it the friend rate. Later, Kat.”

She waved. We watched as he left the courtyard, his phone pressed to his ear. The side door to the building banged shut.

“He’s hot! Is that the ghost hunter?” Pyper asked as she joined us.

I nodded. “He is pretty yummy, isn’t he? In a schoolboy kind of way.”

“Schoolboy.” She snorted. “Thinking of sneaking off behind the bleachers?”

I laughed. “That’s a thought.” Then I finally noticed her electric-blue hot pants and deep-cut halter top. “What are you wearing?”

Her features transformed into a sexy pout. “What? You don’t like my stripper outfit?”

Kat started coughing mid-sip, and Pyper laughed.

“You strip at the club, too?” I asked.

“Actually, I used to, and now only when necessary. We’re short-handed tonight. ”

After the initial shock of Pyper’s announcement wore off, the three of us stayed in the courtyard chatting for the next few hours until Ian called me for my part in the investigation. Kat had convinced me to stay at her place. I wasn’t happy about it, but my choices were limited. And if I didn’t get to sleep soon I really would pass out.

Dragging my feet up the third flight of stairs, I tried to be reasonable. Three other people were in my tiny, almost empty apartment. What’s the worst that could happen?

I knocked on the closed door, unsure if I should just walk in. In seconds, Ian appeared.

“Ready, Jade? All we’re going to do is take some measurements. But first I need you to say a protection spell.”

“A spell?” I frowned. I didn’t practice, and for good reason.

“More like a prayer. It’s just standard procedure.”

“All right.” A prayer spell wasn’t going to kill me. They were harmless.

Ian smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Just repeat after me.”

I nodded.

“Gods of the afterlife, we are here as mere observers. We ask for your guidance to walk with you in our quest for knowledge. We seek to do no harm and ask for protection from those whom would seek to harm us.”

I repeated Ian’s words and then asked, “Ready?”

“Yep. Okay, so I want you to walk slowly around the room while we take measurements. Don’t speak unless I ask you to.”

I circled my apartment, while Ian followed holding some kind of electronic meter. The two other guys were busy manning their own equipment. One held a palm-sized video recorder and the other juggled three different cameras.

I had no idea how accurate any of their readings would be. Ghost hunting wasn’t in my knowledge base. But I did have a weapon they didn’t know about. Deciding it was best to be in the know, I let my guards down and took in the lingering emotions. Ian’s excitement tingled up my spine.

“You really enjoy this, don’t you?” I asked.

“Everyone has a passion. Now, don’t talk. We’re taking measurements.”

I mouthed ‘sorry’ and zeroed in on the camera guy’s boredom and the videographer’s impatience. Seems Ian’s helpers didn’t share his passion. Blocking the three of them, I concentrated on any other emotional imprint. Nothing. I kept my senses open. When we neared the bathroom, trepidation slowed my steps. Ian nudged me. I had no choice but to suck it up.

The Honey Dust still covered the floor, and the sweet honeysuckle scent brought the afternoon’s events right back. I almost felt the mini tornado swirling around me. But as I stood there taking it in, nothing penetrated my emotional energy. It just felt peaceful.

Ian steered me to the center of the living area and asked me to say something.

“Hello?” I called.

Silence.

“Are you here?”

After a moment, Ian nodded. I tried again. “If you’re here, give us a sign.”

We tried a few more rounds of calling the ghost out, but nothing happened. With my part finished, I asked Ian to leave the key with Pyper, and left to find Kat.

I found a note on the empty table in the courtyard. Kat was waiting for me in the club. What? That’s the last place I’d expect her to be.

As I rounded the corner I spotted a bride-to-be dressed in a short, black sequined dress and a white veil, surrounded by a group of women decked out with condoms and penis pops. The group moved as one to the front of the entrance. Is it normal for a woman to have her bachelorette party in a strip club? Huh.

I moved to join the back of the line, trying to avoid a crowd of men moving toward the party girls.

Someone grabbed my arm, startling me.

“Hey!” I cried out.

“You don’t need to wait in line,” Kane said. Was it weird my insides turned gooey every time I heard him talk? “Your friend’s inside at the bar.”

“Thanks.” I smiled up at him. As I walked through the door I turned back to wave and caught him watching me. My insides were warm and mushy…until emotional energy slammed into my gut, knocking the wind out of me.

I would have fallen if the wall hadn’t been directly behind me.

Gasping for air, I envisioned a glass silo then mentally put myself in it. The pain in my gut lessened enough for me to breathe, but didn’t fully vanish.

The biggest problem with being an empath is I couldn’t effectively block out others’ emotions in a highly charged atmosphere. And this placed was charged. Usually an individual person’s energy has a distinct imprint. I could feel his or her energy and knew the specific owner, much in the same way I could pinpoint the sound of a voice to a particular person. But in situations like this, it was a shouting match of emotional energy. Only, I felt the pain in my stomach, not my ears.

With so much energy surrounding me I couldn’t focus. If I didn’t merge my senses with someone else, I’d collapse…soon. With emotional chaos making my head spin, I reached out blindly. Unfortunately I chose the wrong person.

My stomach rolled as rage crawled up my spine, wrapping around my neck as if to strangle me. Gagging, I pulled my energy back and placed my mental image safely back into my glass silo. Jesus! Nothing short of evil resided in that body. On the outside he looked completely normal: an average balding, thin man sitting in the corner, rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. I made a mental note to somehow warn Pyper and the staff to stay away from that one. Sometimes my gift comes in handy, and other times it’s downright unnerving. In this case, it was definitely both.

My eyes watered. I didn’t notice Kat until her hand touched mine. “It’s okay, zone in on me,” she said.

The pain subsided, and I gave her a weak smile. “Thank you, again.” Having someone to focus on usually worked better than my cylinder, but it had to be a person with nontoxic energy or else it was useless.

“No, it’s my fault you’re in here. I got a hankering for a margarita.”

No wonder she seemed relaxed. “How many have you had?”

“Two or three…or maybe this is the fourth one. I can’t remember. Pyper wouldn’t let me pay for them.” She giggled.

I laughed. “Okay. Let’s go sit.”

When we got to the bar, Kat handed me her drink and left to use the restroom. Sitting, I tapped my mental cylinder again. This time, it held. Thank God.

“What can I get you?” The bartender’s radiant heart-shaped face turned toward me, breaking into a smile that extended to her eyes. Her spiky red hair glowed under the bar lights.

“Bottled water, if you have it.”

“Three dollars.” She set a bottle, dripping with melted ice, on the counter.

Yikes. “Thanks. Can you tell me where I can find Pyper?” I wanted to tell her to look out for Ian so she could get my key.

She nodded to the stage. “Right up there, but she goes by Candy when she’s working. Don’t tell the masses though.” She winked. “You’re not here for an audition, are you? Those are usually during the day when the club isn’t open.”

I choked, spitting the water out. “Oh, no. I just needed to talk to her for a moment.” A vision of myself on stage made me shudder.

“Too bad. I’d have liked to see that.” She grinned and turned her attention to a waiting customer.

I watched in fascination as Pyper rode the pole to the beat of “Cowboy” by Kid Rock. Multi-talented didn’t begin to describe her as she climbed the two-story-high pole, using just her arm strength. Once she was two-thirds to the top she wrapped her legs tightly around the pole, released her hands while arching her back and spun around for a good thirty seconds. Damn. That was impressive.

The men hooting in the front row were clearly not put off by the implications of a woman who could hold herself up with her thighs. A fact demonstrated when they whipped their dollar bills out and waited for her to give them a moment of personalized attention.

Mesmerized by Pyper’s performance, I didn’t notice the man sit down next to me until he spoke.

A whiskey stench assaulted my senses as a male voice whispered low and hot into my ear. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, bringing Kat here?”

It’s a good thing my protection cylinder held, because I knew if it hadn’t, my po’boy dinner would have ended up on the club floor.

“Dan,” I replied. “Who invited you?”

Chapter 3

I quickly scanned the club for Kat, but she still hadn’t come back from the restroom.

“Kat called me, drunk off her ass.” Dan moved to stand in front of me. His hostility filtered through my defenses, making my skin crawl. Where had that come from? We certainly weren’t friends anymore, but we had formed sort of an unspoken understanding to ignore each other. He leaned in. “Stay away from her.”

My temper flared. I planted my palm on his chest, pushing him back as I stood. “Or what, Dan? Are you going to keep her under lock and key?”

“Don’t ever touch me again,” he seethed.

Like I wanted to? My hand ached with a slow burn from the contact we’d just had. My physical reactions to him were getting worse. “Then leave me alone. Kat doesn’t need to be rescued. She’s a big girl.”

His eyes narrowed as he pushed me, knocking me down onto the stool. “You expect me to believe she came into a place like this on her own? Have you decided to become a stripper now? I’m not surprised. Or maybe you just switched teams since you can’t seem to hold onto a man.”

Stunned, I stared up at him from the stool. In a million years I’d never guess he would assault someone, and especially not me. No matter how angry we were with each other. Not after what the three of us had been through the summer before our sophomore year in high school. It was clear he’d been drinking, but I’d never known him to be an angry drunk. Worry for him eroded some of my anger. What the hell was going on?

“Excuse me.” The bartender leaned across the bar, tapping Dan on the shoulder. “Maybe you should take a step back.”

Dan cut his eyes to her. “Mind your own business.”

“This is my business. Now step back, or I’ll have you thrown out.” She signaled to someone across the room, but I couldn’t see whom with Dan blocking me.

“You can’t throw me out. I haven’t done anything.” Dan dismissed her and turned to a man sitting to my left. “Stupid dikes.”

All my concern for Dan’s mental state fled as I registered his vile words. It was like he’d been possessed.

“I heard that.” A vicious scowl spread over the bartender’s face. “This is your last warning. Leave the lady alone, or you won’t like what happens next.”

Dan laughed and placed a possessive hand on my arm. “Me and the lady go way back,” he slurred. “I’m not bothering you, am I, Jade? I mean, it’s not like you don’t know how I feel about you.”

His touch sent a ripple of disgust through me. Twisting my arm, I did my best to dislodge it from his grasp. “Let go, Dan. I mean it.”

“I think you better do as she says.” Kane appeared at Dan’s side.

“Who the hell are you?” Dan turned, his body poised for a fight.

“The manager. I suggest you remove yourself from my club.” Kane appeared relaxed, but his voice was laced with a dangerous edge.

“Oh. Good.” Dan let out a menacing laugh. “Just the one I was lookin’ for. If you’re thinking of hiring this bitch,” Dan pointed at me, “you should know she’s a mind-reading freak.”

In a blink of an eye, Kane twisted Dan’s arm behind his back and shoved him toward the exit.

“Let go, you bastard,” Dan howled, kicking out as he struggled. “I’m doing you a favor.”

The music drowned out Kane’s reply, but icy fury radiated off him. Dan appeared livid, but his energy betrayed intense satisfaction. What had he thought he’d accomplished? Had he shown up specifically to hurt me? I watched as Kane literally threw Dan out the door and then followed him.

“Jade?” Kat put her hand on my arm. “What’s going on?”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“I just got back. Was that Kane throwing Dan out of the club?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait. What was Dan doing here? Did you two fight? I thought you were ignoring each other.” Her eyes stayed glued to the door, and disappointment rippled from her.

I heaved a heavy sigh. “Look Kat, Dan physically attacked me and when the bartender asked him to step back, he lost it. This is on him, not me.” Delayed adrenaline coursed through my veins, making me shake.

She twisted so fast she stumbled, but caught herself on the neighboring stool. Her bloodshot, slightly glazed eyes struggled to focus on mine, making me wonder just how much she’d had to drink. “Dan would never do that. Have you forgotten what happened in that foster home years ago? He saved us. Both of us.”

A frustrated growl slipped from my lips. “No. Of course not. How could I?”

That was the summer I’d lost my mom, and I’d been put into the system before Aunt Gwen had come to take care of me. On the fourth of July the pair of them had come to pick me up from the foster home on the way to the fair. Only we’d never made it out of the house. A cold shiver snaked down my body as I remembered.

Dan had risked his life to save the two of us from unspeakable things, enduring far more than a fifteen-year-old boy ever should have. By some miracle Kat and I had made it out with minor injuries. Dan hadn’t been as lucky. He’d put himself between our attacker and us over and over again and would have surely died protecting us if the police hadn’t shown up when they had.

From that day on, the three of us had formed an unbreakable bond of friendship. Until Dan and I had screwed it up with our relationship.

“I better go make sure he’s okay. See you back at my place,” Kat said.

“Don’t count on it,” I said to her back as she wobbled through the crowd, but I doubted she heard me over the music. Gritting my teeth, I turned back to the bartender. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Her brow dimpled as she frowned.

“Because it’s my fault Dan was here.” My hands started trembling. I balled them into fists, furious at my reaction.

“Did you invite him here or something?”

“What? No.”

“Then how is it your fault? It’s obvious you don’t harbor any love for the dude.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time some random drunk started trouble.”

“He’s not so random,” I said quietly.

“Really, don’t worry about it. Kane will take care of it. I’m Charlie, by the way.”

I shook her hand. “Jade, and thanks for the help.”

She cocked her head in interest. “So, is it true?”

“What?”

“What he said. Can you really read minds?”

“No.” Technically I couldn’t read minds, so it wasn’t a lie.

“That’s too bad. I’d love to have a gift like that.” Charlie turned to wipe down the bar and then asked, “Wouldn’t you?”

“No. I wouldn’t,” I answered truthfully. My shoulders relaxed as I smiled at her.

It wasn’t long before Kane strolled back in, his expression cool as if nothing had happened. He walked straight toward me. Just as he reached the bar I said, “I am so sorry. I don’t know what his problem is.”

“You don’t? I do.”

“You do?” My hands started to shake again.

“Being an asshole is his problem. Don’t worry, the other bouncers have been instructed that he’s not allowed in here again. Ever.”

“Ever?”

“Is that a problem?”

The tension in my jaw eased as I let out a long slow breath. “No. Thank you, Kane. I’m sorry he caused such a scene.”

He nodded, staring at me with intense curiosity radiating off him. I willed myself to keep eye contact and waited. He clearly had questions, but as time ticked by it became equally as clear he wasn’t going to ask. And I wasn’t offering.

“Well…thanks again, I appreciate the help. If you need anything from me, let me know.”

His gaze traveled the length of my body, then back up. “Maybe later.” With that, he turned and walked off.

“Uh-oh! Looks like the boss has his sights set on a new girl,” Charlie sang as she did a little dance next to me.

“What?”

“I saw that look. I may not be into guys, but I know how one looks when he’s interested.”

“But what about Pyper?”

“What about her?” she asked.

“Uh…aren’t they together?”

Charlie laughed, long and hard to the point of almost crying. “Honey, if Pyper had a thing with Kane, you’d know it. Subtlety’s not her strong suit when it comes to men.” A wicked smile played at the corner of her mouth. “No. They’re just business partners. And the boss man has his eye on you.”

***

After the adrenaline rush wore off, pressure built behind my left eye, threatening a migraine. If I didn’t leave the club soon, someone would be carrying me out. I thanked Charlie once more and made a quick getaway. The pressure didn’t start to ease until I entered the narrow walkway to my building’s courtyard. By the time I reached the inner sanctuary, the brick walls had succeeded in blocking out the commotion of Bourbon Street. Sighing in relief, I flopped into a chair.

“Jade?” Pyper called. I followed the sound of her voice and found her leaning against the side entrance. “I thought you were going to your friend’s house.”

“Change of plans. What brings you out here?”

She walked over and sat next to me. “Just taking a break. What about you?”

“Waiting for Ian to finish so I can get to sleep.”

Pyper sat up, her eyebrows raised. “Really? You’re not afraid?”

I lifted one shoulder. “I was up there with Ian, and nothing happened—even when I tried to speak to it. I figure I better get it over with.” My halfhearted smile faltered at her skeptical look. “It’ll be fine.”

She pulled a business card out of her bag. “My cell’s on there. If anything else happens or if you just get spooked, call me, and you can come to my place. I live next door above the café.”

I furrowed my brows. “Thanks. That’s kind of you, especially since we hardly know each other.” I liked her and thought we were on our way to being friends, but trust wasn’t something that came easy for me. I’d suffered too many past betrayals. Depending on anyone was just asking for trouble. Look at Kat, for example.

I realized she hadn’t seen the exchange between Dan and I, and the whole thing was so out of character for him, but when I’d told her what happened she’d dismissed my claims without even considering them. Being drunk wasn’t a good enough excuse. She seemed to comprehend Dan being thrown out of the club just fine. That alone should have given her a clue something wasn’t right. The whole exchange left me feeling empty and alone.

“What can I say? I feel guilty we rented you a haunted apartment. I really thought Kane was full of shit. If you want out of your lease, I’ll make it happen.”

Ah. Guilt made people do a lot of things they normally wouldn’t do. Still, I appreciated both offers. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick it out for now. Hopefully Ian can come up with a solution for a ghost-free apartment.” At this point I didn’t have many options. So unless the ghost sent knives through the air at me, I’d already decided I was staying. “But if things get worse I might take you up on it.”

“You’ve got guts. I like that in a woman.”

“Me too,” Ian said as he strolled up behind us. “Jade, here’s your key. We’ve got everything we need, but it’ll take a few days to compile the data. I’ll call you, and maybe we can get together for dinner and go over it?”

“Sure, sounds good. Thanks, Ian.” I stood and gave him a hug goodbye.

“Hmm, sounds like you’ve got yourself a date,” Pyper said after Ian left.

“What? No, it’s not a date. Is it?”

“Sure looks like it from here.” Pyper stood. “I’ve got to get back inside. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

The moment of truth. Was I ready to go back up to my apartment? No, but sleeping in the courtyard wasn’t an option. I could always take Pyper up on her offer, but how weird would that be? I barely knew her. Maybe I’d break down and use my almost-maxed-out credit card for a hotel room.

Music from The Charlie Daniels Band started playing from my cell phone, interrupting my inner monologue. I smiled as I flipped it open. “Hey, Gwen. How’s my favorite aunt tonight?”

“Better than you, sweetie. You’ve pushed yourself too far.”

“I know it. I’m sorry. Am I keeping you up?” Gwen has psychic tendencies, and there isn’t anyone she’s more in tune with than me.

“Yes, but it’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. I called to tell you, you’ve made the right decision, so stop stressing over it and get to it.” She paused then added, “I need to rest at some point tonight.”

“Wait, my decision? You mean the one to stay in my apartment tonight?”

“Is that what you were mulling over when I called? If so, then yes.” She chuckled. “The message came through loud and clear.”

The tension eased from my limbs. If Gwen said it was okay, then it was okay. I brought her up to speed on the day’s events, minus the run-in with Dan. I’d be willing to bet she already knew, but no need to rehash it. Gwen was even less of a fan of his than I was—if that was even possible.

“Wow,” she said. “You do have a lot going on. I’m getting a strong vibe your apartment is okay, but still be careful. If it bothers you again, tell it to leave. Be firm, but respectful. You don’t want to piss him or her off.”

“I will, and thanks. I needed to hear your voice tonight.”

“I know. Get some rest and restore that energy. Do as I say, now. I’ll know if you don’t.”

Grinning, I said my goodbyes, with promises to take care of myself. As I let myself into the building, I felt better than I had all day.

With more than a little trepidation I pushed my door open, praying Gwen was right. I trusted her completely, but even that couldn’t put all my fears to rest. After a mental sweep around the room I mustered up the strength to visit my bathroom. I couldn’t go to bed without brushing my teeth.

Honeysuckle scent still clung to the air, but the bathroom had been cleaned and the jar of Honey Dust sat innocently on my bathroom shelf. Thank you, Ian! Maybe a date with him wouldn’t be so bad. After completing my bedtime ritual I made a beeline for my new bed. Grateful the day had finally come to an end, I set my cell phone alarm to wake me for work the next day and passed out.

***

A cool breeze caressed my shoulder, prompting me to pull back the thin sheet. I welcomed the reprieve from the warm, humid night. I didn’t need to feel the mattress shift to know I wasn’t alone. His playful energy engulfed me, and a slow smile spread on my lips when his warm breath tickled my ear. Purring as he caressed my neck, I tried to roll toward him but his arm clasped around my middle, trapping me.

Wiggling, I tried to escape from his firm grasp but stilled when he trailed his fingers from my belly upward between my breasts.

How had I ever gone so long without this?

I held myself still, reveling in the building tension as he explored. But when he brushed his thumb over my nipple, I trembled, and a small moan escaped from my lips. His desire shot through my veins, overriding any self-control. I reached out, aching with need, desperate to feel his body pressed tight against mine. My arms circled, pulling him close. As I pressed my lips to his, he vanished. An agonizing pain shot through my heart.

My eyes snapped open. I clutched my chest and sat up, my body still trembling from the invisible touch. I focused on the eerie yellow moon shining through the window. Who exactly had I been dreaming about? No face or build came to mind. My only recollection was the imprint of his touch and lingering, wicked desire. With a sigh I lay back down on the pillows.

What was that about? Okay, hanging out in the strip club had side effects. Or was that a benefit? My thoughts drifted to Kane, and the desire returned full force. Damn it! That man was just too sexy for his own good.

Chapter 4

The rest of the week fell into a comfortable routine. I worked the café in the mornings and spent the afternoons at the glass studio—the real reason I’d moved to New Orleans. The hot glass school had offered me a job teaching glass beadmaking. I’d been making and selling glass beads online ever since college and had built a pretty solid business over the last seven years. But the income wasn’t really enough to afford to live here, hence the part-time café gig.

Kat, who already lived here, had referred me and did more than a fair amount of coaxing to get me to move. Too bad she’d neglected to mention Dan had relocated from Idaho or that they’d started dating. Otherwise I’d still be living in Boise.

By Friday I’d decided I’d earned an afternoon off. I’d just poured a large glass of wine when a knock sounded at my door.

I opened it to find Pyper, with new streaks of neon pink running through her black hair. “Wow! Where’d you find time to do that? Your hair looks awesome!”

She raised her hand to a freshly dyed lock. “Right after I left the café. It came out great, right?”

I nodded as she made a beeline for my counter. “Thank God,” she said dramatically. “You have wine.”

I laughed. “Rough day?”

“You have no idea.” She filled her glass to the rim and drank half of it before taking a breath. “Better already.”

“I’d offer you a seat, but…” I waved a hand around the empty room. “I haven’t had time to look for furniture yet. I’m planning a date with Craigslist tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, I can’t stay. One of the girls just called and quit. Something about taking a job in Miami. Now we’re really in a bind. We have three VIP parties tonight.” Desperation seeped from her. “Please, Jade? Would you help us out tonight?”

“At the club?” I asked, surprised.

She nodded.

“I don’t—”

“Please?” Pyper pleaded.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in stripping.”

“What? Oh, no. Charlie needs help tending bar, and I’m filling in for one of the waitresses. You do such an excellent job at the coffee shop. I know you’d be perfect.”

I frowned, biting my lip. “I’m really not interested in working at the strip club.” Even though I could use the extra cash, it would be rough trying to block all the energy flying around that place. And on a Friday night. I cringed.

“Oh. Well I guess…” Pyper drank the rest of her wine and studied the room. Her lips turned up in a slow grin. “I’ll tell you what. You help me out tonight, just tending bar, and I’ll hook you up with some furniture and movers.”

“Huh? How?”

“We have a whole storage room full of old furniture downstairs. I’m sure there’s plenty there to fill this place. You said you were looking for used stuff anyway.” She shrugged. “Plus, I can get a couple of the guys to haul it up here.”

Free furniture and movers? Maybe I could suffer the energy land mine for one night. “How long do you need me?”

“Yes!” Triumph streamed off her. She knew she had me. “Three, maybe four hours.”

“All right, but I’ve never tended bar before. Don’t expect what you get at the café.”

“Don’t worry. Charlie will have plenty for you to do. Thank you very much! Come down around nine so she can catch you up to speed before it gets busy.” Pyper twirled and danced to the door. “You’re a lifesaver.”

After Pyper disappeared I searched for my phone, intending to call Ian. We’d been playing phone tag for the last two days. I still didn’t have the results from his ghost hunt. It didn’t seem to matter much, since I hadn’t seen or felt anyone since the day he’d taken the readings. I was just curious at that point. If the ghost left me alone, I was more than happy to let it be.

I dialed and waited.

He picked up on the third ring. ”Jade! Finally, we connect.”

“About time. You’re busier than me, it seems.”

He laughed. “I don’t know about that. Our schedules just seem to be clashing. However, I managed to free my calendar for tomorrow night. Are you up for dinner and maybe a little jazz music?”

“Sure, sounds great. I’m working until two, so any time after that I’m free.”

We settled on six p.m., meeting at my apartment. I looked around, wondering where Ian would sit. The bed was the only surface in the room, leaving the other option the floor. Wonderful. Instead of indulging in the nap I’d been hoping for, I grabbed my keys and went in search of Pyper.

***

Pyper wasn’t at the café so I rapped on the club door, hoping to be heard over the faint music pulsing inside. I waited and then knocked harder. On my third try the club door swung open mid-knock.

“Oh, hello,” I stammered, staring into Kane’s chiseled face.

“Jade.” He smiled, and his curiosity pushed at my consciousness. “You’re not here for the auditions, are you?”

I frowned, eyeing my dusty threadbare jeans. What was with these people? Did I look like a stripper? I smoothed my hair. More than a few locks had fallen out of my ponytail. I opened my mouth to protest then noticed Kane’s cocky smile and a fair amount of amusement clinging to him. “Funny. Is Pyper here?”

He chuckled and waved me in. I glanced around, taking in the crushed blue velvet walls, chairs and love seats I hadn’t noticed before. Things looked different in the daytime. Even the ceiling was done in velvet.

He stepped beside me and guided me with his hand on the small of my back. Electric heat ran up my spine, causing me to shiver. I could almost feel his ego swell as pleasure ran through him. Damn it. He’d felt that. It was all I could do to keep walking and not run for the door. “Have a seat. I’ll grab you something to drink. Pyper might be a while,” he said.

I sat at the bar, watching Kane glide behind the counter.

“What’s your poison?” he asked.

“You don’t have Guinness, do you?”

“Guinness?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know—the Irish pub beer?” I tapped my fingers on the bar. “What? It’s been a long week.” And my wine sat untouched back at my apartment.

“Nothing. I just don’t know many women who drink Guinness.” He reached into a small refrigerator and pulled out the dark bottle. “In a glass?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He popped the cap and handed it over. I grabbed it and turned around, checking out the scene on the stage in front of me. A group of five women stood listening intently to Pyper.

Kane came out from behind the bar and sat next to me, his own beer in hand.

“Drinking on the job?” I asked.

“One of the perks to being the owner.” He raised his bottle in a mock salute.

I couldn’t argue with that. Nodding, I touched his beer with my own and drank.

We sat in silence, our attention on the stage. Pyper seemed to be giving some sort of instruction. Intrigued, I leaned to the right, trying to see past one of the girls blocking my view. Kane’s musky scent filled my senses. My world tilted. Reaching out, I grabbed onto the closest thing. Kane’s thigh. His muscles tensed, and I wanted nothing more than to run my hand higher along the firm surface. My eyes met his. The deep pools of melted chocolate made me bite down on my lower lip. His eyes shifted at the movement and just when I thought he would lean in…

“What’s goin’ on?” Piqued interest invaded my senses.

The spell broken, I jumped, snatched my hand back and turned my attention to Pyper as she came to a stop in front of us.

“Love the pink,” Kane said in his normal tone, apparently unaffected by whatever had just happened.

She smiled. “I thought you might.”

“Jade was waiting for you.” He got up and left without saying another word.

“What’s that goofy look about?” Pyper asked.

“Huh?” I tried to put my face into a neutral expression. “I don’t know. Just out of my element, I guess. Sorry to bother you while you’re working, but I was hoping I could get a look at the furniture.”

“No problem, you’re not bothering me. My assistant has this under control.”

I grabbed my beer and followed Pyper to a door at the end of the hall. After unlocking it, she flipped the light and ushered me into a room reminiscent of Aunt Gwen’s attic. A tiny walkway had been forged through the clutter of cardboard boxes and old furniture. Dust covered every possible surface, making my nose twitch.

“All of this has been left by past residents?” I asked in disbelief.

“As far as we know. Most of it was here when Kane bought the building.”

Kane. Just his name sent my stomach into flip-flops.

Stop that. You are not interested in a strip club owner. Too bad he was so damn yummy.

“Jade?” Pyper waved her hand in front of my face.

“Hmmm?”

“Did you hear me? I said, feel free to take anything you want. We’re planning to donate it anyway.”

“Oh! Thanks.” I moved around the room, inspecting the old furniture. The place was packed with everything from antique settees to metal folding chairs. Moving slowly, I selected a small writer’s desk, an old couch destined for a slipcover, and a lamp base in desperate need of some paint. I needed a chair for the desk, but decided to hold out for something a little more comfortable.

“Jade, check this out!” Pyper called from the back of the room.

I picked my way through the mess and followed the direction of her pointed finger. In front of me stood the most beautiful, thick honey oak headboard I’d ever seen. Intricately carved wooded vines trellised from the center out to the edges. I ran my hand over the tiny blossoms nestled in the clusters of leaves and let my guards down. Love and joy radiated from it. “What flower is this?”

“Bougainvillea. You see a lot of them around here.”

“It’s perfect.”

“I think you’ll want those, too.” Pyper pointed to two matching nightstands.

Grinning, I nodded.

She pulled out her iPhone and dialed. “Kane, I need you to come to the storage room.” She huffed in exasperation. “No, we’re not trapped under anything heavy. Just get your butt in here.”

My smiled faded. This stuff belonged to him. I was no expert, but even I could tell the bedroom furniture was worth a pretty penny. “How much do you think he’ll want for it?”

“Who? Want for what?” Pyper asked in confusion.

“Kane. The furniture.” I waved to the headboard. “That other stuff, the desk and couch, well it’s seen better days. I can see giving them away. But the bedroom set, just look at it.”

Pyper shook her head. “You can ask him, but I doubt he’ll take anything for it. He really wants to turn this room into an office, so the more stuff gone, the better.”

“I’m here. What do you want?” Kane said from right behind us, sounding irritated.

Pyper smiled, unleashing all of her charm on him. “Kane, darling, we need you to flex those bulging muscles and help us move some stuff up to Jade’s place.”

He rolled his eyes. “Your charms don’t work on me.” However, he smiled, and I sensed amusement entering his energy.

“Wanna bet?”

His smile turned into a grin. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He glanced at me and nodded.

I waved, feeling like an intruder.

Pyper showed him the bed and night stands. “We’ll get the rest.”

“We will?” I asked as I stared at the couch.

“Of course we will. Come on.”

***

Forty minutes later Pyper handed me an ice pack as I sat on my couch.

“You poor thing. Don’t feel bad, I trip all the time. Let me see it.” She gently pulled my hand away from my head. “It doesn’t look too bad, considering you face-planted the corner of your desk.” She ran a finger along the skin above my eyebrow.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a small bottle. “Here, take a few of these.”

As soon as I downed the pills and a glass of water, a shirtless Kane walked in, carrying my desk. I’d left it on the second floor landing after tripping and almost knocking myself out. I cleared my throat. “Thank you,” I croaked out.

“No problem.”

Shifting the ice for a better view, I watched Kane. I just could not tear my eyes away from that chest. The view was more than enough to make me forget about my throbbing head. My hand twitched, aching to touch him, and I yelped in pain. “Oh, shit! That hurt.”

A shadow blocked the sun shining in through the window. I gazed up into Kane’s worried expression. He placed a pillow at the end of the couch. “Here, lie back.”

I did as he said, speechless once more from the heart-aching view.

He took the ice bag from me and gently laid it on my head. “Just relax. We’ll take care of the rest.”

I gave him a weak smile, not trusting my voice.

For the next hour I entertained myself by watching Kane, still shirtless, and Jeff, a club bouncer, move in my furniture and put together my bed. All kinds of Kane fantasies were entertained as his rippling muscles flexed under the weight of the headboard. That bed had some serious potential, and I had plenty of material to work with. I’d been having vivid sex dreams every night for the last four nights. My libido was definitely in overdrive. My mind had formed a particularly fascinating scenario involving caramel when Kane stood up and announced they were finished.

“Already?” I sat up.

Kane glanced at his watch. “Already? We’ve been at this for two hours.”

“Right. What do I owe you?” I reached for my purse.

“For what?”

“The furniture and your time. Jeff’s too.”

“Didn’t Pyper already tell you that stuff was free?” To my disappointment, he pulled his shirt back on.

“Yeah. But it’s such nice stuff. I should pay you something for it.”

Kane stood with his arms folded and shook his head.

“Well, for your time then.” I pulled my wallet out, intent on not letting this go.

“I’ll collect later.” Kane said with a wry grin. “As for Jeff, you can just give him a tip. He’s already on the clock for the club.”

“That isn’t right! He’s been doing my work, not yours. Let me pay his hourly wage.”

Kane shook his head again. “No. I was going to get him to clean out the storage room anyway. It doesn’t matter if it goes up here, or if it goes to the restoration place.”

I stared at him. Was he for real? “At least let me take you to dinner sometime as a thank you.”

“I’m counting on it.” Kane walked away, signaling to Jeff it was time to go.

“Wait!” I pulled out forty dollars and pressed it into Jeff’s hand. “Thank you both so much.”

Jeff looked at the cash, then at me, then to Kane.

“Take it.” Kane said as he opened the door.

Jeff smiled and nodded, following Kane.

“Thanks again,” I called as they left.

Immediately, I pulled out fresh sheets and went to work on making up my new bed. When I’d finished I topped it with my favorite down comforter and added poppy and coral red pillows for color. Standing back, I felt the lure of crawling into my new sanctuary. But my stomach growled. Loudly. I hadn’t eaten since my break at the coffee shop and couldn’t put it off any longer. I pulled my phone out and ordered a small veggie pizza.

With twenty minutes to wait, I showered and was draped in a robe when I heard the knock.

Grabbing my wallet, I raced to the door. When I opened it, my jaw dropped, and instinctively I cinched my robe tighter.

“Dinner’s ready,” Kane said, sweeping past me with the pizza box and a paper bag.

“Uh…”

He handed me the box and pulled me to the couch. “Sit.”

“How—”

“Do you have a bottle opener?”

“On my keychain.” I pointed to my keys on the counter.

He chuckled and pulled out two beers. Popping the caps, he asked, “Always prepared, huh?”

“Swiss army knife.”

He handed me a Guinness. I smiled. I could get used to a man who remembered my beer of choice. “I found the delivery guy outside looking lost,” Kane said, as he sat next to me.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Dig in.”

I wasted no time and sighed with pleasure at the first bite. “Yum.” I held out the box, offering him a piece.

He peered in. “Where’s the meat?”

“I don’t like pork.”

“I hear they have other meat options.”

I swallowed my next bite. “So I like veggies on my pizza. Get over it. It’s not like I knew I’d have company”

His eyes roamed over me. “So I see.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Didn’t he have naked employees needing his attention?

“Supposed to?” He pursed his lips. “In a matter of speaking, maybe. But Pyper has it under control. Besides, it isn’t busy right now.”

“Damn. She works all the time. When does she sleep?”

“I don’t think she does.” Kane grabbed the last piece, and we ate in silence.

When I finished I asked, “How much was the pizza?”

He shook his head.

“I can’t not pay you for my dinner. I can just call and get the total from the pizza place.”

“Sure you can ‘not pay’ me. I ate most of it.” He wadded up his napkin and tossed it into the empty box.

“You only ate half, and you brought the beer.” I opened my wallet and thrust a twenty at him.

“It wasn’t that much.”

“I don’t care. Just take it,” I said, frustrated. I wasn’t used to being taken care of, and I wasn’t a freeloader either. “Look. Thanks for all your help, but I can take care of myself.”

“I can see that.” His eyes twinkling, he got up and moved toward the door.

I followed and thrust the twenty at him again. “Take it, or I’ll put it in your pocket myself.”

“Really?” A mischievous grin spread over his face. His anticipation prickled my skin.

I groaned inwardly. Not the smartest comment I’d ever made. To save face, I took a deep breath and moved in. His arm came around me as I slipped the twenty into his back pocket. My breasts pressed up against his chest, and the thin material of my silk robe did nothing to hide my now aroused and pointed nipples.

Kane lowered his head. My breath caught just before he pressed a light kiss on the bruise above my eye.

He smiled down at me. “You can let go of my ass now.”

As if burned, I jumped back, folding my arms over my chest.

Chuckling, he opened the door. “Bye, Jade. Thanks for dinner.”

I closed the door and stood there wondering what in the hell just happened. The room suddenly became very cold, snapping me out of my trance. I turned toward the window and saw the outline of a medium built, fair-haired man. The apparition grew into an almost solid image, took two steps and vanished.

Shock rooted me to the floor.

Chapter 5

What the hell was that?

My heart hammered against my chest, and I stopped breathing at the same time. The combination made my head spin. I forced myself to take deep breaths. My right arm wasn’t shooting with pain, so I knew I hadn’t suffered cardiac arrest. Though for a minute there, I wasn’t so sure. When my heart slowed to a relatively normal rate, I moved cautiously through the apartment, scanning the emotional energy.

When I’d completed my circle without incident, my shoulders relaxed. Had I imagined the apparition? I didn’t think so. Maybe it wasn’t just my apartment that was haunted. Maybe the ghost haunted the whole building, and he’d left for the night. I could only hope. Grateful I had somewhere to be, I wasted no time getting ready for work.

After searching my closet, I dressed in a long pencil skirt and a wrap-around top, cut low in the front. Slipping on my only pair of heels—cute, strappy, black ones—I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. Perfect if I was headed out for a date. Maybe a little overdressed for working a bar at a strip club, but I didn’t have anything else suitable. It would have to do.

Grabbing my keys, I took one last look at my apartment. Satisfied my ghost was still absent, I locked the door behind me and headed for the club.

A few minutes later I paused, letting my eyes adjust as I entered Wicked. The lights were dim as usual, but the place hadn’t started to fill up yet. Eight-thirty was still on the early side for a strip club. A cute, tiny blonde dancing on stage caught my eye. I frowned, wondering why anyone would want to strip down and get felt up by random guys every night. It made my skin crawl thinking about it.

I closed my eyes and focused on constructing my emotional barrier. Once my cylinder was in place I made my way over to the bar toward Pyper and Charlie. “Hey, I’m a bit early.”

“Good, that’ll give Charlie more time to get you up to speed.” Pyper stepped closer. “That’s one hell of a shiner you have above your eye.”

“Thanks.” I reached up, trying to cover it with a piece of my hair.

Pyper laughed. “You’re fighting a losing battle.”

“Ah, give my girl a break. It takes talent to look that hot with half your forehead black and blue,” Charlie said, waving toward a stool. “Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”

Seeing Pyper nod, I happily obliged.

Charlie set a tall, slender glass of ice and a diet Coke on the counter and held up a bottle of rum in question.

“No thanks. I took some pain pills. I don’t think that’s a good combination.” Apparently drinking on the job was optional. Why not? It was a strip club.

“You’re such a good girl,” Charlie said, winking at me.

I snorted. “I need lessons on misbehaving.” I’d forgotten what it felt like to let loose every once in a while. Ever since I landed in New Orleans I’d been the height of Miss Responsibility. Something was seriously wrong with me. I had done nothing but work since I got here. Eyeing Pyper, I mentally penciled in a night on the town. No doubt she’d coax me into something not suitable for the PG-13 crowd.

“No time like the present,” Charlie said, spiking my drink with some Captain Morgan’s.

“Oh crap. I’m gonna need a keeper by the time the night is over.” I scowled, but picked up my glass and took a long swig. “Ahhh.”

Both of them laughed.

“I need two hurricanes,” someone said behind me.

I swiveled, finding Holly, the assistant manager from the café, in a bar maid outfit.

”Hey, I didn’t know you were working here, too,” I said.

She shrugged. “Pyper needed help.”

“That’s a common theme.”

“You’re working here?” She looked me up and down and then focused on the stool.

“Yes, when Charlie’s ready for me.” I frowned as hostility crept into my awareness.

She gave a curt nod, grabbed the drink tray and left.

That was odd. What did I do to annoy her? I watched her serve the drinks to an oblivious couple, now sharing one chair. The intense desire and excitement whirling around them made me blush. It was then I realized the alcohol was chipping away at my emotional barrier. I pushed the glass aside.

“Quite the show they’re putting on.” Pyper sat next to me.

“You might want to offer a room for them to rent.”

Pyper grinned. “Rooms by the hour. That’ll really class the place up.” She leaned closer, passing a glass to Charlie. “Fill me up, will you?” Her tired eyes drooped with fatigue.

“Do you ever sleep?” I asked.

Her smile vanished, and anxiety flowed over me in waves. “Not these days. Insomnia, I guess.” She shook her head and pasted a smile back on her face. “Thanks again for helping out. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

Pyper put her hand on my arm. “I just don’t want you to feel taken advantage of. You’re starting to grow on us, and we’d like to keep you around.” She winked in Charlie’s direction.

“Damn straight,” Charlie piped in. “Best thing that’s happened around here since Roy was ousted.”

“Roy?” I asked.

“Previous owner before Kane bought the place. Serious jackass,” Pyper explained. “Anyway, I’ve got some work to do. See you later.” She waved and headed toward the offices.

An hour later, I wiped down the bar, wishing I had a sandwich. The rum, combined with the pain pills, hadn’t been the best idea. My barriers had vanished all together, and I hadn’t been able to block out the rapidly intensifying energy in the club.

As I worked my way through the line of customers, Mr. Evil, the man I’d noticed the first time I’d come in the club, appeared at the table closest to the bar. As before, he held an unlit cigarette, but his anger was subdued this time. Maybe he’d invested in therapy. He stared intently at Pyper, never taking his eyes off her. I didn’t blame him. She’d changed into a silver push-up bra and a tiny black leather skirt, no more than eight inches long. Just enough to give the illusion it covered her bum.

“I thought you had the night off from stripping?” I asked when she joined us.

“So did I, but one of the girls hasn’t shown up. Strippers.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “No one else was reachable, so I’m it.” She searched the crowd until she spotted Kane. My heart did a little jig in my chest, until I saw him put his hand on Holly’s back as he walked with her. He gave Pyper a wave. “That’s my cue,” she said and stepped toward the stage.

Right at that moment, the lights flickered off and on, and the music volume shot up to deafening levels. I cringed, my eardrums responding with sharp stabs of complaint, and squinted in confusion at the DJ booth. What the holy hell?

A faint prickle of glee entered my system, causing the hair on the back of my neck to rise. I turned toward the mental intrusion just as the tequila bottle I’d been holding ripped from my hand. Pain exploded through my skull.

Everything went black.

***

Groaning from the sunlight piercing my eyelids, I rolled over and shoved my face deep into the pillow. A flash of searing pain bolted me upright.

“Son of a bitch!” I gasped as my hands flew to inspect the damage. The goose-egg-sized lump made my stomach turn. With my eyes closed I took a few cleansing breaths before I felt the mattress shift beside me. Peaking through my fingers, I peered down at a sleepy-eyed Kane. His tousled dark hair and the glimpse of his bare chest momentarily made me forget my aching head. I searched my muddled brain for some recollection of how I ended up in this predicament, but it was blank.

“Morning,” mumbled my bed partner as he sat up. “Let me see.” He moved my hands and gently touched my forehead.

I closed my eyes to block out his sheer maleness, hoping my hormones would downshift from overdrive. With his touch, concern, tenderness and protectiveness illuminated from him, wrapping around me like a blanket. I lay my head back down on the pillow, too exhausted to analyze this turn of events.

“How did I end up here?” I asked as I admired the rich walnut armoire and four-poster bed I was snuggled into.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” he asked.

I took a moment to think. “Not much. The last thing I remember is Pyper leaving the bar to go on stage, and suddenly everything went haywire.” I glanced up at him. “I’m guessing I was knocked out.”

He nodded.

“What got me?” I asked.

“Tequila bottle.”

“Jesus! Taken out by Cabo Wabo. It was a full bottle too. Is it toast?”

A strong mix of humor and exasperation overrode his concern. Kane snorted. “Considering what happened next, I’d hardly say it matters much at this point.”

I pushed myself up with my elbows and raised my eyebrows in question.

“Do you remember the lights flickering on and off and the music, that awful music?”

I nodded. The music had sped up, effectively giving us a Chipmunks’ version of a Prince song. “That’s the last thing I remember.”

“That’s because as Pyper left the bar and headed to the stage, all the loose bottles on the shelves shot up and circled her like a tornado. The one you’d been holding jerked out of your hand and bounced off your forehead on its way to join the others.”

“Right. Flying liquor bottles.” I laughed. “Come on, tell me what really happened. I ran into something again, right?”

Kane stared at me, shaking his head. His exasperation quickly stamped out any traces of humor.

I stared back finally remembering the tequila bottle flying from my grip.

Shit. A tornado. Just like the Honey Dust. A full minute went by as I digested the information. I found myself focusing on his shirtless chest and tan six-pack. My eyes glazed over as I imagined pulling the rest of the covers off him to explore further. Blinking, I caught his eye and flushed. He picked up a tee shirt and put in on.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, my ears growing fiercely hot.

He just sat there, wearing that sexy, cocky smile of his.

Clearing my throat, I said, “Okay, so that really happened. Fill me in on the details.”

Kane sat back against the headboard and handed me his pillow. I snuggled into it, catching a faint trace of his crisp, earthy cologne.

“I was headed to the bar when Holly hijacked me. We’d just turned toward my office when Prince turned into Alvin.”

A private moment with Holly in his office? A vile image of the two of them kissing flashed through my mind. Irrational? Yes, but there it was.

He continued. “Then the music stopped, and all the bottles from the bar started flying, including the one you held. I saw you go down and ran to help.”

“My hero,” I said with a small smile.

He grimaced, looking pained. “It took me a moment to realize the bottles were circling Pyper. Thank God whatever it was stopped, because I don’t think I could have broken through to get to her.”

“They just stopped?”

“Yeah and shattered all over the floor. We’re lucky everyone moved out of the way. Someone could have gotten seriously hurt.”

Through my mounting horror I couldn’t help wondering what the patrons had thought of bottles flying through the air. Suddenly I was intensely glad I’d been passed out and missed the whole thing.

Kane reached out and gently caressed my forehead, again. “You had us worried.”

The tenderness in his voice warmed me and scared me at the same time. Imagining sexy times excited me, but getting intimate was another thing entirely. “Pyper wasn’t hurt?”

He shook his head. “Just shook up.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and sat up. For the first time I noticed I was wearing my own Nick and Nora owl pajama bottoms and camisole. Who’d changed my clothes? I pulled the covers up, feeling exposed.

“Pyper helped you into your pajamas,” Kane said, reading my mind. “She also brought your toiletries. They’re in my bathroom.”

My stuff was mingling with his in the bathroom. Yikes. “Okay, thanks. But how did I get here?”

“I carried you.”

Too bad I’d missed that.

“Then, I went back for Pyper. I’d left her in Charlie’s care and by the time I got back, she’d settled down enough to insist we get your stuff so you’d be comfortable when you woke up. She stayed in her room—” he pointed to the wall on our right, “—and I stayed here with you, just to be sure you were okay.”

Wait what? “You and Pyper live together?” Hadn’t Charlie told me they weren’t a couple? Maybe she was misinformed.

“No. This is her place, but I keep stuff here for when I stay over. I guess you could say this is sort of my room.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to make of that. Friends with benefits?

His eyes crinkled as his lips quirked up. “We aren’t a couple, just business partners and best friends. Sometimes I work so late I crash here.”

“I didn’t ask.” His ego swelled, pushing on my mental barriers. Crap.

“Yes you did. You just didn’t voice it.”

I rolled my eyes and looked away, catching a glimpse at the clock. “Shit, I have to get to work.” I jumped up, causing a dizzy spell and almost fell back onto the bed. I put one hand on my throbbing head and the other on the bedpost to steady myself.

Kane scooted over and eased me back down. “No you don’t. Pyper said to tell you not to come in today. She’s got it covered.”

“But—”

“No, the last thing we need is you passing out in the café. She’ll call me if she needs help.” He got up. “I’ll go make you some breakfast. Stay here and rest, or grab a shower if you want. All your stuff is in the bathroom.”

I nodded, watching him head out the door. Kane wasn’t at all what I expected him to be. I’d judged him on the fact that he owned a strip club, and while I’d never met a strip club owner, I’d pegged him as a cross between Hugh Hefner and Larry Flint. In other words, a ladies’ man who thought about sex, women and more sex. Why else would a person go into the strip club business? I suspected he had some of those qualities, as most men did, but clearly he was made of a lot more. He’d been genuinely concerned about me, took care of me, and he was still doing it this morning. Smiling to myself, a warm feeling of pleasure grew in my chest.

Not wanting to have breakfast in my pajamas I got up and headed for a bath. The oversized tub took up half the bathroom. Feeling deliciously pampered I couldn’t resist turning on the jets. I would have stayed there until my entire body shriveled into a raisin, but the smell of coffee and Kane’s call that breakfast was ready lured me out.

My backpack sat on the counter filled with my makeup bag, toothbrush, deodorant and, to my surprise, the Honey Dust. Why Pyper thought I’d need it for an overnight when I was knocked out, I didn’t know. But considering what happened the night before, I couldn’t believe she’d included it. Was she possessed? I hadn’t even touched it since the day I’d moved in. Maybe it was an act of defiance against the spirit. I set my shoulders and decided if she was brave enough, then so was I. What’s a little Honey Dust compared to flying bottles?

“If you’re here, Ghost, please stay away. You’re not invited into my space.” Hopefully that would keep him out. Looking around to be sure I was alone, I lightly dusted myself with the sweet scent. The air didn’t stir, and nothing suddenly appeared. Feeling victorious, I put the jar away, and dressed in the clean jeans and tank top Pyper had picked out for me. After pulling my hair into a bun and slapping some makeup on, I ventured into the rest of the apartment to join Kane.

I shuffled over the rich pecan hardwood floors, awestruck. I’d never been in a more soothing living room. The overstuffed mocha couch and loveseat were covered in peach pillows, complementing the vanilla cream walls. The aroma of fresh coffee filtered from the kitchen. Did the apartment always smell like freshly ground beans? It was directly above the café. I stopped in the adjoining dining room at the ten-foot-tall windows, letting the sun warm my face.

Kane appeared from the kitchen and stepped up behind me, handing me a steaming mug.

“Thanks,” I said, glancing back over my shoulder.

He hesitated then brushed his warm lips along the nape of my neck, gently kissing me. The flick of his soft tongue melted any resistance I might have mustered.

My breath caught soundlessly.

“Humm,” he murmured. “Honey Dust tastes better on you than I thought it would.”

Chapter 6

Kane moved away and retreated to the kitchen. I grabbed the window frame, steadying myself. Kane just kissed me. On my neck. Thank you, Pyper, and your silly Honey Dust fetish. I absently raised my mug and then sputtered as the scalding coffee seared my tongue. “Ow!”

“You okay?” Kane rounded the corner with two plates.

“Uh, yeah. Hotter than I expected.” I held the mug up and opened my mouth to ask if he’d kiss it and make it better, but clamped it shut when my brain took over. If he wanted to kiss me—real on-the-lips-with-tongue-and-everything kissing—then he would, but I wouldn’t beg for it.

He gave a sympathetic smile and put the plates on the table. “Breakfast. Hope you like waffles.” He passed me a silver carafe of syrup as I sat.

The waffle was cooked to perfection, golden brown on each side and smothered in fresh blueberries. I drizzled the syrup and sighed in pleasure with the first bite. “Yum.”

Satisfaction seeped from him as he watched me.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m glad to see you have an appetite. If you’d had a concussion you probably wouldn’t be very hungry right now.”

My insides turned to Jell-O. Suddenly I wished I’d had the nerve to ask for the kiss. No one but Kat and Gwen had gotten remotely close to caring for me in years, and here I had this gorgeous piece of eye candy doing just that. Of course he could be trying to make sure I didn’t sue his ass, but considering my inside information source, I really didn’t think so.

“Thank you for…everything,” I said, meaning it.

He nodded. “My pleasure.”

After breakfast, Kane left and I cleaned the kitchen then went back into his room to gather my things. I found my outfit from the night before folded on the dresser and packed it in my backpack on top of my toiletries. The bed remained unmade. I stopped, running my hand over the side Kane had slept in. His lingering concern touched my heart. Overwhelmed, I sat on the bed. It felt good to have a decent man care about what happened to me. Not wanting to let the feeling go, I curled up on his pillow, closed my eyes and breathed.

A man, cloaked by shadows, inched toward me. A soothing calm reached my awareness. The moonlight should have illuminated him, but his features remained unclear in his shadowy form. It didn’t matter. My body recognized him. For the last week he’d visited me almost every night.

He stopped next to the bed and waited.

“What’s your name,” I asked.

He stood still and silent. No matter what I asked, he never spoke. It was his body that did all the talking.

“I wish I knew your name.”

A stream of tenderness, longing and a hint of desperation caressed my soul. The sensations tingled in my belly. I shifted and patted the bed, extending an invitation.

He sat, and my arm brushed his solid thigh, sending heat to my center. Wanting to be touched, I lifted my face to his open hand. He cupped my cheek and traced his fingertips down the length of my neck. Moments went by as I delighted in the familiar sensation.

I reached out, exploring the solid, yet still mysterious figure. My fingers danced across his hot skin, feeling what my eyes couldn’t see. His fingers tensed and curled in my hair. Longing worked its way into my consciousness. Without thought I pulled him to lie beside me. Desperate to see my lover, I used my fingers to trace his cheeks, eyes and, finally, his mouth.

I struggled to make out his features, succeeding in just a rough outline. Focusing on his lips, I titled my head, giving him the answer he waited for. Our lips met, and all inhibitions were lost.

It took a while for my brain to process the annoying chirping in my ear. One eye popped open, and I sat up with my body pulsing from the reoccurring dream. Once again I found myself in Kane’s bedroom. Except he wasn’t there, and the chirping was my ringtone.

I groaned and snatched my cell from the bedside table. “Yeah?”

“Jade? It’s Pyper. Ian’s here to do more readings. Can you come down?”

“Sure,” I croaked. “Give me a few minutes.”

In serious need of a cold shower, I headed for the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, refreshed and smelling like a rain forest, I headed to the first floor of the building and found the club’s back door propped open. That was unusual. But if Ian was interviewing multiple people, he might have gotten tired of answering it. A few wall lights were on, giving me just enough light to see where I was headed. Trying not to disturb anything Ian might want to inspect, I stayed close to the walls, but it quickly became clear the place was spotless, completely cleaned up. And empty. Where was everybody?

I sat, staring at the stage trying to make sense of the ghost activity. Other than the energy suck after Pyper called out the ghost, my experiences with it had been mild. Honey Dust and an apparition were hardly threatening. But bottles flying around a crowded club? A chill ran down my back thinking about it. At least my suspicions were confirmed. It was haunting the whole building, not just my apartment.

Unless it was just haunting me.

No, it had attacked Pyper the night before. Had she pissed it off that day in my apartment?

I took a deep breath and walked to the stage. Maybe it had left some sort of emotional imprint. The events of the night before played in my mind like a movie reel. I saw Charlie and myself behind the bar, both hopping around, busily mixing drinks. I was watching Kane, surprised to notice he was keeping an eye on me. Pyper took her first few steps to the stage. Then the bottles flew. Dark emotions—anger, jealousy, disgust, and intense longing—wrapped around me. I could barely see Pyper through the whirlwind of bottles, but a faint trace of her terror reached me. The emotions intensified as if feeding on her fear. My body spasmed, unable to filter it all. I couldn’t breathe. Lightning bolts of synapses crisscrossed through my brain before my vision turned to snowy static.

I woke, lying on the stage, with Pyper holding my hand. “What happened?” I asked, disoriented.

“You tell me,” she said. “I was headed into the office to make a phone call when I saw you standing there. You looked like you were in some kind of trance. Then your face went white, your eyes got wide and you collapsed. Something frightened you.”

“No, not frightened, exactly.” The truth was, I wasn’t sure what just happened. I hadn’t been scared. My own emotions had been buried under the onslaught of the darkness I’d just experienced while the scene had replayed for me. Even the parts I hadn’t been conscious to witness. Did I imagine what I thought happened? My empathy gift said otherwise.

“Then what?” Pyper looked at me expectantly.

What indeed? “Startled?”

“That look was not a startled one,” she said.

How could I tell her what had happened without revealing my ability? Panic formed in a little ball at the pit of my stomach. “Maybe I just overdid it after last night.” I stood, shaking slightly.

She stared at me for minute. “Yeah, maybe. I think you should sit down.”

She had a point, but I didn’t want to stay that long. “Where is everyone?”

“Next door, waiting for you.”

“Oh. I thought we were meeting here. Let’s go.” I took off, not caring if she followed. I needed to get out of club. It just felt…wrong.

I entered the back room of the café from the adjoining hallway and found Kane.

“I was starting to think you fell back asleep,” he said.

“No, I thought we were meeting next door. Is Ian out front?” I peeked through the tiny window from the back room of the café. Ian was sitting at one of the tables with a woman sporting bright red curls.

I bit my lip. Why was Kat here? She’d called a few days after the incident in the club. I hadn’t picked up, and she’d left a message asking if we were okay. I hadn’t called her back. It still stung that she hadn’t even considered I’d been telling the truth. Before all the drama happened, I wouldn’t have believed it either. But if Kat had been the one saying it, I would have at least listened.

As I lingered, trying to find the nerve to face my friend, Dan entered the café and strolled up to their table, holding a bouquet of sunflowers.

My breath hitched, and buried memories flooded back. Dan and I standing in his parent’s sunflower field on a hot summer day as he gazed down at me with a powerful wave of tenderness bursting from his essence. I’d reached up, caressing his jaw with my thumb and he’d kissed me for the first time. A romantic, emotional kiss that had ended with his arms wrapped tight around me as if he’d never let go. That was the summer we’d fallen in love, before I’d lost his trust and he’d lost mine.

Dan bent down and kissed Kat’s cheek. Her smile turned sweet as he handed her the bouquet. He always gave sunflowers. As homage to his parent’s livelihood, I’d supposed. But it still hurt seeing the familiar gesture.

Sadness settled in my chest. Dan had only recently turned into a massive jerk. Once he’d been a kind, attentive partner I’d been ready to spend my life with. And here he was, displaying a small piece of the man I’d once known. No wonder Kat didn’t see what I did.

Had I been just as blind? No. I’d had the added benefit of knowing what he was feeling. He’d loved me. I had never doubted it. Now he carried an emotional poison—at least when he was around me. Somewhere deep inside I wondered if I was to blame.

Kat stood, wrapped Dan in a tight hug and sat as he strolled off again and disappeared onto Bourbon Street.

“That’s your friend, right?” Kane asked, following my gaze.

I tilted my head, stealing a peek at his thoughtful expression. He’d remembered. “Yes.”

“What are you waiting for?” Kane nudged me, and I had no choice but to walk through the door.

I stopped behind Kat and cleared my throat. “Let’s sit outside.” I didn’t know where this conversation would lead, but we didn’t need an audience.

“Where the heck have you been?” Kat turned and frowned, her eyebrows pinched.

“Here,” I gestured vaguely around the shop and glanced at Ian. “Hi.”

“Hey. I’ll be right back.” He got up and headed toward the counter.

“I’ve been calling you since last night. Didn’t you get any of my messages?”

Shaking my head, I searched for my phone in my purse. I hadn’t checked to see if anyone had called. No doubt Gwen had been trying to reach me as well. “Oops, I must have left it in Kane’s room.”

“You slept with Kane?” she whispered, looking over my shoulder.

I glanced back to see the man in question watching us. I waved and he nodded. “No, well, yes…” Her eyes bulged with shock. I tried not to laugh. “I slept in his bed, but nothing happened.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Stop staring. Let’s talk about this outside.”

She grabbed her flowers and followed me. I glanced at them but said nothing. Conversations about Dan never went anywhere good.

Once we were seated she blinked a few times then reluctantly gave me her full attention. “Kane is sex on a stick.”

“Watch it, girl, you’re drooling.” I handed her a napkin, and my shoulders relaxed. I should have known girl chat about a hot guy would diffuse any awkwardness.

Ignoring my napkin, Kat switched gears. “Ian left me a message you’d been attacked last night. I’ve been calling ever since. Geez, Jade, you’ve had me in a panic all day.”

I tensed. Now she was worried about me? “I wasn’t attacked. My head just got in the way.”

“I wish you’d have called,” she said quietly. “Who else do you have to look after you?”

“I’m sorry. I was in no shape to call anyone. Besides, I have friends here. Pyper and Kane took care of me. See?” I held my hands out. “I’m fine. No need to worry.”

“Except for the giant bruise on your forehead. And I’d hardly call these people your friends. I mean they work at a strip club, for God’s sake.”

“So what?” My fists clenched in aggravation. “A minute ago you were wondering why I hadn’t thrown myself at Kane, and now you’re judging him and Pyper? You don’t even know them. Pyper isn’t some doped-up stripper. She owns the café and helps manage the club. And as for Kane, he was a perfect gentleman. Get off your high horse and drop the preconceived notions. At least they were there for me when I needed them.” I stared at my hands, trying to forget I’d been making the same sort of assumptions about Kane since I’d met him.

Kat’s pain, mixed with frustrated anger, assaulted me. I closed my eyes, quickly building my silo barrier. Damn it. I would not feel guilty. Pyper and Kane had proven to be better friends in the short time I’d known them than Kat had in the last three months. I wouldn’t stand for her insulting them.

“What do you mean, ‘At least they were there for you when you needed them’? When have I ever not been there for you?”

“Never mind.” I shook my head. “It’s not important.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s about Dan again, isn’t it? God, Jade, I wish you two would just let it go already.”

“And I wish you’d wake up!”

“I don’t want to be in the middle of this.” She closed her eyes for a moment then looked at me pleadingly. “Can we just agree to not talk about him?”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Excuse me.” Ian cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but I sort of need to talk to Jade.”

“You’re not interrupting,” I said. “We’re done here.”

Kat stood. “I have to get home anyway. I just needed to be sure Jade was okay. Thanks for letting me know, Ian.” She gave him a quick hug and left without saying another word.

I slumped and waved for Ian to sit. “Sorry about that. We’re having…issues.”

“It’ll blow over soon enough. You know how Kat is. She’s protective.” Ian set a paper cup in front of me. “Pyper thought a chai might perk you up.”

“She’s protecting the wrong person.” Closing my eyes, I took a long swig of the chai and sighed. Yep, I’d needed that. “Thanks.”

Ian took notes while I gave him a detailed account of the night before and the vision I’d just had in the club, minus the crazy emotional turmoil.

“Excellent.” He grinned.

“I’m glad you think so,” I said dryly. “I’d just like it to stop.”

“I’ve got a plan for that. After Kane called I left a message for my aunt, who has some tricks for us to ward off your ghost. I should hear back from her later today.”

Kane had called Ian? Did they know each other? Weird. “Okay, when can we get that done?”

“As soon as possible, but I need to take readings from inside the club first.” He stood up. “Ready?”

I nodded and followed him into the café. We found Pyper and Kane sitting with their heads together at a table in the corner.

“We’re back.” Ian waved.

Pyper straightened and smiled at him. “Oh, good. We were just talking about you. Have a seat.” She patted the chair next to her.

He gave her his sexy half-smile and squeezed in beside her.

Kane was staring at me, and suddenly my head swam. I grabbed the edge of the table and took cleansing breaths to center myself. His hand rested on the small of my back as he leaned in and whispered, “Maybe you should go up to Pyper’s and lie back down.”

“Probably.” But I made no move to leave. I wanted to know what we were going to do about the ghost. “Okay, Ian, what’s the plan?”

“Kane’s going to let us take some measurements down here, so I’ll get started with that shortly. I’ve got a lot to do in an hour.”

“An hour? But you stayed half the night in my apartment.”

Kane stiffened beside me. I looked at him, bewildered.

“Kane said he’d open the club a little late, but he has an event scheduled. Since we can’t measure activity with other people around, I’ll take what I can get. Though I would like to log some data with you and Pyper in there to see if either of you sets anything off.”

“Just me and Pyper?” I asked.

“Yes. It seems the two of you have some kind of connection with whatever may be lurking here. I’ll take some basic measurements and have each of you come in for a reading. After I record the data I can compare the results and see if we have any similarities or anomalies,” Ian explained.

“No.” Kane said.

“No?” I asked before anyone else could respond. “What do you mean, no?”

Kane turned serious eyes on me. “I mean, I don’t want you and Pyper involved anymore. You went into some sort of trance today in there, and Pyper could have been seriously hurt last night. I will not allow that to happen again.”

The blood rushed to my head. Combined with my fight with Kat and feeling like I had no control over what was happening, I snapped. “Who are you to tell me what you will and will not allow to happen?”

“Your boss.”

I huffed. “Right. Boss. I had no idea taking orders from you on my personal time was in the job description. Besides, you may be the owner of the club, but technically I work for Pyper, remember? I only filled in tending bar as a favor to her. Why in the hell else do you think I would work at a strip club?”

“For the money,” he said calmly. “Like all the other girls.”

“You son of a bitch.” I glowered at him, pissed off, mostly because he was right. I did need the money, but he didn’t have to know that. “You know damn well I only filled in as a favor to Pyper.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but Pyper cut him off. “That’s true.”

Kane turned to her. “Which part, the favor part or the son-of-a-bitch part?”

“Both,” she said lightly. She turned her attention to Ian. “Of course, we’ll both help.” She waved her arm toward me.

I smiled at Kane’s incredulous expression.

“Oh, stop being a bully,” Pyper continued. “We’re both big girls. If we want to help Ian figure out what’s going on, we will.”

Kane stared at her until she raised an eyebrow. Then he studied me. I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue. Real mature, I told myself. Finally, he asked Ian, “Is there something you do to keep people safe in these situations?”

Ian nodded. “Yes. So far we haven’t had any mishaps…though this situation seems a bit more volatile than most we’ve been involved with.”

“Really?” I asked. “How so?”

“Well,” Ian paused, rubbing his chin. “Most of our clients come to us because they see images, like a vision, or they get a sixth sense something is there. Rarely do we come across cases where the spirits are interacting on as personal a level, as they seem to be doing in this case.”

Kane stayed silent but continued to glare at all of us.

Ian glanced at him, shifting uncomfortably. “But don’t worry, there are things we can do to discourage interaction. As soon as I hear back from my aunt we’ll set up wards to keep the ghost inactive.”

“Sounds great.” Pyper handed him a card. “My cell is on there. Give us a ring when you’re ready. Come on, Jade, let’s get some takeout and head to my apartment.”

Without glancing back, I fell into step behind Pyper.

***

Once back at Pyper’s I found my phone and grimaced at the multitude of calls from Kat and Gwen. I should have remembered to call my aunt. Chances are, she’d felt the void when I’d been knocked out and most certainly would have felt my energy shift while I’d been in the club that afternoon. I dialed, and spent a full twenty minutes assuring her I was fine, and promised to check in more often.

“It’s good to have someone to worry about you.” Pyper handed me a mug of chai.

I nodded. “Thanks.” Emotionally exhausted, I leaned back and closed my eyes.

Promptly at nine o’clock, Pyper’s cell phone rang. She answered and a moment later tucked her feet under her. “Ian wants just you for now. Then we’ll switch.”

“Here goes nothing.” I got to my feet, waved and took off down the two flights of stairs. My heart pounded. I wanted nothing else but to go back up to Pyper’s apartment and just hang with her.

Ian waited for me at the back door of Wicked. We wasted no time saying our protection spell and repeating the procedure we’d followed the week before in my apartment.

For the last hour I’d been having an internal debate, trying to decide if I wanted to open myself up and use my gift this time. On one hand it would give me insight, but on the other I might pass out again. And I was really tired of being treated like an invalid.

As Ian followed me around the room, making appreciative noises at whatever results he received, I couldn’t stop my curiosity. I had to know. Letting my guards down, I took in the lingering emotions. They were stale, and I was reminded of the smell of warm beer left out overnight after a party. Dingy lust, mixed with tired anticipation, swarmed in my head then suddenly was chased away by disgust and hatred.

I froze and scanned the room.

“Did you see something?” Ian’s voice and energy lit with excitement.

I shook my head, still trying to hone in on the direction of the intrusion. There wasn’t a clear path, just a whirlwind of toxic emotions.

“Say something,” Ian whispered.

“Why are you here?” I asked in a clear voice. The disgust gripped my senses until all I could see was a red haze. I gasped as I fought it. “Let go! You do not have permission to invade my aura.” The red cleared, and the toxic waste gripping me vanished. A pure white energy, something close to joy, filled my being. “Thank you.”

“Who are you thanking?” Ian asked, stepping up next to me.

“I don’t know. The goddess, maybe. Did you get what you needed?”

“More than enough. I can’t wait to analyze this.” Ian bounced like a little boy on a sugar high. He steadied himself and examined me. “What just happened there?’

I shrugged. I didn’t want to share my ability with Ian. Unfortunately I was too tired to come up with a great explanation. “Can we talk about it later, after you do your analysis?”

His face fell, but he recovered quickly. “Sure. It’s probably better to talk about it after the scientific stuff is laid out anyway.”

I turned to go. “I’ll send Pyper down when I get back upstairs.”

“I guess we’ll have to reschedule our date?” Ian said with a question.

Oops. I’d forgotten all about it. “Sure.” I smiled. “I’m also still waiting to hear what you found out during the first investigation.”

“Oh, right! I have a bunch of charts and stuff for you, but basically it boils down to some spiked EMF readings, indicating there was something there, but nothing definitive. I think we can safely say something is causing havoc. We just don’t have solid proof. Yet.”

I pursed my lips. “All right, but you know I don’t care about proof. I just want it to leave us alone.”

Ian’s smile soured. “Of course. I’m working on it.”

“I know.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Thanks. I really do appreciate everything.”

He pulled me toward him and kissed my cheek. “You’re welcome. Any time. I’ll call you about dinner.”

I nodded and, trying not to read too much into his kiss, went to get Pyper. Halfway up the stairs, I spotted her coming toward me.

“Ian called already,” she said.

“Okay. Is the door open? I need to get my stuff.”

“Yeah, Kane’s up there.” She winked. “Go easy on him. He isn’t used to anyone but me putting him in his place.”

I laughed.

“See ya.” She squeezed past me and disappeared at the bottom of the stairwell.

A moment later I let myself into her apartment. “Kane?”

“In here.” His voiced carried from his room.

I stopped in the doorway, watching him make the bed. Now that my irritation had worn off, I felt bad I’d snapped at him. Even though he’d kind of deserved it. I really didn’t like to be told what to do. Still, he’d only been being protective. “Sorry I lost it on you earlier. It’s been a rough few days.”

He turned, eyeing me. “It’s all right. I admire women with spunk.”

“I can see that.”

His lips quirked. “Oh? Who have you noticed me admiring?”

“Just Pyper. You two are obviously close, and she has more spunk than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t know. Charlie might give her a run for her money. That girl can run a bar, keep the dancers in check and throw trouble-making losers out on their asses. Between the two of them I don’t know why they need me.”

For the eye candy. I hid a smile. “If Pyper is the club manager and Charlie runs the bar and helps her out, what exactly do you do?”

“I’m supposed to be taking over for Pyper so she can devote her full attention to the café, but my other work keeps me too busy. I should just promote Charlie and leave it all in her capable hands.” He sat down on the bed and kicked off his shoes.

I leaned against the doorframe, enjoying talking with him. “Your other job?”

“Yeah, I’m a financial advisor. Independent contractor, so I set my own hours.”

“That’s interesting. I didn’t know that.” Well, well, well. Mr. Strip Club Owner had a respectable job. Not that it mattered. Hadn’t I already decided I didn’t care what he did for a living while defending him to Kat? Or had I? I still couldn’t see myself dating someone who worked in the sex trade.

Fantasizing about? Appreciating? Drooling over? Yes. But not dating.

The thought brought me back to reality, and I grabbed my bag off the dresser. “I should go. Thanks again for looking after me.”

His eyes met mine. “Any time, Jade. Any time.”

Chapter 7

I scowled at the line snaking its way out the front door of The Grind. What the hell? Usually the place was empty at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. Since I wasn’t scheduled to work and craved a chai, I dragged my feet to the back of the line and waited.

Five minutes later the line had barely moved. I craned my neck to see what was going on inside. A mass of bodies blocked my view. I started to move past the crowd when a petite blonde grabbed my arm. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

Her irritation did nothing to help my already grumpy mood. I stared pointedly at her hand. “Let go.”

“I’m not going to let you cut in line. We were here first.”

A slightly darker blonde clone stood next to her, nodding in agreement.

“You have about two seconds to let go before I make you do it.”

At that moment someone else grabbed my opposite shoulder. I whirled, ripping my arm out of the blonde chick’s grip, and came face to face with Kane.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

The blonde started babbling about line jumping while my irritation rose to startling levels. How dare he interfere? Through my angry haze I didn’t hear what Kane said, but the blonde backed off and reclaimed her place in line.

“Let go,” I said.

He released his grip. “Sorry, I just meant to guide you away from the crazy.”

“I can take care of myself,” I snapped.

The confusion in his eyes made me instantly regret my tone. “Sorry.”

Damn, why did I have to be so cranky? The sex dreams had to stop. Every morning I woke frustrated, and hanging out with Kane didn’t help. I was pretty sure he was the reason I was having them in the first place.

“Rough morning?” he asked.

“Something like that.”

“A chai might help.”

I stared, impressed he remembered my drink of choice. He didn’t miss anything. “I can’t—out of time to wait any longer. I have to get to the glass studio. I have a class starting today.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll have it done before you know it.” He guided me into the café, ignoring my protests.

“Thank God,” Pyper said when she spotted us. “We’ve had one tour group after another this morning. Jade, I thought you had class this morning.”

“She does,” Kane said as he joined her behind the counter. “She needs a chai before she goes.”

Pyper immediately started fixing my drink.

I protested, but neither of them paid any attention and wouldn’t let me pay. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

Pyper smiled. “There have to be some perks to this thankless job.”

As I left I sent the blonde clones a sickly sweet smile and toasted them with my cup. It was a petty thing to do, but for some reason I couldn’t shake my mood, even after Pyper and Kane had been so kind. I quickened my step, hoping to walk off some tension. Otherwise, teaching would be a disaster.

I cleared my mind and imagined holding a glass rod in my hands. Melting glass was my passion. The first time I’d lit a torch and introduced the glass into the flame, everything else in my life ceased to exist. I focused on that feeling, letting everything else go. My shoulders relaxed, as the tension eased.

For years, making beads had been my sanctuary. I didn’t know if it was the concentration required when working with molten glass or the mesmerizing flame, but when focused on a piece, I didn’t feel anyone’s emotions. No one’s but mine. It was a gift I cherished.

I arrived a half hour early and went to work prepping torch stations. The eight-week beginner’s course was designed to teach students how to set up a studio, understand the properties of working with glass and master the art of round beads. How advanced we got in technique all depended on how fast the class progressed.

At eight-forty the bell indicating a visitor rang. Pulling the door open, I said, “You’re a little bit early, but…”

The older woman from The Herbal Connection stood in front of me, casually dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. If it hadn’t been for her light energy invading my senses, I wouldn’t have recognized her.

“I’m sorry, dear. I hope I’m not an imposition.” She wore a pleasant smile.

“Oh no! I’m sorry. Come in. I was just surprised. It’s Bea, right?”

She nodded, peering thoughtfully at me like she had the first time we’d met. “I was hoping I’d run into you again.”

I wasn’t. Had she known I was the teacher here? I bit back the frown threatening my lips and smiled. “Would you like some coffee while you wait?” I gestured toward the snack counter. “I only have decaf. I stopped serving the caffeinated kind after students got too jittery. Shaking hands and hot glass are never a good mix.”

Her arm brushed mine as she moved toward the coffee carafe. She paused. “No need to be nervous. I don’t bite.”

Had she read me, or was my mental state just that obvious? I busied myself, arranging work stations until the bell rang again. I practically ran to let the other students in.

The first hour of the class I spent lecturing on proper safety procedures involving the torches, propane lines and eyewear. After answering all their questions on setting up a home studio, we got started. The group took to the techniques faster than any of my other classes. By the third hour I found myself relaxed and thoroughly enjoying myself. Bea turned out to be the star of the class, mastering the lessons first.

“Done!” she exclaimed, proudly holding up her bead.

I carefully took the cool end of the metal mandrel she’d used to wind her bead on and admired it. “Wow, you did an excellent job. Perfectly round, with even dots spiraling around it. Okay, someone open the kiln so we can get this beauty in there.”

A young woman, just barely eighteen, jumped up and held the metal door open for me. I slid the mandrel in, beaming at Bea. “Okay, make another one. Then you’ll have a pair.”

Bea settled back into her chair, intent on her task. I scanned the rest of the class and found they too were almost finished and doing quite well. I wondered if Bea’s energy had anything to do with it. Pure white essence mixed with a calmness and joy radiated from her, circling everyone in the room, including myself. It’s typical for people’s moods to affect each other, both good and bad. I’m in a unique position to witness it firsthand. Despite my impulse to stay away from Bea, I found myself undeniably drawn to her.

“Bea! Look, I did it!” Sandy, the eighteen-year-old, exclaimed. She held her mandrel up. “It’s not as nice as yours, but at least it’s round.”

“It’s beautiful, Sandy,” Bea said from the station next to her. She rolled her chair back and held the kiln door open. “Put it in next to mine, and then get another one made. Next week, Jade will show us how to make earrings.”

Sandy grinned and did as instructed.

I nodded an acknowledgement at Bea, thankful for her help, as I instructed another student on adding molten glass to her bead.

Before long I stood in front of the work stations, calling the class to order. “Excellent first day!” Pride radiated off them. “Next week when you come in, I’ll have the very first beads you ever made. Don’t worry about how they look.” Though I already knew they were much better than any of my other students. “Whatever they look like, we’re going to turn them into a piece of jewelry just for you. Think about how cool it will be to tell anyone who asks where you got that fantastic jewelry—you can say, ‘I made them, even the beads.’”

A cheer went up, and the class dispersed.

“Thanks for your help,” I said to Bea.

“Me? I didn’t do anything.” Her smile gave her away.

“Right. Okay, but thanks all the same.”

“You’re welcome. Since you seem to think I did you a favor, I’m wondering if you can do something for me in return?”

I waited.

“Come have tea with me sometime after class when you’re free. There’s something I’d like to show you.” Her face gave off nothing, and suddenly her energy vanished.

“Mysterious.” I gazed at her. Very unusual. Bea hid her emotions from me as if by will, but all day I noticed her energy putting the students at ease. It could be a dangerous combination if she really did have control over what she was doing, and I was certain she did. However, I hadn’t felt anything but pure white light from her, a sign of goodness. I had to admit, I was intrigued. So what if she was a practicing witch? It wasn’t as if she had asked me to join a coven. And if she did, I’d walk away.

Besides, she seemed too pure to be a witch. I didn’t have a clue what she was. “All right.”

Her white light brightened with my agreement. “Wonderful! I can’t wait.” She waved goodbye as she headed toward the door.

I sat down, exhausted and contemplated heading home to take a nap. The idea sent my heart racing. Ian hadn’t shown up with the protection wards yet, and I really didn’t want to face the possibility of more ghost sightings. I hadn’t seen or felt anything the night before, but I’d slept like the dead (if the dead dreamed of hot guys, that is). A whole room of ghosts could have been loitering and I wouldn’t have noticed.

Sliding my protective glasses on, I picked up a flint striker and lit my torch. The familiar orange flame calmed my pulse as I picked up a rod of glass and introduced it to the heat. My attention focused as the glass formed a soft, molten ball. Soon all other thoughts left my head as I pulled thin strands of glass to use later as decoration. With my work station full of prep, I grabbed a steel mandrel and started creating a complicated focal bead.

Hours later, after packing my kiln full of beads, I organized my work station and cleaned up glass scraps until the work surface shined. A true testament to how much I didn’t want to go home. Organization was not my middle name. With a sigh, I turned out the lights and headed home.

Walking past the line formed in front of Wicked, I waved to one of the dancers standing out front and entered the side door. With nervous energy making me nauseous, I forced myself up the three flights of stairs. Please let the ghost be taking the night off.

As I slid my key into the lock, a note taped to the door caught my attention.

Jade, if you need to, for any reason, come on down to Pyper’s apartment. I’ll be there. Kane.

A silly grin broke out on my face. For any reason? I’d keep that in mind. Feeling a weight lifted, I entered my apartment and flipped the lights on. I peered around the room. Everything looked calm. Still hesitant, I stepped inside, let my guard down and tapped into the emotional energy. Nothing unusual. Too be sure, I circled my apartment three times. Faint waves of familiar comfort washed over me, and I knew nothing lingered except traces of my own essence. I sighed in relief and got ready for bed.

Not long after I pulled the covers back and snuggled in, the dreaming started.

My eyes flickered at a movement and I sat up, startled. Across the room a man leaned against the window frame, unbuttoning his shirt as his pale blue eyes searched mine.

Automatically I covered my bare chest, feeling exposed and aroused at the same time. His familiar energy engulfed me, and my breath caught. Finally, I could put a face to my dream lover.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he ran a hand through his tousled, sandy brown hair and moved toward me. He reached out, soothing the side of my face.

Tingling with the caress, I clasped my hand over his and leaned back.

“Join me,” I urged.

Watching as he stepped out of his jeans, I inhaled sharply at the sight of his well-defined thighs. His thumbs reached the elastic of his boxers, slowly sliding them over the concave of his hips. My eyes fixated on his silhouette as he stood there completely exposed, adoration streaming off him.

His obvious love filled me with a heartbreaking tenderness as his eyes roamed slowly down my body and back up again. The action reminded me of someone carefully memorizing every detail. With a slow, seductive smile, he lowered himself and caressed my hair, fanning it out behind me on the pillow. I reveled in the silky smooth sensation, losing myself. When his hand finally stopped he leaned in close, his warm mouth hovering over my own. Too impatient to wait longer, my hand shot out, pulling his head down the last few inches and tasted the sweet warmth beneath his lips.

A small sigh turned into a gasp as he jerked back, his surprise and anger filling my senses. Intense jealousy blocked his emotions, startling me. My senses followed the stream, and I found Kane, his fists raised, standing just behind my lover. Realization dawned. Kane had pulled the man off me.

With my heart pounding, my eyes flew open. Moonlight spilled through the darkness of my empty apartment.

***

The next day, Ian arrived with dried herbs. He mounted them near my front door and balcony window then took off to do the same for the club. He’d said his aunt had put them together and invoked them to ward off evil. I hoped Auntie knew what she was doing. Not just anyone could invoke a charm.

After two ghost-free days I decided the ghost repellent was working and took an afternoon off from the glass studio to work on my Etsy website. It had been too long since I’d updated it. I set my laptop up on the balcony and settled in for some serious photo editing. After a few dozen or so pictures my mind started to wander.

A small smile played at my lips as I recalled the X-rated dreams I’d continued to have. They started out exactly the same, with the sandy-haired, blue eyed man I now referred to as Mr. Sexy appearing at my bedside. His light-as-a-feather touch sent my senses into overload, simultaneously relaxing me and sending electric shock waves through my veins. But each time as Mr. Sexy leaned in, intent on replacing his fingers with his lips, Kane appeared.

In that instant, Mr. Sexy evaporated and Kane replaced him. His roving hands and eager lips set off my already primed body with a passion so fierce and memorable, all of my past real-life experiences paled in comparison. Though to be honest, I didn’t have a lot to compare it too. Dan happened to be one of only two people who had actual carnal knowledge of my body.

Heat rose to my face as I recalled the intimate details of my dream. Who knew my subconscious could be so imaginative? And with two men. Too distracted to work, I hauled my laptop inside and went to the kitchen, searching for a bottle of wine. I knew I’d brought a few bottles with me from Kat’s house. I’d emptied one, but where had I put the other? Ah, yes, in the suitcase I hadn’t yet emptied. Leaving it close to the closet was good enough, right?

Inside, I found an unopened cream envelope. I picked it up, reached for the wine bottle sitting in the middle of the bag and headed back to my kitchen.

After uncorking the bottle, I poured a glass and sat on my couch, fingering the neat scrawl of my name in Kat’s handwriting. I took a sip of the rich cabernet and pulled the card out. Two women huddled close on the front, with a single word at the top. Girlfriends.

A gift-card-sized envelope fell out as I opened it. Kat’s handwritten note read:

Jade, I know things have been difficult with the “situation,” but I want you to know you’re my best friend, and no man will ever change that. I love you, Kat.

P.S. Put the label on your bathroom door. Every girl needs privacy.

Searching the envelope, I found the black and white label. No Ghosts Allowed.

I laughed, remembering our ghost speculation the night before I’d moved out. Kane had said it was haunted, but none of us had taken him seriously.

The thought wiped the grin from my face. I ripped the gift card open and found a generous gift certificate to a local home furnishing store. Tears sprang to my eyes. I’d let my feelings about Dan get in the way of our friendship. I hadn’t heard from or spoken to her since we’d argued that day in the cafe. While I wasn’t mad anymore, I was disappointed. In her quest to remain Switzerland between Dan and me, she’d all but shut me out.

I reread her card, letting the words sink in and then grabbed the phone. Her voicemail picked up on the third ring.

“Kat, I just found your card and am calling to say thank you. I’m sorry about our fight. It’s not fair to put you in the middle of me and Dan’s B.S. Call me so we can make plans to spend this ASAP. I love you, too.” Setting the phone down, I wiped the fresh tears from my eyes and headed back for my wine. On the way I picked up the No Ghosts Allowed label. Snickering, I placed it in the middle of my bathroom door.

“Do you see that, ghost? You are not allowed in the bathroom. Some things are private.” I retreated back to the couch, and an image near the window made me spin. I gasped. A vague, shadowy, outline grew stronger until a man, a man I recognized stood near my window. Mr. Sexy.

Oh. My. God. My dreams were haunted by a ghost. I stood paralyzed, transfixed, waiting. Our eyes met and Mr. Sexy’s lips quirked up. Then he dissipated.

I ran to the phone and dialed, still staring at the place he’d vanished from.

“He’s back,” I said into the receiver.

“The ghost?” Ian’s voice climbed an octave higher.

“Yes. I just saw him.” Draining my glass, I wondered what I should say. I’d been having dream-sex with my ghost? I reached for the wine bottle.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. He just appeared then left.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think so. Just a little freaked out.” I sat down, afraid I might fall.

“Understandable, but he sounds harmless enough. That kind of apparition is pretty tame. What happened right before he appeared?”

“Uh, I spoke to him. Told him to stay out of the bathroom. You know, privacy.”

Ian chuckled. “That’s what you get for talking to him. If I were a ghost, I’d follow you in there too.”

“Perv.” I cleared my throat. “You really think there isn’t anything to worry about?”

“Probably not. He likely appeared because you spoke to him. As long as nothing sinister is happening and you don’t feel threatened, it should be fine.”

Threatened? Not exactly. More like invaded. “Okay, but will you be around later if I need you?”

“Sure. Do you want me to come over?”

I mulled it over for a minute. I really did want to relax and work on my online store, but at the same time I knew any hope of concentrating was shot now. “Do you want to come watch a movie?”

“Sure. Give me about forty-five minutes, and I’ll be over. Want me to bring a DVD?”

“Yes, surprise me.” I didn’t really care what we watched. I just didn’t want to be alone. “And if you have any more ghost repellent, bring it too.”

“Will do.”

I sat rigid on the couch. A ghost invaded my dreams. How was that possible? I’d seen an outline of him before in my apartment, but not a detailed one. It couldn’t just be my subconscious. I’d never seen him before.

Shaking my head, I recalled the very real feeling emotions of Mr. Sexy. Every day I let my guard down in the apartment and didn’t feel his intense emotions while awake. Only while dreaming. I shivered. If he did visit me in my dreams, did he stick around to witness my intense and very private scenes with Kane? I didn’t think so. In those scenes the only emotions I remembered were Kane’s, which felt just as real.

Lowering my head to my hands, I rubbed my temples. Kane certainly wasn’t a ghost, and I dreamt of his emotions too. Dreaming while reading emotions was something I’d never experienced before. I’d just thought it was a new dimension in my dream world. Now I didn’t know what to think. I guessed it was possible Mr. Sexy visited me in my dreams, and then my subconscious took over, pushing him out and replacing him with Kane—the one I actually wanted to be with.

Should I tell Ian about the dream visits? What would I say—that I spent my nights getting intimate with my ghost until Kane showed up and things got even more imaginative? God, no! I could barely even think about my dreams without heat burning my cheeks. They were like nothing I’d ever experienced before and way more intimate than anything I’d ever shared with anyone, including my two ex-boyfriends.

Maybe I could just tell him Mr. Sexy appeared in my dreams and leave Kane out of it all together. I sighed heavily. I didn’t want to talk about any of it, but if I wanted help, I’d have to.

***

The alarm buzzed at four-thirty a.m., and the springs creaked as Ian rolled over. I slid out of bed, eyeing the coffee maker. I bypassed it and tiptoed my way to the bathroom. I could get coffee at the café, but I just didn’t function well until I’d had my first cup.

After showering, I spent ten minutes applying a bit of makeup and arranging my wet hair into a bun. When I emerged I found Ian upright, his hair tousled, sipping fresh coffee.

“Oh, you are a god!” I squealed and pivoted to pour my own cup of glorious java.

“Not the response I anticipated, but I’ll take it.” He smiled.

I grinned and took in his very cute bed head look. “Sorry I had to wake you so early.”

“No problem. I need to head home and get ready for work anyway.” He fished around, searching for his shoes.

“They’re over here.” I pointed to the end of the bed. “Did you sleep okay?”

He slipped his feet in the unlaced Vans. “Yep, like a baby. You?”

“Best night’s sleep since I moved in.” I hadn’t dreamt of Mr. Sexy or Kane, to my immense relief. I’d die of embarrassment if Ian heard me call out in my sleep for another man—if I did, in fact, call out in my sleep. Judging by the intensity the dreams held, I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Good, glad I could help.” He picked up the movie we never got around to watching. We’d been too busy discussing my ghost and—once I’d gotten over my intense embarrassment—the dreams. He’d been amused and highly curious about the new turn of events. He’d heard of dream hauntings before, but not any of the sexual nature. He promised to check into it further.

“Maybe next time.”

“Yeah, next time,” he agreed.

“If you’re ready I’ll walk you down. Maybe grab you a muffin from the café?”

“Sure.” He followed me to the door.

I stopped just before opening it. “Thanks, Ian. I had a good time.”

“My pleasure.”

I leaned in and kissed his cheek. He winked and followed me down the stairs.

“Hey, I forgot to ask, did you finish with the results of the reading you did the other night?”

“I was going to finish up last night, but I got distracted.” He grinned. “Tell you what, I can get them done today and bring you a copy tomorrow. Maybe we can finally get that dinner date in?”

“That’d be great.” I smiled up at him.

“But it the mean time, you can do some research. Look for past residents of the building. See if you can find information about anyone who died here. Especially if it wasn’t a natural death. A suicide, accident, murder…that kind of thing.”

“Why?” I stopped on the bottom stair.

“If we find out who it is, we might have a better idea what he’s doing here and how best to get rid of him.”

Suddenly, I felt unsettled at the thought of my ghost’s possible gruesome death. I didn’t notice Kane until his irritation filled my energy field. I stiffened and turned around. “Kane?” I stood to one side, watching him.

“Jade, Ian.” His eyes narrowed at Ian, taking in his appearance. Jealously swarmed around us, and I had to hide a smile.

“You’re up early,” I said.

“Up late.” Kane locked the door to the club. Turning to Ian, he said, “You seem to have had a late night as well.”

Ian shrugged.

Kane’s face stayed neutral, but his emotions spiraled out of control. Anger, jealousy and maybe even a little pain swirled together.

The pain made me pause. I put a hand on his arm. “Everything okay?” The touch sent a shiver through my entire body, and I felt him flinch slightly.

“Fine, just tired. I’m headed up to bed. See you later.” He turned without another word and took the other set of stairs leading to Pyper’s apartment.

“What was that about?” Ian asked.

“No idea. Come on, let’s get you that muffin.”

We arrived at the café just as Pyper turned the lights on.

“Good morning,” I sang.

“Morning to you, too. New employee?” She gestured to Ian.

Ian laughed. “No, not today, anyway. I was promised a muffin.”

“In that case, take your pick.” She waved him to the trays on a rolling rack.

Ian grabbed a double chocolate and pulled out some dollar bills.

“No, no. I got it covered. Thanks again, Ian. I really appreciate everything.” I leaned in giving him a big hug. “I’ll call you later.”

He bent down and kissed my cheek. “You better.” He waved to Pyper and left out the back door.

“Oh my God!” Pyper exclaimed.

“What?”

“The schoolboy had a sleepover? Kane is going to freak.” Mischief danced in her eyes.

“What? Why will Kane freak?” I asked, clocking in.

“Because, silly, he’s the one who wants the sleepovers.”

“Since when?” It’s not like he’d asked me out or anything.

“Since the day he set eyes on you. How was it?” Curiosity and anticipation dominated Pyper’s energy.

“How was what?”

“’How was what?’” she parroted. “Your night with Ian. Come on, dish!”

“We didn’t have a sleepover in that way. My ghost paid me a brief visit yesterday, and I called Ian about it. He ended up coming over and stayed so I didn’t freak out. We just talked and slept. It was all rather boring actually.”

Her face fell. “The ghost?”

“Don’t worry, nothing happened. Just a minor apparition.”

“That is rather boring. At least Kane won’t have to worry.”

I laughed. “Well…he did see Ian leaving with me this morning.”

Pyper joined in my laughter. “Oh yeah, this is gonna get interesting.”

Chapter 8

At nine o’clock I grabbed a muffin and headed to the back for a short break. Just as I took my first bite, the back door squeaked. Kane walked in, with a calm almost Zen-like energy.

“Good morning again. I thought you’d still be sleeping,” I said.

He shrugged.

“You’re not stoned, are you?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His expression implied I’d lost my mind. “Of course not. Let’s see what you look like after three hours of sleep.”

I gazed at him, taking in his dark, wavy, fresh-from-the-shower hair. He looked as if he’d just had a full night’s worth of sleep. “You look great. I was referring to your mood.”

Pleasure and a heavy dose of desire flowed from him as his lips turned up in a half grin. “Great, huh?”

I nodded. With full knowledge of his attraction to me, my bravado came out in full force. “Every woman’s dream.”

He paused, studying me. “Even yours?”

“Maybe.” I met his eyes. His energy remained steady, like a cool stream.

He moved closer, stopping just in front of me. “Who else do you dream about, Jade?”

My breath caught as my pulse sped up. I was outclassed and not experienced enough for this game. But that didn’t stop me. Smiling, I raised an eyebrow. “Unfair question, Kane.”

“Maybe, but you’re the star of my dreams these days. I’m just wondering if Ian has a role in yours, or is he a distraction?”

His mocha eyes transfixed mine. The breath left my lungs as I sat motionless, mesmerized.

“The star?” I asked when my breathing resumed. “Who are the supporting characters?”

“Unfair question.”

“Then you don’t need to know who else has roles in mine.” I smirked.

He narrowed his eyes, and a predatory grin broke out on his face. He leaned in close to mine and whispered, “I’ll find out.” Before I could respond he retreated out the back door.

“Wow.”

***

I slowed my steps as I entered the club, unsure if I wanted to see Kane or not. Okay, I wanted to see him. Who wouldn’t? But after the morning’s interlude I didn’t know what to say. I took a deep breath and knocked.

A muffled, “Come in,” answered.

I made my way inside.

“Jade, what can I do for you today?” Charlie asked from behind the desk as I flopped into a folding chair across from her.

“I was looking for Pyper.” Or Kane, but my stomach got jittery just thinking his name. “Have you seen her?”

She shook her head. “No, I think she actually went to get some sleep.”

“Really? I didn’t think she ever slept.” I fiddled with the notebook in my lap. “I’m glad to hear it. I was hoping to research some documents, but since she isn’t here I guess I’ll come back.” I stood up, but Charlie held her hand up in a stop motion.

“Hold on. I have access to records. What do you need?”

“Would it be all right if I take a look at who might have rented my apartment in the past? Do they have those records?” I filled her in on Ian’s suggestion to try to identify the ghost.

“It’s like a mystery.” Charlie got up and headed to the door. “Come on, the files are in the storage room.”

I followed her into the hallway. She fumbled with a ring of keys, outside the room where I’d gotten my used furniture.

“There are files in here as well?” I didn’t remember seeing any.

Charlie nodded. “There are now. They used to live in one of Pyper’s closets until you took some of that old furniture.”

We walked in, turned the light on and found a mound of bankers file boxes stacked next to the door, barricading us from the rest of the room.

“I guess she was in a hurry,” I said and coughed from the disturbed dust. “Thanks Charlie, I can take it from here.”

She sat in an old thread-worn chair and grabbed the box closest to her. “I can help.” Opening it up, she pulled a stack of papers out.

“You don’t have other work you need to do?” I didn’t want to get her into trouble.

She shrugged. “Sure, but helping you is a lot more entertaining, and I can hear the phone from here if anyone calls.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, pleased to have some company.

I couldn’t get around the large pile of boxes to dig out another chair, so I flopped my butt right down on the floor. Charlie smirked. I shrugged as if to say, “oh, well” and pulled the nearest box to me. As I searched through the piles I said, “I didn’t know you worked in the office. Did you get promoted?”

“No. I just help out Pyper sometimes. She does way too much, as I’m sure you know. I don’t mind, and I get along with the girls. Or most of them, anyway,” she said sheepishly.

I raised my eyebrows.

“A few are exes.” She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Never date a coworker.”

“Okay, I won’t date you.” I smiled innocently.

“Damn.”

“It’s your rule.”

“I’m willing to break it.” Charlie leaned in and leered before chuckling.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” I giggled. The girls around here could do worse than Charlie. Glancing at the paper in my hand, I asked, “Do you have any others that date back a little farther? These are all from this year.”

Charlie shook her head. “I don’t know if Kane will have those records.”

“Really?” I said, surprised. “It looks like he keeps everything.” I waved to the mountain of boxes in front of us.

“He does. This is all from this year alone.”

“Where are the rest?”

Charlie glanced up, dusting her hands off. “These are it. Didn’t you know? Kane just bought this place last year.”

I stopped scanning the papers and gave her my full attention. “No. For some reason I just assumed he and Pyper have had this place for a while now. Have you been here longer than that?”

“Wow, Jade, you really don’t know the scoop, do you?”

I shook my head. “Apparently not.”

“Did you know Pyper’s been managing this place for about five years?”

I nodded.

“Pyper is very dedicated to the girls, and last year the owner started demanding some new services, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t know, but I could take a guess. So I nodded again, getting really curious.

“As you can imagine, Pyper didn’t take kindly to that suggestion, so she basically told him to shove it. He didn’t like that too much and one night, the two of them got into it. Pyper was giving him a piece of her mind. Roy, the former owner, got a little physical. Kane was here and laid the guy out flat.”

“Really?” My mind flashed back to the night Kane removed Dan from the club. Enjoying the mental image, I smiled to myself.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Charlie gave me a rueful smile.

I giggled nervously and felt my face flush. “What happened after Kane knocked the guy out?”

“Roy had Kane banned from the premises and threatened to press charges. He went to the police and everything. Pyper was a mess, threatening Roy daily. Can’t you just see her, that tiny body standing in the office doorway, telling Big Old Roy how she was going to remove his balls with her bare hands? He would stand there six feet, two inches tall, always with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. She shot daggers at him with her eyes, and he’d growl at her. But she never backed down. We use to joke that if Roy went missing, Pyper would be the prime suspect.” Her grin widened. “We used to pray for it, actually.”

“Why didn’t she just leave?” I couldn’t imagine staying in such a toxic environment.

She shrugged. “He was determined to turn this place into a whorehouse. Pyper was determined to protect the girls.”

I stared up at her, blinked, and asked the question I was dying to know. “This place has never been more than what it seems on the surface?”

Charlie tilted her head. “It depends on what you mean by ‘what it seems.’”

I shrugged. “Just a strip bar.”

She smiled a wide devilish grin. “You have no idea what goes on in a regular strip bar, do you?”

The heat burned my neck. I shifted my eyes away toward the back of the storage room. “No, not exactly. But I can imagine,” I said as she hooted with laughter.

“God, you are something else. How did you ever end up working here?”

Unashamed, I said, “Pyper asked me to.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Me too.”

My eyes widened. “You didn’t, I mean, uh, you don’t work here for the benefits…?” Shit. I’d probably just offended her. Convinced my head would burst into flames from embarrassment, I stared at the file in my hand.

There was silence for a few beats. When I glanced in Charlie’s direction she threw her head back and laughed until the tears streamed down her face. Gasping for breath, she said, “Christ.”

I raised my head and let out the breath I’d been holding. “I’m glad you find me so humorous.”

Finally pulling herself together, Charlie wiped her eyes with a tissue I handed her from my purse. Still smiling, she reached out and grabbed my hand. “I’m so glad Pyper found you.” Her touch was light and friendly. “And no, I didn’t take the job for the benefits,” she dragged out the word “benefits” for emphasis. “But it’s a nice perk.” A cat-like grin took over her face as her pale green eyes sparkled.

I sent her a tentative smile and squeezed her hand before letting go. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can be a little bit blunt.”

“A little bit? That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. Don’t worry,” she added, seeing my frown. “When you spend your whole life surrounded by women, a little directness is a great thing.”

“Uh, thanks.” We fell silent as we shuffled through the piles in front of us. Then I remembered. “You were telling me how Kane came to own this place?”

“That’s right, you distracted me.” She set the papers in her hand to one side. “But I have got to get something to drink first. You want anything?”

Nodding, I gave her my standard chai tea order and grabbed the next box as she strode out the door. I spent ten minutes going through more employee files. I knew everyone in the stack except the last one. It read: Charlene Keller; Lead Server.

“Huh, I wonder who that is. Charlene, Charlene.” I pictured all four cocktail servers standing up against the bar. My mind locked in on Charlie leaning against the back counter, giving them instructions, and I started to laugh. Feeling slightly dense but amused, I put the file aside and spotted one more box a few feet away.

I stood, dusted off my rear and sat in Charlie’s chair. Out of nowhere, agitation coursed through my veins. Where was this coming from? Gritting my teeth, I tried fruitlessly to build my defenses back up. The poison completely took over, burning a trail as it filled my soul with gut-wrenching hate. I doubled over and slid out of the chair. As I lay on the floor shaking, the venomous emotions began to fade.

Mentally bruised, I forced myself to my feet, glanced at the last remaining box and ran. The storage door slammed behind me. I propped myself against the hallway wall and took deep calming breaths to collect myself. Whoa. That was creepy. I’d never come across a piece of furniture as emotionally charged as that one. It made me want to sage smudge myself. With a shudder, I headed to the café in search of some more uplifting emotional energy.

Charlie was standing at the counter, talking to Pyper when I entered The Grind. Charlie handed me my chai and after a long sip, I let out a loud, “Ahh.”

“Oops. I must have been longer than I thought,” Charlie said.

“No, not that long. I just needed a break.” I turned to Pyper. “How about you? I could help out here if you need me to.”

Her smile didn’t reach her dark, tired eyes. “No, you’ve worked enough today. I have it covered.”

“Isn’t Holly here?” I asked, craning my head to look in the back.

“Sure.” Pyper glanced toward the tables in the front. “She’s interviewing someone.”

I spotted her sitting with a pretty brunette.

“College girl?”

Charlie nodded and turned her head toward them. “Fresh potential.” Her term for possible lesbians.

Pyper laughed, and I rolled my eyes.

“Come on, Charlene.” I tugged her arm. “You were helping me with a project, if I recall.”

Pyper snickered as Charlie’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You shouldn’t have left me alone with the files for so long if you didn’t want me to find out your real name,” I said.

“Shit. Don’t ever breathe a word of this.” She fell into step beside me.

I laughed then nodded toward Pyper as we walked back into the club. “I thought she was sleeping.”

“Me too. I told her we’d take care of the café and she should go back up, but she said she couldn’t sleep, so she figured she should be useful.” Charlie raised her hands, palms up. “I don’t know what else to do, but she sure looks like she needs some rest. If I didn’t know better I’d say she was on speed. But that isn’t her style.”

“If I was Pyper, I’d have to take speed to keep up with what she does. I don’t know how she handles it all without having a psychotic episode.”

“Me either.”

“I’m done looking at those files for now,” I told Charlie as I dropped into the folding chair in front of the desk.

“Did you find anything useful?” She picked up the phone.

I shook my head and waited for her to retrieve the messages. After she hung up I said, “But I still want the scoop. How exactly did Kane end up owning this place?”

“More than just idle curiosity?” She eyed me with her eyebrows raised.

I gave a noncommittal head shake.

“You could do worse.”

“I don’t have anything going with Kane.”

“Not yet,” she said.

When I didn’t respond, she shrugged and told me the story. The police had shown up at Kane’s door with questions. He cooperated, and the DA decided it was frivolous and not worth his time to pursue the charges. Roy filed a civil suit and then promptly told Kane he would be willing to settle out of court and let the whole thing go, as long as the price was right. Considering there were more than a handful of witnesses who saw Kane pull the first punch, a civil suit wasn’t looking so good in Kane’s favor. No one saw Roy threaten and hit Pyper—that happened in the office. It was after Kane saw Pyper and the bruises that he went after him. So Kane offered to settle, apparently a very generous amount. The only stipulation on Kane’s part was Roy had to sell the place to him as part of the deal.

“Had Kane been trying to buy the place prior to that?” I asked.

Charlie shook her head. “I don’t think so. At the time he was still working for some financial company. He just turned all the reins over to Pyper. It’s the best thing that ever happened around here. She’s a great boss.”

I nodded.

“But then a few months later she opened The Grind. I didn’t know it at the time, but the building next door was part of the deal.”

I’d been focused on the bit of information pertaining to Kane and him not being the strip club lord I had imagined. I felt as if a weight had lifted off my heart, and I smiled.

“What?” Charlie asked

“Nothing. I’m just glad things worked out.”

***

The imprint of Kane’s kisses lingered on my swollen tender lips. I stretched, enjoying the ache of well-used muscles. What the hell? Talk about realistic. I must have acted out a majority of the dream in my sleep. My temperature spiked as a few memorable scenes reeled through my brain. Thank goodness I didn’t have a roommate. At least, not a live one.

I scanned the room for any intruding ghosts. All was quiet and apparition-free.

Lying back, I ran my hands the length of my naked body, still tingling with tiny aftershocks from the wicked ways it felt like Kane had touched me. Yep. Definitely the best, most realistic dream ever.

As intense as dreaming of Kane had become, what I found more surprising was how I felt at the beginning of my dreams when I was with Mr. Sexy. I felt safe, loved even. I knew it should have been creepy, considering the ghost factor, but it wasn’t. It was…comforting, until he vanished and Kane took over. Dreams of Kane were anything but comforting. Intense. Hot. Naughty. The mental image of Kane, bare in only his skin, sent new heat to all the right places.

There was only one thing to do. Take another cold shower. The thought had me shivering, and I opted for coffee instead.

As I sipped my java and checked email, my phone rang. No one called me this early. Ever. Not even Gwen when she could somehow tell I was awake. Crap, this could only be bad news.

“Hello,” I said cautiously after recognizing the number to The Grind.

“Thank God. Jade, it’s Pyper. Holly just got sick, and I had to send her home. Is there any way you can come work with me through the lunch shift?”

Bad news, definitely. If I worked today that would be six days in a row at the café.

“Jade? You there?” Pyper asked.

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

The morning flew by in a blur, with long lines of caffeine-deprived tourists and locals alike. Pyper and I worked straight through the morning, and when she finally told me to take a break I almost kissed her with relief.

With my calves screaming from standing in front of the espresso machine, I made a quick getaway to the back room. Unfortunately the one office chair was piled high with files and invoices. I groaned and opted to sit on the much less cluttered countertop. Pyper really needed to hire a professional organizer.

I dug into my daily muffin, washed it down with an iced latte and leaned against the cupboards with my eyes closed. My back ached. I made a mental date with my tub.

The swinging door to the front of the café creaked. “Just a few more minutes, I promise,” I said.

“Take as long as you need,” a deep, husky voice replied.

My eyes flew open, spotting Kane moving toward me. Where had he come from? I jolted up out of my slouch, preparing to leap off the counter, but Kane blocked me, making it impossible. His eyes roamed over my body, as if taking inventory. My stomach fluttered, and I said a silent thanks I was sitting when my knees turned to jelly. Damn.

“Can I help you?” I asked in a stiff, formal voice.

“Sure, any time.” He moved in close.

“Uh, I mean, do you need something? Now?”

“Yes, I do.” He leaned in with his right arm holding his weight on the shelf over my head.

I tried to form the word what, but as his face came closer I lost all rational thought. Wanting to taste him, to feel his lips on mine, I closed the distance between us and was rewarded with the slightest brush of a kiss. Kane’s warm lips lingered on mine while his free hand caressed my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. The kiss swiftly turned heated as our lips parted with urgency. He tasted faintly of mocha and cinnamon. I pressed closer, anxious for more.

My mind stopped working altogether, and I let myself get lost in the delicious intensity of his expert mouth. Unaware of how it happened, my arms and legs somehow wrapped themselves around his waist. He pressed his hips closer, pushing me up against the cupboards.

His excitement became apparent in more than the bulge pressing against my jeans. Intense need, exactly as I dreamt the night before, took over my senses. My blood boiled, and I ached to feel him, all of him. Desperate to regain control, I pulled away.

He took a step back, smiling a devilish grin. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant, but thanks all the same.” He held a sleeve of coffee cups in his right hand. “I stopped in for a second, and Pyper asked me to get these.”

I tilted my head and spotted the inventory of extra cups.

Shit.

Stunned by my recent actions, I sat silent as he gazed at me.

“Kane! What are you doing back there?” Pyper called from out front.

He looked toward the door and then back at me. “We’ll finish this later.”

My breath caught as I started to tremble. That’s what I was afraid of.

***

“Ouch! Son of a bitch,” I yelped.

“Jade, are you all right?” Casey, the studio manager, called from my door.

“Fine. Just burned my arm. Wasn’t paying attention.” I’d been replaying that kiss in my mind. Again.

Sighing, I tossed the glass piece I’d been working on in a bowl of water and reached for the aloe plant. I hissed as I dabbed it on.

“Careful,” Casey said then went back out front.

I stared at the three mandrels in my water bucket. Resigned, I turned the kiln off. I wasn’t getting anywhere. I’d planned on spending most of the afternoon in the studio working on a few orders. Plus, beadmaking usually was a great distraction. Not today, though. I just couldn’t get Kane, that kiss and the dreams out of my mind.

Giving up, I decided to run errands instead and headed for the market.

An hour later I set the grocery bags on my counter. My pants started to sing, causing me to jump. While shoving perishables in the fridge, I grabbed my phone and immediately dumped a bag of oranges on the floor. “Hello?”

“Hey there, stranger,” a masculine voice said as I scrambled to gather the rolling fruit.

“Ian?”

“Yep. Ready for tonight?”

Cradling the oranges in my shirt, I stood and eyed the calendar pinned to the wall. I hadn’t noted any plans. “Tonight?”

“Dinner? The ghost readings report?” He prompted.

“Of course!” Idiot! How could I forget? Thoughts of Kane, his lips, and that hard body, had rattled my brain.

“Great.” He sounded relieved. “I just called to find out if seven is okay?”

“Sure, sounds good. See you then.”

Chapter 9

After a shower, reapplication of my makeup and a thorough blow dry, I smiled in satisfaction. My strawberry-blonde hair had just the right amount of wave, making it appear sophisticated, instead of my usual messy-casual look. It had been a long time since I’d been out on an actual date.

I checked my watch. Still a half hour until Ian arrived. With time to kill, I settled in at my desk and went to work listing new beads in my Etsy store.

I’d gotten two new items uploaded when the knocking started. “Come in, it’s open.” The door creaked. “Is it seven already?”

“No. What happens at seven?”

Startled, I whipped around, knocking my elbow on the edge of my bead tray and sending all my glass creations scattering to the floor. “Damn it!” As they rolled across the hardwood I dropped to my knees, gathering as many as I could before they disappeared under the couch.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Kane crouched, his face now eye level as he helped me. A faint trace of stubble shadowed his jaw.

I fisted one hand, resisting the sudden urge to caress the roughness. “What are you doing here?” I stood and dumped the beads back in the tray.

“What’s happening at seven?”

“Huh?” An image of our last encounter at The Grind made my brain short circuit.

“You were expecting someone at seven?” He rose and handed me the last of the runaway beads.

Right. “Ian’s coming with results.” I walked to my fridge, searching for something to do. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Sure. Guinness?” He sat, making himself comfortable. “You weren’t going to call me?”

“Why?” I passed him the beer, grabbed one for myself and took the other end of the sofa.

He glanced at my high-heeled feet then looked at the ceiling. “To meet with Ian.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t realize you wanted in on the meeting.”

“It is my building.”

“Okay, okay. You’re here now. Stick around, and you can get the results. By the way, why are you here?”

“Just being neighborly,” he said with a wry smile.

“Oh?” I wiped my sweaty hand on the old fabric of the arm rest. “Are you my neighbor this evening?”

He nodded, his smile transforming into a grin. “Looks like it.”

My heart sped up as I imagined him shirtless in bed. Last night’s dream flashed in my mind. I swallowed and studied my beer.

“I stay over a few nights a week, when I work late.” His gaze dropped to my lips. Longing and anticipation swirled around me in a dense fog, pulling me toward him as if I’d been lassoed.

My throat went dry. “I know, you told me.”

A light film of sweat broke out on my neck as he licked his lips, leaned in and whispered, “Jade.”

A rapid knock on the door broke my gaze. Jumping up, I took four steps and opened the door. Ian stood leaning against the door jam, holding a pink, long-stemmed rose. He held it out. “Good evening.”

“Uh, hi, Ian. Thanks.” I took the rose and stepped back, revealing my house guest. Biting my lip, I waved him in. “You know Kane.”

Ian nodded. “Hello.”

Eyeing the rose, Kane raised one eyebrow and leaned back on the couch. “Someone let you in the building?”

A good question, since my buzzer didn’t go off.

“I ran into Pyper out front,” Ian said.

“Kane just stopped by,” I explained as I rooted around for a vase. Coming up empty, I poured out my beer and used the bottle instead. I set the rose next to my computer and buried my nose in the blossom, inhaling its sweet aroma. “Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Kane stood, staring at me for a long moment. Then he walked to the door. “Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude.” He was gone before I could reply.

“What was that about?” Ian asked.

I shrugged. “No idea.” Other than Kane realizing Ian and I had a date. I suppressed a sigh.

“So,” Ian paused. “Anything new to report about your ghost?”

“No.”

He studied me and raised his brow in question. “No new dreams?”

“More dreams—same content.” I’d already told him they were of the sexual nature. He didn’t need anything else. “The dreams are harmless anyway, so I guess it isn’t too important.” Except it was creepy to think of him invading my dreams, especially since while I was having them, I wasn’t creeped out at all. The whole thing was twisted.

“They might be an important clue as to why he’s here. Would it be too awkward to tell me about them?”

I frowned. How could sex dreams be interpreted in any other way than wanting sex? “Can we get to that later?” I stalled. “I’m dying to know the results you got.”

“Sure.” Ian’s face lit up as he sat down on the floor and spread files all around him.

I laughed. “Very professional.”

He grinned. “Take a look at this.” He handed me a photo of my apartment.

“What am I looking at?” I peered at it, seeing nothing unusual.

“Now look at this one.”

I gasped. “Oh, is that him?” The same scene reflected back at me, only this time I was in the photo with a silver outline of what looked like a person standing next to me.

“I’d say so. Here are the rest.” He handed me a small stack. “Remember I told you all we got were some EMF readings here in your apartment?”

I nodded.

“I’d sent this out to be developed and forgot to pick it up. The digital didn’t capture what the manual camera did, so we thought we didn’t have a shadow image. But now we have the proof. Isn’t that great?”

All of the photos without me in them were imageless, and all of the ones with me had a silvery outline image. “I guess.” I frowned. “Does this mean he follows me around?”

“Maybe.” Ian passed a chart of numbers to me. “From the photos it looks like he might, but we have no way to tell if he leaves the apartment or not. It’s possible he has more energy when you’re around, causing the outline.” That scenario didn’t make me feel any better.

He pulled out a chart. “See here?”

Two columns of numbers were lined up side by side. “Uh-huh.”

“Look at how the numbers don’t seem to change much.”

“Okay.” I had no idea where he was going with this.

“The numbers are a reading from an EMF detector. It reads the Electromagnetic Field. We use it to pick up paranormal activity. Do you follow?” Ian glanced up.

“I think so. These numbers are telling you there’s paranormal activity?”

“Yes. That’s the theory anyway. These numbers here—” he pointed again, “—are in the range of four to six. That’s the area we look for. These charts are the readings from before you entered the room and after. See how they don’t change a great deal?”

“So they didn’t change a lot, which means he was likely here but stronger when I entered the room?”

“Exactly.” Ian beamed, no doubt pleased I’d caught on.

“That’s better than the alternative. I’m not crazy about being stalked by a ghost.”

Ian shrugged. “It’s possible he does follow you sometimes. These are just the readings we got that day.”

“Not what I wanted to hear. I’m going to assume he stays here in the building.” It’s what I wanted to believe and let’s face it; the scientific readings hardly seemed, well, scientific. “Did you get any interesting readings in the club?”

Ian started bouncing on his heels, going from excited to downright giddy. “Oh, yeah. Look at these.”

More photos. Again, pictures of the empty club, then pictures of my silver shadow and me.

“Now look at these.” He handed me a third stack.

“Wow, that’s weird. Pyper has a shadow too, but hers is a darker gray. Is that a different ghost?”

Ian shrugged. “I’d bet it is the same one.”

“Even though the outline is a different color?”

“Yes, ghosts take their energy from those around them, so he would appear different depending on whose energy he’s feeding from.”

I nodded. Being in the position to feel and sometimes see people’s energy, I perfectly understood his explanation. “Okay, but why would he be following both of us around?”

Ian shook his head. “Good question. Maybe he thinks she’s sexy.”

A sudden bolt of jealously struck me. I’d come to think of him as my ghost. He invaded my dreams with love and devotion radiating off him each night. So why was he following Pyper around? I knew it sounded crazy, but his emotions were doing a number on me.

Snap out of it, Jade. This is a ghost you’re thinking about. Just a dream lover. A very sexy dream lover.

Kane’s face flashed in my mind, and suddenly I felt like an idiot. Here I was sitting with Ian, my date, and I was jealous of Pyper over a ghost and thinking of Kane.

I put the whole thing out of my mind. “All right, that’s enough ghost talk for now. You ready for dinner?” I asked.

Ian checked his watch. “Yep, our reservation is in twenty minutes.” He got up and held a hand out to me.

***

“You brought me here because it’s haunted?” I sipped from my wine glass and looked around Muriel’s, the famous restaurant Ian had brought me to.

“You haven’t heard the story?”

“No.” I glanced over my shoulder as if I expected a ghost to appear.

Ian laughed. “A lot of the restaurants are said to be haunted. It’s unavoidable with the sordid history of New Orleans.”

“I bet,” I said. “Have you done scientific measurements on any of them?”

“I’d love to, but no, I haven’t had the opportunity.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in. “When I choose a restaurant I always pick one rumored to be haunted, hoping for a sighting.”

A shiver ran up my spine. That was the last thing I wanted after my recent experiences. “Do you ever see any?”

“Nothing definitive, but there have been a few occasions that made me wonder.” Ian’s eyes got big and sparkled with excitement.

“Ever see anything here?” I bit my lip and glanced around again.

“No, but I love coming to check it out. It’s said the guy who built this house lost it in a poker game. Before he turned his home over, he hung himself here. People say he still haunts the place. I’d love to get a glimpse of him.” Ian craned his neck, studying the exposed inner courtyard.

“See anything?”

“No. Not yet.” He twisted around to check behind him toward the front lobby.

I set my almost empty wine glass down and signaled to the waiter for more. Great. Just what I needed. A ghost hunting exposition. A small sigh escaped my lips.

When the waiter came back, I had him leave the bottle.

Ian spent the entire meal giving me a verbal ghost tour of the supposed hauntings in the French Quarter. By the time dessert was offered I’d had enough. It was a rare evening when I wasn’t tempted by cheesecake. But I didn’t want to continue watching Ian crane his neck, waiting for something unusual to happen. People were starting to stare.

“Ready to go then?” he asked, signing the check.

“Sure. Where to?”

“Frenchmen Street. Let’s walk.” He held out his hand.

I took it and stifled a groan. I didn’t mind walking, really I didn’t. In fact I liked it, except when I have my sexy date heels on.

After seven blocks a blister had formed on my left toe, causing a mild limp.

“Are you all right?” Ian asked.

“Oh sure, just not the best walking shoes.” I grimaced. It was my own fault. Nobody drives in the French Quarter. I made a mental note to buy more sensible shoes. Yeah, right.

Embarrassment washed over him. “I’m sorry, Jade. I didn’t think about that. We’ll take a cab back.”

“Sounds good.”

“You’re gonna love this place,” Ian said when we finally made it to the front of a club. “It’s one of the best places to hear music and maybe catch a ghost sighting.”

Great, just what I wanted to hear. “More ghosts?”

“You never know.” Ian took my arm and led me to a table in a corner. After we placed our drink order, he scooted his chair closer and leaned in. “This is nice, right?”

“Sure.” The music was slow and soulful, successful in bringing people’s emotions to the surface. Mostly they were pleasure-based, but sadness also worked its way in. I put my guards up, wary of being worn down.

Ian slid his arm around my shoulder, letting his fingertips caress my arm. I closed my eyes, enjoying the music and the sensation. This date might still be salvageable.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

Opening my eyes, I smiled. “Thank you. You’re looking pretty good yourself.” Ian had dressed in all black. Black pants, black button-down shirt and black Converse shoes. It worked for him, highlighting his blond hair and clear blues eyes, now staring intently into mine.

“You are the first woman I’ve taken out who really gets me,” Ian whispered in my ear.

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. Most of them don’t understand the ghost thing.”

“As in, don’t believe? Maybe they just don’t have any experiences with them?”

Ian tilted his head. “Probably. But it’s more than that. You accept me for me. That’s rare, you know?”

I did know. More than I could explain. I nodded.

“Most women I meet can’t accept my passion is ghost hunting and not climbing the career ladder. It must be because you’re an artist. Your living isn’t exactly conventional either.”

I laughed. “No, it isn’t. But that can’t be rare in New Orleans?”

Ian moved a lock of hair from my eyes. “No. Not really. There’s something a little bit different about you. I haven’t put my finger on it yet. But I like it. I like it a lot.”

Heat rose to my cheeks, making me grateful for the dim lighting.

Ian brushed his fingers along my jaw line then tilted my face toward his. As he leaned in his eyes flickered slightly toward the stage. “Oh my God!”

I followed his gaze. “What?”

“Do you see them?”

“Who?”

“The two people on the left? The woman and the man? There’s a faint outline of them.”

I squinted, searching the stage. I didn’t see anything. “I only see smoke.”

Ian frowned as he glanced at me.

“Sorry,” I said. Though I wasn’t. While I understood Ian’s excitement, ghosts were not on my list of things I wanted to experience. Enough was enough.

“It’s all right. Maybe they’ll appear again.”

For the next two hours Ian stared diligently at the stage, only speaking to relay tales of previous ghost sightings at the club. After catching me covering up a yawn, Ian reluctantly paid our tab and had the doorman call us a cab.

The ride didn’t take long and within minutes, we pulled up to the corner of Bourbon Street closest to Wicked. As usual, Bourbon Street was barricaded, with the street party in full swing.

“Looks like a busy night,” Ian said, helping me out of the cab.

“Looks like it.”

“I’ll walk you to your building.” He put his arm around my waist, guiding me as I hobbled on my blistered feet.

When we reached the building entrance I stopped. “I think I’m safe from here.”

“Oh, okay then.” His disappointment penetrated my defenses.

“Thank you for the nice evening. Dinner was excellent.” At least, the food and wine was.

Ian smiled. “You’re welcome. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“Sure.” I pulled the door open. “Goodnight, Ian.”

He leaned in, and I automatically turned my head slightly to the left. The kiss landed on my right cheek.

“Night,” I said again. “I’ll talk with you soon.” Before he could say another word I scooted through the entrance door, pulling it closed behind me. Thank God that was over.

“Have a nice date?”

I jumped. “What the hell are you doing? Spying on me?” I glared at Kane.

“Why would I do that?” He backed up in front of the stairwell, effectively blocking me from going to my apartment.

“No idea. But why else would you be skulking in the hallway?”

“I’m not skulking.” Kane crossed his arms, a mix of irritation and amusement floating around him.

I rolled my eyes.

“How long have you been dating Ian?”

“I’m not dating Ian.” What the hell? Who did he think he was? I tried to move past him but he put his arm out, blocking me.

“You just went on a date with him. That’s dating where I come from.”

“Fine, I’m dating Ian.” Irritated, I flung a hand out, gesturing to the stairwell. “Can I go up to my apartment now?”

“I didn’t picture you with a guy like that.” Kane’s eyes stayed level with mine.

“You were picturing me with guys?” I smiled, my irritation replaced by smug satisfaction.

“No.”

“Okay, sure.” My smiled blossomed into a grin. “Excuse me, but these feet are ready for some pampering, so if you’ll kindly move—”

“This was, what, the second date?” Kane asked, still blocking the stairwell.

“What? No. The first,” I said, caught off guard.

“Huh, I must have been mistaken.”

I smirked, remembering the night Ian stayed over. “Why are you so interested?”

“I’m just wondering why.” He shrugged.

“Why what, exactly?”

“Why you’re dating him?”

“Because he asked.” I pushed past him and paused for just a moment. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Chapter 10

Sitting at my computer, I took a big bite of my freshly made omelet. My hangover specialty. I wasn’t nauseous, so I knew it wasn’t really a hangover, but I’d woken up with a headache. Maybe the smoke in the jazz club caused it. More likely, it was Ian and his nonstop ghost hunting. Or possibly the latest dream I’d had—but I didn’t want to think about it.

I went for a second cup of coffee, leaving my breakfast on the desk. As I poured the drink, a loud knock sounded on the door.

Checking the peephole, I bit my lip, took a deep breath and opened the door. “Good morning, Kane.”

“Morning.”

“What’cha got there?” I eyed two paper coffee cups and a pastry bag.

He held a cup out.

I inhaled the sweet honey spice of chai. “You’re my hero!”

“Mission accomplished.” He set the bag on the counter.

“Breakfast, too?”

He nodded.

I picked up the bag and peaked inside. “Chocolate muffins? That’s not breakfast, that’s dessert. You’re sweet, but my breakfast is right there.” I pointed to the desk, trying to behave.

Kane looked to my omelet then back at me. “Aren’t you going to share after I brought you a chai?”

My gaze shifted from the plate to the muffins, and I shrugged. “Sure.” If I was going to be polite and eat the muffin he brought me, I needed to save some room.

I grabbed another fork, returned to my desk and cut a line through the middle of the omelet. “That half is yours.”

“Don’t trust me?” he asked with mock surprise.

After claiming a spot on the couch, I gestured for him to join me. “Nope.”

Kane’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. Damn, that was sexy. My heart melted.

Lost in my own thoughts, I missed what he was saying. “Huh?”

“You forgot your chai.”

“Oh yeah, thanks.” I grabbed the cup and a muffin and reclaimed my seat. “What brings you by this morning?”

“The ghost report.”

Damn it. Why did my life have to be all about the ghost? I sampled my chocolate muffin, and then relayed the information I’d learned from Ian.

“The ghost is attached to Pyper too?”

“I don’t know. He apparently likes her since he showed up in her photos.”

“I better tell her.” Kane got up, taking the plate to my sink.

“All right. See you later.” I waved from the sofa.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Trying to get rid of me? And after I brought you breakfast?”

“Uh, no…I just thought you said you were…never mind.”

“Do I make you nervous, Jade?” Kane walked toward me.

“No.” I stood up, concentrating on the cinnamon flakes in his eyes.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, have dinner with me tonight.” His voice held a bit of a challenge.

“What makes you think I don’t have plans?”

“Considering you ditched your date last night without inviting him up, I’m not too worried.” However, nervous energy radiated off him like static. If I hadn’t had my special ability I’d be thinking he was a smug bastard right about now.

My lips turned up in a little smile.

“Is that a yes?”

“I’m thinking it over,” I said, enjoying myself.

“Hmm, let me convince you.” The nervous energy vanished, replaced by determination and confidence. He leaned in, eyes locked on mine. I stood motionless as one arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. He bent his head, bringing his lips inches from mine. I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing.

His lips brushed mine while his free hand trailed down my bare neck. My body shivered against his, and he chuckled softly. Closing my eyes, I focused on the nerve endings, which sent electric shocks through my body.

“Tonight at eight,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

His lips clasped my lower lip, sucking almost painfully, until a small moan escaped my throat. At the sound he crushed me to him, tongue exploring. I molded my body to his unyielding frame, desperate to be closer. The passion of my nightly dreams sparked a fierce intensity, propelling the aching need deep in my center.

He pulled back. “Eight it is.”

“Huh?” I looked up, dazed and breathless.

“I’ll pick you up at eight for dinner.”

“Right. Dinner.”

Kane leaned in, brushing a soft kiss over my cheek. “Thanks for breakfast.” Then he left.

“Holy Jesus.” I stared at the door. A flash of light to my right startled me. The apparition grew into the shape of a person, glowed to a bright gold, turned red then melted into a blob on the floor before evaporating.

Leaning back, I put a hand over my eyes. “This is too weird.”

Feeling like I was being watched, I headed to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and took off for the studio.

***

Sweat trickled down my back as I fumbled with the key in the doorknob. “Damn it! Come on.” Glancing at my watch, I groaned. Only twenty-five minutes until Kane was due to pick me up.

I’d been grateful for the distraction of the weekly beadmaking class earlier that day. Thank God Bea had been there. Her energy calmed me just enough to be able to teach the class successfully. I really wanted to know how she did that. Maybe I should have taken her up on her invitation. When she’d asked me after class to join her for lunch I’d turned her down. I’d already committed to helping out a fellow glass worker in the hot shop making paper weights and goblets. It had been the perfect thing to get my mind off my ghost and my upcoming date. Unfortunately, I’d completely lost track of time. No way was I going to be ready by eight. Kane would just have to be patient.

At the thought of him I practically swooned. It’s a damn good thing I’d been busy all day. If it hadn’t been for that I’d be ready to explode by now. Who was I kidding? I was a walking time bomb, and just the thought of him lit my fuse.

But first I needed a shower. Maybe a cold one. I taped a note to the door, telling Kane to come in and wait in case I didn’t hear him knocking.

Grabbing my favorite green cotton skirt and a black tank top along with my favorite bra and matching thong, I headed to my bathroom, thinking I’d be quick. However, removing the hair from my legs proved to be more important. My quick bath turned into a longer grooming session than normal.

Stepping out of the shower, I spied the Honey Dust. Unable to resist, I applied it all over with a silly grin on my face. After I was dressed, I poked my head out of the bathroom and spotted Kane relaxing on my couch.

I smiled. “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself. Mighty risky asking me to let myself in while you’re in the shower, don’t you think?” His lips turned into a sly smile.

“No choice in the matter. Sorry I’m running late. Grab yourself something to drink out of the fridge. I’ll be out in ten.” I winked and shut the door. Twenty minutes later, my hair and makeup done, I strolled out of the bathroom.

Kane stood up, gave me an approving glance and kissed my cheek. “Nice. Ready for dinner?”

“Definitely.” I took his hand, and we walked toward the door. As I was closing it, a gust of wind kicked up and slammed it hard. “Oh!” I said, startled. “Must have left the window open.” I turned the key in the lock. “Let’s go.”

Kane fell in step behind me. “No, you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Leave the window open. I closed it while you were getting ready. It looks like a storm might blow through, and I didn’t want you to forget about it.” He opened the door to the street for me.

I stopped in the middle of the doorjamb. “You did? Damn it. That’s twice today.”

“Your door slammed like that twice today?”

“No.” I turned around to face him. “My ghost made two appearances. I don’t think he likes you much.”

“Huh?”

“He appeared after you left this morning, and apparently just slammed the door on us.”

“Did you call Ian?” Kane frowned, unhappiness flowing from him.

“No. I was busy and forgot.” His unhappiness dissipated, replaced by relief. I stared at him, confused. “You don’t want me to call Ian?”

“No, not right now, but if you need to fill him in on the details, I can wait.”

“No, no. I’ll call him tomorrow.” And broach how I could get my ghost to be less active. So far Ian seemed to be all about more ghostly action. I was tired of it.

“Good.” He took my hand and guided me through the crowd of tourists on the side walk. The streets were crowded, and we didn’t talk again until we reached the Bourbon Street Seafood House. He spoke to the hostess, who smiled brightly at him. A moment later we were seated.

“That was impressive,” I said, scanning the large line of hungry patrons waiting for a table. “Do you have a standing table or something?”

He laughed. “Not really. Though I do know some of the staff and depending on who’s working, I can sometimes get seated more quickly.”

I glanced over his shoulder at the attractive brunette taking care of another party. “How do you know her?” I took in her tight, black dress and instantly hated her for the slim, curvy figure it showed off. I frowned and studied the menu in front of me.

“Who?” He followed my gaze as I looked up. Spotting the woman in question, he said, “Just an old friend. I’ve known her for years.”

I nodded, trying to appear unconcerned. But I wondered just how good a friend she was and exactly just how much of her he knew. I mentally shook myself. First, I had no claim on this man, though it was becoming clear to me I wanted one, even if my head screamed it was a bad idea. Second, he’d done nothing to warrant my irrational jealousy.

“Oysters?” he asked.

My lips twitched. “I hear good things about oysters.”

He grinned back. “Never tried them yourself?”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

We sat silent for a few minutes, and then I asked him about his college days. He told me he went to LSU, which is where he met Pyper. He regaled me with wild stories of their college adventures. Mostly they were about Pyper. She’d changed personas as often as she changed boyfriends. And girlfriends, for that matter. In their sophomore year Pyper came out of the closet. In her junior year she went back in and, finally, by senior year announced there wasn’t a closet and dated both men and women.

“And you two were best friends through all that?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“Pretty much.”

My eyebrows rose, and he shrugged. I guessed that was all I was getting. “How did you meet?” I asked.

“She was my neighbor in the dorm our freshman year. She befriended my girlfriend at the time. Eventually they became an item, and I was left in the cold, shunned by the two most beautiful women in the class,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“No!”

“Yep. It’s okay. I had my eye on someone else anyway.”

An hour and a half later, full of oysters, grilled redfish, crab and a shared bottle of wine, Kane paid the bill and led me back onto Bourbon Street. Music blared from nightclubs, drowning out the chatter of the mass of people making their way up and down the street. Kane took my hand, guiding me down a side street away from the crowds. “Would you mind taking a walk?”

The wine had relaxed me considerably, and my hand tingled in his. Even my blistered toe didn’t hurt. “I’d love to.”

He led me down Iberville Street and turned left on Royal. We strolled leisurely, appreciating the architecture, and window-shopped the art galleries and antique stores closed up for the night.

I stopped, studying one building. “Do you ever wonder how the balconies manage to stay in place?” I pointed to the one in front of us. “Look at that one. The balcony is slanted down, and it’s just held on by what looks like L-brackets.”

He chuckled, putting his arm around my waist. “I try not to think about it.”

“Good plan.” We walked a few more feet, his arm still around me. I wondered how the buildings themselves managed to stay upright. Many of them dated back to the eighteenth century and if you looked close enough, you could see the buildings leaning slightly one way or another, or in some cases leaning drastically in one direction. I assumed the buildings themselves held each other up, since they were mostly all connected with shared walls.

My attention shifted to Kane’s hand, which had moved to the small of my back. He stopped beside me, and I did the same, closing my eyes for just a moment to take in the comforting sensation. Kane turned and steered me ninety degrees, causing my heel to stick in the cracked sidewalk.

“Ouch,” I yelped, buckling.

Kane’s quick hands steadied me and kept me from falling. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

“I think so.” I put my foot down, testing the weight on my ankle. Grimacing, I lifted my foot, only applying pressure with my toes. “I don’t think I can walk anymore.” At least, not in high heels.

Concern reached my consciousness before I turned and found it etched on his face. “Sprained?”

“Probably. I need to get some ice on it. Can you call a cab?” I leaned into him.

He reached down and easily lifted me up into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling weightless and very feminine pressed against his chest.

“Uh, okay, but you don’t really think you can carry me all the way back to my apartment, do you?” As romantic as it was, even he couldn’t possibly sustain carrying me that far.

He smiled down at me, “No, just a block.” He took off in easy strides.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

He stopped in front of a beautiful, deep gold Victorian home, trimmed in brick red. I sighed wistfully. “Who lives here?”

He lowered me gently, my body grazing down the front of his. I stood on the top step, both of my hands on his chest. Heat radiated. Leaning toward him, I stumbled and his arms came around me, steadying me once more. “Careful,” he whispered, his breath warming my ear. My eyes unfocused as his lips brushed against my cheek.

“Come on.” He produced a key.

Regaining my senses, I asked, “You live here?”

Nodding, he opened the door and nudged me inside. “We need to get you off your feet.”

I’d forgotten all about my ankle.

The home was a shotgun double. I mentally calculated the cost of such a place in the French Quarter. As I added up the zeros, my chest tightened. I realized I was holding my breath and slowly let it out. I’d known on some level Kane was a man of means, considering he owned a club and building on Bourbon Street. But for some reason seeing his beautiful home made me feel inferior. I’d never had more than just enough to pay my modest rent.

Shaking off the ridiculous feeling, I took in my surroundings. Typical shotgun doubles were originally a type of duplex. The front had two doors, but this place had one covered in shutters, with access to only the left side. It had been converted into a single. The story goes, the homes are named shotguns because a person could open the front door, fire a shotgun and the bullet would sail out the back door without ever hitting any walls. My first glimpse told me this was true. I could see straight through the living room, dining room and kitchen, clear to the garden in the back. Each room was separated by an archway, carved away in the dividing walls. To the right was what I supposed were bedrooms.

“This way.” Kane led me into the pale yellow kitchen and pointed to an island in the middle. “Have a seat.”

I sat, undid my strappy heel and inspected the damage. Not too much swelling, but enough that it would be sore for a few days.

Kane handed me ice wrapped in a towel. “Here, I’ll get you something to drink.”

I waited while he poured a couple glasses of wine. “Trying to get me drunk?”

He grinned. “No, but since no one’s driving…”

“No driving, but walking on this foot, especially while drunk, is likely to permanently maim me.” I picked up the glass anyway.

“I hadn’t planned on you walking anytime soon.”

“Oh, and what were you planning?” I gazed at him through lowered lashes.

“Dessert.”

‘Dessert?”

“Cheesecake, actually.” He pulled a cake plate out of his refrigerator and set it on the counter.

“Oh my God. I think I’m in love.” Cheesecake, wine and Kane all in the same room. I hoped I wasn’t drooling.

Kane paused, mid-slice, and raised his eyes to mine.

Panic seized my brain. “With cheesecake…and wine. I mean, I love both. I’m not in love with it. Obviously.” I cleared my throat. Someone had taken over my mouth. “It’s an expression.”

Kane’s eyebrows rose steadily through my stammering, then his lips quirked as he dished up two plates. Shit. That’s me, the stunning conversationalist. My eyes stayed glued to the dessert, even as he handed me a fork and claimed the stool next to me.

“Cheers.” Kane raised his glass.

“Cheers.” I risked a peek before taking a sip, and then reached for the cheesecake. “Yum, this is wonderful.”

Kane watched me, leaving his plate untouched.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked.

“Eventually. It’s more fun to watch you.”

I smiled and began licking the dessert off the tip of my fork. His gaze dropped to my mouth. Slowly I wrapped my lips around the morsel, careful to get every last bit of creamy goodness. Satisfied I had his full attention, I brought a fresh forkful to his mouth and stopped breathing as he used his tongue to mimic my movements. What I wouldn’t give to be that piece of cheesecake right then.

“You’re right.” I swallowed, trying to clear my dry throat. “That was fun.” My skin prickled with the current of desire sparking through him. Suddenly my whole body pulsed with aching need. Mine and his.

“Jade,” he said, his voice a few octaves lower than normal as he gently pulled me from the chair, sending shockwaves to my most sensitive places. His strong muscular arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me tight to his heated body.

It was too much. Too fast. Everything pulsed. The tender flesh of my neck. My taut nipples. Between my thighs. And he’d barely touched me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, intending for some sort of calm, but failed miserably as his fresh rain scent overwhelmed me. An exquisite tremor ran the length of my limbs, and a small moan escaped my throat as it reached my core.

“God, Jade, I’ve been dreaming about this for days.” Kane pushed me against the counter, his lips hungry and searching as they met mine.

Somewhere in the depths of my mind a wry laugh echoed. If he only knew. Pent-up passion exploded and all coherent thoughts vanished when I ran my greedy hands over his rippled stomach and the concave of his narrow hips.

He pulled back just enough to break the kiss. Passion smoldered in his rich chocolate eyes as we held an intense agonizing gaze. His unguarded raw emotion was like nothing I’d experienced before. Desperate need and hunger overpowered something more vulnerable; an aching desire to know me, all of me, and to be known. To love and be loved. It changed everything. My heart swelled and broke all at once as I recognized the familiar ache. An ache I’d buried long ago.

I reached up, tracing the smooth edges of his freshly shaved jaw line. A tiny shiver raked over his skin, transferring to me as he gently nuzzled a trail of kisses down my bare neck and collarbone. I tilted my head, reveling in the tender moment, until his hands found my hips and he yanked me tight against his hard length. Desperate to be closer, feel more, know more, I lifted my injured leg over his hip and pressed into him.

Kane grasped my thigh, pulling it higher, and ran his smooth hand over my silky skin. His mouth assaulted my neck, nipping and sucking, while his merciless fingers teased the sensitive area of my hip and upper thigh. I writhed between him and the counter and buried my hands in his thick wavy hair, holding on as his thumb inched closer between us toward my heat.

Kane’s kisses turned feather-light and moved up my neck. He paused and whispered, “I want to see you. All of you.”

A new shock of desire rocked my core. All I could do was nod.

In one swift movement he lifted and cradled me against his broad chest, striding from the kitchen to a nearby bedroom. Careful of my foot, he lowered me gently and stepped back, staring with burning intensity.

I licked my lips and struggled to maintain balance in the midst of unsated tension.

“I want to see you,” he said again.

Delicious pain raged in his psyche as he held himself back. He was savoring this moment. It made it that much sweeter. I wasn’t wearing much, just a skirt and tank top over my bra and silk thong, but I took my time lowering the zipper until the skirt fell, pooling around my ankles.

His searing gaze fell just below the hem of my tank top. I struggled to maintain an appearance of calm. Overly heated and wet, I wanted nothing more than to drag him to the bed and wrap myself around him, until everything touched and he’d buried himself inside me.

Instead, my fingers danced around the edges of the cotton tank until he lifted his eyes, silently begging me to continue. Slowly I flattened my hands, gathering the fabric with my thumbs as they moved up over my flat stomach. I paused, cupping my full breasts, watching him as he watched me.

His eyes narrowed as my fingers inched together, pinching one nipple until it stood erect beneath the lace fabric of my bra.

His control, already pushed to the brink, waivered and pressed against my consciousness. A second later it shattered. I quickly pushed the tank over my head, freeing my arms to wrap around him as his mouth clasped on my breast, sucking painfully, deliciously through the thin lace, until I cried out.

“My turn,” I gasped and pulled on the button of his jeans, rushing to push them over his hips. He tore his attention away from my nipple long enough to divest himself of his shirt and kick the jeans aside.

“No fair,” I whispered as his teeth scraped my other breast.

“Hmm?” he mumbled into my flesh.

“I didn’t get to—oh!” His hand had slid its way between my thighs, pushing past the satin fabric. One long finger massaged the slick flesh, gliding into my opening. My knees buckled.

He caught me as a chuckle rippled from his satisfied half-smile. It took him just a moment to free us both of the rest of our garments, and when he laid me back on the bed our bodies melded together in the inferno, pressing, needing, clawing. Desperate to feel his silky flesh inside me, I opened to him, begging with my body to be consumed.

“Not yet.” He pulled back, his body trembling with effort. “Not yet.”

Slowing the pace, he inched his way down my flesh, lips brushing and nipping, until finally he reached my center. His tongue, hot and greedy, sent ripples crashing through me. I whimpered in approval and felt his pleasure wrap around me. Every sensation, touch and emotion intensified. Seconds later his fingers plunged into me. I gasped, clenched the cool sheets, lost in the tide until ripples exploded, electrifying every inch of my being.

Moments went by as I lost myself in the pleasure filled haze of my orgasm. Then suddenly, I was brought abruptly back with the shock of Kane’s unyielding passion to take me. Now. Poised above me, his hands grasping mine, our eyes locked. I lifted my hips in answer.

His eyes never left mine as he reached for a condom. When he entered me, slowly, he relished in the sensation. Locked in his energy, I savored his pleasure of each new shock as we inched together until our hips fused as one. We held still for a long moment. Then our energies merged and I no longer knew where I started and he stopped.

Our bodies moved in rhythm, picking up the pace, faster, higher, deeper. The tension built in hot, urgent waves spreading to my limbs. I cried out with each thrust until suddenly my body spasmed. With a strangled moan, he buried himself in me. I wrapped myself tightly around him, letting the explosion take us together.

Some time later, lying snuggled in the crook of Kane’s arm, my body liquid and tranquil, I kissed his chest lightly. A small tremor ran through his body, and suddenly my soul was wrapped in tenderness and a fierce emotion I could only describe as love. The emotional energy was Kane’s. I felt intrusive and self-conscious all of a sudden and glanced up to find him gazing at me, intent and thoughtful.

“What?” I whispered.

“You feel it, don’t you?”

A chill that had nothing to do with the air-conditioning rippled through me. Had he sensed my ability? Sadness settled in my chest. I wasn’t ready to lose him. I’d bared too much. Trying hard to keep it light, I nipped his lower lip and replied, “The magic?”

“Yes, there’s magic.” He kissed my temple and ran his hand the length of my arm. “I’ve known that since I first met you, but I don’t think you have.”

Relief replaced my fears and I smiled. “I may not have known it, but I’ve certainly felt it.” I demonstrated my feelings by pressing into him as my hand roamed lower, wrapping around the silky shaft, already firming to my touch. He let out a small, strangled moan and pulled me on top of him.

“If you keep that up, you’re likely to kill me,” he said, deftly putting on another condom then sliding into me.

“If you keep that up, I may never leave.”

His hands found my hips, holding me to him as he lifted his lips to mine. “Deal.”

When we’d had our fill of each other, we lay content and motionless in each other’s arms. I closed my eyes, listening to Kane’s breath steadily deepen as he fell effortlessly into sleep. Sighing softly, I snuggled beside him and let the night take me.

Chapter 11

Intruding anger slammed into me. An intense sense of betrayal sent an arrow of pain straight through my heart. I gasped, struggling to breathe. Jealousy filled my being, joined by disbelief and shock. Mr. Sexy stood in front of me, shaking with fury, tears of disappointment in his eyes. A cry ripped from my throat as white-hot splinters of fire shot through my belly, shattering my soul.

“Jade! Jade, wake up. Come on baby, wake up.”

The voice was far away and muted. Through the blur of sleep filled eyes, my brain registered someone hovering over me. I cringed, curling into myself.

“There you are.” he said, his voice tight.

“Kane,” I said softly.

“It’s all right now, just a dream. It was just a dream.” He gathered me to him.

Still full of pain, the tears flowed hot and steady, turning into racking sobs. Kane held me for a long time, murmuring, “I’m here. You’re safe.”

I concentrated on those strong arms encircling me and held on until the tears subsided and the raw stabbing pain in my soul eased to a dull ache. Snuggling closer, I pressed my cheek to his chest and whispered, ‘Thank you.” Sniffling, I added, “I’m sorry.”

Kane handed me a tissue from the box on the nightstand, while he stroked my back. “Sorry for what?”

“This.” I waved a hand around my face. “Not a great way to end the night.” I pulled away, suddenly self-conscious, and wrapped myself in the sheet.

“Morning, you mean.” He nodded toward the pre-dawn light filtering through the open window.

“Oh.”

Kane leaned in and tilted my chin up. Catching my eye, he gave me a small smile. “This isn’t how we’re ending the morning. Go ahead and take a shower. I’ll make us some breakfast.” He kissed my nose lightly, pulled on his jeans and wandered out of the room.

I let out the breath I’d been holding and fell back onto the bed. What kind of a woman was terrified and reduced to tears by a dream? God, I was an idiot. Emotionally empty and physically battered, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and hobbled off to the bathroom, careful of my still sore ankle.

Scrubbed and pink from the shower, I made my way from the bedroom to the kitchen. I spotted Kane sitting in the breakfast nook at the back of the house. A full wall of windows and French doors led out into a lush courtyard. I stopped at the open doors, taking in the soft morning breeze and vibrant colors. Orange honeysuckle covered one wall, and the large red blossoms of a hibiscus bush bloomed just outside the door.

Kane came up behind me and rested a hand on my shoulder. I leaned into him as his arms came around my waist. Comforted by his touch, I let my mind go blank and willed my soul to soak up his energy. He projected a steady calm, but I could feel it masking nervousness and maybe a bit of weariness. Well, who could blame him? My mind clamped down on the emotional radar. I was intruding and didn’t want to know what else he was feeling.

“You should eat before it gets cold. I made omelets.” Kane stepped back and pulled out a chair for me.

“You did?” I looked at the table for the first time. It was set with a pale yellow tablecloth and a slender vase in the middle, holding pink and white stargazer lilies. “Are those from your courtyard?”

He nodded and settled into the chair next to me.

“They’re gorgeous. Your place is wonderful.” And I meant it.

The ceilings were at least ten feet high with crown molding. All the rooms except the bathroom and kitchen had original wide pine floors, recently resurfaced and gleaming in the morning sun. The nook looked like a picture I’d once seen in an architectural magazine. A bay window was on the left outside wall, complete with a window seat. To the right, an adjoining sun room, separated by a double opening archway, was furnished with indoor white wicker, lots of green plants and a vibrant French Quarter painting. I could happily make that one room my home.

“This is delicious,” I mumbled after the first bite. My omelet was full of fresh tomatoes, mushrooms, chives, avocado and swiss cheese—just the way I like it. “You remembered.”

Kane winked and poured me a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table.

“Thank you,” I said after taking a sip. “Everything is wonderful.”

“You’re welcome.” As he gazed at me, his smile vanished, and he suddenly became very interested in pushing the eggs around on his plate.

What happened? Was he having second thoughts? Who wouldn’t after my emotional outburst? I suppressed a sigh and shoved a fork-full of omelet in my mouth.

“Jade.” Kane brought both arms down on the table and turned to look me dead in the eye. His determined expression caused me to pause mid-bite. “Who’s the man in your dreams?”

I choked. “What?”

“The one you dreamed of last night. Usually powerful dreams like that feature people you know.”

“What makes you think I was dreaming of a man?”

Agitation radiated off him, ripping holes in my emotional armor. “Let’s not play this game. I know because I saw him.”

“What? You saw my ghost?”

His eyes went wide, surprised, and he straightened. “The ghost? The one Ian’s been hunting? He’s the one you’ve been dreaming about?”

I set the coffee cup down, furrowed my eyebrows and asked, “How exactly did you know about my dreams?” Had he spoken to Ian?

He didn’t say anything, his face hard as he stared me down.

“Ian told you?”

He shook his head and frowned. “You told Ian?”

“He’s the ghost hunter. Of course I told him. If it wasn’t Ian, then who told you?” No one else knew.

He blew out a breath, and pushed his uneaten breakfast away. “You did.”

“What! No I didn’t.” I knew without a doubt we hadn’t had that conversation. “I certainly would remember—”

Kane held a hand up. “You told me in your dreams.”

I gaped, too stunned to talk.

“I have something to tell you,” he continued, focusing on something over my shoulder.

“Clearly.” My voice held a slight chill.

He raised his determined eyes to mine and held the intent stare for a long moment. I was sure he was searching for my soul. “Have you heard of dreamwalking?”

“Yes, that’s when you travel in your dreams, right?” Gwen’s best friend Annabelle, back in Idaho, swore she traveled all over the world in her dreams. Her descriptions and tales were so vivid and entertaining, it was easy to believe it was possible.

“Yes, for some people. My dreamwalking is a bit different.”

Torn between curiosity and aggravation, I pushed the food around on my plate until finally, curiosity won out. “Okay, tell me about your dreamwalking.”

“When I was little, I had very vivid dreams about people I knew.” He shook his head, rose from the chair, and started pacing the kitchen. “Not about people, really, but more like dreams from their point of view. They were always people I was close to, so I figured it was natural to dream of them and their emotions.” He paused. “As I got older the dreams changed, became more intense, and I was able to watch from the person’s perspective. Or I could interact in the dream, like a character in a movie.”

A slow ball of uneasiness grew in the pit of my stomach. I leaned back in the chair, picked up the coffee, set it back down, then asked in a whisper, “You dreamwalk my dreams?”

He took a deep breath and nodded.

“Oh, God.” I stood up, turned and strode out into the courtyard. I walked to the far end, stopping at a fountain with a stone fleur de lei spouting water in a steady stream. Kane’s footsteps scraped on the bricks behind me, but he didn’t say anything.

My face burned, no doubt the color crimson. Unwilling to face him, I continued to stare into the clear pool in the fountain basin, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

“I’m sorry, Jade,” he said softly. “I know it’s an intrusion, and I’m sorry for it. But I—”

My temper broke, and I turned on him. “Stop. Just stop. How could you? Do you have any idea of how violated I feel right now?”

His eyes squinted as he frowned. “I can imagine. But I thought you felt it.”

“Felt it? Of course I felt it. You were making love to me in my dreams. It wasn’t just me dreaming it. You were there? Participating?” The last of my words were barely audible as my voice broke. My own anger and humiliation pressed a heavy weight on my heart.

His eyes turned sad and a small tinge of pain reached me. “Something like that.”

Pushing past him, I grabbed my purse from the counter, ran through the house and out the front door.

The tears gathered quickly. Blinking hard, I tried to hold them back and disappeared around the nearest corner. I prayed he wouldn’t follow me. As I hurried down the street, I realized unless I went to Kat’s place, he would be able to find me. And I couldn’t go to Kat’s with Dan there. “Damn!”

Nowhere to go but home. Maybe I could just lock the door and pretend I didn’t exist.

***

Ten minutes later I limped passed Pyper’s red VW Bug and stopped in front of my building’s entrance. I hoped she was at the café and not just inside. Careful to make as little noise as possible, I slowly pulled the heavy door open and peeked in.

“Who are you sneaking up on?” a voice whispered from behind me.

I let go of the door and jumped. It slammed with a loud thunk. “Holy shit!” I turned, finding Pyper standing behind me, with a twitch of a smile.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Her smile grew then faded as her brow creased in concern. “What happened?”

“Just a fight,” I muttered, waving a hand to signify unimportance.

“Uh-oh, what did he do now? You’re talking about Kane, right? The big date was last night?” She rolled her eyes at my nod. “Men can be so dense.” She whipped her key out and reopened the door. “It couldn’t have been all bad though, if you’re just getting home.” Her gaze roamed down the length of my body to my feet. Her lips turned into a teasing smile. “Forget your shoes again?”

I grimaced and moved past her, making my way up the stairs. With my ankle starting to throb, I grasped the railing and took my time, trying not to think about what must be glued to the bottom of my feet after walking barefoot through the French Quarter.

“Hey,” Pyper called as she bounded up the steps. “Really, are you okay?”

I gave a slight nod, unlocked my door and turned around. “Did you know Kane dreamwalks?”

Pyper’s eyes widened then narrowed. “Is he dreamwalking you?”

I nodded, fiddling with my keys.

“Damn.”

“You knew of this special gift?”

“Yeah.” She studied me, searching for something, but I didn’t know what.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a while.” I tried to close the door, but her hand stopped me. We stared at each other for a few moments until I lost my patience. “What?”

She pursed her lips. “Look, I know you’re upset and believe me, normally I would never stick my nose into anyone else’s relationship, but I think you have to know this.” She paused.

I waited.

“If Kane is dreamwalking you, it’s serious.”

I let out a mocking laugh. “Serious? No kidding, talk about invasion of privacy.” A heavy dose of guilt rocked me. Invasion of privacy. The same thing I’d done to Kane—spying on his emotions. The same thing I’d done to Dan for years and never told him. No wonder he’d felt so betrayed and hurt when I’d finally revealed my gift. I stumbled backward into the apartment and sat heavily on my worn sofa.

Pyper followed. She sat next me and took my hand. “No, Jade. I meant his feelings are serious. From what I know of Kane, he doesn’t dreamwalk on purpose, at least not these days. So, if he walked your dreams, it’s because of a deep connection to you.”

“Has he done it to you?”

She broke eye contact and grimaced, then nodded. “It’s been a long time, though.”

“I see,” I said with a hint of ice in my voice. “Then you know how it feels.” She opened her mouth to speak, but spurned by irrational jealously and inner turmoil, I cut her off. “I’d really like it if you left me alone now.”

I felt the sting of my words penetrate her tough exterior. She stood and walked to the door. “If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

“Pyper?”

Holding the doorknob, she glanced back at me.

“I’m sorry. I just need to process this.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” The door shut softly behind her.

Somewhere deep inside, a nagging voice told me I was overreacting. Nothing Kane had done was worse than what I’d done to him. I’d spied on his emotions. He’d been an active participant in my dreams. Either action was a huge intrusion.

But damn, my dreams were so personal.

As if his emotions aren’t. I snorted loudly and clenched my fists in frustration.

The worst part was I didn’t know how much my desire for Kane was based on my own feelings or a result of what we’d done while he dreamwalked me. I’d always desired Kane. I had since the first day we’d met. But in the dreams I’d experienced a passion I’d never known, escalating that desire into something I couldn’t resist. Now I knew Kane himself had influenced at least some of that without me knowing.

It made me feel used and manipulated.

Is that how Dan had felt after I told him I could sense his emotions?

I’d spent my childhood ostracized by my peers for knowing things I shouldn’t. One doesn’t make friends easily when teachers force you to tell on other students by reading which ones have a guilty conscience. My only defense was to keep my gift to myself and try to be as invisible as possible. But the damage had been done. I’d been labeled the town freak.

That changed when I’d moved to Boise shortly after I’d lost my mom. I’d shut off that part of my life completely, vowing to never tell anyone about my gift. Only one person knew: Kat. She’d lived for a short time in the small town I was from and had known me before I lost my mom. She’d said she thought my gift was kind of cool, and we’d become best friends then and there.

When Dan had come along I’d kept my vow, especially after he’d saved Kat and me from the horrors of that foster home. I hadn’t wanted him to know I’d experienced everything he’d felt that night. At the time, it had seemed too much to bear.

But when he’d proposed years later, I found myself unable to accept until he knew the truth. I’d known he’d be upset. I’d lied to him—for years—too locked up in my own fears to trust him.

At first he’d scoffed, unable to believe I had such a gift. Then he’d spent three days grilling me on the status of his emotional energy. Finally I’d snapped, and explained in great detail everything he’d felt the day he’d proposed. The information had rocked him to his core.

He’d definitely been hurt, but I’d been shocked to feel deep-seeded twinges of disgust and horror. All the rejection of my childhood had come roaring back. And a week later when he’d slept with someone else, I’d sensed it immediately. His intense satisfaction at hurting me had ended us then and there.

I’d hated him for it. But now, I had to stop and wonder what I’d done to him. He’d always said he’d loved me because I understood him in ways even he didn’t always recognize. He’d believed in soul mates and often said how lucky he was to find me. Had he thought I’d done anything to manipulate his emotions? I couldn’t change what he was feeling, but I could read them and use them to my advantage.

Did he feel used? Betrayed? The same way I felt with what Kane had done.

The guilt weighed heavy on my soul. Suddenly, I had to get out of my apartment.

Ten minutes later, the tension in my shoulders eased slightly when I sat behind my work bench in the studio. It was exactly what I needed, and I’d be safe from any unwanted company. Ready to be immersed, I turned the volume on my IPod to high and then lit my torch.

It must have been late afternoon by the time I finished the last bead of the day. The air conditioner had been no match for the June heat. I was soaked in sweat, but I was calmer. Mission accomplished. After cleaning up, I splurged and called a cab. My ankle needed a rest.

Chapter 12

Emerging from the bathroom in old, faded jeans and a T-shirt, I crossed the room to shut the window. I pulled the latch closed and jumped at a sudden movement. Kane stood in front of me.

“Feeling better?” he asked through the glass.

“Jesus, Kane. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” A thin thread of appreciation reached me.

I scowled. What exactly did he appreciate? My fresh-from-the-shower look? My hands curled into fists. It was a damn good thing glass separated us. For him, anyway. “How long have you been here?”

“A while.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Can you open the window?”

Feeling the urge to deck him, I ignored the request. How dare he intrude on my private space? “Did you come in while I was in the shower?”

He shook his head slowly. “You weren’t here. I waited.”

I laughed humorlessly. “Figures. What? Used your landlord key?” That meant he’d been on my balcony the whole time I’d been home. I felt violated all over again.

He nodded.

“Bastard.” I spat.

“No argument here.”

Anger boiled in my belly as I glared at him.

“Jade, come on. It’s starting to rain. Could you let me in so we can discuss this?”

A couple of fat raindrops splattered on the window. Then the skies opened up into a typical New Orleans afternoon downpour. A twisted sense of satisfaction grew from my aggravation as I watched the water stream down his face. Fully intending to leave him there, I started to close the curtain.

Then the first booms of thunder rumbled.

“Oh, all right!” I couldn’t be responsible for him being struck by lightning, could I? “Wait right there.” I pointed to the wall closest to the window. “Do not drip on my computer.” After he toweled off, I shoved a folding chair at him. “You can sit here.”

He moved toward me.

“No. You’re only allowed to sit there, or else you can leave.”

Stepping back, he sat.

“What exactly are you doing here?”

“I was thinking you need a security latch on your door. Keep the underbelly out.”

“Are you the underbelly?” I turned in surprise at his comment.

He shrugged. “Strip club owner. I make my money off of naked women. Most people would consider me one of the underbelly. So yes, I guess so. Couple that with invading the private dreams of the women around me, and I think the jury would reach a unanimous conclusion.”

I raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Women?” My voice rose higher than usual as anger coiled tighter. “Are you invading other women’s dreams these days as well?”

“No, just yours lately.”

“Lately. Lucky me.” I snorted. “Who else has had this pleasure?”

“You know Pyper and I are old friends.” It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded. “She’s my closest friend. The thing is, the closer I am with someone the more likely it is I’d unconsciously slip into his or her dreams. I’ve learned over the years how to stop it, or to step out of the dream when it happens. I haven’t found myself in one of Pyper’s dreams in a few years.”

“A few years?” An unwelcome image of him and Pyper together, intimate, in a dream flashed through my mind. I frowned and pushed it away. He’d just said they were friends. It could have been a dream about flying to the moon for all I knew.

He nodded.

“Wait,” I said, as my brain started to function again. “You said you learned how to step out of dreams. Why exactly didn’t you step out of mine? Didn’t you think what you were doing to me was a huge invasion?”

He looked pained.

“Not only that, but you seduced me in my dreams, letting me think it was my own subconscious. God! You had me thinking I have feelings for you. I feel like an idiot for jumping into bed with you.”

“You do have feelings for me,” Kane said softly. I opened my mouth, a string of expletives poised on my lips, but his raw emotion stunned me into silence. Regret, shame and a trickle of loneliness punctured my defensive wall. “You do, and I have feelings for you.” His voice was low and rough. His vulnerability wrapped around my soul, and suddenly the spark fizzled from my anger. I still hated what he did, but I knew without a doubt it had been done with passion and something close to love. Even if it was wrong and twisted.

Overwhelmed, I stared into his eyes and for once didn’t feel like melting. “I thought I did, but…I need time to process.”

“I know.” Kane got up, moving toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I thought I’d give you space.”

“Space later. Right now I have more questions about your ability.” He wasn’t getting out the door until I had answers.

Kane cleared his throat and reclaimed the chair. “Okay.”

I sat on my couch facing him. “Tell me how it works. You said you just find yourself in other people’s dreams, and you can step out of them. How?”

He took a moment, seeming to process my question, then leaned forward. “It’s easier if I realize a dreamwalk is going to happen. Then I can clear my mind and consciously will myself to ‘stay at home’ in my own head, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t but nodded anyway, encouraging him to continue.

“It takes a lot more effort to step out of a dream. I have to realize I’m there and leave. It’s sort of like when you’re dreaming and you realize it’s a dream and wake yourself up. Of course, if I want to dreamwalk it’s pretty much the opposite. I envision myself in a person’s dream and will myself to go there.”

“You do that often?” I said, in a more accusatory tone than I meant to.

A weak smile lit his lips. “No. I haven’t consciously dreamwalked since college.”

I bit back a snarky reply and continued with my interrogation. “You said you accidentally walked in both Pyper’s dreams and mine.”

He nodded.

“Anyone else?”

He didn’t say anything at first. I started to get nervous. It wasn’t really any of my business and I didn’t have a right to ask, but I was anyway.

“An ex-girlfriend,” he finally said.

“Holly?”

He jerked back and shook his head. “No. Holly and I have never dated. Where did you get that idea?”

A bit of tension eased out of my shoulders. I shrugged. “I saw you two talking once and just had the idea in my mind. Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t it, though?”

My heart squeezed at his question, but I ignored it. “What did Pyper and your ex-girlfriend do when they found out you were invading their dreams?”

He winced at my tone. “I didn’t do it on purpose, you know.”

Softening, I moved closer to him on the sofa. “No, I don’t know. Explain it to me.”

He got up, pacing. Back and forth he strode, gathering his thoughts. Finally he stopped. “Pyper knew what it felt like when I was in her dreams. If I had to guess, I’d say you have an idea of what that means, even if you didn’t know it when it was happening.”

I thought about that. Yes, I did know. There were times when I dreamt of Mr. Sexy and suddenly Kane was there, as real in my dreams as he was in life. Heat inched up my neck, reaching my face as the intimate scenes flooded back. Then the emotions. The implications of what he felt for me were a lot to process. I decided to not think about it at all until I had time to examine what it meant. I cleared my throat. “Yes, I felt you.” My voice seemed far away, a little detached.

He nodded. “I thought you did. Pyper knew in much the same way.”

I blanched.

He caught my look and laughed. “It’s not like that. It never has been.” Taking two steps, he reached my side and took my hand. “I know I’ve violated your trust, but please believe me when I say there is no one else.”

Tears welled in the back of my eyes, and I did my best to blink them back. I didn’t know what to say. Yesterday I would have been thrilled to hear Kane say I was his one and only. Now I didn’t know what I wanted.

I shifted, pulling my hand out of his. The love I’d felt the night before was now shadowed in pain. My rejection was hurting him just as much as he’d hurt me, Overwhelmed, I steered the conversation back to the dreams. “So what did Pyper do to stop you from invading her dreams?”

Kane sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. “There are a few precautions one can take to keep others out of their head, but it wasn’t necessary for her to do that. I worked harder on keeping my distance. It usually only happens when something intense is going on or my defenses are down. Once we started working so closely together, the dreamwalking began. I just strengthened my defenses, and it stopped.” He sighed and in a husky voice said, “This time my defenses have been blown away. Everything I’ve done to try to stop the dreamwalking with you has failed. I’m sorry, Jade.” With his shoulders hunched, he looked miserable.

Fighting the urge to reach out to him, I asked. “How long?” As he lifted his face, I clarified. “How long have you been fighting it?”

He grimaced then said a little sheepishly, “A few days.”

The dreams had been going on quite a bit longer than that.

“I know it doesn’t mean much, but I really am sorry. I know it’s an awful thing to do. I just…” His face turned a rather dark shade of maroon. “It’s just, I enjoyed your dreams…unless he was starring.”

“Jesus, Kane,” I said. Irritated and embarrassed, I got up and moved to stare at the rain.

“It was driving me crazy.” He followed me.

“I told you to sit in that chair or leave.”

Ignoring my statement, he stepped in front of me, locked his eyes on mine and stared. Golden glints sparkled from rich chocolate irises.

He reached out and stroked my cheek. I clasped my hand over his, wanting to stop the motion, but Kane took it as an invitation and leaned in. Just as his lips met mine, lightening flashed and a loud crack sounded, jolting us apart. Another bolt struck, illuminating a dark shadow darting up the walls. It circled us then hovered over my computer.

It grew larger, glowed red and flew at me as if to attack. I screamed in terror as my insides ripped apart, just as they had in my dream the night before. Falling to my knees, I clutched my stomach, gasping for breath.

The apparition disappeared just as the tray with my glass beads rose in the air. “No!” I shouted as I watched them tumble out and rise toward the ceiling, hovering high above our heads. Kane knelt next to me, his arms covering my shoulders and head protectively.

“Get off,” I huffed, pushing him away. Jumping up, I took a deep breath and said in my most commanding voice, “You put those beads down right this moment. I won’t stand for your scare tactics. How dare you treat me this way!” My voice echoed off the walls, slightly muffled by the thunderous storm. The beads rotated, inched higher then fell.

“Gently!” I yelled. Just before they would have crashed, all of them came to a sudden stop, less than an inch from the floor, and tumbled softly.

I stood in the center of the room, my chest heaving. The next thing I knew, Kane grabbed my hand and tugged me out the door.

“Where are we going?” I gasped, trying to clear my head.

“Out of here,” Kane said, his voice muffled.

He was right in front of me but I couldn’t focus. His lips moved, but I had trouble hearing him. “What did you say?”

“I said, you need to be somewhere safe. Let’s go.”

Too tired to protest, I weakly muttered something about clothes.

Kane positioned me outside the door. Through a distorted hazy consciousness, I watched him open my drawers and throw some garments in a bag. In seconds he returned and picked me up. That’s the last thing I remember.

***

A chatter of voices pulled me from my slumber. Disoriented, I sat up and through blurry eyes, I spotted rich, heavy velvet drapes. Pyper’s apartment. Again. I needed to get out of this habit. The silver crescent moon shone through the window. How long had I been here?

“No, she isn’t going back up there tonight,” Kane said.

“Isn’t that up to her?” Ian said.

“Not when she’s passed out.”

“I’m up,” I said from the doorway, leaning against the jamb to steady myself.

“Honey, are you okay?” Pyper rushed toward me, led me over to the couch and gently pushed me down. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

Ian and Kane both turned toward me.

“Go where?” I asked

“Nowhere,” Kane said.

Ignoring him, I turned to Ian. “Where do you want me to go?”

Ian frowned. “I know you’re wiped out, but if you have any energy at all, the best thing to do—if we want more clues—is to go back up to the apartment. I need another reading with you.” He glanced in Kane’s direction. Reluctance penetrated my awareness when he added, “and Kane too.”

“No,” Kane said.

Pyper appeared with hot tea and a few cookies. “Here, honey, this should help.”

“Thanks.” I took a bite, sipped my tea and looked over at Kane. “I can speak for myself.”

“Of course you can,” he said. “But I’m still not going to let you go back up there.” His voice was tender now, losing some of the authoritative edge he’d used with Ian.

With a faint smile, I asked, “Let?”

He shrugged as he raised his hands, palms up. He glanced at Pyper, found no help, and then sat on the sofa.

“Anyone care to fill me in on the details I’ve missed?” I glanced around at each of them.

Kane spoke up. “You haven’t missed much. You passed out. I brought you here and called Pyper, who then called Ian. Ian’s been here for about an hour. We’ve been discussing a course of action to rid you of your ghost.”

“An hour?” How long had I been asleep?

“You’ve been here for about three hours.” Pyper patted my hand. “We didn’t think you’d suffered any physical damage, judging by what Kane said, so we let you sleep. Does it hurt anywhere?” She peered at me, checking for nonexistent bruises, I guessed.

I smiled at her mothering. “I’m fine. Just feel like my insides have been ripped to shreds, is all.”

“Really?” Ian’s eyes went wide. “Did it happen upstairs?”

I nodded.

“Can you tell me exactly what happened?” He dug around in his canvas bag and pulled out a notepad.

“Do we have to do this right now?” Kane sounded impatient. He slid toward me on the sofa and brushed the hair out of my eyes. “You don’t have to do this now, you know.”

I caught Ian watching me. He was also doing a fair job of suppressing the jealousy that had bubbled up when Kane touched me. With a grim smile at Kane, I said, “I know, but somehow I think I need to get this out.”

He let out a long breath then acknowledged my statement with a nod.

“Kane told you what we saw?” I asked.

“Yes, but I’d like to hear it from your perspective.” Ian made small fast circles with his ballpoint pen, trying to get the ink to flow.

“Okay.” I launched into my version of the events. Ian scribbled intently as I recounted the haunting. When I got to the part when the shadow disappeared, I paused. “I felt like something in my gut shattered like the red image. Not like a stomachache or anything like that. More like my soul was being torn into individual little pieces. It happened just like that in my dream last night, too.”

Ian took in a sharp breath.

Kane clasped his hand over mine. “Damn it, Jade. The ghost is haunting your dreams. You aren’t just dreaming about him.”

“Right, I told you that this morning.”

“No, you said you were dreaming about him.”

“No, you interpreted it that way.”

“Jade—”

“Can you two work that out later?” Pyper said.

Kane sighed and leaned back. “Fine.”

Ian finished scribbling some notes then looked up, focusing for a second on my hand clasped in Kane’s. “This is very unusual, especially considering the sexual content.”

“I thought you said ghosts haunting dreams weren’t unheard of,” I said.

Ian leaned forward. “They aren’t, but I’ve never heard of someone being attacked in one. That, plus the intimate nature, makes me uneasy.”

Ian’s troubled expression unsettled me more than his words. “So what do we do now?”

“I have a few ideas, but I’d need to get you back up there—”

Kane let out an audible grunt, cutting Ian off.

“—when you think she’s up to it,” Ian finished, eyeing Kane.

“It’s not up to him to decide.” Feeling smothered, I lowered my voice. “Look, Kane, I know you want to protect me, but this is something I have to deal with. I have a feeling the longer it goes on, the worse it’s going to get. I need to do what I can, even if I have to endure more encounters with the ghost. Plus, he invaded my dream at your house last night. I’m not so sure location matters anymore. If Ian thinks he can help, I need to trust him.”

Kane searched my eyes for a moment, kissed my hand and said, “Okay.”

A tiny bit of weight lifted from my heart. I squeezed his hand before letting go.

“All right then. I’ve already got my equipment set up, and John is monitoring the readings. Let’s go.” Ian tilted his head toward me as he moved toward the door. “I’ll have her back as soon as possible. I know she needs to rest, but I don’t want to miss the chance of getting a reading so close to the event.”

I stood, trying to shake the dizzy feeling, and followed him. When I glanced back, I found Kane on my heels.

“I’m going also.”

“I don’t think…” Ian paused when Kane’s face darkened.

“Don’t think what?” I asked.

“I’d rather get a reading with just you. It’s more scientific,” Ian said. Kane’s irritation poked at me as Ian continued. “From what I’ve heard, this ghost is really only interacting with Jade. I don’t want to introduce any other elements until I get a clean reading with her.”

“But you said earlier you wanted a reading with both of us,” Kane countered.

“Yes, but Jade first, then you,” Ian said.

Kane continued to look unconvinced.

I sighed and waved at Pyper, “A little help here?”

“Come on, Kane, I’ll entertain you while they’re up there.” Pyper grabbed his arm and led him to the couch.

I strode out the door with Ian close on my heels. When I got to the stairwell of my own apartment, I stopped dead in my tracks and stumbled forward as Ian barged into me. He reached out a strong arm and grabbed me around the middle just before my head bashed into the railing.

“Oh, sorry, Jade!” Ian turned me toward him. “Why did you stop?”

I gave him a weak smile. “Just nervous.” Nervous was putting it mildly. My knees started shaking, and my heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest. I took a few deep breaths and grabbed on to the railing.

Ian took my arm and patted my hand. “It’s all right. Really, I’ve seen a fair number of odd paranormal occurrences. I know what to do if something happens.” He lifted my chin and looked straight in my eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you. It’ll be all right. I promise.”

I nodded and let him tug me up the stairs. We stopped just outside my door.

“Now when we go in, don’t say anything until I ask you to. I’m going to walk you around the room then onto the balcony while I take readings. Okay?”

I nodded my agreement and followed him inside.

The investigation was set up in much the same manner it had been during the first recording. Candles burned in a circle around the room. A video camera was set up just to the right of the door, along with an old-fashioned tape recorder. John had two cameras around his neck, a 35mm and a digital camera. He had told me digitals were the preferred choice, but ghosts were known to mess with electronics, causing them to fail. Just like last time. The 35mm was the camera that caught my ghost image.

Ian steered me to the middle of the room, holding my arm, keeping me close. He cleared his throat and began to speak. “Lord in heaven, please protect us, your children, from harm and possession. We only seek knowledge and not destruction. Amen.” He smiled “Ready?”

I gave him a small nod.

“Dear earthbound spirit of apartment three-A. We are here seeking only information and do not wish you harm. If you so choose, please allow us to communicate with you.”

John handed Ian a small electronic device. Holding it under candlelight, he scribbled a reading in a notebook. He took my hand and walked me slowly around the room, focusing on the electronic readings. The continuous click of the camera cut through the silence as John snapped photo after photo. The conditions with the candlelight were dim. I wondered how he’d get any decently lit pictures without a flash.

After the third circle I started to get dizzy and was relieved when Ian led me to the balcony. “Stay out here for a minute. I want to get some more readings, and then I’ll have you come back in.”

I sat down in my chair to wait.

Ian stepped back inside and let out a loud yelp. I scrambled to my feet and poked my head in the window.

Ian grabbed my shoulder. “Get in here!”

A queasy feeling rolled through my stomach as I scanned the room. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. It looked just as it had, except for the expressions on the two men’s faces.

I stepped in, confused. Ian held up a hand, gesturing for me to wait. John stood in the corner using the 35mm camera, clicking over and over again in rapid succession. He paused to reload and then nodded at Ian.

Ian, standing just to my left, put a hand on my arm and whispered, “Talk to him.”

I took a shaky breath, let it out slowly and opened my mouth. No words came out.

Ian, seeing my struggle, asked, “Have you spoken to him before?”

‘Yes.”

“If you gave him a name or title, use it now.”

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. “Oookay. Hello, Mr. Sexy.”

John chuckled quietly from across the room. I shot him a dirty look, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was still busy snapping away. Click, click. Click, click.

I focused on talking to my ghost. “It’s been an eventful day, has it not? You must have used a lot of energy picking up all of my beads. Thank you, by the way, for setting them down gently.” The candles flickered a few times then burned bright again.

I glanced at Ian. He nodded his head enthusiastically, encouraging me to continue.

“Thank you for the acknowledgment. I assume that was you, flickering the candles?” The candles flickered again, a few of them blowing out entirely. “Yes, I know you’re there. I wish I knew your real name.” The flame on the candle closest to my bed went out.

“Yes, I know it’s you in my dreams.” I stopped at a loss for words. My skin started to warm, and something soft wrapped around my shoulders. Even though I was sure the gesture was meant as a loving one, hair stood up on the back of my neck. “Is that you? Did you wrap a blanket over my shoulders?” My knees started to tremble and, not trusting myself to stand any longer, I sat on my couch.

“Keep going,” Ian said softly.

I closed my eyes and concentrated. “I wish I knew who you were and why you’re here. I get the feeling you don’t know you’re a ghost.” The warmth slid from my shoulders. I shivered. Unwilling to give up, I asked, “What happened to you? Can you tell us? There’s a recording device over by the door. If you stand close to it, we might hear you. Please, we want to help.”

“Jesus!” John jumped suddenly from his spot near the recorder and scooted closer to Ian.

“What the hell—” Ian started, but was cut off by the door opening suddenly, with Kane striding in.

“You’ve got to get down to Pyper’s apartment,” Kane announced, grabbing Ian’s arm.

“What? No. We’re just getting going here.” Ian glared at Kane. “It’s best if you leave.”

Ian’s face contorted in pain as Kane gripped harder. “No. Pyper’s in trouble. You need to go, now.”

“In trouble? What happened?” I demanded. Not waiting for an answer, I ran out the door, took the stairs two at a time and was on the ground floor before I realized no one was following me.

Chapter 13

A minute later I burst through the apartment door and found Pyper sprawled out on the floor. Falling to my knees by her side, I placed my palm on her chest. My hand rose as she took in a breath. The dread in my gut eased slightly.

“Thank God. Pyper? Can you hear me?” She didn’t move as I smoothed her hair back from her closed eyes. Her skin burned. I ran for a cold wet cloth. Once I started to mop her brow, her eyes flickered open.

“There you are,” I said. “Welcome back.”

“Jade.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Is he still here?”

“Who? Kane?” My voice was low and I hoped calming, though my heart was beating hard enough to leap right out of my chest.

She shook her head, tears streaming down her temples.

“It’s all right now. Shhh. It’s all right.” I moved to cradle her head in my lap and stroked her hair.

Pyper’s breath came short with silent sobs. She turned her face into my shirt and held on while her body shook. I continued to whisper soothing words until finally she stopped and was silent.

A muffled sound came from her buried face.

“Hmmm?” I said.

“Thank you,” she said in a hoarse voice. She sat up across from me.

I handed her the cloth and gave her a small smile. “No thanks needed. It’s what friends do.”

She tried to smile back but failed, turning her head toward the window.

I got up and headed to the kitchen. I didn’t notice the shaking until I grabbed the tea kettle. After filling it and placing it on the burner, I ran my still shaking hands over my arms. Pyper wasn’t the type of person to break down. I didn’t think anything else could unnerve me more. Searching through the cupboards, I found a new bag of mint Milano cookies. After arranging the cookies on a plate, I set it on a tray along with the tea and headed back into the living room. Pyper sat curled up at the end of the couch.

I set the tray down and handed her a mug. “Here, drink this.”

She took the mug but neglected to take a sip and stared into the contents. After a few moments, I held out a cookie. “This might help.”

She glanced up but sat unmoving.

“If you don’t want it, I’m eating it. This is not the time to turn down chocolate.”

She made a move for it, but I bit into it before she could grab it.

“Bitch,” she said, but it lacked any heat.

I smiled sweetly and handed her another from the tray. She took it before I could snatch it back, and we nibbled the cookies in silence for a few minutes. Finally, I asked, “If you weren’t asking about Kane, who were you asking about?”

She ran her fingers along the rim of her cup then looked up meeting my eyes. “The man I’ve been dreaming about.”

My head jerked back, causing me to spill my tea. “Shit!” I tried to mop it up with a napkin, but a small dark spot stained the cream sofa.

“Don’t worry about it.” Pyper waved her hand in a dismissive fashion. “I know the owner.” She tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace.

I shook my head and said something about getting it cleaned. After putting the tea cup down to avoid further disaster, I turned to give her my full attention. “You’re dreaming of someone, too?”

She nodded, fear flashing in her eyes. It wrapped around my chest, making me wheeze. I took shallow breaths and tried to conjure up as much calm as I could to combat her energy. When the air flowed freer, I asked, “Do you know him?”

Her confusion, fear and anger seeped through my protective calm. Clamping down on my barriers, I shoved her emotions and my own mounting anger aside and concentrated.

Pyper shook her head. “I don’t actually see him. There aren’t any details, just a shape, so I don’t know who it is.”

“Can you tell me what happens in your dreams?” My stomach did flip-flops. Was it the same ghost as Mr. Sexy? My hands started shaking again. I didn’t really want to know what had happened to cause her breakdown, but I knew I needed to hear it.

Pyper focused on her tea cup again. “He torments me, almost every night, or day. Whenever I try to sleep.”

My fists curled. “How?”

“I don’t know how to explain it exactly.” Her voice shook a little and I took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “It’s like…well, like I’m being physically beaten, but I’m not.”

I nodded and waited for her to continue.

She screwed her face up in concentration. “In the dreams I can feel myself being hit all over, but the brunt of it is my stomach and my face. My arms feel pinned down so I can’t defend myself. I feel the pain. I literally feel it so intensely, I think I must cry out in my sleep.”

I shivered as the hair stood up on my arms.

“When it’s over I feel empty. And bruised. Only, when I wake up, I’m not bruised at all. Then I think it’s just all in my mind, the pain, you know? “

“I think so.” Her experience was very much like my own dreams of Mr. Sexy, only most of the time he brought me pleasure. It wasn’t until recently that he’d brought physical pain, and it didn’t sound the same. Mine was more of an emotional hurt, not an actual beating.

I thought about what she said for a moment. “What happened tonight that sent Kane to get us?”

“Hey, where is he?” Pyper glanced around.

“I have no idea,” I blurted. “He came in raving about how we needed to help you. I took off and the rest of them stayed in my apartment.”

Pyper drew her eyebrows together and frowned. “That’s odd.” I thought so too, but didn’t respond. “Well,” she continued, “Kane and I were just sitting here talking and I felt so safe being here with him, I curled up and went to sleep. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“I can imagine.” I felt a small twinge of guilt as I remembered actually enjoying Mr. Sexy in my dreams.

“I guess I thought with Kane here, things might be all right.” Her face paled. “But I was wrong. It was the worst attack yet. I woke up screaming and ran.”

She plucked at the couch cushion. “I guess I was disoriented and panicked. Kane started yelling at me to stop so he could help me. I froze. When he got to my side and put his arms around me, there was a light that flashed. Lightning, probably.” She squeezed her eyes closed and shuddered. “Then I suddenly started to burn from the inside out. I guess that’s when I passed out.” Her eyes fluttered open and found mine. “The next thing I knew, you were sitting next to me.”

“Oh my God, Pyper.” I squeezed her hand harder and said in a very small voice, “This is my fault. I’m sorry.”

“What? Your fault?” Her shock penetrated my defenses.

“I don’t know if it’s my fault exactly, but I’ve been having somewhat similar dreams. Maybe if I’d shared the extent of them we could have figured something out so this didn’t keep happening to you.”

“If I understand correctly, you’re having sex dreams. Those are nothing like mine.”

Her flat, cold stare made me flinch. “No, the content isn’t the same. You’re right.” I stopped, rubbed my eyes. “What I mean is, mine seem so real. They feel just as real as yours do. When I wake up I can still feel the effects of the lovemaking.” My face burned hot and I turned away, embarrassed.

“Okay, maybe, but what does that mean?”

“I know, or at least I think I know, that the person in my dreams is the same as the ghost in my apartment. What if the same ghost is invading both of our dreams?”

“If that is true, why would he torture me and have sex with you?” Her eyes narrowed, piercing me.

“I don’t know!” I threw my hands up. “How could I know? He’s been hurting me too, lately. And with the similarity, it could be a link.” I paused as my words triggered a thought. “You said this attack was the worst one yet, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Kane was with you. The two times I was attacked, Kane had been with me.”

We stared at each other, until Pyper leaned back and in a low controlled voice asked, “You think Kane has something to do with this?”

A thread of anger, combined with protectiveness, entered my consciousness. I rushed to reassure her. “No. I don’t. But maybe he’s a trigger for the ghost.”

“I’m sorry.” She moved to sit next to me. “You’re right that he could be a trigger, but the ghost hurts me when Kane isn’t around, too.”

“I know. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence.”

She nodded agreement then jumped to her feet. “I’m tired of being the victim. I wish there was something we could do. Like confront the bastard.”

“We can,” I said, surprising myself. “We can call him out like we did that first day in my apartment.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” I said in a firm voice, not feeling at all as confident as I sounded.

She studied me for a long moment and gave a quick nod.

I moved to the middle of the living room. Pyper joined me and clasped my hand in hers.

“I think we should both call him at the same time. Do you have a name you refer to him as?” I asked.

“Mr. Evil,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.

“What?” She frowned.

“You’ll see,” I said trying to contain myself. “On three, then.” With a nod from Pyper, I counted backwards from three.

On one I called out, “Mr. Sexy,” just as Pyper called, “Mr. Evil.”

Pyper turned her head toward me and grinned briefly. Another flash of lightning shone through the uncovered window. Pyper flinched, tightening her grip on my hand. Her face went chalk white. Her terror rippled through me as if it were my own. “No, please don’t,” she whispered.

I turned my head frantically from side to side, seeing nothing. She shook violently.

Panicked, I yelled out “Mr. Sexy! Stop this right now. Do you hear me? I need you to stop this!” I concentrated hard on gathering as much energy as I could from my being. A tight ball formed in my stomach. It grew rapidly like an inflating balloon. When I mentally pushed the force from myself the lights flickered off and on, off and on. The tea tray vibrated on the coffee table, and a dark shadow appeared right in front of the two of us. A light breeze tickled my skin and ruffled my hair.

And suddenly there was Mr. Sexy, standing in full view in front of us. He looked at me, turned around and put his arms out wide. The flickering and shaking stopped, and all that was left was a light tickling breeze.

Trembling, I turned to Pyper. I felt the tension run out of her and her death grip loosen. But she didn’t let go. The color returned to her face, and a rush of gratitude and relief oozed from her into my awareness.

“It’s all right now.” I stared at my ghost and reached my hand out, slow and tentative. The air felt hot and thick, even though I could hear the air conditioner blowing just over our heads.

The ghost lowered his arms, turned back to face me and just as my hand was about to reach his outstretched one, the door flew open with a bang. He vanished into a dark shadow and disappeared. “Damn it!”

Kane, Ian and John barged into the room. Equipment filled their hands and hung from straps around their necks.

Kane shot me a weary glance as he strode toward Pyper.

“Where have you been all this time?” I asked.

“Dealing with your ghost.” He stopped in front of Pyper. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” She turned to me. “Thank you, Jade.” Her arms wrapped around me. She hugged me hard and whispered, “I’ll be right back.” She moved toward her bedroom. I thought I saw a single tear roll down her cheek.

I watched her disappear through the door then turned on Kane. “What the hell are you talking about? The ghost was here.” Kane raised his eyebrows and Ian’s eyes went wide. “At least for a little while, anyway.”

Ian didn’t question me. He said something softly to John, and the two of them went about setting up equipment around the room.

I grabbed Kane’s arm. “What did you mean? What happened after I left?”

“What happened here?” he said at the same time.

“You first,” I said, poking him in the ribs. “It must have been something compelling to keep you away when Pyper was passed out on the floor.”

“Passed out?” His voice rose and he turned in the direction of Pyper’s room. “She was screaming just like you did last night. I couldn’t get her to come out of it. I thought—”

“She’s all right.” My heart squeezed with his pain. “What happened?”

Kane led me to the couch and tugged me down to sit next to him. “When you left, I followed you.”

“No—”

“Yes. I did. At least, I tried to.”

My eyebrows pinched together, causing a wrinkle just above my nose.

He reached his hand out to smooth it. “Don’t do that. You’ll give yourself a headache.”

I frowned, in no mood to be teased. “Go on.”

“I was right behind you when you left. You ran out the door. I turned to follow you, only Ian yelled for me to stop and I hesitated. Both of them, Ian and John, went crazy taking pictures.” He shook his head. “I thought they’d gone mad. I couldn’t see anything, so I turned to follow you. Only…well, when I tried to go out the door, it was blocked somehow.”

“Blocked? With what?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. I couldn’t see anything except you turning the corner at the end of the stairway. I called out. Didn’t you hear me?”

“No, I didn’t. How could the door be blocked by nothing?”

“You’ve got me. Ian said it was the ghost’s energy keeping us trapped in the room. It was hot, like fire. I could get right up next to it and feel nothing, but as soon as I tried to go through I’d burn.”

I gasped. “How did you get out?”

“Right after the lightning struck, the doorway turned bright orange then dissipated into thousands of tiny particles and flew down the stairs.”

My heart started hammering again. “Then what did you do?”

“Came here, obviously.” He took my hand and held it lightly in his own.

“Here.” My voice was weak and my head swam. “You said it broke right after the lightning?”

He nodded.

“Shit.” My skin went cold and the gooseflesh came back. “I called him. That’s why he left.” My voice shook. “Well, we both did, actually.” I tilted my head toward Pyper’s room.

Kane’s face turned red. I could see him try to control his anger. “Why would you do that on your own? One or both of you could have been seriously hurt.”

I threw my hands up in frustration. “Because we’re both sick of being out of control. I guess I figured if we called him, we might have the upper hand.”

“And did you?” He looked skeptical.

“In the end, yes I did.” I smiled with satisfaction and filled the three of them in on what happened.

When I finished, Ian stopped his frantic recording of my account, put his notebook down and looked at me thoughtfully.

“What?” I asked.

“I was just thinking about the timetable of events. It seems we were encountering something in your apartment at the same time something was going on with Pyper when Kane came to get us.”

“Can a ghost be in two places at once?” It seemed unlikely to me.

Ian scratched his chin, pursed his lips and said, “Not that I know of. At least, I’ve never heard of such a thing. But if it’s the same ghost—”

I cut him off. “It is. I saw him materialize in front of me. I recognized him.”

“I know, I heard. What I was going to say is, if the same ghost has connected with both of you, I wonder if he can be in one person’s mind, while physically somewhere else. Like in Pyper’s mind, while interacting with you in your apartment. That would take a lot of energy. More than I’ve ever encountered.”

Kane and I started asking questions at the same time. Then a movement caught my eye. I glanced up to see Pyper, emerging from her room. She’d changed into tiny black hot-pants and a large grey sweatshirt.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I asked in disbelief. “You’re not going to work at the club after all of that, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “What am I supposed to do? Sit around here and waste my life waiting for more abuse?”

“Make her not go,” I demanded, turning to Kane. “She’s in no shape to be dealing with the club. Take her home or out to eat or something, but do not let her go to work.”

He patted my hand like a father would his daughter. “Of course I won’t let her work. Pyper, are you insane?”

“I hear that’s up for debate.” She flipped her pink hair over her shoulder and headed for the door.

Kane leaped up from the couch, scooting in front of her. He folded his arms over his chest and stared her down. “Charlie’s there. She’s got it covered.”

Pyper narrowed her eyes, pointed her finger and walked right up to him. “You cannot keep handing everything off to Charlie, Kane. It isn’t right.” She stabbed him in the chest. “That girl deserves a raise and a promotion based on how much you take advantage of her.”

“Done,” he said.

Pyper took a step back, clearly not ready for that. “You gave her a raise and a promotion?”

“Not yet. But I’ve been planning to.”

“Oh.” Pyper backed off. “But you better give her a bonus or something for time already served.”

Kane looked up, as if to ask God for help, or patience. “Fine. Just stay here until we’re ready to go.” He strode off toward his part-time room.

“Go? Go where?” She turned in his direction and found John staring at her ass, camera pointed and ready. “Jesus, just take the damn picture already.” She stripped off her sweatshirt, revealing a black lace push-up bra, and posed, sticking her ass right in John’s face.

I covered my mouth to hide the laughter bubbling up. John’s face went beet-red as he stood, staring.

“Hurry up. I’m freezing.” Pyper reached around, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes a few times.

John quickly snapped the picture then retreated to Ian, who made no effort to hide his laughter on the other side of the room.

Kane cleared his throat and gestured to Pyper. “If you want to put some more clothes on, the three of us—” he nodded, indicating me, “—should get some food.” His tone of voice made it more of an order than a statement.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” Pyper cooed from the chair.

Kane rolled his eyes, and I shrugged.

“Oh, all right.” She bounced off to her bedroom, clearly feeling more like herself.

“Would you mind if we stayed to do more readings?” Ian asked.

“Fine,” Kane answered. “Stay as long as you like. The girls can stay at my place.”

Kane glanced at me in question. Despite my earlier concerns that he might be a link with the pain the ghost was causing, I nodded in agreement. I wasn’t up for an argument, nor did I want to be alone.

Chapter 14

With a promise from Ian he’d call sometime the next day, we left in search of food. An hour later we sat at Kane’s table with takeout from the Gumbo Shop. The conversation was nonexistent, as the three of us sat pretending to be absorbed in our meals. Letting out a barely audible sigh, Pyper picked up her plate and carried it into the living room, where she curled up in the overstuffed chair. I wanted to do the same but decided she might like a bit of time to herself.

I looked up to find Kane watching me intently. I gave him a weak smile and asked, “Wine?”

Without saying a word he rose, grabbed a bottle of red and two glasses from his wine rack. A small pop sounded, causing Pyper to look our way. Kane held the bottle up in question, but she shook her head and went back to moving the etouffee around on her plate. After handing me a full glass, Kane set the bottle on the table, sat down next to me and focused on my face as he sipped.

“Thank you.” I raised my glass slightly.

He gave me a small nod, still staring.

The heat rose to my face as I examined the blackened swordfish on my plate. It was one of my favorites, but it sat untouched. “Stop,” I said in a low voice.

“Stop what?”

Whipping my head up, I looked him straight in the eye. “You know damn well what. Stop staring at me like that.”

“Am I making you nervous?”

“No.”

“If you say so.”

I glared at him.

Kane scooted closer, bringing his face mere inches from mine. “I wanted to get your attention.”

“There are easier ways.”

He shrugged. “This was a pretty low-level effort for me.”

My eyes slanted. “Now that you have my attention…”

“I just wanted you to know. What we started last night and this morning isn’t over.” He brought his face so close, I could almost feel the smooth silk of his lips.

I jerked back. “No? I don’t think that’s for you to say.”

“I do. I know there’s something different about you. I just don’t know what yet.”

A chill ran up my spine. “You mean, apart from my ghost attracting abilities?”

He took his time before he spoke. “No, Jade. This isn’t about your ghost. I can sense your energy. I don’t know how to explain it, but even if I can’t see you, I always know when you’re around.”

The statement couldn’t have surprised me more. It hit me hard as if he’d punched me in the gut. “You do? How?” Mortified, I gnawed on my lower lip, suddenly very interested in my hands now lying in my lap.

I risked a glance, catching his eye.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just feel it. Probably the same way you feel me while I’m dreamwalking.”

“Does this happen with anyone else? Can you sense Pyper?”

“No. I’ve never experienced this before. It’s something special about you.”

I stood up and carried my dishes to the sink. How could I possibly tell him about my own abilities? I knew my invasion of his privacy was just as bad as his dreamwalking, but I’d told myself I didn’t do it on purpose. Of course he’d said he didn’t either, he just didn’t do anything to stop it. Well, neither had I. Worse, I hadn’t even wanted to, until this morning when things got too intense. My stomach knotted, making me glad I hadn’t eaten much.

Overcome with emotion, my eyes filled. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Kane walked up behind me. “Jade, are you going to tell me about it?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, so low even I could barely hear it. I turned around, realizing he deserved an honest answer. But I just couldn’t tell him. The last person I’d told was Dan, and that had turned out disastrous. In my heart I knew Kane was different. He wasn’t likely to cast me aside. I just wasn’t ready to face what I’d done, especially after how I’d reacted to his confession. “I really am sorry. I just can’t talk about it right now.” Unable to hold it back, a single tear fell down my cheek.

Cupping my face with his palm, he caught the tear with his thumb. “There’s no need to be sorry,” he said softly. “We’ll talk later. It’s all right.”

The tenderness made the tears flow fast and hot. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. For the first time all day I felt safe. My world narrowed to all things Kane. His fresh scent. The hand gently stroking my hair. The way he held me, patiently waiting until my tears were spent.

Finally I removed myself and made my way to his bathroom. After a long hot shower, I changed into a T-shirt and a pair of Kane’s boxers and returned to the living room.

The two of them were huddled together, talking quietly. The image gave me a small jolt, reminding me how close they really were. I was in danger here and didn’t know how to stop my growing emotions. They both said they were just friends, and I didn’t have any reason to think otherwise, but my rational mind wasn’t convincing my inner jealous woman.

Not wanting to interrupt, I tried to make my way quietly to the guest bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Kane asked just as I was about to open the bedroom door. Caught. Damn.

I put a smile on my face before turning around and said, “To bed. I could really use a good night’s sleep.”

“In there?” the two asked in unison.

“Uh, yeah. Is that a problem?”

Kane gazed at me with an intense look, while Pyper glanced back and forth between the two of us.

Kane turned to Pyper. “And where are you sleeping?”

“Here, I guess.” She patted the couch cushions and failed at the attempted smile, resulting in a smirk.

‘No,” I said quickly. “You can sleep in here.” I pointed to the queen-sized bed through the now-open door. “I don’t mind sharing. As long as you don’t snore.” I teased.

Pyper lifted her eyebrows, questioning Kane.

He stared at the ceiling. “It’s college all over again.”

“Huh?” I asked.

Pyper giggled and punched his arm. “Get over it already.” She turned toward me. “I dated one of his ex-girlfriends in college.”

“Dated? More like stole,” Kane said.

“You can’t steal someone from someone else, Kane,” Pyper replied.

“Close enough.”

“Umm…” I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t hit on a girl in ages, and I’m not going to start with Jade.” Pyper turned to me. “I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

“Not at all.” I waved as I turned toward the room.

‘I’ll be right there,” Pyper called.

“Take your time. Once I’m asleep there’s no waking me up.” I closed the door behind me and crawled into bed.

The dream came on in a vibrant cascade of soft white light. My awareness floated somewhere near the ceiling, giving me a clear view of the room. There I was, snuggled up with a pillow, Pyper curled up next to me. Beautiful light illuminated both of our faces. We looked so peaceful. The light was like a protective layer of warmth and love. As my awareness drifted back to my body I spotted Mr. Sexy at the foot of the bed, keeping a watchful eye over us. The last thing I saw before I drifted back into unconsciousness was a small reassuring smile from him.

I woke, feeling thick and groggy. The sun was doing its best to shine through the shade on the window. Blinded with sleep, I stumbled to the bathroom to complete my morning ritual. When I’d finished I found Pyper sitting in an armchair in the corner, waiting.

“Morning. The bathroom is all yours.” I shuffled over to the bag Kane had packed for me the day before and found a blue cotton skirt and form fitting white tee. He couldn’t have done better if I’d given him a list.

“I had a dream,” Pyper said, still sitting in her chair.

Her words trigger the memory of my own dream. I stopped rummaging through my bag and sat on the bed opposite her. “And?”

“I slept better last night than I have in weeks. The dream was full of warmth and light. I felt safe, protected even.” She gave me a small smile.

I frowned. It made no sense. This was the ghost that had hurt both of us. “I had the same dream. Did you see anyone in it?”

“No. Why, was Kane there?”

I shook my head. “No. Someone else.” She tensed. Should I tell her? I bit my lip, then decided she had a right to know. “Our ghost was there, but all I sensed was him protecting us.” Her face went white. “Both of us.” I added reassuringly.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t, but you felt it just the same way I did. It didn’t feel threatening, did it?”

She shook her head.

“It’s definitely odd, but better than the alternative, right?”

She plucked at the blanket. “I guess.”

“Then let’s consider it progress.” I stood, not wanting to dwell on it any longer. “Did Kane make something to eat?”

Her lips quirked. “Yes. I don’t know what you did to him, but I never got breakfast before.”

“Well, I didn’t steal his girlfriend.” I winked and headed for the door. When I glanced back, she stuck out her tongue. I was still chuckling when I found Kane.

“Sleep well?” he asked, giving me a light kiss.

I nodded. “You?”

“No.”

“Really? After all that happened yesterday, I’d have thought nothing could keep you up.”

“Nothing but the knowledge of the two of you sharing a bed.” He gave me a rueful smile and I rolled my eyes.

“Men.”

***

Later that day, Pyper and I worked late closing down the café. I was covering for Holly, who’d been working extra while we played ghost hunter.

“He’s coming at five?” Pyper asked, referring to Ian.

“Yep. When he called, he said he wasn’t finished analyzing but wanted to share what he had.”

“Did you tell Kane?”

“No.” That would be counterproductive, since I wanted to avoid him. I still hadn’t found the nerve to be honest with him. And as each hour passed, my anxiety about it grew.

“Okay, I’ll give him a buzz and let him know.”

Great. “I’ll just go get cleaned up and meet you back here in about fifteen.”

“Sounds good.”

I heard the phone ringing as I unlocked my door. “Coming!” I called, as if someone could actually hear me. By the time I got in and picked it up, I’d missed it. “Damn.”

The message was from Kat, wanting to see when we could get together. We’d been playing phone tag ever since I’d found her note and gift card. I’d forgiven her after having some distance and did want to see her, but didn’t think I’d have enough time to spend on a proper conversation since we hadn’t actually spoken in a few weeks. I made a mental note to call her back later.

I changed my clothes and took a few extra moments to reapply my makeup. Just because I wanted to avoid Kane didn’t mean I had to look like a slob. On my way back down I grabbed a six-pack of beer and a bottle opener. Something told me getting results sober was a bad idea.

Once inside the café, I took a seat between Ian and Pyper and popped the cap on my Guinness. “Anyone?”

Pyper grabbed a bottle. Kane got up and poured himself coffee.

“Not yet.” Ian passed out a pile of graphs and charts to each of us. “Let me get through this first. Does everyone have this sheet?” He held up a color-coded chart.

We each nodded.

“Good. This graph here shows the level of assumed paranormal activity when Jade was in her apartment. Do you see how it spikes when she speaks?”

The graph peaked in several places. “All of these are only when I was talking?” I asked.

“Yes. Except for here at the end of the chart—it peaks higher than any of them. That happened right after you left the room to find Pyper.”

“When we were trapped in the apartment,” Kane said.

“Right.” Ian said.

“This just confirms my ghost was in my apartment and stayed there when I left.” I shrugged. This wasn’t anything we hadn’t already suspected.

“Yes it does. But what’s more interesting is this.” He pulled out a second graph. “This one is the readings from right after we found the two of you in Pyper’s apartment.”

The graph was similar to the first, but had about twice as many peaks as the first one.

“Each peak is when either Pyper or Jade spoke, but no one else.” Ian eyed my beer.

I held it up, offering, but he waved me off.

“So, the ghost is…what? Giving off energy when either Jade or I speak?” Pyper asked.

“Yes. He’s responding to your voice or energy. The only other time we see a spike is when he trapped us in the apartment.” Ian held up another graph. “Now, check this out. This one is after you both left for the night. Not only are there no peaks, but there isn’t any paranormal activity at all.”

“This was from Pyper’s apartment?” I asked, looking it over.

“No, both. Your apartment too.”

“You’re saying he’s only present around either me or Pyper?”

“From what we have here, yes. But we can’t be totally sure. I wish we’d thought to get a reading of Pyper while we were getting that first reading with you. It would answer some questions.”

“What questions?” Kane asked.

“I’d like to get a reading on both Pyper and Jade at the same time, but in different areas of the building. We don’t have a clear idea how Pyper could be haunted in her dreams, while Jade is interacting with him at the same time. If I could get some more readings—”

“What would happen in these readings?” Pyper asked, cutting him off.

“Pretty much the same as what we did with Jade. We’d take readings and have each of you speak to him to see the response.”

“What exactly will that accomplish?”

“It’ll help us understand what’s going on,” Ian said.

“So?” Pyper asked.

Ian pursed his lips. “So, don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

“No.” Pyper stood up. “I want him to leave me alone. Will answering your questions make him stay away from me?”

“Uh…” Ian cleared his throat. “I can’t say, really. It might give us some insight on when and why he attacks.”

“Haven’t you been listening? He attacks me every time I sleep, with the exception of last night. If you don’t have a solution for getting rid of him permanently then I’m out.” Pyper grabbed her beer and stalked to the back room.

“Ian,” I said. “Do you know how to exorcise a ghost?”

He rolled his shoulders. “To be honest, I’ve never had a case this intense. Usually we just ask the spirit to back off and it does. Mostly I’ve been just recording information and trying to understand it.” He paused. “This case is really intriguing and I didn’t stop to think about how it’s affecting the two of you.”

Perfect. All this time, I’d been putting my trust in him as the experienced ghost hunter, and he didn’t have any better understanding about what to do than we did. “Last night I pretty much demanded he stop hurting Pyper, and he did. Do you think that did the trick? He did leave her alone last night.” I met Kane’s eyes when a mixture of worry and gratitude radiated from him.

“Maybe. Only time will tell.” Ian stood up, grabbing his papers. “In the meantime, I’ll try some of my contacts about what else can be done if need be.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He reached over and gave me a tight hug and left.

Jealousy rolled off Kane, but his face never changed. I hid a smile as I drank the rest of my beer.

“I’d like it if you and Pyper stayed at my place for a while,” Kane said.

“Are you thinking of a threesome? ‘Cause I got to say, I’m not into that sort of thing.”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “I’d just feel better if you were both nearby where I could keep an eye on you.”

“The apartment here is close enough.” When he opened his mouth to speak again I cut him off. “Look, Kane, I appreciate the thought. Really, I do. But I’m not afraid of the ghost. After Pyper was attacked yesterday we realized he’s only attacked me when I’ve been close with you.” I paused. “Maybe it’s better if we have a little space and see what happens.”

He opened his mouth, closed it then nodded.

“All right then. Beer?” I held one out.

“No thanks.” He got up and walked out.

Heaving a huge sigh, I picked up the remaining bottles and went to find Pyper.

“Hey. Want to come back to my place and get stupid drunk?”

Pyper straightened and grinned. “That’s the best invitation I’ve had all month.” She eyed the bottles. “But we’ll need more than what you’ve got there. Let’s make a stop in the club.”

Chapter 15

A rhythmic pounding entered my awareness. I rolled over, groaning. What the hell? I heard a muffled voice, shot up in bed and winced when I banged my elbow while fumbling with the light. Once fully awake, I realized someone was banging on my door.

“Jade? Jade? Open up.”

“Hold on. Just a sec.” Hastily wrapping my naked body in a short robe, I took the four steps to the door and opened it to find Pyper. Dark circles rimmed her red, puffy eyes on her pasty white face. “Are you all right?” I asked, pulling her in.

She clutched a thin cotton robe and in a small voice said, “He’s back.”

“Fuck.”

She nodded and curled up on my couch in a fetal position. “The last time I slept was here.”

I sat on the arm of the couch next to her, recalling when we’d swiped booze from the club and stayed up half the night giggling. “That was four days ago.”

She gave a small incoherent sound before closing her eyes. “It’s hot in here.”

“The air conditioner isn’t working.”

“You should tell Kane.” Her voice was weak, barely a whisper.

Pyper was right, of course, but since I was avoiding him I was suffering in the heat. Stupid, yes. But I was willing to wait it out a little longer. I got up and pointed my rotating fan toward her. Then, reaching for a pillow, I gently lifted her head and placed it under her. She snuggled into it and sighed. I stayed perched next to her until I heard the deep rhythmic breathing of sleep.

Standing next to my open balcony window, I gazed down at the moonlit courtyard. Why was he tormenting her? Since the day I had physically called him, Mr. Sexy had only appeared in my dreams to watch over me. In a comforting way though, not a creepy stalker way, as if he was protecting me. I think I should have been creeped out, but I wasn’t. I actually felt comforted and safe.

I checked on Pyper once more then pulled on a tank top and cotton bikinis and crawled back into bed. Too hot for covers, I stretched out on the top sheet and closed my eyes.

I woke to the smell of fresh coffee. “Yum. You can stay forever.”

“If I’d known it was that easy, I’d have made you breakfast in bed weeks ago.”

My eyes flew open. Kane stood next to me with a coffee mug. With a glance, I found my tank top had shimmied up, just barely covering my breasts. Crap. I jumped up, barely missed knocking the cup out of Kane’s hands, and put on my robe.

“I liked the other view better, but this is nice too.” He held the cup out to me.

“Did you say something about breakfast?” I took the coffee, avoiding eye contact.

“I brought bagels. It’s too hot to cook. Why didn’t you tell me the air wasn’t working?”

I shrugged and moved over to the counter. “Where’s Pyper?”

“She went down to the coffee shop. She asked me to bring you breakfast as a thank you.”

Noticing for the first time the bright sun shining through the window, I whirled around to look at my alarm clock. Seven a.m. “Oh, thank God. I still have an hour.”

“’Til what?”

“I have a class to teach. Thanks for coming by and for the breakfast, but I really need to get ready to go.” It wasn’t going to take me that long to shower and get dressed, but I didn’t want to be alone with him. I still needed time to sort out my emotions, which were running rampant at the moment.

So were his, but I was trying to block them out. It was overwhelming. While he was cool and calm on the outside, desire raged on the inside. And feeling it was having a profound effect on my willpower.

Not waiting for Kane to leave, I locked myself in the bathroom and turned the shower taps on high. When the cold water hit my body, I think steam actually radiated off me.

Ten minutes later I emerged, wrapped in my tiny robe. I kicked myself for not remembering to take clothes into the bathroom. There just wasn’t enough material, considering all the sparks flying around. Peeking around the corner, I found an empty room. Relief rushed over me as I realized Kane must have left. As I sat on my bed, a note on the nightstand caught my eye.

Jade, I will see about getting the air fixed or replaced today. You should have called as soon as it stopped working.

K.

I frowned, feeling slightly ashamed. I should’ve called. I should’ve been more gracious this morning as well. Vowing to behave better, I dressed quickly and grabbed the bagels on my way out the door.

Holly was busy taking orders, while Pyper handled three different coffee drinks at the same time. The line of customers snaked right out the front door. Grabbing an apron to help them out for a bit before my class, I jumped in next to Pyper and packed grounds into the espresso machine as fast as I could.

“Is it always this busy on Saturday?” I asked.

“Yes.” She gave me a grateful smile. I was happy to see the circles under her eyes were lighter, though not gone. One night of sleep wasn’t going to make up for missing days.

I smiled back and filled three cups full of ice to finish off the iced café au laits I was working on.

Within twenty minutes the line worked its way down to something manageable. I stepped into the back to hang up my apron and by the time I returned, Holly’s posture had relaxed and she was smiling at something Pyper had said.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Pyper was just telling me she spent the night with you last night.” She gave me a sly knowing smile. “I didn’t know it was like that.”

Huh? What was she talking about?

Pyper reached over and lightly smacked her on the back of the head. “No! I slept on her couch after waking her up in the middle of the night. Besides, she has a thing with Kane. Where have you been?”

“Kane?” She turned to me, wearing a startled expression. “Sorry” she said. “I didn’t know.” Turning on her heel, she walked purposefully into the back.

“What was that about?” I asked Pyper.

She shook her head. “No idea.”

“Feeling better this morning?” I wanted to ask about the events of the last four nights, but customers kept streaming through the door.

“Yes, better. I don’t usually need much sleep, but I do need some.” She bagged up a few muffins and passed them to a waiting customer.

“Uh, Pyper?” I edged my way closer to her. She looked up and I asked, “Do you think you should tell Ian he hasn’t left you alone?” I didn’t think he would have any answers, but I didn’t know what else to do.

Her shoulders slumped. “He’ll only want to do more readings.” Just then, two couples walked in the door. She stepped back to the register, ready for their order.

She had a point. Last I spoke with Ian, he still didn’t have a plan to help us exorcise the ghost. I’d have to call and light a fire under him. In the meantime, I’d ask Bea if she had any ideas. Any witch worth her salt would know something about ghosts.

I checked my watch. Eight o’clock. Time to get to the studio. I grabbed my purse and stopped next to Pyper, putting a hand on her arm. “You’re welcome at my place anytime.”

She nodded slightly and put on a bright smile for her patrons. “What can I get y’all today?”

***

My stop at the café left me with no time to spare. I arrived at the studio just as Bea and two other students strolled up. My master plan of speaking to Bea about the ghost would have to wait.

The class started out just as fun and easygoing as the previous ones, until my mind started to drift back to Pyper and the ghost. I’ve always been a good teacher since I can sense frustration, disappointment, satisfaction, and the like, which allows me to provide the feedback needed to fuel a student’s learning. But only if I’m paying attention.

“Damn it!”

I focused on Sandy, who was almost completely concealed in a haze of purple. I blinked. What the hell is that? She was surrounded by a bubble of gas-like substance, turning the color of eggplant. Frustration pulsed in time with the bubble, moving like a beating heart. Looking around, it was clear no one but me, and possibly Bea, saw it.

I glanced at Bea, who just smiled and nodded her head in Sandy’s direction. Abandoning my post at the other end of the table, I moved closer to the gas cloud. It parted and swirled like a fine mist when I walked up behind her. “How’s it going?”

“Argh! Terrible. I just can’t make this stringer of glass do what you showed us and now my bead is ruined.”

“Let’s see.” I took the metal mandrel out of her hand and inspected the bead. Green blobs of glass had been smeared haphazardly over one end. “Okay, here’s what we can do. Cover up this part with some more white.”

She took the mandrel back and started adding some glass to the end I’d indicated.

When she got the section covered, I said, “Now, melt it in nice and smoothly, and roll it out in a barrel shape.”

Intent on her task, Sandy did as I said. The gas faded, but not completely.

“But now the bead is bigger than the other one I made.”

“So? Just finish this one and make another smaller one, and you’ll have a pendant and an earring pair.”

“Oh! Cool.” She smiled and continued to shape the bead in the flame.

I watched as she rolled the warm glass on a graphite surface. “Next, take that green vine stringer.” I pointed to an extra thin strip of glass. “Bring it as close to the flame as you can without melting it. Remember, it’s so thin it’ll melt before you actually put it in the flame.”

I waited for her to find the spot. When she did I added, “Get your base bead good and hot. Hot enough that it glows orange. That’s it. Get your stringer in that magic spot you just found. There you go, touch it to your base bead. Now move the bead, keeping your stringer in that sweet spot. See how the heat of the bead combined with the radiant torch heat melts the stringer? That’s what gives you control. Excellent! Nice job!”

The other four students clapped as Sandy held up her bead, with perfect scrolls of vines wrapped around it.

“Wonderful, Sandy!” Bea cheered.

The color around Sandy shifted to very pale lavender and then dissipated.

“Nice,” I said. “Now add some dots for flowers, and you’re all set.”

“Thanks, Jade.” Sandy picked up some pink glass intent on completing her bead.

With the rest of the class happily melting away, I caught Bea’s eye. Her white light energy engulfed me, warming me to my toes and leaving me with the impression she’d just given me a mental hug. Cheered, I moved toward one of the other ladies to give more instruction.

When the clock struck twelve-thirty, everyone begged to stay a few more minutes. Feeling pleased and content with their progress, I obliged the request and sat down to finish the wire wrapping of last week’s beads.

Just as I finished, white light surrounded me. I looked up. “All done, Bea?”

“For today. Great lesson.”

“A little unusual, don’t you think?”

“Really? Looked pretty normal to me.” Bea watched the last of the students file out.

“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t see the purple gas cloud?”

“No. I saw it. I just wanted you to see it.”

I stood up. “Why?”

“I wanted to get your attention.” Bea took out her keys. “Will you join me for lunch today?”

“Yes.” I grabbed my purse and followed her to a sleek Toyota Prius. “Love your car.”

“Thanks.”

“Did you manufacture the purple gas, or…?”

Bea smiled. “No dear, I just fixed it so you could see it. It wasn’t gas, it was her aura.”

“And you did something to make me see it? How does that work?” I squinted as her white light grew brighter, making my eyes water. “Stop. I’m going blind over here.”

The light faded to more of a soft glow. “Auras feed off energy, and mine is pretty strong after all these years. I can enhance them. Only people with gifts like ours can see them. You just needed a little help.”

Gifts like ours. Maybe lunch wasn’t such a great idea.

Bea slowed in front of a large Greek revival home in the Garden District, complete with a black iron gate. She hit a remote attached to her visor, and the gates swung open.

“You live here?” I gaped.

She nodded and turned into the circular driveway, passed the main house and pulled up to what is known as a carriage house. In a previous life it would have housed horses and a carriage. She pointed. “This is where I live. The property is family-owned, and my cousins live in the house. I prefer a little privacy.”

Following her up the walkway, I breathed in the sweet fragrance from the lush gardens. “This is paradise.”

“As close as I’m going to get I suspect.” She unlocked the door. “Come in.”

The inviting pale yellow room had a garden stenciled on one wall and traditional antique furniture. A table sat off to the left in front of a smallish kitchen painted bright white, with glass cabinets.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said.

Thank you, I painted it myself.” She nodded toward the garden stencil. “Are you hungry?”

“Very. Let me help you.”

“No need. I have a salad made up. I just need to dish it out on plates. Why don’t you go outside and enjoy this lovely day on the porch?” She gestured to a door off the back of the kitchen. “I’ll be right out.”

The porch was screened in with three large ceiling fans, a must for the heavy summer heat. I sat admiring the small garden and smiled when I noticed a beautiful golden retriever curled up in a patch of shade.

In no time Bea emerged with a large tray of salads and freshly squeezed lemonade.

“This looks wonderful. Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome. Thanks for coming to visit. I have wanted to talk with you for a while now.” She took a slice of bread.

“What about?”

She forced a smile. “My brother.”

I furrowed my eyebrows together. “Your brother?”

She nodded, her smile still plastered on her face. “Yes. I wanted to know how he’s been treating you.”

Putting down my fork, I stared at her. “Who’s your brother?”

“Robert Wilson. Or Bobby is what I called him.” Bea’s smile faded into a sad wistful expression.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know a Robert or a Bobby.” I had no idea where she was going with this. Maybe she was confused.

“You do. You just didn’t know that’s his name.”

“Who are you talking about?”

She picked up her lemonade glass, took a long sip and carefully placed it on the table. “Have you ever known a ghost before, Jade?”

A shiver shook my body as her words sunk in. “Known? No, but I’ve seen one.”

Bea nodded. She held her hand up indicating I should wait and then disappeared into her house. She returned, holding a silver picture frame. “Do you recognize this man?”

I gasped. “That’s my ghost.” I took the frame from her, studying it in detail. There he was. My Mr. Sexy, standing next to a much younger-looking Bea. “When was this taken?”

“Over thirty years ago.” Her eyes stayed on the picture. “That was just before he died.”

“Thirty years ago,” I said in a soft voice. I looked up. “How did you know?”

Her eyes rose to mine. “Bobby followed you out of the Herbal Connection that day you came in.”

Setting the frame on the table, I leaned back. “He followed me?” My eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Yes. I knew right away you had a gift. I just wasn’t sure what it was.”

“You think ghosts are my gift?” Maybe she didn’t know about my other talent.

“Oh, it’s one of them, but not the main one.” Her smile returned, only this time it looked natural.

“And?”

Ignoring my question, she picked up the photo. “Is he treating you well?”

“Um, he’s been…interesting.” How could I tell her about what he did to Pyper? Or me, for that matter.

“Interesting?”

I shook my head. “Never mind. Why did he follow me?”

“Because of your energy, of course.” She said it as if talking to a simpleton.

Like that cleared things up. “Has he done this before?”

“No. For thirty years he’s been a presence in my life as a spirit. Mostly he hung out at the shop, as he seemed to enjoy the interaction with people. That day you walked in I knew you were special, but when Bobby followed you out…well, I just needed to find out more about you.”

“And that’s why you signed up for my class?” I asked, making the belated connection.

“Yes.”

“I thought it was a bit of a coincidence.” I glanced at the photo again. “Why me? I’ve never collected a ghost before.”

“Well,” Bea paused, “As I said your energy probably attracted him.”

“But—”

“And the way you look.”

“The way I look?” I frowned.

Bea got up. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the house.

I set my fork down, pushed the plate away and got up to pace the garden. Why did the ghost choose me? Surely I wasn’t the only one with interesting energy to ever walk into the Herbal Connection. Was there something about my particular ability that attracted him? Rounding a corner, I eyed the large golden retriever bounding up to me.

“Hi, cutie pie.” I smiled and reached down to pet it. Just as I thought I would connect with its head, it vanished. “What the hell?” I jumped up, looking around.

“What is it?” Bea came around the hedge.

“Where did the dog go?”

“What dog?” Bea frowned.

“The golden retriever,” I said still searching.

“You saw a golden retriever?”

I nodded.

“Oh wow.” Bea grinned.

“Wow, what? What the hell is going on?” Agitation took over.

Bea waved me over. “Come back to the table. I have something to show you.”

As I reclaimed my seat she handed me another old photo in a silver frame. “Take a look at this.”

“Oh my God! Who is this?” I pointed to the strawberry blonde woman standing next to Bobby.

“It’s a remarkable likeness, isn’t it?”

I gaped.

“That was his wife,” Bea said.

“Was his wife? Is she—”

“She’s still living, but she moved up north years ago. After Bobby died, she couldn’t stand being here, so she moved to be closer to her family. I haven’t talked to her in years. But you look just like her.”

“I guess that explains why he attached himself to me.” I felt downright creepy now. Visions of our nightly encounters flashed through my mind. Ick. He thought I was someone else.

“Now look at this.” She handed me another photo. This one showed Bobby a few years younger and a dog. A golden retriever.

“No way.” I set the picture down.

“I’d say it has to be him. His name was Duke, and he belonged to Bobby.”

“Have you seen him lurking around?”

“No. Never.” She shrugged. “But they lived in the big house, not this one.”

I got up and moved around the hedge. The golden retriever was sitting exactly where I’d seen him before he vanished. “Heya, Duke.” The large golden dog lifted his head in response. “So it’s true.” How freaking odd! Just then my pants started to vibrate. I jumped, forgetting I’d set my phone on vibrate before class started. “Oh crap.” I laughed and pulled it out of my pocket. “Excuse me a moment.”

Bea nodded.

I strode across the lawn. “Hello.”

“Hey, girlfriend,” Kat said. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, yourself. Phone tag was getting old. Where are you?”

“Whole Foods, where are you?”

“At Bea Kelton’s house in the Garden District.”

“Who?” she asked.

“A student. She owns the Herbal Connection and asked me for lunch.”

“That’s, cool. I called because I wanted your help with something. What are you doing later?”

“I was planning a nice long soak in my tub.” I eyed Duke as he moseyed up to me.

“Do you think you can put it off? I need something special for an order, and I want to raid your bead stash.” Kat was a silversmith and periodically bought glass beads for her jewelry line.

“Sure. I don’t know when I’ll be home, though. I’ll need to get a ride from Bea.”

“You’re on my way. I can pick you up.”

“Perfect.” I walked back to Bea, relayed the address and sat down at the table. “My friend Kat is on her way. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

I pushed the lettuce around on my plate and for the first time that afternoon I realized I wasn’t getting any of her emotions.

“Bea, what is it about this place? It’s…different.” I wasn’t sure what to say. I was seeing ghosts, and my emotional radar was out. Not that I minded. It was kind of nice to not be tuned in.

“It’s a protection ward. I like the silence.”

Uh, okay. A protection ward. She had to be a paranoid witch. I started to get really uncomfortable. I’d known plenty of witches, and they scared the crap out of me. And for good reason. They were the reason I’d lost my mom.

“What’s wrong?” Bea peered at me.

“Nothing. I just—wait, can you see Duke?” The retriever had moved and was currently sitting next to me.

“No. Is he here?” she asked, looking around.

“Yes.” I pointed to my feet, then looked up and swallowed. “And now Bobby is sitting next to you.” Did he follow me everywhere? This was too weird.

She turned to the empty chair and chanted something under her breath I didn’t understand. The warm air chilled, and Bea’s anxious excitement washed over me. Bobby’s outline grew stronger. The golden retriever bounded up to him, tongue wagging. He reached down to pet him with a grin on his face.

I jumped again when the phone started vibrating.

“Kat?”

“I’m out front. Are you ready?”

“Yes, I’ll be right there.” Flipping the phone closed, I turned to Bea. “My friend is here.”

Disappointment swirled around her, but her smile didn’t waiver. “Of course.”

I took a deep breath. “Before I go, there’s something I have to ask.”

She sat up and nodded.

“Does Bobby have any history of violence?”

Her brow creased. Defensiveness crept into her voice. “No. Not ever. Why would you ask that?”

Closing my eyes, I forced the words out. “He’s been hurting my friend, Pyper. It happens in her sleep unless she’s near me.”

Fierce denial engulfed me, squeezing until I sputtered, “Bea, stop. Please.”

Her energy vanished. Gooseflesh popped out on my bare arms. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice stiff. “I have trouble believing Bobby would ever hurt anyone.”

I stood on shaking legs. “Thank you for having me and telling me about him.”

She stared across the yard with unfocused eyes. After a moment she spoke in a detached eerie tone. “I sense the truthfulness of your words, though what you believe to be true doesn’t make it so.” She turned back to me. Her expression cleared. “Please ask your friend if we can meet. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I will. I’ll call you tonight. Thank you.” I gave her a tentative wave as I crossed the yard, making a beeline for Kat’s car.

“Thank God you’re here. That place was starting to freak me out,” I said, jumping into the passenger side.

“Why?” Kat put the car in gear and drove off.

“She’s a witch.”

“Really? Did she tell you that?” Kat glanced my way.

“Not in so many words, but she lifted a ward. I know she has some kind of special powers, but we didn’t talk about it.” I flipped the visor down to cut out the sun. My eye caught something in the rearview mirror. I groaned.

“What?” Kat asked.

“I just inherited a ghost dog.” Duke was in the back seat, his head hanging out the window.

***

“So, you’re saying Ms. Kelton’s dead golden retriever followed you home?” Kat sat cross-legged on the hardwood, pawing through my bead stash. Since I didn’t have a dining table, I’d spread out half a dozen trays right there on the floor. She set a few aside and cocked an eyebrow.

“Not exactly,” I said as Duke staked out a place on the couch.

“Not exactly? Do you mean you dognapped him?” The incredulous look on her face suggested she thought I was joking.

“No, he jumped in the car, and you drove him here. He followed us up the stairs.”

“Are you even allowed pets?” She laughed.

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Frowning, I grabbed a beer and slammed the refrigerator door.

“Oh come on, it was a little funny. Do I get one of those?” She tilted her head toward my Guinness.

I shrugged, stepped out onto my balcony and sat down. Leaning back in my chair, I sighed heavily.

Kat appeared with a beer in her hand. “What is it?” She pulled a chair next to mine.

My eyes filled. I tried to blink back the tears. Breathing deeply, the air came in ragged, short spurts. “Oh, Kat,” I whispered as tears streamed uncontrollably down my face.

She shifted and her reassuring hand closed over mine. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she murmured. “It’s going to be okay.”

“There’s just so much going on. I don’t think I can handle much more.” I sniffled loudly. “And, now I have a ghost dog!”

Kat squeezed my fingers. “It’ll be okay. Bea said she’d help. At least now you know who you’re dealing with and why he’s attached to you. And a ghost dog is really a great thing, the way I see it.”

“Huh?”

“Well, it’s a golden, and you love goldens. With a ghost dog, you don’t have to feed him, walk him, pick up his shit or even clean up all that hair. You get a companion, and you don’t have to worry about how long you leave it home alone, if it’ll chew your favorite shoes, track dirt in the house, drool on you or get sick. You don’t need a vet or need to register it. Plus, it could still be a guard dog, I suppose. At least, warn you when something isn’t right.”

My lips quirked as she went on. “Do you suppose he’ll still want play toys? What about treats? You know how much goldens like to eat. Maybe you could get plastic doggie treats. That way he can pretend, and you don’t have food out rotting. He’ll want a doggie bed too, I suppose.”

I chuckled. “He’s already made himself at home on the couch.”

“That didn’t take long, did it?” She turned, looking in the window. “Is he on the right side?”

“Nope, left.”

“Your couch is sagging then.”

“Of course it is. It’s used.”

She smiled. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll call Ian with the new info. He keeps saying if he knew why the ghost was here it would help. Maybe this is the piece of the puzzle he needs to finally get something done.”

I nodded. “I suppose I should tell Kane, too.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Just seems like he should know.”

Kat got up. “I’m gonna use your bathroom, but when I get back I want the full scoop on Kane. You never gave me all the details.”

She went back inside while I dialed Ian and left a detailed message about Bobby and why he was stalking me. Afterward, I called Pyper and filled her in. To my relief she offered to relay the information to Kane.

Then I retrieved Bea’s number and was disappointed when her phone automatically when to voicemail. “Hello, Bea. I’ve talked to Pyper, and we’re both anxious to meet with you as soon as possible.” I left my number and as I put my phone down, Kat reappeared.

“All right, dish,” she said.

Obediently, I replayed the gory details of my short affair with Kane.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Kat said. “You’re mad at him for invading your dreams?”

“Yes. Wouldn’t you be?”

“With the dreams you described?” She laughed. “No.”

I glared at her in exasperation. “It isn’t the content of the dreams so much as the invasion.”

“Kind of like how you read his emotions and don’t tell him?” She raised her brows.

She was right, of course. Hadn’t I already had this same debate with myself? Hearing her say it out loud only made me feel worse.

“You’re going to tell him, right?” She peered at me.

I slumped, dejected. “You know why I don’t tell people.”

“Probably some of the same reasons Kane isn’t eager to share the details of his gift.” Kat leaned back, fingering the top of her beer bottle. “You need to tell him.”

“But what if—”

“He’s not Dan. So stop the what-ifs right this instant. You can’t live your life around how Dan acted. Kane is his own person. You should give him the chance. You might be surprised.”

“But I—”

“No buts. I know Dan hurt you. But you have to at least accept that part of the blame was yours for not telling him sooner.”

“He cheated on me!” I said, automatically defaulting to my ingrained indignation of how I’d been wronged even though I knew she was right.

“He was hurt, Jade.” She took a deep breath. “I know it was wrong. Of course it was. But you kept your gift from him for seven years, if you count the time we were all friends in high school. You’ve known Kane for, what, two weeks? What if this had been happening for years and he never told you? How would you feel?”

The beer turned stale on my tongue. “Awful. Betrayed. Horrified.”

Kat reached her hand out and clasped mine again. “You made a mistake. It’s understandable, given your history, but don’t let your fears get in the way of a good thing with Kane. If he’s so easily scared away, he isn’t good enough for you.”

I gave her a sad smile. “I really like him.”

“I know, honey. That’s why you need to tell him.” We sat in silence for a long moment, until Kat said, “You’ll find a way.”

“I hope so.”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me back inside. “Enough. Let’s go in so I can keep rummaging through your beads.”

Hours later, after Kat had left, neither Ian nor Bea had returned my calls.

Chapter 16

A variety of Voodoo dolls lined the windows of The Herbal Connection. I did a double take and checked the store sign.

“I thought you said this was a new age shop?” Pyper stood next to me, a skeptical frown on her face.

I’d offered to conduct a cleansing ritual on Pyper to neutralize any negative energy. It was a long shot, but at this point we were ready to try anything. “It was the last time I was here.”

“Looks more like Marie Leveau’s.” The shop named for the famous Voodoo Priestess was located at the other end of Bourbon Street.

I shrugged. “They’re probably trying to cater to the tourists.”

The door jingled as we walked in, and my skin tingled with pleasure as I inhaled the strong fresh rain scent. Kane’s scent. But he was back at the club, which only meant one thing. The store’s ‘happy place’ charm had evoked it. Damn, I was in trouble.

“Do you think that cinnamon chocolate scent is a candle or incense?” Pyper asked.

“I’m sure you can get it in either.” If Bea could charm a whole shop, certainly she could do something as simple as a candle. Though I wasn’t sure why Pyper would need it. Clearly her happy scent was the café.

A woman at least half Bea’s age clad in a chic, stylish, bohemian tunic and leggings greeted us. Now this is the kind of person I expected to see in an herbal shop. Her energy had the same lightness as Bea’s, but as I tried to get a read on her emotions all I sensed was a cool void. Weird. I’d never had that happen before.

“Hi,” I said. “Is Bea around?”

“Sorry, she didn’t come in today. Can I help you?”

“Yes, we need a Desert Sage smudge stick.” I pulled a bill out of my wallet, but Pyper put her hand over mine.

“I got it.”

I smiled and turned toward the clerk. “I hope Bea isn’t sick.”

“I’m not really sure. She left me a note letting me know she wouldn’t be here, so she either came in last night or this morning. I can leave her a message if you like.”

“It’s all right, I have her number. Thanks though.”

“Anything else?” the clerk asked.

I shook my head.

As she finished the transaction, a small twinge of curiosity flowed from her. I reached deeper to find her emotions and was rewarded with a brilliant white light bouncing off the honey-colored hair piled on top of her head.

“Wow,” I said and stepped back.

“What?” Pyper asked.

“Oh, sorry. Nothing.” I bit my lip.

The clerk’s energy went from white to purple and back to white as she studied me. Realization seemed to dawn and she smiled. “An empath. That explains the bright purple pulsing around you. I can see auras and,” she waved her hand, “other things.”

I froze. Who was she?

She leaned in close to me. “You’re friend has something attached to her. Something dark.”

“Dark?” I repeated. Did Bobby follow us everywhere?

“Really dark. The worst kind of dark. I’m not sure the smudge will work, but you can try.” She looked unconvinced.

“Can you tell what it is?” Pyper turned her head, checking over her shoulder.

“I don’t know. It’s just black, but it isn’t your aura. Yours is red, with tinges of yellow. Very dynamic.”

Pyper straightened and smiled. “Really? That’s so cool.” Apparently her aura trumped the dark thing following her.

“Anything else you’d suggest, besides the smudge?” I glanced around the shop, hoping something would jump out at me.

“You’d be better off asking Bea. If I see her, I’ll let her know you could use her advice.”

“Thanks.” I handed her a card. “I’m Jade, and this is Pyper.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Lailah. Come see me sometime, and I’ll read your auras more carefully.” She slid a card in the bag and handed it to Pyper.

I waved and tugged Pyper out of the store.

***

Pyper grabbed a piece of cheese pizza. “Auras, huh? Do you think that stuff is real?”

“Sure, don’t you?” I sipped my lemonade. It was just wrong to have pizza without beer, but I couldn’t drink and smudge and expect it to be effective.

She shrugged. “I guess I should be open to anything now. Dreamwalking, ghosts and now smudging. Why not auras?”

“Doesn’t all this freak you out?” If I hadn’t been exposed to all kinds of odd occurrences growing up, I’d be running for the psych ward right about then. Pyper’s ability to take everything in stride left me in awe.

“No. Not really.” She paused. “All right, the ghost shit does, but the other stuff, no. I think it’s kinda cool. It reinforces my belief of all of us being connected. Some of us just see it better than others.” Her calm energy floated in soothing waves toward me.

“How can you be so cool about it, with everything happening?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s an act.” She grinned.

“It’s not. I can see it isn’t.”

“You’re that good at reading people?”

“Yes. I am.” I saw no point in denying it.

“Interesting. Anything you want to share?” She peered at me.

“Like what?” I pretended deep interest in my veggie pizza slice.

“Like maybe you want to tell me what an empath is and what was going on back there?” Her eyes gleamed.

Shit. I’d been hoping with the whole aura thing, she’d forgotten that comment. Lailah pulled me out of the closet with one reading of my aura. I’d had my aura read once before and already knew it was purple. But that just means intuitive. It doesn’t mean empath. How did she know?

“Come on, Jade.” Pyper set her food down, giving me her undivided attention.

I took a deep breath. The last person I’d told about my gift was Dan. Look at how well that had turned out. “I guess Lailah can see people’s auras.”

“That part I got.”

“She also said she sees other things, and apparently she saw something dark attached to you.” I stalled.

“Right, I have a dark ghost following me. That isn’t news. That’s why I’m staying with you. What’s so special about you that makes him behave?” Her eyes bored into mine.

“There isn’t anything special about me!” Warped maybe. Or flawed. But not special. And certainly nothing that would keep evil ghosts away.

“That’s crap, and you know it. Hell, I knew it the first time I met you. Look at Kane and how he’s fallen for you. And Charlie, she’s friendly and outgoing, but she doesn’t respect a lot of people. And she respects and admires you, Jade Calhoun. There’s something very special about you, even if you don’t see it.” She stopped to catch her breath. “Now, what’s an empath, cause I didn’t forget.”

Stunned, I let her words sink in. For the first time in my life, I had a network of friends and hadn’t even realized it. Something unlocked in my heart, and the last of my resolve melted. “An empath is someone who feels other people’s emotions as they feel them.”

“Kind of like being around a happy person can make you happy? Infectious energy stuff?”

“Yeah.” I laughed humorlessly. “Only normal people get a small fraction of that transfer. Empaths, people like me, get a full force version whether we want to or not.”

Pyper leaned in, giving me her full attention. Curiosity bubbled up, replaced by empathy gliding off her and swirling around my center. “So when people near you are upset, you feel their pain?”

I nodded. “And for people I have a close relationship with, like Aunt Gwen, sometimes I feel her emotions no matter where she is.”

“Oh, Jade. You poor thing. Is there anything you can do to block it out?”

Her sympathy wrapped me in a blanket, and I let myself cherish the sensation. Not that I wanted to be pitied, but I’d never had someone understand that terrible part of my existence so quickly. I cleared the newly formed lump in my throat. “Yes, I can build defenses, but it’s draining. And sometimes if an emotion hits me too hard, I can’t block it out.”

She squeezed my fingers and let go. “But you also feel joy and happiness too, right?”

“Sure. Those are great, kind of like a natural high, but that wears me out, too. Too much outside emotional energy is exhausting. Then I can’t block anything, and that can be destructive.” I looked down at my half-eaten pizza and pushed it away, no longer hungry.

Pyper didn’t say anything and when I risked a peek, she met my eyes and said, “It’s a gift, Jade. But it isn’t what makes you special.”

One tear rolled silently down my face.

She moved her chair next to mine and used a napkin to catch it. “Honey, I don’t know what happened in your past to make you think this was something to be hidden or ashamed of—”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“Okay, guarded. How’s that?”

I nodded. “Guarded.”

“But you’re part of our family now. You must know we accept you for who or what you are, no matter what. There’s no need to hide from us. Kane, me, Charlie, even Holly.”

“Holly hates me.” I sniffed.

“Of course she doesn’t.”

I raised an eyebrow.

Pyper smiled. “Hate is a very strong word.”

“Right, but I don’t think she sees me as part of the family.”

“Well, maybe not, but she likes you better than you think.” Pyper stood up. “Come on, let’s get out of here and get this smudge thing done. I’m tired of my black shadow.”

***

Two days later I stood at the cash register of the café, stifling a huge yawn.

“You look like you’re ready to fall over,” Pyper said.

I nodded, wiping down the counter. I’d seen my reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t pretty. The smudge hadn’t worked, and Pyper had taken up residence, sleeping on my couch. She was no trouble, but the dog was constantly barking at her—or, more likely, her black shadow. I’d performed a ritual to ask the dog to move on, but it hadn’t worked. Without any other options, I’d been afraid Pyper would feel pressured to leave. So, I just didn’t tell her about it.

“Am I keeping you awake?” Pyper stepped close to me.

“No, no.” Another yawn took hold, causing my eyes to water.

“I don’t believe you. I should stay at my own place tonight.”

“No! That’s not an option.” We were stuck in a holding pattern. Bea and Ian were still MIA. We’d each called Ian, with no answer. I’d called Bea and left numerous messages. When she didn’t call back, I’d stopped by her house, but she hadn’t been home. Then I’d tried her shop again. Lailah didn’t know much. She’d gotten a message Bea was unavailable for a few days. In the meantime, I wouldn’t let Pyper out of my sight.

“It’s Kane, right? That’s what’s keeping you up. I know he hasn’t called you or stopped by. The ass.”

“No. It isn’t. I asked him for space.” It was true. I had asked him, and he was giving it to me. Be careful what you wish for. He hadn’t even shown up in my dreams. Though Bobby was still there, watching.

“But—”

“It’s the ghost dog.” I cut her off before she could work herself up farther. “Duke, the ghost dog. He barks all the time while you’re there. He just won’t stop.”

“Oh.” She chuckled then sobered. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny.”

“It’s kinda funny, except I’m about to pass out.”

Pyper looked thoughtful. “Do you think it would help if we had separate bedrooms? I mean, if we stayed in my apartment, do you think I’d still be able to sleep? Maybe the dog will sleep in your room with you. Do ghosts sleep?”

“I don’t know about ghosts, but Duke certainly looks like he does. That dog lies around all the time.” I shrugged. “I’m up for trying it, if you are. You have a lot more to lose than I do.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

Later that night, while Pyper went to work at Wicked, I curled up in Kane’s bed once again and was rewarded with the faint whiff of his scent. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him until that moment. A hollow ache formed deep in my heart.

I closed my eyes and did my best to put Kane out of my mind. Within moments Bobby’s soothing image stood before me. I don’t know how long I slept before the barking started. Damn dog. I got up and followed the noise to the living room.

“Hi, Pyper.” I waved.

“Did I wake you up?” Her worry seeped into my consciousness.

“No. It was the dog. I’ve come to collect him. Come on, Duke. Let’s go.” He trotted over to me and disappeared in the bedroom. “Want me to stay up until you go to sleep, just in case?”

Worry swirled around her, but stubbornness quickly took over. “No. I’ll wake up fast if it doesn’t work.”

Too tired to argue, I nodded. “Okay. Goodnight then.”

“Night.”

I fell right back to sleep. Bobby watched over me as usual, with Duke lying at his feet. The bliss seemed to last for hours, until the light around Bobby brightened to a reddish glow and the calm turned anxious. I rolled over, restless and knocked my head against something hard.

“Ouch. Damn it.”

“Hey,” a gruff voice said. “Are you all right?”

Kane’s distinct energy engulfed me. “Was that your head?” I asked.

“Yes.” He ran his hand lightly over my skull. “No large bumps. I think you’ll live.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and I snuggled in closer.

“Good.” I closed my eyes hoping for more sleep, but his intruding desire snapped me awake. “Wait, why are you here?”

“There’s a storm raging and rather than take a cab home, I decided this sounded much nicer.”

“But you’re avoiding me.”

“I was giving you space.”

“And now?” I sat up.

“Now I’m not giving you space.” He pulled me back down into his arms and crushed my lips with his.

Shocked, I didn’t move, but when I felt his tongue searching I kissed him back with just as much intensity. His heart pounded against my breast. I pressed closer as his desire overpowered all my other senses. That alone was enough to send my blood pumping.

Kane rolled me over, trapping me beneath him, hands everywhere. My thoughts jumbled, and I wanted nothing but him.

“God, Jade, I’ve missed you. I’ve been—”

A high-pitched screaming sounded through the wall.

Kane froze.

I pushed him off of me, jumped up, ran to the other room and yelled, “Pyper! Wake up, honey, wake up!”

Her screams stopped, and a second later her eyes fluttered open. “There you are.”

“Jade. What happened?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. You’d been sleeping for a while, but then you just started screaming. Can you tell me anything?”

Kane brushed my arm as he moved to sit next to Pyper.

“I don’t know. I was feeling peaceful, like I always do when I sleep at your place, then all of a sudden the calm disappeared and hell took over.” She clutched the covers to her chest. Kane reached out, running a hand over her leg.

I joined him on the edge of the bed. “I dreamt of Bobby and the dog and had the same peacefulness. Then right before I woke up it got tense and uneasy.”

“Right after I joined you in the bed?” Kane asked, his eyes crinkling with worry.

“How long had you been there?” I asked.

“I’d just gotten there when you knocked me on the head.” He turned to Pyper. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Pyper looked from Kane to me.

I slumped. “The ghost has a problem with me and Kane, ah, getting close.”

“Oh.” Realization dawned in her eyes.

“This has got to stop!” I jumped up and paced. “We can’t wait around until Bea and-or Ian shows up. We don’t even know if they can help.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Pyper said. “I wonder if Lailah might know someone or be able to do anything.”

“I don’t know. When we asked her about it she said our best bet was to ask Bea.” I flopped back onto the bed.

“It’s worth a try,” Pyper said.

“It is. In the meantime, why don’t the two of you stay here? I’ll take the other room.” Kane got up to leave.

“Won’t work. My ghost dog likes to bark at Pyper. He’s doing it right now. I won’t get any sleep.” I glared at the door where Duke stood.

“I guess it’s the couch for me then.” Kane kissed me on the forehead and left.

Back in Kane’s room alone, it took me a long while to go back to sleep.

***

The next morning, Pyper and I walked the short distance to the Herbal Connection.

“Hello,” Lailah sang from the back of the store. “Are you here to get your auras read?”

“Thanks, but not today. We’re here about something else,” I said.

“The black thing still following your friend?” Lailah frowned, studying Pyper.

“Yes,” Pyper said.

“We haven’t been able to get a hold of Bea, and things are getting out of hand. We were hoping you might have some suggestions for what to do, or know someone else who might be able to help us.”

Lailah focused on Pyper. Her white light energy took on a grey hue, and then shown bright white again when she looked back at me. She bit her lip. “I don’t know. That shadow is really strong, and it’s not going to be easy to get rid of. I know a way, but I’d feel a lot more confident if Bea were here to help me.”

“Do you know when she’s coming back?” I asked.

Lailah shook her head. “No. In fact I haven’t heard from her at all, which is really weird.”

Pyper stepped up next to me and put her hand on Lailah’s arm. “Please try?” A small twinge of desperation seeped from Pyper.

Then something odd happened. Lailah seemed to absorb it, change it somehow, and sent it back as a stream of calmness. She’d physically changed Pyper’s distinct energy. I could siphon energy, or send my own as a sort of suggestion, but I couldn’t change it.

“How did you do that?” I asked.

“You felt that, huh? Just one of my gifts. I’ll show you sometime. Right now I need to prepare for getting rid of this jackass tormenting Pyper here.”

“Yes!” Pyper pumped her fist in the air.

“Don’t get too excited. It won’t be pleasant. So be prepared.” Lailah turned to me. “I’ll perform the ritual, but we’ll need a fourth person. A female. Females have more power with this kind of thing. Do you have someone you trust?”

“Sure.” I knew Kat would come if I asked. “But she doesn’t have any powers.”

“If she’s female, it’s enough.” Lailah grabbed a note pad and started scribbling. “We need to do this as close to midnight as possible, and outside. Do you have a place we can meet for this?”

“Yes,” Pyper said. “We have a courtyard between Wicked and The Grind. You know where they are, right?”

Lailah nodded, still writing.

I handed her my cell phone number. “Give us a call when you’re out front, and one of us will come get you. Do we need to do anything special to prepare?”

“Nope. I’ll take care of everything.”

When we got back to our building, Pyper headed to her apartment and I went to mine. I called Kat and invited her to a girl’s night in, leaving out the part about needing her for a ritual. Okay, so I felt a little guilty, but I wanted to feel her emotions while I told her about it in person. If she had any hesitations, I’d have an easier time navigating how to convince her.

My heart sank. Talk about being a hypocrite.

Chapter 17

Kat showed up right before nine. “Where’s Pyper?”

“Working down in the club. She’ll be here before eleven.” I poured two glasses of wine. “Did you eat?”

“Yes, but snacks are expected on girlfriend night.” She took a glass. “So chop up the cheese and whip out the olives or whatever it is you have stashed aside.”

Laughing, I pulled out a cheese plate from the fridge. “I’m way ahead of you.”

“Gouda!” She put a piece in her mouth, closed her eyes and groaned in ecstasy. “Man, this is good.”

“Glad you like it. And here’s dessert.” I set another tray next to it.

“Oh my God! I want girlfriend night at least once a week. Dark chocolate, strawberries, and what are these?” She held up a small round chocolate ball.

“Chocolate-covered blueberries.”

“Damn, Jade. You’ll never get rid of me now.” Kat filled a plate and sat back.

“Good, cause I have an ulterior motive for bringing you here.”

The cheery contentment surrounding her faded to suspicion. “What? What are you gonna make me do?”

“Not me. Lailah.” I grabbed my wine glass and told her about the day I’d met Lailah, my confession to Pyper and the upcoming exorcism.

After I finished my speech, Kat cast a sideways glance as she popped a few chocolate covered blueberries in her mouth. “Now that Pyper knows you’re an empath, did you tell Kane?”

After everything I’d just told her, that’s what she focused on? “No.”

Kat washed down her chocolate with a gulp of wine. “You better do it soon before someone else does.”

“What? Are you going to tell him?”

“No. But word spreads. You know that.”

I frowned, knowing she was right. “Fine, I’ll tell him. Happy?”

“Yes. Now, what exactly have you signed me up for? An exorcism?” Her expression told me she thought I’d lost my mind.

“Lailah said she might be able to get rid of the ghost. She needs three other women to help with the ritual.” Feeling her questions rise, I raised my hand in a stop motion. “I don’t know what or how. She did say it wouldn’t be pleasant, so if you don’t want to do it, I need you to tell me.”

Her suspicion faded to weariness. “Is she a witch?”

“I really don’t know. What I do know is Pyper is willing to try just about anything to be free. Kat, it’s horrible. I can feel her pain when she gets attacked.” I shuddered and whispered, “It’s awful.”

Kat sighed, still filled with weariness, but she said, “All right. If it helps Pyper, I’ll do it.

I grabbed her and gave her a hug. “Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you on the phone.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She refilled her wine glass. “Let’s get down to the really important stuff. Like where exactly is tall, dark and yummy this evening?”

I smiled. “He’s working at the club. We can go down there if you want.”

“Uh, yeah! Let’s go.”

We ran into Charlie at the bottom of the stairs. When I told her we were headed into Wicked, she shuffled us through the employee entrance and led us through the crowd. Once we reached the bar she waved a couple of dancers off the bar stools, making room for us.

“You didn’t have to get up,” I said to the tall, gorgeous, barely covered blonde in front of me.

She winked, smiling. “When the boss says move, you move. Enjoy yourself.” She turned and sat in the lap of a man sitting at a nearby table.

“You got promoted!” I stood on the bottom rung of the stool, leaned over the bar and wrapped my arms around Charlie.

“Yep, and a nice raise, too.” Charlie hugged me back, holding on a little longer than really necessary. Her eyes sparkled as she released me, and I laughed.

Kat reached over and gave Charlie a quick hug. “Congrats!”

Watching them, I jumped off the stool, lost my balance and stumbled backwards, crashing into someone. Mortified, I turned to apologize and stopped midsentence. Hate crept up my spine, shattering my defenses. I took a step back.

“Dan,” I said.

Kat whirled in surprise. “Hey! I thought it was poker night.” She put her arm around Dan’s waist and kissed his cheek.

His eyes went wide with shock and then he scowled. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you I didn’t want you hanging out with that freak.”

“Dan.” Kat warned and backed away. “Don’t talk about Jade that way.”

Ignoring her, Dan glared at me. “Why did you have to bring her to this slut palace? Again.”

“She wanted to come,” I said.

“Like hell. You talked her into it, you cheap bitch.”

Kat leaned in, poking Dan in the chest with her finger. “Do not call her that. And don’t you dare tell me who I can and can’t hang out with, Dan Pearson.” She took a few steps forward, forcing him back. Her anger, mixed with confusion, took over, pushing all of Dan’s hatred right out of my awareness. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dan grabbed her wrists and yanked her aside. As he moved toward me, Kat regained her footing and jumped between us, stopping him.

“I’m warning you, Kat, get out of my way,” he said.

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll get what’s coming to you.” He grabbed her shoulder, trying to yank her sideways, but Kat swung her forearm up and knocked his arm away. Before he could say another word, she reached up and slapped him. Hard.

“Don’t ever touch me like that again,” she seethed.

“Excuse me. Is there a problem here?” Kane suddenly appeared next to me.

“It looks like Kat has it under control,” I said.

Kane glanced at Kat, and then focused on Dan. “That may be true, but I recall banning this individual from the premises.” He stepped around Kat and dodged the swing Dan threw his way. “You’ll want to calm down now.”

“Fuck you. I won’t stand for a pimp telling me what to do,” Dan yelled and lunged forward.

Kane sidestepped him and kicked. He caught Dan in the rear, sending him sprawling into a couple of stools. Dan crashed to the ground and groaned as he rolled to his side.

Kane signaled to one of the bouncers. When his backup appeared and hauled Dan to his feet, Kane leaned in and said, “I thought we had this conversation before, but let me inform you one more time. Stay away from these premises. Stay away from Jade, or I’ll find a way to have you arrested.”

“I never touched you. Good luck making that stick.” Dan winced when the bouncer yanked his arms back.

Kane shrugged. “True, but I have a bar full of witnesses who’ll say you attacked one of my girls. Now move.”

Kat turned to me, holding her wrist. Her face was etched in disbelief. “What just happened here? Who was that?”

My anger at Dan turned to sympathy for her. It was the first time she’d seen that side of him. Worse, it wasn’t just that she’d found out her boyfriend had turned into a first-class asshole, but he was also one of her closest friends. I knew exactly how she felt.

“I don’t know,” I said sadly. “But he behaved in much the same way the last time he showed up here. I tried to tell you.”

She furrowed her brow. “Damn, Jade. I’m so sorry. I was pretty drunk that night. I didn’t remember a lot of what happened, just that you and Dan were arguing and then he told me…well, it doesn’t matter what he said. He obviously lied about it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. But thank you, Jesus! She’d finally seen Dan at his worst.

“You have no reason to be sorry. This is Dan’s problem. And now mine, obviously.”

“What are you going to do?”

She blinked back tears. “Tell him to move out, I guess.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.” I took her hand. “And I’m sorry we let him come between us.”

Kat pulled me into a hug. “I know, honey. So am I. Don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with him anymore.” She dabbed at her wet eyes and forced a smile. “What’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?”

I smiled, gave her another hug and turned to Charlie. “This girl needs a drink. But better make it a diet Coke, minus the rum.” I flashed Kat an apologetic smile. “We can’t be drunk when Lailah shows up.”

“Anything for that bad-ass girl. I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that stabbing finger and lecture.” Charlie winked at Kat and filled two glasses with ice.

Just as I pulled out a ten to leave on the bar, Kane appeared beside me. “You know,” he said in a husky voice, “there are perks to being the owner’s girlfriend.”

“Like what?” I held the bill out for Charlie to take it.

She glanced at Kane, hesitating.

“Like, free drinks.” He lowered my arm.

Leaning toward him, I lowered my voice. “I wasn’t aware I was your girlfriend.”

“You are if you want to be.” He watched me, maintaining a casual appearance. No one would have guessed the nervous hopefulness churning beneath his cool exterior.

I wanted more than anything to say yes. “Can we talk about it later? Tonight.” I’d told Kat I would tell him, and I meant it. I needed to have it all out on the table before we moved any further in this relationship.

He searched my eyes and smiled at whatever he saw there. “Sure. Come find me when you’re ready.”

I slipped the bill I still held into the tip jar. “Thanks for taking care of Dan. Again.”

He winked and took off into the crowd.

“Whoa. Is it suddenly hot in here or what?” Kat said, fanning herself.

“Shut up.” I laughed as we made our way to an empty table, drinks in hand.

Kat sat and took a sip of her drink. “Damn, this would be much better with a heavy dose of Bacardi.”

“Sorry. We already had a glass of wine. Drinking and messing with spells is a really bad idea.” I slide my chair next to her and held my glass up. “A toast to ridding Pyper of her black shadow, and to me finally coming clean with Kane.”

“Amen to that.” We clinked our glasses together. “I don’t know if there’s any hope for the ghost stuff, but judging by the sparks between you and that man, I’d say you don’t have much to worry about.”

I prayed she was right.

Kat turned her eyes to the stage. “Can you believe how in shape these girls are? Look at her climb that pole using just her hands.”

I watched along with her, until Kat plunked her drink down and started inspecting her wrists.

“You should keep icing them. It really helps,” I said.

“A margarita or two would numb the pain faster.” She smirked.

“Lush.” I chuckled and gazed around the room, searching for Kane. Instead, I found the creepy angry guy, still sitting alone in his corner with that unlit cigarette in his fingers. Deep satisfaction and anticipation reached me as my eyes locked on his. A shiver ran through my body, causing my hands to start shaking.

“Kat, I think we should go get Pyper now.”

“Already?” She tried to read her watch in the semi-dark room.

“Yes, now.” I stood up, leaving the unfinished diet coke behind and took off to find Pyper, pulling Kat behind me.

“Pyper?” I called, while walking into the office.

“She went upstairs to change.” Kane’s voice made me jump.

“Damn it, Kane. Don’t startle me like that.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to.” He stepped out from behind the open door. “I was putting some files away.”

I half-turned to face him.

“What’s wrong? Your face is pale. Did something happen?” He started for the door.

“No, nothing. I just…one of the guys out there gave me the creeps.”

“Is that all?” Kane shrugged. “That’s what we get in the strip club business, a bunch of creeps. Like that ex of yours.”

“Right. Well, I better go get Pyper. Lailah will be here soon.”

“Okay, sure.” Kane searched my face. “Be careful. I’ll see you later.” He pulled me closer and whispered, “I’ve become rather fond of you.”

I took a breath and cleared my throat. “I will.”

His lips came down and brushed mine lightly before he let go.

I stumbled out of the office and stopped in front of Kat, who was patiently leaning against the wall.

“Holy shit, that man is hot. You better lay claim to him before someone else does.” She craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of him in the office.

“Stop it. Let’s go.” Together we made our way up to Pyper’s apartment.

***

At eleven thirty, Pyper strolled through my apartment door.

“Where is she?” I asked, looking behind her for Lailah. Pyper had left minutes earlier to let her in the building.

“Downstairs talking with Kane.”

“Kane? Do they know each other?”

Pyper avoided my glance and stared out the window. “Yeah. I should have made the connection before. Kane dated a girl named Lailah for a while, but I never met her.” She shrugged. “He said she had special talents, but you know I always assumed he meant in the bedroom.”

Kat let out a loud giggle, but stifled it when she caught the look I gave her.

“Great.” I sat heavily on the edge of my bed.

Kat got up from my desk and sat down next to me. “What’s up?”

“Just tired.”

She put her arm around my shoulders, giving me a small squeeze. Just then Kane and Lailah walked in. Their mutual affection reached me, stabbing me in the heart. She gazed up at him, smiling, while Kane chuckled at something she’d said. He sobered as his eyes found me, his face and emotions unreadable. How did he do that? I’d always been able to read his emotions before.

Standing up, I walked over to Lailah. “It’s pretty close to midnight. Don’t we need to get started?”

“Oh! Yes. Sorry. I got distracted.” She smiled at Kane. “We need to get to the courtyard. Kane, you stay here. We’ll be back.” She gestured to us and headed back through the door.

The three of us filed out after her with Pyper in the lead. When we reached the courtyard Pyper asked, “Why does Kane have to stay back?”

“The goddess will only speak to her daughters,” Lailah replied.

“We’re calling a goddess?” I asked.

Lailah ignored my question. Trepidation settled over me as I wondered what the hell we were getting ourselves into. I hoped she was speaking in symbolic terms. Literally calling a higher being meant opening pathways. And when that happened, you never knew what was coming.

“Over here, girls. We have a lot to do, so please do as I say,” Lailah said.

We nodded in unison.

Lailah’s easy smile was replaced by a fierce concentration. “Pyper, take all of the candles out of my bag and light each one. Jade, I need you to draw a pentagram with the chalk. You know how to do that?”

“Sure. How big?”

“Pretty big.” She walked in a large circle to show me. She stepped off to the side, and I went to work on the border, using the dim candlelight Pyper was busy creating.

“What can I do?” Kat asked.

“Help Jade. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just a five-point pentagram enclosed in a large circle.”

I hurried my motions as Kat knelt on the courtyard bricks opposite me, filling in the lines of the pentagram.

“So, Lailah, are you like a witch or something?” Kat asked.

“Or something,” Lailah said.

Both Kat and I looked up, staring at her. Oddly enough, Pyper kept her head down lighting candles.

“Pyper, after they’re done with the pentagram, put the white candles on the outer circle, then put the blue candles on the points where the pentagram intersects.” Lailah pulled various herbs from her bag.

Pyper nodded and continued with her work.

Kat glanced at me, and jerked her head toward Lailah. “Or something?”

“Kat,” I said in a low voice, not wanting to offend the one person who might be able to help.

“It’s all right.” Lailah sniffed one of her herbs. “I’m not a witch. I’m a low-level Angel. I sense things other people can’t, and I can utilize some Wiccan type spells to my advantage.”

“A low-level Angel?” Kat said, each word rising.

Lailah flashed a genuine smile. “That’s the reaction I usually get. I’ll explain more later. Right now we have work to do.”

I sensed Kat having difficulty containing her curiosity, but she kept quiet until we finished the pentagram circle. “Low-level Angel?” she whispered to me.

I shrugged and whispered back, “That’s new to me, too.”

Pyper never once registered she heard the exchange between Kat and Lailah. She stood a small distance apart from the three of us, waiting.

Finally, after studying some notes, Lailah looked up. “I need the three of you to stand in the middle of the blue candles in a small circle with your hands linked.”

We each stepped carefully over the ring of lit blue candles and faced each other. I held my hands out and warmth spread to my center as I grasped the hands of my two friends. Suddenly everything felt right. Like we were supposed to be there together. I smiled, feeling for the first time this might actually work.

“Good. Just like that. The three of you stay linked until I tell you it’s time. Then each of you will need to move across the blue candle plane, into the space I’m in. Got it?”

We all nodded.

“Now, I just need to do this last thing before we start.” She stepped outside of the white candle circle and began to chant in a language I didn’t understand, while dropping a trail of crushed herbs. Once she’d completed three rotations around us, the chanting stopped, and she stepped back over the white candles into the circle.

“What should we expect?” I asked.

“I don’t really know. No spell is ever the same twice. I’m going to call on the goddess for help to dispel the spirit. It’ll be her will as to what happens after that. The idea is to trap the spirit in that circle you are in and to get the three of you out before he can hurt anyone.”

Panic radiated off Pyper.

I squeezed her hand in assurance. “I’m not letting go.”

She nodded and looked straight ahead, her eyes wide.

Lailah stood directly in my eye line and for the first time that evening I noticed she wore a deep plum velvet cloak with gold trim. How had I missed that? Then the vision of her gazing with dreamy eyes up at Kane filled my head. I scowled.

“It’s very important that each of you keep a positive attitude through this ritual, or else there could be severe consequences.” A twinge of irritation jabbed me right between the eyes.

Startled, I followed it to Lailah’s piercing stare. Damn. I hated that she could read me. I bit my lip, took a large intake of breath and willed my irritation away as I exhaled.

Pyper relaxed her hand in mine, and I noted the easing of the tension lines around her mouth. Gathering energy, I projected what I hoped was calm in her direction. A little help couldn’t hurt.

Kat squeezed my hand, getting my attention. Her posture wasn’t exactly relaxed, but she didn’t look like she wanted to run away either. I squeezed back, grateful for the support.

“This spell works primarily off of intentions. I need each of you to focus on trapping the spirit in the circle. Jade, your energy is the most suited for this type of thing, due to your empath abilities, so your intentions will carry more weight. You said you’ve seen the ghost?”

“Yes. Lots of times.”

“Good. Form a clear picture of him in your mind, and use all of your energy to bring him to the circle.”

“Isn’t he already here? Can’t you see Pyper’s dark shadow?” I asked.

“Yes, her shadow is there, but once we start the spell anything can happen. Just keep focused.”

I nodded and closed my eyes, concentrating.

“I’m going to start now.” Lailah’s light energy circled us as she walked the perimeter of the circle. “I need each of you to stay silent and focus. Expect anything from rain to sunlight to intense heat or extreme cold. Like I said before, I just never know what will happen.”

I looked up at the clear night sky, spotted the familiar yellow Louisiana moon and gave a little shudder at the unknown yet to come. I snapped my mind back to the mental picture of Bobby and focused on the brick closest to the center of our inner circle.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lailah reach up and untie her cloak. She tossed it outside the circle and stood barefoot in an almost transparent white gown. Her honey-streaked hair hung loose around her shoulders, and I couldn’t help but think she looked like an escaped mental patient.

Her disapproving glare landed on me. I shut my eyes tight, determined to focus.

I heard nothing but Lailah’s voice after that. “Selene, moon goddess of the night, hear me now, High Priestess of the Coven.” Her voice was clear and somehow blocked the dull background noise from the people walking Bourbon Street, just feet away. “Bless these women, your three daughters, with your presence. We call seeking wisdom, strength and, above all, the power to protect our sister from all who seek to harm.”

Mist tickled my arms. I opened my eyes to a thick blanket of fog. I could see nothing but the dim glow of the candles flickering low on the ground.

“Moon goddess, we ask you read our sisters’ intentions. We give our will to you freely and take nothing but yours in return. We want only to help our sister to be free of the bonds that bind her. Free of the spirit that haunts her. From one to three, and three to one, please let your will be done.”

Silence loomed. The foggy mist turned dense, soaking my shirt until it clung to my body. The candles, barely visible, flickered like a faulty light bulb. I held my breath and waited.

And waited.

Then, in a flash, the mist dissipated and the candles stopped flickering. The three of us looked at each other then at Lailah, standing as still as a statue, her eyes closed, head tilted up. I sent Pyper a questioning glance. She lifted one shoulder in a sad deflated shrug.

I let out a barely audible sigh and opened my mouth to speak but was shocked into silence as the blue candles lit and shot a wall of fire straight in the air, blocking us from Lailah and the rest of the courtyard. Kat jerked, trying to get free, but instinctively I held tighter, keeping the circle whole. The flames turned a brilliant sapphire blue before fading to a transparent white.

Through the wall Lailah gestured to me. “Now!”

I yanked Pyper and Kat through the wall without any warning. Instead of heat, sharp stabs of icy cold prickled my skin. The three of us toppled to the ground, and the flames turned brilliant blue once more. The radiant heat warmed the chill instantly.

I stayed still with my face pressed to the ground, breathing deeply. “Did it work?”

“I have no idea,” Kat mumbled beside me.

“Pyper?”

Her motionless body faced away from me, and she didn’t answer.

Too tired to move, my eyes flickered to Lailah. She stood like a statue, her face blank.

Crawling up on my knees, I tried to get my feet under me but froze when Lailah’s face glowed silver and her features changed, revealing long, white blonde hair and clear, pale blue eyes. Her full red lips moved into a grim line, and the voice that spoke was deep and husky.

“I have fulfilled your intentions. What comes next I cannot control. The events that unfold are up to you, my child.” She pointed at me. “Reach deep inside yourself to alter the course now set in motion.” The silver glow started to fade.

“Wait! Why me?” I asked in desperation.

“You are my daughter.” The image faded back to Lailah, now as pale as a ghost.

The blue wall of flames faded back to translucent white. Lailah turned to focus on the circle and yelped. “He isn’t Pyper’s black shadow!”

My head snapped to the circle. There stood Bobby, radiating frustration. I was more than a little surprised I could read his emotions.

“Yes it is. He’s the one who’s been tormenting her.”

“No! I know him. His energy is bright white, not black.” Lailah dropped to her knees, checking on Pyper still curled up at her feet. “Pyper. Wake up!”

I crawled to her side and cradled Pyper’s head in my lap. “Pyper?”

“Her black cloud is gone, but so is her energy.” Lailah’s voice rose in panic. “Oh my God! What have I done?” She slumped down next to Pyper.

I opened my mind and tried to get a read on Pyper’s energy. Nothing. “She’s just passed out. Do you have smelling salts in that bag of tricks?”

Lailah fished around and handed me a small jar. I quickly checked Pyper’s pulse and breathing. Both were a bit weak, but I let out the breath I’d been holding and put the smelling salts under her nose.

Nothing.

“Come on!”

“What happened?” A male voice, Kane’s voice, called in panic.

“She’s passed out.” I tried to sound calm.

“No. She isn’t in there. I can’t feel her.” Lailah crumpled into tears.

Kane’s eyes stared into mine for a brief agonizing moment.

Then I heard Kat say, “Yes! My friend has lost consciousness. Send an ambulance.”

Chapter 18

Time seemed to stand still as Pyper lay crumpled in my arms. If Bobby hadn’t been attached to Pyper, then what was? And where had it come from? A cold chill snaked its way through my body. She hadn’t been affected until after I’d moved in. Had Ian’s ghost hunting triggered it somehow?

And what about Bobby? How come Lailah hadn’t seen him attached to me? Even if he didn’t follow me everywhere, she’d been in my apartment earlier that evening. Surely she would have seen him then. Maybe she had been too caught up in Kane. I scowled and forced the petty thought out of my head.

The roar of the siren snapped my mind back to reality. I tore my tear-filled eyes from Pyper’s face and peered up at the gate, trying to mentally urge the paramedics to move faster.

“What are you doing?” Kat asked.

I turned to answer her, but she was staring at Lailah. The wall of flame had disappeared, and Bobby was gone from the circle.

“Closing the spell,” Lailah said in a barely audible whisper.

I cleared my throat. “Where did he go?”

“Bobby? I let him out. There was no reason to keep him.” Lailah gathered up her supplies and stuffed them in her paper bag.

I said nothing but wondered if that was true. I’d thought Bobby had been interfering with Kane and me every time we got close. But was it really Pyper’s black spirit, or something else entirely? Anything seemed possible now.

“Excuse me. You’re going to have to let her go,” a paramedic said, gently pushing me to the side.

Kat pulled me to my feet as the emergency workers loaded Pyper on the gurney. Kane stayed by her side, and the rest of us followed as the EMTs rushed her to the vehicle. An argument broke out when Kane was told only family was allowed in the ambulance. Lailah stepped forward, laid her hand on the paramedic’s arm and said something I couldn’t hear. After that, Kane climbed in, sat next to Pyper and took her hand.

We watched as they raced away.

“Lailah, what did you say to him?” I asked.

“Nothing significant. I just bent his will a little bit with my energy.” She looked at her feet. “It was the least I could do.”

“Come on. I’ll drive.” Kat pulled out her keys and led us to her car.

***

The antiseptic smell burned my nose as I made my way to the nurses’ station. Kat and Lailah trailed behind me.

“I doubt they know anything yet,” Kat said.

“Probably not, but we need to know where she is.” Plus, I needed to see Kane. My eyes burned with unshed tears as I thought of the anguish on his face before the ambulance took off.

Kat grabbed my arm. “Have a seat. I’ll get the information.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay. I’ll go.” I left them in the back of the full emergency room and returned thirty minutes later, after insisting the nurse personally check on Pyper.

“She’s here, but there’s no change. They’re running tests. As far as I can tell, Kane is still with her.” The nurse had said a family member was with her. It could only be Kane. I sat next to Kat, with Lailah on her other side.

“Here.” Kat handed me a Styrofoam cup. “Coffee.”

“Thanks.” I held the cup, warming my chilled fingers, even though the night was thick with humid summer air.

“What happened back there?” Kat asked in a low voice.

I turned and saw her peering at Lailah.

“Which part?” Lailah focused on the white wall in front of us.

Kat glanced at me and raised her eyebrows.

I cleared my throat. “Let’s start at the beginning. You were trying to trap the black spirit attached to Pyper, but instead you trapped Bobby. How is that possible? I thought they were the same being. Bobby is the only one I ever saw.”

“I already told you, Bobby has white energy. He’s Bea’s brother.”

“I know. That’s why we were trying to get in touch with her. I didn’t know you knew him. You’ve seen him before I take it.”

She nodded. “A few times with Bea. When we were working on some spells together.”

“Okay.” What kind of spells? I shook my head trying to focus. “But you said before you could see things. You saw the black spirit, so why didn’t you see Bobby’s energy?”

“Because of you, I guess. You’re aura is purple, but surrounding that is brilliant white energy, like all intuitives have. If he was near you, it would have been hard for me to see him.”

“Oh.” I sat back staring at the admittance door, wishing Kane would appear.

“So because Jade was focusing on Bobby, he got trapped in the circle and not Pyper’s ghost. We are talking about two ghosts here, right?” Kat asked.

The people next to us turned and openly stared after hearing her statement. She stared back until they turned away. In spite of myself, I smiled.

“At least two,” Lailah said.

“At least!” I sat up straight.

“I don’t know!” Lailah finally met my eyes. “I have totally fucked up. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Calm down,” Kat said in a hushed tone. “No one is blaming you.”

I suppressed a grunt of disagreement. Kat must have heard me, judging by the elbow she nudged in my rib.

“We’re just trying to figure out what happened. Tell us about the vision we saw,” I said.

“The vision?” Lailah furrowed her eyebrows. “What vision?”

“The one where you turned into another person and told me I was the one who would have to fix this mess.” I jumped out of my chair and stood in front of the two of them.

Lailah’s eyes went wide as her head turned from me to Kat. “She came…”

“Who? Who came?” Kat asked.

“The goddess. It had to be.” She sat up straight. The remorse faded, replaced by an excited glow.

Kat and I stared at her in silence. She looked around, as if aware for the first time where we were. Standing, she grabbed a hand from each of us. “We need to talk a little more privately.”

I glanced back at the admittance door, while Lailah dragged us outside. Still no Kane.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Lailah demanded when we were safely out of hearing distance from the emergency room door.

“I…” I turned to Kat. Suddenly I was overwhelmed into silence.

She gave me a small smile and replayed the scene for Lailah.

“It’s for you to alter the course now…” Lailah trailed off, deep in thought.

“What did she mean, ‘I am hers’?” I asked.

“You are her daughter. In a cosmic sense. I’d guess your powers are deeper than you ever thought. A white witch, maybe. A natural born witch.” She shrugged. “Hard to say until you explore your powers.”

“So the goddess Selene, whoever that is, thinks I have some extra powers?”

“Pretty much.” Lailah paced in a circle. “Damn it. I wish Bea was here.”

I gritted my teeth and walked back to the entrance, scanning for Kane. I didn’t want to hear about extra powers. All I cared about was Pyper’s condition. I turned back to them. “I’m going back in.”

“Wait.” Kat held up her hand. “Just one more thing. What the hell is a low-level angel?”

Lailah stopped pacing. “It means I’m a mortal angel. A messenger from God, but in mortal form. It’s why I can do some Wiccan magic, but it all comes naturally for me. I don’t have to practice or do special rituals. I can just make it happen. I do have to take precautions to keep evil out, which is what the herbs, candles and circle was about. Though I could have made that all happen without it. Unfortunately, I failed.”

“A messenger from God?” Kat asked with a heavy dose of skepticism.

“We come in all forms.” Lailah closed her eyes, as if her burden was too heavy to bear. “I still do not know my purpose. I try to do good, but as you can see I’m not always successful.”

Too overwhelmed by the night’s events, I said nothing and returned to the waiting room.

Soon Kat joined me. “She went home.”

I nodded, and we sat in silence until finally Kane emerged.

My heart swelled simultaneously with joy and pain at the sight of him. He held his face taut with his lips in a grim line. Our eyes met as I stood, and his pain ripped through me, almost making my knees buckle. I grabbed him and held on with my face buried in his shoulder.

“She’s still the same,” he whispered in my ear. “Coma.”

“No.” I felt him nod and I looked up. “I’m so sorry.” Silent tears streamed down my face.

He hugged me tighter and brought one hand up to wipe my tears. “I don’t know what happened, but I know whatever it was, it isn’t your fault.”

His tenderness brought on a fresh bout of emotion, but I steadied myself and willed the tears back. He guided me toward the doors.

“You should go get some sleep,” he said.

“And you. You’ll stay here?”

“I have to. Let Kat take you home. I’ll call if I hear anything.”

The last thing I wanted to do was leave him, but I could see by the stubborn tilt of his chin he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Promise to call with any news, at any time.”

“I promise.” He steered me out the double doors.

I turned to him, my heart aching as I looked into his tired eyes. “We’ll get her through this. I promise.” I didn’t know how, but I knew in my heart, I’d do whatever it took to save her.

He nodded absently and gave me a gentle push toward Kat. But I stepped closer, took his face in my hands and kissed him. All of my anguish and suppressed emotions poured out of me into that one kiss, desperate to show him how much he meant to me, even if I couldn’t say it.

Grief, longing, and fear surrounded me as he kissed me back in a slow, bittersweet manner. When our lips parted, he hugged me tight. “Get some rest.” And then he was gone, back through the double doors of the hospital.

“Let’s go, sweetie.” Kat said, pulling me to the car. “You’ll see him tomorrow.”

I didn’t say anything until we were safely in her Mini. “Do you think Lailah is crazy?”

“Definitely.”

***

The bed shifted as Kat lay down next to me. She didn’t want to go home, so I offered her the other side of my bed.

“He talks about you all the time, you know.”

“Who? Ian?” Jolted out of my thoughts about what just transpired with Kane, I rolled over to face her.

“No. Dan.”

“What? You’re kidding. Why?”

“I’m starting to think he’s obsessed with you.” Kat laid back and stared at the ceiling.

“That’s crazy,” I said, realizing the night’s events had hit her harder than I’d thought.

“No it isn’t. He’s the one who told me about the job opening at the glass school. Told me I should call you. Said it would be good for me to have you here.”

I stared as I digested her statement.

“He kept hounding me about when you were coming, and talking about double dating. I’m so stupid. I should have seen it for what it was.”

“What?” I whispered.

“He’s still in love with you.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “That’s insane. He has nothing but hatred for me.”

Kat propped herself up on her elbows and turned toward me. “I think maybe it’s a love-hate thing. He still loves you, but you clearly can’t stand him. So his frustration manifests into schoolyard bullying.”

“Are you saying this is my fault?” I narrowed my eyes, feeling the pain coursing through her heart.

“Of course not.” She lay back down and turned her back to me.

Irritated, I flopped down on my side of the bed. My eyes felt like sandpaper, but I knew I’d never sleep until I asked the question I’d been holding in for weeks. “Kat?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you do it? Date Dan, I mean.”

She sighed. “I don’t know. He just showed up out of nowhere. He didn’t even tell me he was moving here, and one thing led to another…”

Her voice sounded so small and dejected, I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. “It’s okay.” I reached for her hand and squeezed.

“No it isn’t, but thanks for saying so.” She squeezed back.

She was right. It really wasn’t okay. She’d known how much Dan had hurt me and yet, she still chose to not only date him, but to move in with him. I’d been lying to myself, saying it was fine, it didn’t bother me. But it did. And we both knew it.

“I’m kicking him out tomorrow,” she said.

“Are you sure? He clearly needs help. Maybe you can help him get it.”

“After he assaulted me? I don’t think so. Besides, he’s not over you. I deserve better in a relationship. If he wants help, I’ll be there, but not as his girlfriend.”

I reached over and hugged her. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Yes. I love you too.”

Chapter 19

A dull headache threatened as the florescent lighting glared off the stark-white walls of the hospital. The fact that I hadn’t slept more than six hours in the two days since Pyper had been admitted didn’t help. I popped two aspirin and washed them down with a large gulp of lukewarm coffee. Food and sleep would have been a better prescription, but I’d take what I could get.

The receptionist waved, and I nodded as I made my way down the corridor. The staff had suspected everything from a drug overdose to a brain aneurism. But after an endless series of clean MRI’s, CAT scans and blood tests, the official diagnosis was an unexplained coma.

Entering Pyper’s room, I was relieved to see she was alone. Kane had been holding a vigil by her side, and I hoped he’d finally gone home for some much-needed sleep.

I sat down next to her and took her hand.

Closing my eyes, I let my barriers down and sent my awareness toward her. It was tough to sift through the raw energy of the other hospital patients, but with strained effort I managed to keep their signatures in the background. I’d been trying each time I visited her, searching for her distinct energy, but each time I had the same result. Nothing. Frustrated, I sent my energy out with more force. Her emotional energy was still vacant, but with her hand still clasped in mine I felt her body twitch.

My eyes popped open. She was lying there just as she’d been before.

“Pyper? Pyper, honey, wake up. I know you felt me. I felt you flinch from my mental probe. Come on now, we all miss you. Wake up.”

“Mental probe?”

I jumped, and dropped her hand. Kane, with damp hair and wearing a clean T-shirt and jeans, stood at the door.

“I was trying to reach her, and she flinched.”

“Reach her? How?” Kane tilted his head in thought and then focused on me with wide eyes. “Wait, she flinched?”

“I think it was more like a reflex,” I said ignoring his first questions. I got up and wandered to the window, as Kane moved to sit next to her.

Kane spoke in a low voice, trying to coax Pyper awake. When nothing happened, I moved to stand next to him.

“What did you say to get her to move?” he asked.

“Uh…” I sat down on the edge of the bed, faced him and took a deep breath. “Nothing, I just held her hand and tried to get a sense of her energy.” How could I tell him about my ability now? But how could I not, especially if I could help Pyper?

“Oh. I see. Did you get anything?” Kane put Pyper’s hand in mine.

“Huh?” That wasn’t the response I’d been expecting.

“Did you get any reading on her emotional energy?”

Wait. He knew? “You know about my ability?” Had Pyper told him? I’d never told her it was a secret, though I’d thought that was obvious. I should’ve realized she’d tell him. They were best friends, after all.

His eyes held steady on mine. “Yes. I know about that. I tried to tell you once before, but you didn’t want to talk about it, so I let it drop.”

“But—”

“Jade,” he stroked my arm. “Can we do this later? I’d like it if you tried to reach Pyper again.”

I bit down hard on my lip. He knew. He’d known for a while, apparently, and he hadn’t run. In fact, I’d pushed him away. Idiot. I took a deep breath. “All right.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

He nodded.

“Okay.” I shut my eyes and tried to center myself. After a few deep breaths I relaxed and focused first on Kane. His anxiousness came through loud and clear, with also a bit of relief. That surprised me. I was relieved he knew my secret, but why was he relieved? I put the question aside and mentally shoved Kane’s emotions to the back of my awareness, ready to focus on Pyper.

As before, I couldn’t find one thread of her energy. I gathered as much force as I could muster and sent my probe deep into her psyche. My head started to spin as my vision narrowed to only Pyper’s face, and suddenly my body spasmed. Pain slashed my flesh.

I jerked, trying to break the connection, but the pain was too much to bear. Everything faded to black.

“Jade?”

“Wha…?”

“Here, lie back.” Kane’s face came into focus.

“What happened? Did I pass out?”

“Yes, right after Pyper opened her eyes.”

“She opened her eyes?” I sat up, and the world spun again. Kane’s arms came around my shoulders, steadying me, and my head cleared.

“Whoa. Take it easy. They just fluttered open and then closed again. No words, no other movement. What did you feel?” He pressed the buzzer, calling for a nurse.

I clasped Pyper’s limp hand and whispered, “Pain. I felt pain.”

Kane’s face hardened into granite. “Pyper’s in pain?”

I nodded as a nurse bustled in and immediately went to inspect a printout from one of the beeping machines. “Looks like a bit of activity here. Did you see any movement?”

“She opened her eyes but closed them immediately,” Kane said.

“That could be a good sign. Let me take a look.” The nurse checked her eyes with a light, took her blood pressure and checked a few more readouts. “It could have been a reflex, but I’ll let the doctor know. It happens sometimes. We just have to wait and see.” She gave us an apologetic smile and left.

Kane turned to me. “Pain, you said?”

“Yes.” My voice trembled slightly. I took a shaky breath. “I felt it. That’s what made me pass out. We have to help her.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing these last few days?” He stood up and paced. “Hell, the last year of my life? I’ve done nothing but try to help her. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

I reached for his hand and pulled him to sit beside me. His words held an edge of anger that could be interpreted as resentment, but his emotions portrayed nothing but general frustration. He was at his wit’s end.

“She’s the only family I have left, since my grandmother died a few years ago.” He turned to me. “Don’t you think I would do anything to help her?”

“Of course. I know you would. We just need to figure out our next move.” I traced his palm with my fingers. “Your only family? What about your parents?”

He hunched and waved a hand, signaling the subject wasn’t important. “They’re off exploring the world. I never know how to reach them or even where they are in a given month. Last I heard, they were living in the Cook Islands. They’re kind of flakey.” He gave me a small smile. “I grew up with Gram. She was my family.”

My heart squeezed at his words. “I can relate. I lost my mom when I was fifteen. I have no idea where my dad is. I haven’t seen him for ten years. Besides my Aunt Gwen, Kat is my only family.”

“I’m sorry. That’s a terrible age to lose a mother. How did she die?”

I swallowed. “I don’t know. She just…disappeared.”

“Abducted?” Kane grabbed my hand and squeezed. “No trace or anything?”

“No traces.” I pursed my lips together. I really didn’t want to talk about this. “It’s been a long time. Like I said, Kat is my family now.”

“That’s why you moved here?”

“Mostly.”

He raised his hand to my face and leaned in brushing my lips with his. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

I gave him a sad smile and looked back at Pyper. “I’ve been wondering about something.”

He raised an eyebrow and waited.

“Have you tried dreamwalking her?” I asked softly.

Kane’s face softened as he took in what I said. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think it would work for a coma patient?”

“No idea, but I’m not so sure she’s in a coma. At least, the way the doctors define one. This is something different. I don’t know what, though.”

“I haven’t really slept much since this happened. But I suppose it’s worth a try.” He turned back to Pyper, clasped both hands around her right one and rested his chin on top of his knuckles. “I’ll see you soon, love,” he said to her.

I suddenly felt like an intruder and quietly let myself out of the room. On the way to the nurses’ station I ran into Holly. “Hey.”

Holly’s eyes sagged with lack of sleep, and their redness indicated she’d been crying again. “Any change?” She sniffed.

“No, not really. Kane’s with her now. Do you want to join me for coffee?”

“I don’t think I could drink one more cup.” She held her hands up. “See how jittery they are? Way too much caffeine.”

“I think tomorrow after the first pot we should switch you to decaf.” I guided her toward the vending machine and bought her a package of crackers. “Maybe these will soak it up a little.”

We sat on the hard plastic chairs in the sterile waiting room.

“Thank you.” Holly stared at the package.

“It’s really not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

She looked up at me. “Not the crackers. I meant for all you’re doing to help Pyper with the café and the club. She doesn’t have a lot of people to count on, you know.”

Her statement startled me into momentary silence. I’d been rotating duties with Holly and Charlie at both The Grind and Wicked, to cover for Pyper and Kane. I blinked and said. “You’re welcome, but she does have people. You, Charlie and Kane come to mind pretty quickly. That’s more than a lot of people I know.”

She fiddled with the plastic wrapper on her crackers before answering. “I haven’t been very friendly toward you.”

I continued to watch her. The statement was true. I didn’t know what to say.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” With her face set in determination, she met my gaze. “I was jealous. I have no excuse.”

“Oh. I sort of thought it had to do with Kane. It’s okay, I understand.”

“Kane?” She laughed. “Oh no, not because of him.” Her laugh turned into a schoolgirl giggle. “Because of the time you were spending with Pyper.”

“Pyper? Why?” Did Holly have a crush on Pyper? That made no sense. She was giddy when she’d mistaken us for a couple.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Pyper’s my closest friend. The closest one I’ve ever had actually, and when you two started spending so much time together I just assumed you were becoming a couple. She doesn’t get close to people easily. But when…”

“When you realized Pyper and I were just friends, you were afraid I’d take her away from you?” I finished for her.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s stupid I know. I don’t have a lot of experience with female friendships.”

Apparently today was the day for confessions. I put on what I hoped was a reassuring smile and peered into her eyes. “We all have insecurities. I understand, but I think you should give Pyper more credit than that. She has room in her heart for more than just one person.”

She smiled back at me. “I know. And I see what a great friend you’ve been to her. I hope one day you and I can be good friends too.”

Movement in the corridor caught my attention. I stood. “I think we’re already on our way. Here comes Kane. Why don’t you go see Pyper now?”

Kane reached my side just as Holly waved and took off down the corridor.

“What were you two chatting about?” he asked.

“Just clearing up a few things. Ready?”

He nodded and took my hand as we left the building.

***

I propped my feet on the coffee table in Pyper’s apartment. We’d decided it would be better to be in her space when Kane tried to connect with her.

“We could order some takeout.” I said, closing my eyes and relaxing into the overstuffed cushions. Kane hadn’t eaten anything but cafeteria food in days, and I certainly didn’t have the energy to cook.

“That’s a good plan.” A moment later I heard him order a pizza. Worked for me. “It’ll be here in thirty minutes,” he said.

“Thanks.” I opened my eyes and smiled when I saw him sitting exactly as I was in the chair beside me. “Mind if I borrow your shower?”

He opened one eye and his lips quirked up in a half smile. “Want some company?”

My smile blossomed into a grin. “Someone needs to wait for the pizza.”

“Damn.”

I left him with a mournful expression on his face and took my time in the water, letting the hot stream soothe my aching muscles. When the water turned tepid, I reluctantly turned off the tap and reached for the oversized bath sheet. That’s when my phone started to ring. I wrapped my dripping hair in the towel before making my way to the bedroom, where my phone lay on Kane’s dresser.

“Yeah?”

“Oh good, I caught you,” Kat said. “I just got off the phone with Ian.”

“Finally. Where the hell has he been?”

“With his aunt. Apparently they went to consult a paranormal expert and got caught in a ghost hunt. All of the electronic equipment went haywire, including his cell phone. He hasn’t been able to reach anyone for five days. He just got our messages. He says he’ll be back in town late tonight.”

“Okay. I’m not sure what good he’ll be to us now. But at least we don’t have to worry about him.” I wrapped my free arm around my bare body, chilled from the air conditioner.

“He feels terrible and says he might be able to help. Apparently he learned some new tricks.” Kat chuckled. “He sounds like a boy at Christmas.”

“Boys. All right, then. Kane’s going to try to dreamwalk Pyper tonight. We’re hoping it might help us understand what’s going on.”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll get Ian to come by in the morning.”

“Sounds good.” A door clicked shut in the other room. “Dinner is here. I better go.”

“Later.”

I flipped the phone shut and as I started to make my way back into the bathroom, the bedroom door opened.

Kane filled the doorway and froze. His gaze roamed the entire length of my bare body. Twice. Then his eyes met mine. “Sorry. I thought you’d be in the bathroom.”

I stood still, like a deer caught in headlights.

He walked into the room, never taking his eyes off mine. “Dinner’s ready.”

I gulped as his eyes turned from cinnamon-speckled mocha to molten chocolate. “All right,” I said my voice barely audible.

He choked out an oath, his voice as rough as his hands when he grabbed my hips, yanking me to his solid frame. Our lips met in a crush of impatience. Need clutched at my heart as it pumped rapidly, threatening to jump out of my chest. I wanted this. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anyone before.

My impatient hands found their way under his shirt as he pushed me up against the wall. I pressed the length of my body closer, desperately trying to fuse with his.

“I’m at a disadvantage here,” I whispered against his lips.

I felt his slow wry smile just before he kissed me again and moved my hand to the fly of his jeans. “Do something about it.”

I rose to the challenge, flipping the button open with my thumb and forefinger. He stilled as I undid the zipper. With one stroke of my hand over his silky shaft, he groaned. Heat shot to my center. I placed both hands on his hips and yanked down, stripping him of his jeans.

I consciously did everything I could to keep his emotions from merging with mine. Once that happened I’d be lost at sea, overwhelmed by the tide of his desire. I wanted to feel his strong hands and muscular body, to get lost in all the delicious little details of his exploration. Like right now, the way he gently held my nipple in his teeth while the tip of his tongue teased.

I pressed my back to the wall, arching my hips against his full erection. A deep, satisfied chuckle rumbled in his throat. Humorous, was it? We’d see about that. His lips trailed a line of kisses up my collarbone. I shifted, making space between us, then placed one hand around his neck and the other around the base of his cock. His lips froze mid-kiss. I stroked the length of him until his hips moved in rhythm with me.

It was my turn to chuckle. Not so funny now.

His kisses resumed, more savage than before, and my body lit like crackling fire. A moment later he produced a condom from the nearby dresser.

Thank heaven for the prepared.

His hands moved to my ass, boosting me up, and I wrapped my legs around his hips. The tip of him pressed at my opening. Our eyes met for two long beats. The intensity broke though my defenses and as his unrelenting desire flooded my core, he rocked his hips and entered me.

A cry of pleasure ripped from me as I came almost instantly. I held on, letting myself ride Kane’s desire as he pounded into me, over and over, bringing me once again to the edge. Until this time we shuddered together.

“Lord, help me.” His lips were pressed against my neck, muffling his voice.

“I think it’s too late for that.”

He pulled back and grinned. “I’m going to need some for the next round.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Greedy.”

“Yes.” He set me back on my feet and stepped backward, pulling me with him. “I need to lie down.”

I stopped, rooted to the floor, and stared over his shoulder.

Slowly he turned toward the direction of my gaze.

“Do you see that?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Chapter 20

Kane moved, shielding me from the ghost as I grabbed the discarded towel. I covered up and peered over his shoulder. A red/orange rage illuminated from Bobby, gripping my interior like a vice.

I stumbled forward and held onto Kane’s shoulder with one hand, trying to stay conscious. He tensed. Protectiveness flowed from him, easing Bobby’s emotional hold on me. Sighing in relief, I moved to Kane’s side. He radiated disapproval. I squeezed his arm. “It’s all right. Just stay next to me. Your emotions help.”

Uncertainty flashed over his face, but he nodded.

The energy around Bobby turned a deeper red as his rage grew out of control. I clutched Kane’s arm as a tremor of terror ran up my spine. Determined, I took a small step and stared into Bobby’s eyes.

In a quiet voice, I spoke. “Bobby, stop this. I am not your wife. I know I look like her, but I do not belong to you. I belong with Kane.”

Kane’s pleasure seeped through the fierce protective vibe he had going on, strengthening my resolve.

The rage stronghold had begun to fade, but as Bobby turned to Kane, a fresh wave of angry possessiveness lashed out, making my knees buckle.

“Stop it!” I yelled. “Even if I was who you think I am, is this how you’d treat your wife? Is this how you treat someone you love?” I hugged my arms to myself, trying to see past the pain searing though my chest. “Please, just let me have my life.”

Kane’s arms wrapped around me, and a fresh wave of his affection circled me in a gentle caress. Bobby’s hold on me vanished. I reached around Kane’s torso and stared at him with wide eyes. “How did you do that?”

“What?”

“Your energy replaced his. He isn’t affecting me right now.”

His eyes searched mine. “It must be because you belong with me.” He tilted his head, tightened his hold and gave me a slow lingering kiss that made my toes curl in pleasure. I leaned into him, cherishing the tenderness of the moment. When we broke apart I let out a soft sigh and leaned my head on his chest.

Kane stroked my hair and whispered, “He’s gone.”

“I know.”

“Come on. You need to eat.” Kane took a few steps back, deeper into the bedroom.

“But the pizza is out there.” I pointed toward the door.

“Yes, but I really need a shower first, and I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

I laughed. “I knew you’d find a way to get me in the shower.”

He grinned and pulled me along after him.

After a second round of lovemaking, we finally emerged flushed and smelling of the rainforest.

“I’m starving,” I said as I placed a full plate of pizza in the microwave.

Kane picked up a cold piece and ate half of it while pulling two beers from the refrigerator.

“Yuck. I love pizza, but cold pizza is just not right.”

“What? You can’t be serious. Besides, I can’t wait. Someone used up all my reserves.”

I chuckled when he leaned in to nuzzle my neck. “Stop. Go into the living room. I’ll meet you there with warm pizza in hand.”

The microwave dinged, and I switched the plates.

“You go. I’ll be right behind you.” Kane handed me the beer bottle and gave me a tiny shove.

With the pizza in one hand and a Guinness in the other, I curled my feet under me and sunk into the couch. I’d finished two pieces by the time Kane appeared. He lifted an eyebrow. “Must have had a good workout.”

“Something like that,” I said between bites.

We ate in companionable silence. When the last slice of pizza was gone, I grabbed both plates and took them to the kitchen. It didn’t take long to load the dishwasher and clean the counters, but desperate to avoid the upcoming conversation I moved on to scrubbing the sink. By the time Kane came to find me, I’d cleaned the stove top, wiped down the appliances and had moved on to sweeping the floor.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just a little clean up.”

“A little?” His eyebrows rose as he looked around at the sparkling kitchen. “Are you cleaning out the refrigerator next?”

“Uh…no.” I put the broom back in the closet.

Kane smiled and took my hand. “Thank you, but that wasn’t necessary.”

I shrugged and let him lead me to the living room.

“All right, what is it you don’t want to talk about?” he asked after pulling me down on the sofa next to him.

I shook my head. “I can’t keep any secrets from you.” How did he do that? It must be some kind of special gift. Only, not a weird psychic or dreamwalker gift. Just a natural gift of perception.

“It’s hard to hide from the people who love you.” He wrapped his arm around me and pulled my head to his shoulder.

Love. There it was. I knew he loved me. I could feel it just as I felt the love growing in my heart for him. A lump clogged my throat and I took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I hid my ability from you.”

“It’s all right. I understand.”

I sat up, unwrapping myself from his embrace. “It’s really not okay. I wasn’t honest with you, and considering how hard I was on you after you told me about the dreamwalking, I can’t understand why you aren’t more upset.”

“Maybe it’s because I knew about your ability. You didn’t tell me, but I felt it and knew what I was getting into. Plus, you weren’t influencing the way I felt about you.”

“But you weren’t upset when I wasn’t honest with you. Why?”

“Is it so hard for you to understand?” He tilted my head to look in my eyes. “I know what it feels like to have people run from me due to my ability. I already knew why you didn’t tell me.”

My heart squeezed. He’d known his share of rejection, just as I had, due to something neither of us could control. And what did I do right after he told me about his gift? I ran. “I’m so sorry.” I tore my gaze away and focused on our clasped hands. “I hurt you.”

“I deserved it.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “But you should know I really didn’t dreamwalk you on purpose. My subconscious took me there and was in charge in my dreams…at least at first. So everything that happened, well, I didn’t control it. It’s just what I secretly wanted.” He paused and his voice hitched. “And my emotions…those were real.”

I lifted my gaze to really study him. “You were never trying to manipulate me.” It wasn’t a question, but he answered with a shake of his head.

“I love you, Jade.” His hand tightened on mine. “I want you as my partner, my friend, my lover. But I only want you if you want me the same way. I wouldn’t try to trick you into anything, or expect you to be anything other than who and what you are. That isn’t who I am.”

“I know,” I said with intensity. “I know that isn’t who you are.”

He pulled me into his lap and held me close. “So what do you say?”

Joy spread and filled all the empty corners of my being. “I love you, too.”

Kane’s arms tightened around me, while his lips brushed mine. I leaned into him, hugging tight and sank into the kiss. When I pulled back, the softness of his eyes matched the tenderness escaping from his being.

I snuggled back into his chest and rested my head on his shoulder. “We need to talk about Pyper.”

“All right.”

“I feel guilty being happy about us when she needs help.” I buried my head deeper, as if to hide from myself.

“Don’t. I know Pyper and she’ll be thrilled for us, no matter how or when this came about.” He stroked my back.

“I know. It’s not that. It’s because I don’t know how to help her. At the calling Lailah did,” I cringed at the use of her name, “the vision of the so-called ‘goddess’ said I needed to change things. That I held the power to alter the course now set. I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what I can do, other than try to reach her emotional energy. And that isn’t working.”

Kane sat silent for so long, I finally glanced up to catch his eye. “What?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. And as far as Lailah is concerned, I’d just as soon not have you involved in any more of her brand of magic.”

I sat up. “I’m not too keen on it either, but I feel like I have to do something.”

“Okay, we’ll try to figure it out, but not right now. Both of us need sleep. Will you stay with me while I try to dreamwalk Pyper?”

I nodded, got to my feet and held out my hand. “Come on. Let’s go.” I couldn’t help my lips from curling into a small smile.

Ten minutes later we climbed into Kane’s bed. I stared at his chest, my eyes lingering. I reached out and ran a hand the length of his torso. “I wanted to do that since the first time I woke up next to you.”

Kane caught my hand and kissed it. “If I hadn’t thought you had a concussion, I don’t think I could have kept my hands off you.”

I scooted closer and snuggled up next to him. “There wouldn’t have been much of a fight.”

He groaned. “Now you tell me.”

“I think you’ll live.” I lifted my head. “Will you take me with you in the dream?”

“I already planned on it.”

Pressing my head to his chest, I relaxed. “Thanks. I want to try to reach her mentally before we go.”

“You can do that from here?”

“Maybe. The closer I am emotionally to someone, the easier it is. And the fact we’re in her apartment helps. Plus, you’re her best friend. If we’re connected I might reach her.”

“It’s worth a try.” Kane reached over and flipped off the light.

“Okay, I’m going to read you first. I need to lock in your emotions so I can differentiate and concentrate on Pyper,” I said.

“All right.”

Because Kane and I were now connected emotionally and physically, reading him became as effortless as breathing. His energy flowed through me as if it were my own. I didn’t think I could block him now even if I tried. His pleasure warmed my skin, and I lightly trailed my fingers over his as I paused to enjoy the moment. But soon the weariness and worry for Pyper intruded.

In my mind I conjured up Pyper’s distinct energy. It wasn’t long before I entered the void I’d been experiencing at the hospital the last few days. I was close. As I had earlier, I forced my essence deeper. Instantly, pain rippled down both my arms and legs. Through the haze I barely heard Kane gasp in alarm. Instinctively, I stiffened, trying to hold as still as possible and the stabbing jabs eased to a dull ache.

“Pyper,” I whispered. “We’re here. I can feel you. Please, tell us where you are.”

Anger and despair filled the void, masking hopelessness.

“It’s not hopeless. Kane and I are coming for you. Tell us where to look.”

Pyper, I’m here. We both are. Don’t give up. We’re coming for you. Kane’s voice rang in my head.

I jerked, momentarily startled. How did he do that? My focus waned, and I felt Pyper slipping. “No,” I said in a raised voice and concentrated. “Where are you?”

Pain pierced my hands, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. Kane’s arms tightened around me with fierce protectiveness.

Roy. Kane, Roy has me. Help. Pyper’s faint voice barely registered in my mind. A white-hot bolt of terror punched me in the stomach, and the connection was lost.

Kane shot straight up as I rolled away and vomited right there on the bed.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” I said over and over. “I’m sorry.”

Kane grabbed the quilt and carried it out of the room. In no time he was back. “Are you all right?”

Barely holding back my gag reflex, I shook my head and wobbled my way into the bathroom. When I was sure I could hold down the rest of my dinner, I reemerged and found Kane hovering by the door.

“Jade.” He rubbed my back as I padded back to the bed. “Are you okay?”

I nodded and sat with my back against the headboard. “All of that pain was Pyper’s”

“What pain?”

“Oh, you didn’t feel it?” When he shook his head, I continued. “Her hands are in awful pain, like she’s been stabbed or something. I got sick because I experienced a sucker-punch of some sort. Only it wasn’t me, it was her.”

Kane’s eyes darkened to almost black, a shade I had never seen in my vast experience of analyzing his eye color. Fury and hatred engulfed me.

“I know. I feel the same way.” I ran my hand up his arm. “Why did you gasp? What did you feel?”

“Your energy changed. It went from a light airy feel to heavy and somehow foreboding. I knew something wasn’t right.”

“That’s when I felt all the pain.” I rubbed my palm. “Who is Roy?”

“I only know one Roy. He was the previous owner of the club.” Kane paused. “He died six months ago.”

“A ghost,” I whispered.

Chapter 21

The turbulence coursing through Kane was like nothing I’d experienced before. Hatred, compounded with a fierce possessiveness, overwhelmed his other protective instincts. I imagined a wolf protecting his den while he simultaneously stalked his prey.

“Kane?”

He turned, and his emotions surged through me, zapping my remaining energy.

“I know you’re upset. You have every right to be, but I need you to calm down. Please.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry.”

I pulled him down in the covers and cuddled up close. “Just focus on me for a while, okay?”

He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll try.” The intensity of his emotions faded, but the anger didn’t disappear.

“I’m going to try to relax and sleep. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

I closed my eyes and stretched my aching limbs. Kane felt good, too good in my arms, and it didn’t take long for me to drift off. Immediately Bobby appeared at the foot of the bed, shining in his bright light. All the red anger he’d displayed earlier in the night was gone, replaced by a peaceful acceptance. I dozed in his presence until finally, after what seemed like hours, Kane joined me.

Bobby came and stood next to the bed, his light washing over both of us. I looked from him to Kane and back again. Bobby nodded, turned his lips up in a sad smile and faded into the night, his light going with him.

That was weird. I stared at the spot Bobby had vanished from.

Focus, Jade. I need to take you to Pyper. Kane’s voice rang clear in my head.

My eyes found him. His determination and sense of urgency snapped me back into the moment. With our hands clasped, our bodies rose together in a transparent image of ourselves. We floated through the walls and floors, ending up next to the stage in the middle of Wicked.

The club pulsed with activity. One of the strippers crawled across the stage toward an eager front-row participant. I spotted Charlie, busy at the bar handling a line of bachelor party shots. The room was half-full with tourists, party goers and, of course, the regular at the table in the corner, sitting the same as always, with a cigarette and a bottle of beer on the table. He stared across the room at something. I followed his gaze.

A platform in the back of the club levitated above the velvet couches lining the wall. I pointed and floated off toward it. As I got nearer, someone’s anger engulfed me, muffling my senses. The emotional imprint seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I spotted Kane just behind me, horror etched on his face. A twinge of desperation and panic I recognized as Kane’s pushed its way through the anger surrounding me. I sent my energy out to him, trying to link us together, but his emotions were far away and barely reachable. Disoriented, I turned back to the platform and floated up above it.

A piercing cry rang from my lips, and my own terror pushed out all other emotions.

On the platform, Pyper lay encased in a silver outlined clear box. Stripped naked, she’d been pinned down, spread eagle with nails through her palms and feet. Barbed wire wrapped around her limbs, causing her to lie still or suffer more puncture wounds. Her eyes, pleading, moved from me to Kane and back again. Her lips moved, but no sound was audible.

The foreign, angry energy mixed with my own desperation, and I raised my arms over my head, ready to strike. Using all of my force I slammed my hands down, intending to shatter the silver-lined box. I barely felt anything as my hands bounced off the structure, propelling me backwards. Reminding myself my body was back in Kane’s bed and this was just my dream self, I changed tactics. Turning in a circle, I sent my energy out searching for the unwelcome visitor still crowding my awareness.

Kane hovered above Pyper trying to communicate with her, his mouth working and hands waving. Charlie was oblivious to the action, as was everyone else in the club, except for one man; the quiet, creepy regular with the beer bottle and unlit cigarette whom I’d seen every night I’d ever been in the bar. He sat in his regular corner staring right at me, hatred ripping holes in my senses as it radiated off him.

Our eyes locked, and in that moment I knew he wasn’t alive. A ghost. This had to be Roy. How had I missed it? Digging deep, I sent all of my awareness toward him and was engulfed into blackness so dark it was as if I’d gone blind. I floated back to Kane, reining in my energy.

“There he is. It’s Roy, isn’t it?” I pointed to the ghost across the room.

Kane turned, following my direction. “Son of a bitch!” He flew across the room, fists raised in challenge. Just as Kane came to a stop in front of the man, Roy’s hatred heightened, slashing at my very essence, and then disappeared as the ghost vanished. Kane whipped around, back and forth, and then glided back to me.

I sent my awareness back out in search of him and felt a small tug. Then my energy was grabbed with such force, I felt as if it would be ripped from my being. Frantically, I tried to merge with Kane as I had earlier in the evening when Bobby had invaded my senses. But I couldn’t reach him. A thread of Pyper’s desperation reached me and I opened to it, merging with her instead.

All at once, Pyper’s pain vanished, along with her restraints. I hovered near the case and melded my energy closer to hers. Pyper rose from the case and floated next to me. Seconds ticked by, and then I faded into nothing.

I woke with slashes of pain radiating throughout my limbs. My eyes blurred with unshed tears and when I tried to move my arm, a ragged cry burst from my throat as sharp barbs pricked my flesh. The tears ran down the side of my face, and Kane’s face came into focus.

I could see his mouth forming the word “Jade” over and over again, but I could hear nothing. Worse, I could no longer feel his energy. I was trapped in a void.

You freed her—I needed someone to take her place, a sinister voice said in my head.

“Why?” I asked in desperation.

To punish you, of course. To punish them.

I focused on the glare above me. I was now trapped in the case with my limbs wrapped tight in the barbed wire. Pain pulsed from my hands and feet, and I knew nails held them down. There wasn’t anything I could do to get free. I stared at Kane, looking as helpless as I felt, and cried out in anguish as he disappeared from my sight.

He’s left to be with her, you know.

“No!” I cried. “He’ll be back for me.”

He’s always loved her best. There will never be room for you in his life.

“Lies. You’re an evil, lying bastard.”

Roy chuckled, and his laughter rang in my mind. Call me whatever you like. You’re mine now.

“I’ll never be yours.” My voice was flat to my own ears. Where had Kane gone? I couldn’t believe he’d left me here like this.

That’s right, Jade. He left you. Really, what did you think he would do?”

“Stop it! Just stop it!” In my rational mind I knew Roy was playing off my fears, but I was powerless to stop him.

Roy continued to spew his brand of hate at me for what seemed like hours. Tired and worn down, I turned inward, pulling my guards up. Suddenly I couldn’t hear him anymore. The pain in my limbs dissipated to a dull ache. Why hadn’t I tried that before?

This isn’t real, I told myself. Of course it wasn’t. Pyper had been in a coma in the hospital with no visible marks at all. Roy had stolen just her conscious self. Now, I’d traded places with her. All the pain was an illusion in my mind.

I tried to lift my arms, but all I felt was weight holding me down. There wasn’t the sharp stabbing pain as before, but I couldn’t lift my arms or legs. Still trapped. Damn it!

With nothing else at my disposal, I decided to try merging with his emotional energy again. It was the only thing I could think of to do. After taking a few deep breaths, I let my guards down. My arms throbbed in pain from where I’d tried to lift them against the barb wire. I pressed my arms down on the platform, trying to get as far away from the prickling metal as possible.

That won’t help you, Roy said.

“Shut up, you bastard.” I glared up into his twisted face.

He gave the mechanical laugh of someone destined for a padded cell. His image floated above me, and I sent my energy toward him.

Stop trying to invade my soul, you witch! I’ll kill you if you keep it up.

His venomous thoughts spurred my determination. I pressed harder, seeking to merge my energy with his. The hatred crawled up my spine, making me squirm and cry in pain as wire stabbed my limbs. I stilled and fought to keep a hold on his emotions. As I pressed deeper I sensed a twinge of his panic, but his toxic determined energy took over as he loomed over me, staring into my eyes.

I stared back, determined to break his hold on me. Sweat broke out on my face. I struggled to keep connected with him. His hateful emotions wore me down faster than I anticipated and before I could build up my walls, he lashed out with his mind. Wielding an imaginary whip, he slashed at my torso, leaving raised welts. My cries of terror mixed with hot tears as I struggled to shut him out, but the pain and fear took over.

After half a dozen strokes, he stopped to peer at me in the box. Are you going to behave, or do you need to be punished some more?

I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at him, using the moment to build my guards. I vaguely felt the imaginary whip come down a few more times, but when I didn’t flinch or respond, Roy retreated.

That plan didn’t go well. My earlier panic had faded, and I was left feeling only despair. Where was Kane? I couldn’t believe he’d left me alone. He had to be coming back. Somehow I knew if he was here, we could fight this together. I hoped Pyper had woken, and he’d gone to see her.

Time became nonexistent as Roy hovered, waiting for my resistance to fail and doing his best to taunt me and break me down. But no matter how tired I got, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Eventually I started to fade into an unconscious sleep state. Something familiar reached out to me. Something comforting and pleasant. I reached for it with my mind, and then Kane spoke. Jade, there you are.

Kane, where are you?

I’m with you, next to the case you’re trapped in. I have been for hours. But your guards are up, and I couldn’t reach you.

Is this a dream? Confused I tried to look around, but saw only darkness.

I’m speaking to you in your dream state. It’s the only way I could reach you.

I don’t understand. Nothing made sense to me. I hadn’t seen Kane or felt him since I’d freed Pyper and became trapped in the box.

Your guards are up. I assume it’s helping you keep Roy away, but it’s also shutting me out.

Oh. Is Pyper safe?

A rush of gratitude and love streamed from him. Yes, love. She’s fine. You, however, have now taken her place at the hospital.

Great. I mentally groaned. Kane…I don’t know how to get out of this.

That’s why I’m here. We’re coming for you. Me, Bea, Ian, Lailah, Kat, Holly and Charlie. All of us. Be prepared to let your guards down. It’s the only way we can help you.

How?

I don’t have all the details. Just be ready. Bea says you’ll know.

Okay. I’m ready now.

Kane gave a sad chuckle. Me, too, love.

His energy started to fade. I mentally reached out to hold on to it. Don’t go!

I’ll stay as long as you need me.

Forever. I need you forever. But for now, just until I feel strong again. I don’t know why, but Kane’s energy fed me. Already the weariness of holding Roy off waned.

I’m here. I’ll stay, he said.

Just until I’m strong again. Then come back and kick that bastard’s ass.

My pleasure.

Chapter 22

Kane faded from my consciousness and as I lay there, staring through the top of my prison, boredom set in. My barriers were firmly in place and all the pain had subsided. I had nothing to do but wait.

Roy kept his distance, and I suspected he knew I was stronger. I contemplated letting my guards down to see if I could best him in another energy match. But I didn’t want to risk wearing myself down for when the group showed up. Whenever that was.

Some time later, Roy edged closer to my case, as if to test the safety of coming nearer. I wanted to laugh. What exactly could I do in my position? Clearly, he still had the upper hand, considering I was trapped, even if he couldn’t cause me physical pain.

Roy floated above me, back and forth from the box to his corner. The cigarette hung unlit from his lips. Was he doomed to roam forever in his ghost state, always wanting to light that cigarette? A small twinge of satisfaction rolled through me at the thought of him in permanent nicotine withdrawal.

“Serves you right,” I said.

Roy appeared above me, peering in.

I lifted my eyebrows and watched him. It was nice not having to feel his foulness. Maybe after my friends freed me from this hellish box, my new connection with Kane would help me keep other people’s emotions out of my awareness.

Roy’s face contorted into a scowl as his mouth worked overtime. He was yelling at me, but I couldn’t hear him.

My indifference seemed to fuel his hostility. Fascinated, I studied the increasing animation of his face as he ranted. His scowl deepened, and his eyes bugged as he did an excellent impression of a demon possession. Suddenly, he launched himself and ended up lying flat, face down on top of my box.

I narrowed my eyes. “You have nothing on me, you sick, demented bastard.”

His face turned beet red, and he roared. The case shook, but I still couldn’t hear it. It was weird how a ghost’s skin tone could change with anger. Although, this was an alternate reality, so I guess anything was possible.

I don’t know how much time went by as Roy continued his temper tantrum. Periodically I’d say some snide, colorful remark just to satisfy my own perverse need to get under his skin. It probably wasn’t wise, but I had nothing else to do to entertain myself.

Eventually Roy moved from my sight. Bored out of my mind, I closed my eyes and faded in and out of a semi-conscious state for what seemed like eternity. In my weakened state, my barriers started to collapse as someone pushed at my walls. I imagined armor forming around me, determined to not let Roy push his way into my emotional field.

No! A chorus of voices rang in my mind.

My eyes popped open wide, and I turned my head back and forth, searching for my friends. A faint outline hovered above me, and I smiled in relief at the sight of Kane. I let the armor fall but still kept my emotional barriers in place.

There you are, I said, again with my mind.

And I’m not leaving without you. Kane turned his head toward the center of the club where Bea sat in an old tattered chair, surrounded by Ian, Holly, Charlie, Lailah and Kat.

Where’s Pyper? I asked.

Sitting at the hospital with you. She wanted to come help, but I refused.

I nodded. Good call. Roy’s fixation on her is too dangerous.

Exactly.

I turned my attention to the others. Although I still couldn’t hear, they appeared to be chanting. As they did, Roy got even more agitated (if that were possible) and flew around the room. His image moved so fast I had trouble following him.

Kane hovered closer. Be ready, Jade.

For what? I couldn’t get over the weirdness of communicating in our heads. Though I suppose it wasn’t any weirder than being held prisoner in another dimension by a ghost.

To leave that case. It’s almost time.

I waited with growing impatience. Testing my restraints, I tried to lift my arms. Pain jabbed at my wrists.

Not yet. I’ll tell you.

Okay, so Roy couldn’t get in my mind, but the barbs still stung. And I wasn’t asleep, at least not in this reality, and Kane was talking to me in my head. Color me confused.

I shook my head to clear the thoughts and tried to focus. All of the people who normally worked at Wicked were absent. Either it was day time, or Kane had closed the place down for this event. To me, it didn’t matter much. They couldn’t see this anyway. Too bad. It would have been a show-stopper.

As Bea chanted, the bright white light surrounding her started to dissipate, fading into a foggy mist. She stood out, vibrant and full of life. For the first time, I realized the other five people appeared to be slightly translucent, and so did Kane. They had to be in their dream states. But what about Bea? Was this a witch thing?

Kane, did you dreamwalk all of them here?

Everyone but Bea. She came on her own.

Is she dreamwalking me?

No. She’s awake.

Impressive. In all of my dreams when Kane dreamwalked me, had we been translucent? I couldn’t remember, but I supposed I’d been too preoccupied to care.

He floated over my case, smiling down at me. You haven’t seen anything yet.

Since I couldn’t do anything else, I laid there staring up at my boyfriend. Yep, that’s right. My boyfriend. My smile widened as I explored every inch of his body with my eyes. What I wouldn’t give to have another night wrapped in his arms, leisurely kissing every inch of his tender flesh. My mind wandered to the events that took place in his shower, just before I’d replaced Pyper in the box. In spite of my current situation, my body started to tingle.

Jade!

Huh?

Stop it. You’re distracting me.

Oops. I guess in this state you’re a mind reader.

Kane put his hand up, signaling for me to be quiet, while he watched our group of friends. I couldn’t really tell what was happening. After a moment he turned back to me. I can’t read your mind unless you direct your thoughts to me. What I can do is sense your emotions. I can’t believe you’re getting turned on right now.

I was staring at you, I replied in defense.

A hint of humor mixed with satisfaction escaped from him into my awareness, and I chuckled.

Get a hold of yourself. Bea is chanting now. In a moment it will be time for you to join me, Kane said.

Okay. I waited, suddenly tense and feeling totally unprepared. They obviously had a plan. Unfortunately, I had no idea what it was.

Out of nowhere, Roy appeared right above me, his eyes bloodshot and a crazed expression on his face. We stared each other down, neither one of us willing to look away.

“You can’t keep me, you bastard,” I said with venom.

He raised a fist and opened his mouth but before he could speak, some invisible force flung him backward.

Now, Kane said with a fierce nod.

With my heart racing and fear curling in my belly, I stared into Kane’s eyes and gathered as much courage as I could. Come on Jade, I told myself. Get on with it.

It’s all right. I’m here, Kane said.

At the sound of his voice, I lowered my guards. Roy’s fury reached me like a flash of lightening, and I struggled to keep my defenses down.

“Stay with me.” This time, Kane wasn’t speaking in my head. The sound jolted me. I lurched forward. My hands and feet came free, and my body rose to float next to Kane.

“Thank God it worked.” Kane pulled me to him, his solid arms wrapping around me.

“This is just weird,” I whispered into his ear.

Kane pulled away, holding me at arm’s length. “You’re just now coming to that conclusion?”

I shook my head. “No. Not this.” I waved toward our friends standing in a circle in the middle of the club. “This—” I pointed at him, and then back to me, “—you and me, hugging in shadow form.”

Kane shook his head, looking exasperated. What can I say? I’d gone so far past my fear threshold, I’d completely given up on being afraid.

“What now?” I asked.

He started to answer but was drowned out by a sudden howling wind. Hot air swirled through the club, scattering advertisements and a few chairs. I pushed the hair out of my face. Lailah stood outside of the circle, arms raised. She appeared to be chanting, but I couldn’t hear over the roar.

Roy twisted as if in agony, suspended directly above Bea. She sat still as a statue, staring up at him, her eyes never wavering. The other four, Kat, Charlie, Ian and Holly, stood circled around Bea, their hands clasped.

I couldn’t help but be worried for Lailah. She wasn’t part of the circle anymore. Who was protecting her? If anything went wrong with whatever piece of magic she was wielding, there could be serious consequences. It dawned on me Kane and I were outside of the circle as well, but for some reason I had no fear for my safety anymore. I had to help.

I forced my way through the roaring wind down toward Lailah and pressed my senses toward her. Determination, mixed with a thread of frustration, met my inquiry. Frustration. Maybe the spell wasn’t working properly. I glanced back at Bea, still rigid in the chair. No help there.

Kane flew to my side and gripped my arm. “Keep your energy with me.”

“I can’t. I have to do this!” I shouted. We’d never be free of Roy if we didn’t finish it now.

“No! You will not merge with him again. I won’t let you.” Kane’s fear penetrated my mind.

“Not him. Lailah.”

Kane’s face relaxed, but I knew it was a conscious effort. Tension radiated from him like a beacon. He held his hands up as if to say wait. “Can you take me with you?”

Could I? I had no idea. Usually I focus on one person and can tune everyone else out. I didn’t know if it would work with two. “I’ll try.”

Standing together, next to the struggling Lailah, I took turns focusing on each person in the room and systematically shutting them out. Everyone except Roy. Then I turned to Kane. Connecting with him took no effort. I sensed his relief at being merged with me. I sent him a small smile and turned my focus toward Lailah.

She frantically strained to complete something. I didn’t know what she was doing exactly, but it was clear she was struggling. I gathered Kane’s spirit to me and sent everything we had in her direction. She straightened and stood taller. With a renewed air of confidence she tilted her head back, chanting words I didn’t understand.

Kane and I stood next to her, our arms around each other, and waited. Everything turned pitch black. My fingers tightened in his until triumph flowed from Lailah. Then a circle of light formed in front of us, radiating orange and red, and the wind stopped. The room took on an eerie glow.

Curiosity lured me toward the light.

Kane’s arms tightened around me. “No, Jade. It’s a portal.”

“A what?”

“It’s where we’re sending him.” Kane pointed toward Roy.

My eyes went wide as I watched Bea stand. The other four broke away, giving her room to move. Even though they weren’t touching anymore, they stayed in a circle formation.

Roy still floated above Bea, contorting as if in pain. She moved slowly, carefully, never taking her eyes off him. We stood transfixed, all of us, watching.

The closer Bea and Roy got to the portal and to me, the harder it was to block Roy from my awareness. I took a few steps back and felt Lailah cling to our connection.

“No, Jade. I need you close. You’re the one making me strong enough to hold the portal open,” Lailah said.

I took a deep breath and moved closer to her, bringing Kane with me. We formed a barrier on the edge of the portal and waited for Bea to reach the other side.

Even with Kane’s and Lailah’s strength, Roy slowly worked his vitriol into my being. Hatred and despair wedged its way into my soul, sending small stabs of pain through my body. I clenched my hands tighter around Kane’s and Lailah’s, trying to block it out. A trickle of her airy essence pressed on my skin, but Roy overpowered it. Then, in a gut-wrenching slash, Roy’s energy severed my connection to Kane. Struggling, I sent my own energy out in a panic, desperately trying to hold on to Kane’s strength, but nothing worked. Eventually the pain became sharp daggers.

Roy started to seize me.

My eyes blurred as I fought for control. If we could just get him in the portal. I looked up, barely making out the images of Bea, now at the far edge of the portal, and Roy, centered above it.

“Do it now! I can’t take it anymore,” I screamed through the spasms of pain.

“No!” Lailah yelled. “He’ll take her with him.”

Kane wrapped his arms around me, as if to shield me from harm. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone take you.”

I shook my head, with silent tears rolling down my cheeks. “He’ll never let me go.”

“Yes, he will,” a translucent Pyper said from Bea’s side.

“Pyper? How did you get here?” Kane’s voice rose with panic.

“Not now,” she said and turned toward Roy. “Let her go, you sick fuck. It’s me you want.”

“No!” I yelled and wrenched out of Kane’s arms before running around the portal to Pyper’s side.

Roy’s energy vanished from my awareness just as Pyper’s eyes rolled up in the back of her head. I lunged and caught her just before she fell forward into the red light.

“I won’t let you have her!” I yelled at Roy.

He still floated above the light, trapped by Bea, but his sick satisfaction flowed straight to Pyper. It crawled over my arms, making me want to release her. I clutched her tighter, painfully aware she’d slipped back into the coma. If we sent him through, she’d be lost.

“Damn it!” I reached a hand out to Kane, who now stood beside us. “Help me.”

He took Pyper from my arms and held her propped up against his side.

I focused on Lailah and with her energy mixed with mine, I sent it all into Pyper, determined to either free her or take her place. She didn’t have any defenses against him. I did.

Pyper’s energy was not void, like it had been in the hospital. It was just hidden. I now understood what Lailah meant when she said she could see things other people couldn’t. Her ability helped me focus on the parts that were Pyper and the parts that weren’t. Specifically, the areas Roy was infecting.

Her energy was thick, like mental sludge. No, not her energy. Roy’s. The realization hit me and I focused harder, mentally battling the sludge. I forced it all together. Roy fought back, but with Lailah’s strength merging with mine he didn’t have a chance.

Together, Lailah and I mentally grabbed hold of Roy and ripped him from Pyper. He screamed in anger and lashed out, trying to invade me.

“Now!” Lailah yelled.

Roy spiraled toward the portal. Then something changed. My emotional radar was cut off, and I drifted into a hazy fog.

Chapter 23

A steady stream of beep, beep, beep entered my consciousness. It took me a moment to realize the sound wasn’t an alarm clock. It was the monitors in the hospital. All at once the scene at Wicked flashed through my mind. I jerked up but was stopped by something gripping my hand. Through blurry eyes I traced the source of my entrapment. Pyper sat next to me, both of her hands clasped over my right one.

“Hey,” I said, my voice cracking from lack of use.

“Hey yourself,” she said with a huge grin. “How are you doing?”

“Water?”

She held out a paper cup.

I sipped the liquid through the straw and cleared my throat. “It’s over?”

Pyper nodded.

“It was all real, right?”

“Yes.” Tears filled her eyes and she gripped my hand harder. “Thank you,” she whispered.

My eyes filled, and I reached out to her. We held each other for a long moment.

“Where is everyone?” I asked. Then panic flared. “They’re all okay, right?”

“Everyone is fine. They’re at my apartment. That’s where they were meeting to sleep, so Kane could bring them to you. Except Bea. She was physically in the club.”

Relief flooded through me. “I figured that last part out. Was that Roy’s chair?”

“Yes.” Her fingers twitched, and a small spark of her surprise tickled my hand. “How did you know?”

“I sat in it once while I was in the storage room. Some of his residual energy clung to it. It’s awful. I made the connection when I saw her in it. I assume that’s how she tapped into his energy.”

“You’re good.” Pyper said, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

I smiled and tried to sit up. “Oh, God. How long have I been here?”

“A week.”

“What?” No wonder I could barely move. “It didn’t seem that long.”

“I know,” Pyper said quietly. “I suppose that’s a good thing, considering all the pain he put us through.”

“Oh, Pyper. I’m so sorry we didn’t think of a way to get to you sooner.”

“Huh? You got to me after two days. We took a week to get you out.” She frowned, and shame seeped from her straight into my heart. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I wanted to come. I wanted to go right back, but Kane wouldn’t take me.”

“Good!” I sat up straight and waited for my spinning head to clear. “I wasn’t in pain. I have the ability to block him out. Didn’t Kane tell you that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He might have tried, but I got angry and stopped speaking to him for a few days.”

“Pyper…” I wanted so badly to take away her guilt and shame, but I knew I wasn’t strong enough. Instead, I gathered all my appreciation and pushed it toward her.

The tension in her face eased. “I know that didn’t help, but I was the only one who knew how bad it really was. It drove me insane, knowing Roy had you.” Her eyes clouded. “I wanted to rip his eyes out.”

I smiled at that. “Thank you. But I think sending him to hell was a better choice.”

“Is that where Lailah sent him?”

“I think so. If not, it was close to it. That portal had some seriously bad juju vibes coming from it.” I shivered. “Plus, she told me and Kat that she’s some sort of angel.”

Pyper jerked back. “Angel? That seems sort of crazy, don’t you think?”

“That’s what I said. But who knows? Look at what we just went through. It could be true.”

“I guess you’re right.”

I shifted my body, trying to swing my legs out of the bed, and caused an alarm to go off.

Pyper laughed.

“Crap.”

The door opened, and a nurse bustled in. “You’re awake!” She clapped her hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I need to get up and move. My body aches.”

“In due time. First the doctor needs to check on you.” She pushed me back down, and checked my temperature and blood pressure. After asking my name and other identifying questions she seemed satisfied and said, “Looking good. I’ll send the doctor right in.”

The nurse left, and I returned my attention to Pyper. She held her phone out to me. “You have a message.”

I read the text. Tell Jade I love her and not to move an inch. I’ll be right there. Kane.

I laid back and closed my eyes, imagining the feel of his arms around me, and then sat straight up. I’d been lying here a week. “Give me a mirror!”

“I told him you’d be fine when you woke up.” She held out a brush and mirror for me. “I was the same way. As if I’d only been asleep for an extended amount of time.”

I went to work, trying to tame my hair. Someone had braided it in one long plait to the side. I undid it, gently combed it out and fixed it up into a relaxed bun.

“You look pretty like that,” Pyper said.

“Ugh, if I wasn’t so pasty white.”

She handed me a compact and some lip gloss. “This will help.”

A few minutes later I surveyed myself in the mirror. Better. At least I didn’t look like death. “Thank you.” I handed everything back to Pyper and patted the bed for her to sit down and wait with me.

“So, have you been sleeping okay this week?” I asked.

“Not really.” She caught my panicked expression and continued. “Just because I was worried about you, not because I was being tortured. That’s over. But I did see someone else in my dreams. A fair-haired man and a golden retriever. Anyone you know?”

“Did they have white light shining around them?”

“Yes.” She smiled.

“Crap. Why are they bugging you?”

“They aren’t. They appeared the first time I slept after I woke from the coma. The man waved and walked off. I think he said goodbye.”

“Weird.”

“A little, but it doesn’t bother me. They seemed harmless.”

“To you, maybe,” I mumbled. Then, to change the subject, I asked, “Do you know why Roy was after you?”

“Yeah. He thought it was my fault he died.” She frowned.

“What? Why?”

“You know he got all that money from selling Kane the club.”

I nodded.

“Well, he took it all to the casinos and started hanging with the wrong crowd. Seems he gambled most of it away and ended up crashing at some dope dealer’s house. There was an altercation, and he got caught in the crossfire. That’s how he died.”

“And this is your fault why?” I didn’t see the connection.

“Because we forced him to sell out. If we hadn’t, he’d still be here, running the club.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know. But he’d hated me for a long time now. Ever since I rejected him.”

“Ick.” A shudder ran through my body at the thought of Roy asking her out.

“Yeah.” Her shudder mimicked mine, and we both laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Kane stood just inside the door.

My eyes found his. My heart swelled at the emotion I saw there.

Pyper cleared her throat. “Nothing. It’s about time you got here. What took you so long?”

“It only took me ten minutes.” He shook his head and rounded on her. “What the hell do you think you were doing, showing up in my dream?”

Pyper stiffened. “Stop it. You didn’t see her.” She nodded to me. “Her body started flinching, and I felt what she was feeling.”

“You did?” I asked, more than a little shocked.

Pyper turned to me. “Yes. I felt him mentally attacking you. I couldn’t let it happen. So I curled up next to you and willed myself to Kane’s dream. It wasn’t hard. I’d been there before.”

I clutched her hand and mulled over what she said. “Can you sense anything about me now?”

She chuckled. “Just that you want some time with Kane.” She squeezed my hand and let go. “And no, it isn’t a psychic thing. It’s just obvious. I’ll see you two later.”

She disappeared and Kane sat next to me. “Are you all right?”

I nodded and pulled him closer.

He planted a kiss on my forehead and hugged me tight. “I thought I might have lost you.”

I shook my head, too afraid to speak.

He shifted and looked into my eyes. I didn’t need to explore his energy to feel the love flowing from him.

“Just hold me a while,” I choked out.

“I’ll hold you forever.” He lay down next to me and wrapped me in his arms. I snuggled in and rested my head on his shoulder. After a moment he undid my bun and spent a long time running his fingers though my hair.

***

Later that day, the doctor had just left when Charlie and Holly came to visit. They brought flowers and sat with me for a while. I asked about the café and the club, and they filled me in on the craziness of being short-handed. Charlie talked about a new girl she had her eye on, and Holly told me she signed up for my glass beadmaking class.

“You did?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes. I just knew they’d find a way to bring you back. I figured planning a future with you in it could only help. You know, positive cosmic energy and all that.” She tilted her head, hiding her face with a sheet of long blonde hair.

“Yes, that does help. Thank you.” I tapped her arm. “But did you really want to learn?”

She looked up with a huge grin. “Absolutely. I’ve wanted to since I met you. It just looks so cool.”

We chatted for a few minutes more until Kat showed up.

“We’ve got to go. See you soon,” Charlie said and grabbed Holly’s arm to escort her out.

“Bye.” Holly waved.

I watched them go and turned to Kat. “What took you so long?”

She sat down next to me. “I had to call Gwen back. She’s been frantic ever since she felt you disappear.”

“Oh my God, Gwen!” I reached over and picked up the phone. After leaving a short message, I turned back to Kat. “What did she say? Is she all right?” Damn it. That must have been hell for her.

“She’s fine. She felt you come back to the land of the living. But I think she’s planning a visit soon, so prepare yourself.”

My heart swelled. “I’d love to see her. But—” I stared at the door as if she would walk in any minute, “—crap, I won’t have any secrets after she gets here.”

Kat laughed. “True. That woman can’t keep anything behind those bright red lips of hers.”

I groaned, but was still smiling. “Have you seen Bea? I want to thank her.”

Kat’s smile faded. “Yeah. I just came from her house. She nearly collapsed with exhaustion after holding Roy in a binding spell for so long.”

“Oh, no. Is she okay?” I inched up on the pillows.

“I think she will be. Ian’s going to stay with her until she feels better.”

“Ian’s staying with her? I didn’t know they even knew each other.” Then something hit me. “Bea is Ian’s aunt, isn’t she?”

Kat nodded. “Yes. I didn’t know either until this week. They were together at some ghost hunt. That’s why we couldn’t reach either of them.”

“Ian could have told us he was leaving,” I said, slightly annoyed.

“They’d only planned to be gone one day, but things got a little wild, and they got stuck. Anyway, I’ll let him tell you all about it later.”

“Is he coming by?”

“No. He said to tell you he’d call. He doesn’t want to leave Bea alone.”

“That’s good.” My heart filled with gratitude at what everyone had done to help me. I reached out to Kat and grabbed her arm. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I’m not letting you go that easily.” Her tone was light, but relief mixed with residual fear pressed at my consciousness.

“Help me up,” I swung my legs off the side of the bed. “I need to get out of this bed and into a shower.” I’d been up a couple of times already. Once to use the bathroom and once to take a short walk. After lying down for a week, it wasn’t easy.

Kat helped me shower and to my delight had a bag full of fresh clothes and toiletries waiting for me. “You’re an angel,” I said.

She laughed. “That’s Lailah’s thing. I’m just a good friend.”

“The best,” I agreed.

***

The doctors kept me one more night for observation and by the next morning I was ready to leave. I’d taken to pacing the halls just to get out of bed and move my muscles. When they couldn’t find anything after poking and prodding me, they released me into Kane’s care with strict instructions to take it easy.

I eyed Kane and chuckled.

“Stop that,” he said.

“What?” I asked innocently as I imagined getting him naked.

“Never mind. Behave.”

I muffled another laugh as he pushed my wheelchair down the hall.

Kane drove me home in Pyper’s Mini Cooper.

“You don’t have a car?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said. “I used to have a jeep, but a few months back a buddy of mine totaled it. I haven’t replaced it yet. I walk almost everywhere I go and when I need a car, I just borrow Pyper’s.”

“That makes two of us without wheels.”

“I know.” Kane pulled up in front of the club. I spotted the sign I’d read the first night I’d moved in. Hundreds of Beautiful Women, and Three Ugly ones.

“Kane, what’s with the sign?”

He glanced at it then back to me. “What?”

“The sign, what’s the story behind it?”

He laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“I can’t believe after all of this, you didn’t know.” He moved his hands around indicating us, the club, and all that had happened.

“Come on, who are the three ugly women?”

“You’re gonna love this.” He smiled. “They’re ghosts, of course.”

“Ghosts!” I shouted. “What? Who? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You never asked. Besides, it’s common knowledge. Most likely everyone thought you knew.” He shrugged.

“Why haven’t I seen them?” I wondered aloud.

“You will,” he replied.

“How do you know?”

“You’ll see.”

He got out of the car and came around to my side to help me out.

“Kane–”

He put a finger to my lips. “Shhh. Right now I have other things on my mind.” He walked me to the side door of the building, pulled me inside and pressed me up against the wall. His eyes darkened to deep pools of melted chocolate and seconds after his lips and body touched mine, all other thoughts and questions vanished.

When he finally pulled away my heart hammered, and my legs had turned to jelly.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling me up my stairwell behind him. When we reached the top, I was panting.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Just out of shape after my week-long hiatus.” I smiled and opened my door. “Now, what was it that was on your mind?”

His eyes clouded over and his desire mixed with concern reached me.

“Stop worrying. I’m perfectly fine.” I maneuvered closer to him.

He put his arms around me and turned his head toward the bed. “I’ve been imagining getting you into that thing ever since I brought it up here.”

“That’s odd. I’ve been imagining it ever since I saw the headboard in storage.”

He pulled me closer. “My grandmother would be so pleased to know that bed is now in the possession of the woman I love.”

“It’s your grandmother’s? You said you were going to give it to a restoration place.” I jabbed him in the shoulder.

He shrugged. “I wanted you to have it. I knew you’d take care of it. And I knew you’d never take it otherwise. It’s my curse to love headstrong women. Grandmother would be proud.”

I shook my head and tried not to laugh at the triumphant look on his face.

“Forget my grandmother.” He pulled me down onto the bed, and for the next two hours I focused on all things Kane and the pleasure we gave each other.

When we finally drifted off to sleep, Bobby appeared, highlighted in a warm, pale glow. I watched as he smiled down at me. After a moment he waved, and the light faded into darkness. Still dreaming, Kane appeared and wrapped me in his arms. Bobby was gone, and finally it was just the two of us.

About the Author

Other titles by Deanna Chase

Jade Calhoun Series:
Witches of Bourbon Street
Demons of Bourbon Street
Angles of Bourbon Street
Shadows of Bourbon Street (Coming early 2014)

Crescent City Fae Series:
Influential Magic
Irresistible Magic (Coming Fall 2013)

Destiny Series:
Defining Destiny (Coming Dec 9th 2013)

Deanna is a native Californian, transplanted to the slower paced lifestyle of southeastern Louisiana. When she isn’t writing, she is often goofing off with her husband in New Orleans, playing with her two shih tzu dogs, making glass beads, or out hocking her wares at various bead shows across the country. For more information and updates on newest releases visit her blog at www.deannachase.com.

The Accidental Demon Slayer

Book One of the Biker Witches Novels

Angie Fox

Chapter 1

When I opened the door to greet my grandmother for the very first time, I’m not sure what I was expecting. I know I hadn’t envisioned an apple-shaped woman in a Kiss My Asphalt T-shirt, with windburned cheeks and a sagging tattoo of a phoenix on her arm. But what I really didn’t bargain for was a brief hug, followed by a forceful shove that had me landing firmly on my butt on the cold, black-and-white checked floor of my hall bathroom.

“Let me out of here!” I twisted the bathroom doorknob until I wrenched my wrist. How the frig did this happen? One minute I was answering my door, and the next I had landed booty over tea kettle on tile that was about two weeks overdue for a good scrubbing.

“Buck up, sugar cake.” My grandma’s chunky silver rings clinked against the other side of the door, and her gravelly voice sounded like she’d spent the last century breathing semi-truck exhaust. “This is for your own good.”

My own good? In what world could she know what was good for me? I’d never even heard from my mom’s mom until she called me the day before. The next thing I knew, she was flying to Atlanta to meet me. I had assumed that meant air travel, not the hot pink Harley parked in my driveway.

I kicked the door with all my strength. “Ouchie!” I hollered as pain seared my foot. Dang it all. Three years of teaching at Happy Hands Preschool and I couldn’t even cuss right. I limped in circles, the pointed toe of my simple black heel curled up like an elf shoe.

Why tonight, of all nights, did this have to happen?

Grandma chuckled. “Why, Lizzie Brown—kickin’ and a hollerin’. Thank heaven my grandbaby has spunk. I know you’re hacked to Hades, princess. But trust me. If I let you out now, you’d wreck all your pretty furniture.”

She’d obviously cracked her head on the pavement one too many times. As for ruining my Pottery Barn knockoff furniture, my pathetic excuse for a watchdog would take care of that. Pirate, my Jack Russell Terrier, tended to piddle at the first sign of trouble. I pounded against the door until my hands throbbed. Of all the dumb things to do, I had to let a stranger into my house.

Was I that desperate for affection?

Probably. My adoptive parents, Cliff and Hillary, meant well. But they weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy. They didn’t even like to touch each other. So, sue me, it felt good—even if it was a little forced—when my biological grandmother hugged me for the first time.

“Levitis cadre. Familio, madre,” she chanted like a deranged monk.

“Cut it out! Today is my thirtieth birthday, and I’m going to be late for my party if you don’t open this door. Now!” Let’s face it. I couldn’t go out much on my salary. Happy Hands Preschool wasn’t exactly raking in the big bucks. And the one night out of the year where I could count on all of my friends to be dateless and available, this geriatric biker had to take me prisoner.

She rapped her knuckles on her side of the door. As if I were going anywhere. “Lizzie dear? You have ridden a bike before?” she asked, as if I’d taken Hog 101 in high school.

Had she seen my cream-on-white front room? “Yeah, um. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m more of an indoor girl.” Not that I was against motorcycles, in theory. But if Grandma thought I was going to hoist my rear end up on the back of her hog, a pot hole had knocked something loose in her head.

“Well, Lizzie, the thing is…” She paused to find the right words to say whatever it was I was sure I didn’t want to hear. She cleared her throat. “Our coven’s on the run.”

Oh lordy. “You think you’re a witch?”

“Am a witch, darlin’. So was your mother. And if I wasn’t such a damned good witch, all hell wouldn’t be after us. I don’t have time to spell it out for you right now, but do you own any leather chaps?”

Yeah, hanging right next to my white capri pants. “No!”

“Well, that bites,” she said. “Life on the road can chafe your thighs.”

I gulped. She’d better not even think of kidnapping me. That was it. “Pirate! Watch dog! Attack!” He didn’t even have the courage to whimper. Useless beast. Last time I was buying him Silky Bones Pet-sicles.

“Hang in there, Lizzie. Less than one minute to go, by my watch. You were born at precisely 6:43 p.m.” She rubbed at the other side of the door like she was comforting a spastic kitten in a crate. “I found you just in time.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.” If I could get her to open the door, I could bolt past her and be free faster than I could say whack job. Our reservations were at 7:30. If she let me out now, I could lock her out of my house, out of my life and, of course, make a mad dash to my flipping birthday party. I rubbed my temples. Oh, to be less desperate for a night of fruity drinks and debauchery.

We were supposed to be heading to Fire, one of Atlanta’s newest bistros. I’d slipped into my sapphire party dress and twisted my inky hair into a stylish updo for the occasion. Now I could just feel curls escaping.

“Times like these I wish my watch had a second hand.” Grandma snorted. “And hey—” She rapped on the door, clanking her rings. “Try to stay clear of anything flammable.”

The woman was delusional. And I still couldn’t figure out how she’d locked the door from the outside.

“A few of these little beauties…” she said to the sound of jars being unscrewed. “You don’t know how good it was to see you. I would have been in your life sooner, but we lost track of you. Never would have recognized you in that Audrey Hepburn-looking getup.”

Audrey Hepburn my rear. I bought this dress on clearance last week at Ann Taylor. And what was I doing even listening to fashion advice from a senior citizen in rhinestone-studded skinny jeans? “Why me? Why now?”

“My spell only allowed me to locate you when your power had grown strong enough.”

Spell? I groaned under my breath. This is exactly why I hadn’t searched out my birth parents. Somehow, I knew my biological family would be a bunch of nut jobs.

And was that incense I smelled?

The pungent aroma of ginger and clove seeped under the door. Oh, no, no, no. “You’d better not be lighting things on fire out there!” Decision made. I mustered a few calming yoga breaths and tried to stuff my hair back into its polished updo. The further I got away from this branch of my family tree, the better.

“Listen, lady.” I said as I struggled to bring my temper down a notch. “I mean, Grandma. Listen, Grandma. Let me out of here and you can whip up whatever spell you want.”

After I remove you from my house and my life.

I searched under the sink for a weapon and came up with a toilet brush and a bottle of Purple Prairie Clover sanitizing spray.

Was I really going to shoot my own grandmother?

Yes.

“Open the door and let’s talk.”

She began to hum. It sounded like a church hymn.

“Grandma? Come on, now. Look. It’s not just that people are expecting me. He’s going to be there,” I said, as I used my thumb to pop the top off the sanitizing spray. “Hot Ryan Harmon from the gym,” I explained, as if she was supposed to know who that was. My girlfriends certainly did. “It’s taken me months of flirting on the elliptical machines to screw up the courage to ask this guy out, and you are not going to ruin it for me.” I deserved to date once in a while, didn’t I?

“Lizzie, you stay away from him. That man is a troll.”

“And you know because…” Crazy and opinionated. What a lovely combination.

I needed this shot at Ryan because—newsflash—I didn’t know many single men over the age of four. Hot Ryan Harmon was all I had going.

“Don’t take it personally, lover girl.” She pulled the door open a crack, her long gray hair swooshing as she shook her head. “Trust me.”

I whipped up my sanitizing spray and fired just as she slammed the door.

“Gak!” The air around me erupted with Purple Prairie Clover mist. I breathed in a metallic taste. The room smelled like I’d fallen head first into a vat of wildflowers.

“Ten seconds!”

“Until what?” The flowery spray was going to my head. Bright spots dotted my vision. Stumbling, I smashed my already sore toe into the cabinet under the sink. “Mother Fudrucker!” I braced myself over the sink as my stay-slim rice cake and peanut butter pre-dinner rumbled up the back of my throat.

“Seven seconds!”

Maybe I’d poisoned myself. My tongue thickened and my head felt like it was stuffed with packing peanuts. The room swirled and my legs buckled. A hot flash seared up my spine, through my limbs. I could have sworn I saw my hands melt into the faux marble countertop. Steam bubbled inside me and rose from every pore.

“You are the Exalted Demon Slayer of Dalea. Or at least you will be in four seconds. Three…!”

The place reeked of melted plastic and Purple Prairie Clover. I had to be hallucinating. Standing seemed like too much of an effort. My legs gave way and I slid down the door, my head coming to rest near a forgotten smidge of Extra Brite toothpaste on the floor. The room—no, the air itself—gleamed. The black-and-white tile practically sizzled under my body.

I felt something approach from behind. It gave off a funny clicking sound, like high heels on hardwood. And, phew, it smelled like I’d gone from a bad bonfire straight into the outhouse.

My grandma threw open the door. “Now we—”

The look of terror on Grandma’s face made me think missing the party was the least of my worries. Her eager greeting melted into a scream. I turned and immediately wished I hadn’t. I choked back a shriek while my heart did the samba.

A shrunken, razor-toothed, man, no—thing perched on the top of my toilet bowl. He existed in a swirling gray cloud that clung to his essence like a shroud. A gold ring wound through his flared nostrils until the heavy ball of it rested against rows and rows of spearlike teeth. His hide crinkled, as jagged as desert earth after a drought. It crackled as he tapped a single clawed toe against the white porcelain. Worst of all, his scarlet eyes seemed to have only one target—me.

Chapter 2

He bowed his head and cackled low in his throat, sending a shiver straight down to my toes. Run! My mind screamed in horror. My blood pounded in my skull and my hands flopped helplessly. Run! I dug my heels into the tile and managed a pathetic half circle. Oh my God. I was going to die right here on my bathroom floor.

Grandma whipped her hand forward. “Go to hell, Xerxes!” she screamed, sending a wave of energy shrieking over my head. Her turquoise choker glowed around her neck. The air itself vibrated. Xerxes didn’t even blink. Instead, he lifted a skeletal finger and pointed it at me. I wanted to cry. Keep it together.

“Get out of here, Lizzie,” Grandma commanded. “Now!” She clasped both hands around her necklace. She began to chant, her raspy voice repeating a single word, “Digredior. Digredior. Digredior.” Xerxes snorted and the acrid smell of sulfur seared the air.

I stared down at my own fingers, steaming on the tile. Get out of here? Impossible. It was like my body was trapped in a thick sludge. I fought back a wave of panic. This couldn’t be happening. It was the only explanation I could think of, and frankly, it was all I had. I puffed the hair out of my face and focused on the geometric white tiles in front of me. Be logical.

Somewhere, there existed a reasonable explanation for what was happening. I just had to find it. Had I inhaled some of the sanitizing spray? Naturally. Yes. That could explain a lot. Please. This had to be a warped Prairie Clover Mist head trip.

“This is a hideous side effect,” I pleaded with everything I had. Life seeped back into my arms and legs. I sniffed, wiped at the sweat tickling down my face. “Monsters do not, not, not exist.” My whole body shook as I ventured a peek back at my toilet bowl.

Xerxes hissed, spittle clinging to his blackened lips. Vapor swirled through his fingers and gathered into a thick smoke. It loomed toward me, a wave of ash, boiling upon itself. Stale, dead. My heart slammed in my throat. I fought the urge to gag. This was real.

Grandma focused, heart and soul, on the beast. “Digredior. Digredior…”

I had to get out of here. Grandma too. Whatever she was saying to that creature, it wasn’t working. And just because she was crazy enough to face him didn’t mean she deserved to die. My body ached as I inched toward the doorway. I prayed he didn’t notice. But who was I kidding? I could taste the dark mist approaching, feel his red eyes burning into my back. I had to turn. Had to look.

Xerxes’s claws clickety-clacked as he snaked down from the top of the toilet. Shock drilled through me, pinning me to the floor. Xerxes bobbed his head once, twice. One side of his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Stay, Lizzie,” he said slowly, his Greek accent punctuating each word as his dark cloud embraced me.

“How did you know my na—? Hmm.” Warmth washed over me. Oddly enough, I found myself smiling at him. This can’t be right. But darned if all my concerns didn’t seem to be—whoosh—falling away.

I stifled a giggle. Time to axe the Cheshire cat grin, if only for Grandma’s sake. She’d aged a century in five seconds flat. She kept trying to stuff me behind her, but I wasn’t moving.

Strange. I hated him. He was evil and foul and he smelled like rotten cheese.

But I liked cheese, especially with crackers.

He lowered his head and hit me with the sweetest smile. His cracked skin showed character. It molded to his sleek, muscular frame. I wanted to touch him.

My grandma said something or other.

The pupils of the demon’s eyes began to shift like a kaleidoscope. Fascinating. So that’s what he was. A demon.

I stumbled. “Would you look at that?” I didn’t even remember standing up. I found myself strutting toward him, closing the space between us. “Xerxes, I’ll bet you are just the Brad Pitt of the underworld.”

Then Xerxes did something quite rude. He shot darts out of his eyes. It’s so uncomfortable when you meet someone and five minutes later they invade your personal space. Even more frightening, the shimmery green darts headed straight for my neck. What was this guy trying to do? Chop my head off?

The old lady behind me, whatshername, started wailing.

Not good. I slowed things in order to get a good look at the darts. They shone like miniature glow sticks. I touched one and it sizzled on the end of my fingertip. Warm, but not painful. I pulled it out of the air and it hummed in my hand. I gingerly touched the tip. “Ow!” Sharp as broken glass. “The trick is to grab ‘em by the side,” I said to myself. I gathered them up like I was plucking tomatoes off the vine.

“Whaddaya think about that, Mr. Xerxes?” I held out a handful of green sizzly things.

The demon seemed almost frozen in time. My grandmother stood with her eyes transfixed, her mouth gaped open.

“Biiiiitttch!” The demon screamed.

Like he was one to talk. “How would you like it if I tossed magical lawn darts at your head and called you names?” I launched the barbs back at him.

They crashed into his forehead and he exploded into a million flecks of light.

I shielded my eyes as the world ratcheted back into focus. Grandma’s scream pierced the haze in my head.

“Ak!” What had I done? My arms sizzled from the electricity in the air, and every hair on my body stood on end. The room itself tasted bitter. Grandma and I gaped at each other for about a half a second. Then she snapped her mouth closed and dashed out into the hall.

“This is real,” I said to my wild-haired reflection in the bathroom mirror. What a terrible thought.

Grandma hurried back juggling a half dozen Ziploc bags full of heaven knew what. “Get out.” She shoved past me, dumped the bags on the floor and drew a circle on the tile with ashy, gray chalk.

“What?” I choked. Handprints—my handprints—burned into the countertop like a brand. I stared at my palms. There wasn’t a mark on them. My fingers throbbed like they were asleep. I rubbed them on my dress to get the circulation going again. “Are you going to tell me what just happened here?” I grabbed the bathroom towel to wipe snot, tears and heaven knew what else from my face.

She paused, chalk quivering. “Yes. But first I’m going to slam the door on these bastards. Xerxes only wanted a look at you. There’ll be more.”

A look? I didn’t believe that for a second. “In case you didn’t notice, he fired green pointy things. At my neck!”

She shoved on a pair of silver-framed reading glasses with rhinestone clusters in the corners. “You’re right. He did decide to kill you.” She began rifling through a collection of glass vials. “Demons can be impulsive.” She harrumphed. “Like yo-yo grandchildren who touch what they shouldn’t. You damned near gave me a heart attack.” She choose a vial of olive-brown liquid and stuffed it into the front pocket of her jeans. “I don’t know what you were thinking, grabbing his fulminations.”

“Fulma-what?”

“You just wait,” she said, rifling through her bag again. “You and I are going to have a long talk. But first, take this.” She handed me a Smuckers jar filled with a canary yellow sludge. “Stick close. And for the love of Laconia, let me work.”

“Okay…” A demon wants me dead, so I get a Smuckers jar. Shouldn’t we be running? Hiding? Where, I didn’t know, but Grandma’s Harley was sounding better by the second. Even if we ended up some place like the Laconia motorcycle rally. My fingers slid over the greasy glass of the jar and I darn near dropped it. What was I supposed to do if another demon showed up? Throw this at his head?

“Ey-ak!” I squealed as she popped open a Ziploc bag that smelled like dead mouse. She ignored my distress and began rubbing tiny circles of mush onto my bathroom floor. “Tell me that isn’t poop,” I said, as she ground the foul substance into my grout.

“Raccoon liver. It may not smell like peaches and cream, but it works,” my grandmother said without looking up from the mess on my bathroom floor.

I ducked out of the bathroom, tripping over Grandma’s animal hide bag and what had to be about a half dozen Smuckers jars in the narrow hallway outside. They were filled with various brackish liquids, plants and at least one possum tail. Road kill witch craft. Fan-frickin-tastic.

I slumped down at the kitchen table and buried my face in my hands. Of course that was the least of my problems considering Xerxes the demon had just tried to chop my head off.

I didn’t know what to think anymore. That thing was real. No question about it. He came for me. And as crazy as my Grandma was, she’d actually attempted to protect me.

An hour ago, I wasn’t even sure I believed in hell. Now it was after me. Worse, he’d gotten inside my head without even blinking. How could I defend myself against a creature that could control me like a Muppet?

I couldn’t help but wonder what my Grandma knew about all of this. When she’d called, I figured she was interested in what I’d been doing the last thirty years of my life. I’d tell her about my friends, my teaching job at Happy Hands Preschool. She’d tell me about herself and her family. Make that my family. At last, I’d learn about my mom, any brothers or sisters, who I was, where I came from.

Now I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I could be dead right now. Killed by a demon in my very own bathroom.

Claws scurried across the ceramic floor in the hallway.

“Grandma!” I leapt from the chair, on instant high alert.

She shot out of the bathroom as I realized my would-be attacker was, in fact, my Jack Russell terrier. Pirate was mostly white, with a dollop of brown on his back that wound up his neck and over one eye. He scampered around the corner into the kitchen, slid three feet and nearly thwacked his head on the side of the refrigerator.

“Pirate.” The tension oozed out of me and I about collapsed on the floor in front of him. He leapt into my arms and licked wherever he could reach. I hugged him close, his wiry hair tickling my nose. “Where have you been, boy?”

His entire body wriggled with excitement. “Alone! Locked in the backyard! Alone! But I dug under the fence. And then I ate through the screen on the front door. And I’m here now! I’m here! What’d I miss?”

My blood froze. “Oh no, no, no.” I scrambled away from him like an oversized crab. “There’s a demon in my dog!”

Pirate danced in place. “Are you kidding? It’s me! I burrowed, I ate screen, I ignored Mrs. Cristople’s tabby cat. I’m here to save you!”

Grandma scrubbed her hands on her jeans, leaving an oily smear behind. “Pirate is fine. A little impatient.” She grabbed a vial of silver powder from her back pocket and uncorked it with her teeth. “I told you to keep quiet until I had a chance to speak with Lizzie.”

Pirate let out a high-pitched dog whine.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said, eyeball measuring a bit of silver powder into her palm. “Now, Lizzie. I have to finish this containment spell or we could have another Xerxes on your toilet bowl.” She gave a worried snort. “Or worse…” She disappeared back into the bathroom.

I stared at Pirate, who promptly began licking himself.

“Stop it.”

He ignored me like he always did.

“Well hallelujah. At least some things don’t change.”

But, oh God, what had just happened?

I didn’t feel any different. I did a quick once-over in the mirror above the living room couch. I didn’t look any different. But there had been a demon in my bathroom. And he knew my name. I wasn’t up on my demon lore, but something told me that wasn’t good.

As for Pirate, I didn’t know what to think. I took a deep breath, counted to three. There had to be a logical explanation for all of this.

“Hey.” Pirate ran his cold nose along my ankle. “How ‘bout you feed me? I swear I haven’t eaten in a year. And screen door doesn’t count.”

I stared down at Pirate, who spun three times and sat.

He cocked his head. “Why the face? Am I drooling? Oh geez. It’s the doggie pellets. I think of doggie pellets…I drool.”

“What?” I stammered. What are you? That didn’t sound polite. I rubbed my temples.

Get a grip.

“Why, Pirate?” Each word was a battle. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Because,” he said, mimicking my stilted tone, “I am hungry.” We stared at each other for a long time. “Now.”

“This isn’t happening,” I said. I turned back to the mirror and started shoving my hair back into place. I needed something to be normal. Anything. Even if it was something as trivial as a hairdo.

“Come on, Lizzie.” Pirate licked my leg. “Lighten up. And hey, if you don’t want to feed me that dry stuff, I’ll take the fettuccine from last week. Back of the fridge, to the left of the lettuce crisper, behind the mustard.”

Yeah, right. Instead, he got dry kibble and a fresh bowl of water. Then I set about canceling my thirtieth birthday dinner. I didn’t know what I was going to tell my friends.

Sorry, guys. I couldn’t wait to celebrate with you. Believe me. But then my long-lost biker grandma locked me in my bathroom, a demon tried to kill me and now my dog won’t stop yapping.

I dialed my friend Yvette and settled for a simple excuse instead.

“A problem with the dog?” Pirate harrumphed after I’d hung up the phone. “You owe me one.”

***

When Grandma finished closing the portal to hell, or wherever Xerxes had come from, she took a chair opposite me. She’d perched her reading glasses on top of her head like a tiara. Slicks of oil smeared her T-shirt and a bit of brown gunk had caught under one of her rings. She folded her hands on my sunflower print tablecloth. “Would you like to talk about what happened?”

“Sure,” I said. She had to be kidding. “Where would you like to start? With the crazy green bars of light or with the fact that my bathroom is now glowing?”

And I didn’t mean glowing from a great cleaning job. As I spoke, a purple haze spilled out from the bathroom and into the narrow hall off my kitchen.

“A mange spell. Wards off demons, gremlins, succubi. Good against black magic too.” She blew out a breath. “So what do you want to know?”

She had to be kidding. “What happened here?” I asked, spreading out my arms.

“Okay,” she said, scrubbing a hand over her eyes. “Let me figure out how to explain it.”

I leaned back, arms crossed. “Start with the dog.”

She gave me a cock-eyed look. “Lizzie, that’s the least of your problems.”

“Maybe so, but I want to know. Why is my dog talking?”

She dropped her hand. “You’ve gained some magical powers.”

“I noticed.”

“Magical people can understand animals. Well, certain animals.” She glanced down at Pirate, whose tail was thump-thumping against the kitchen floor. “Your dog seems to be an exceptional communicator.”

Pirate’s nose nudged me under the table. “I always knew I was special.”

Oh geez. “Wait. So am I going to start hearing all kinds of animals? Like squirrels and bugs and birds?”

Grandma chuckled. “No, you’re not going to start hearing everybody. It depends on the animal’s intelligence and inclination. Squirrels, bugs and birds aren’t big thinkers.”

Thank goodness.

She raised a brow. “Now can we get on to the important things?”

“Okay, shoot,” I said, dragging Pirate onto my lap, wondering how this could get any weirder.

“You’re a demon slayer,” she said, as if challenging me to debate her. “I know it’s not easy, Lizzie. My coven and I have been trying to find you for years, just so we could make it easier. But you were impossible to detect.” She slid a silver ringed finger across the table at me. “That’s good. It most likely means you’re powerful.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” I told her. In fact, I already had a life. “I have a job, friends, a cute guy I just cancelled on.” I looked down at my hand as I rubbed at Pirate’s fur and saw my French manicure had melted away.

“Holy h—!” I couldn’t say it. I simply gaped at her.

“You can’t run from this, Lizzie.”

Maybe not, but I really wanted to.

Hands clasped, she leaned across the table. “You’re not alone. I’m going to help you get through this. My coven is going to help you.”

I pounded my fingers on the table until they tingled. “No offense,” I said, panic growing, “but I don’t want your help. I just want to be left alone.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I really am. But we don’t have a choice in this. Xerxes will be back, with a bunch more bloodthirsty creatures. We have to get you out of here.” She locked eyes with me. “My Harley seats two.”

“A Harley?” I gaped.

She gave a small grin. “There’s nothing like the freedom of the open road.” She probably meant to encourage me, but it had the opposite effect.

“You don’t understand,” I said, starting to feel a little queasy. “I get car sick, train sick, plane sick. I get dizzy watching the kids swing at Happy Hands.”

“Um hum,” Pirate agreed. “Don’t forget the time you yarfed up your hot chocolate all over Brian Thompson’s toboggan.” Pirate studied the look on my face. “Oh, but I didn’t like him anyway. He had cats. Three cats. The brown one, I called him Thor, he had pointy teeth. And another brown one, I called him Tuna Breath—”

All the homeless dogs in the shelter that day and I had to pick the motor mouth. “Pirate, level with me. What made you start talking?”

“Me? I always talk. Why’d you start listening?”

That wasn’t helping. “Why?” What had I done to deserve any of this?

I slipped Pirate down onto the floor and stood. I had to get away—and not on a hog.

Grandma followed me across the kitchen. “Your mother tried to hide you from this. She gave you up. Put you with a new family and thought if nobody knew who you were, then you didn’t have to be who you are. But life doesn’t work that way, Lizzie.”

I stopped in front of the refrigerator and looked at the pictures of my adoptive family, the ones who had actually wanted me. My voice caught in my throat. “Tell me about my mother.”

The day I was born, she’d given me up for adoption. I’d never known anything about her.

Grandma placed a steadying hand on my shoulder. “She was smart. Too smart for her own good sometimes. She wanted to do right by you, but I’m not going to lie, she messed things up bad.” She nudged me around to face her. “I’m trying to make it right.” Her brow furrowed with concern. “I just hope it’s not too late.”

I sized her up, from her long gray hair to those ridiculous motorcycle boots.

After a moment, she said, “That demon you met, Xerxes. He works for a fifth level demon named Vald. Vald has figured out how to steal power. He wants my coven’s powers and he certainly wants yours. We’ve managed to avoid that, mostly, for the past thirty years. But it’s not easy and we have to stick together.”

I understood. I thought. It still seemed so surreal. “What does Vald do when he takes someone’s power?”

The horror of it showed in her eyes when she said, “He swallows them up, body and soul.”

I glanced to the side, toward my glowing bathroom, then back to the aged biker witch in front of me.

Grandma gave a small smile. “What you did in there was…unique. I know I’ve never seen it before. Your nail polish was consumed by the demon’s vox because, frankly, most things…heck, most people would have been. You, Lizzie, are special. Whether you want to be or not.”

Not. “So most people get hit by the green thingies and they die. Instead, I pluck them out of the air and they ruin my manicure?”

“The nail polish was not of you.” She touched her fist to her heart. “This. The power you have inside. This is of you.”

“Okay…” I said, bobbing my head one too many times. “But you have magic. You can handle a demon, right?”

She cocked a slight grin. “I run from demons. You can kill them.”

I didn’t even like to kill June bugs.

“I know it’s a lot to swallow,” she said, growing serious once more. “That’s why you have to plant your pretty butt on my bike. My coven can keep you safe. This demon just wanted to get a look at you. There will be more.”

“Why can’t we leave each other alone? Live and let live?”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t work that way, Lizzie. You come from a line of powerful women. Every third generation, we are honored to produce a demon slayer. You.”

But I didn’t want to be a demon slayer.

I also didn’t want any more demons showing up in my bathroom. Or at sushi night with the girls. Or at the Happy Hands Preschool where I worked. That last thought chilled me to the core. I couldn’t imagine what would happen to my class of innocent three-year-olds. I had to stay far away from them until I could get rid of Xerxes, and anything like him, for good.

“If I come with you,” I began, “will you teach me how to get rid of any demon complications, once and for all?” I needed to learn how to have my normal life. Let Grandma have her voodoo-hoodoo. As long as I could get this thing under control enough to teach preschool.

Her bracelets dangled as she leaned toward me, resting her chin on her hands. “I will show you everything you need to know. But we need to meet up with the coven in Memphis. It’s not safe here.”

Not safe? Try mixing me with a Harley.

It was looking like I had less and less of a choice. “Okay, Grandma. If I do go with you to Memphis, will you tell me what to do about Pirate?”

I followed her gaze to the Jack Russell sniffing her Smuckers jars. “I’m here to teach you magic, Lizzie. The dog is your problem.”

Chapter 3

“Don’t worry, Pirate,” I said, shoving a mountain of underwear into a pink plastic overnight case I’d yanked from the closet in my small, loft bedroom. “I have a plan to get us a half dozen counties away from that Harley.”

A quick online check showed American Airlines had a Memphis flight leaving in two hours. We needed to be on it. I hated to fly, but it was quicker and safer. Besides the alternative was driving four hundred miles with Grandma, a talking terrier, and twenty-seven Smuckers jars filled with heaven knew what.

“Hold up,” Pirate yelped, dropping the Mickey Mouse panties he’d just stolen.

I jumped too. I was used to talking to my dog. I did it all the time. Him answering was another matter.

“Are you leaving without me?” he asked. “You can’t leave without me. I’m your watch dog. I watch out for you. You need me.”

It took me a moment to form the words. This was just a conversation, a regular talk—with a dog.

I tried not to think about that last part.

“I’m not leaving you,” I assured him. “And honestly,” I said, scooping up the panties and tossing them in the direction of the bathroom hamper. “You need to tone down the watch dog shtick.” His face fell and I found myself working hard to recover. “Not that you aren’t great at it. You are. I feel very safe.” At least I used to feel safe. “But you have to learn to pick your battles.”

Pirate blinked twice, seemed shocked at the thought. “What? You don’t think I can handle it?”

With shaking hands, I yanked three pairs of khaki pants from their hangers. “Feel free to protect me from butterflies, the vacuum cleaner, my hair dryer,” I said. “But please. No demons.”

Pirate considered it while I folded two pairs of pants and left the third pair out to wear. “I could take a demon.” He twitched his ears, daring me to tell him he couldn’t. “You should have seen me today. I wasted the Phantom Menace. Been after him my whole life. And today—whammo! So don’t tell me I can’t bust a demon. Oh yeah. I can bust a demon.”

I tossed an armful of button down shirts into the case. “The Phantom Menace is from a Star Wars movie. Not a real person.” Pirate liked to yip at every shadow in the yard.

“He’s real,” Pirate insisted. “I left teeth marks.” He growled and showed me his canines. “Good? Yeah? What about this?” He sprung into a stalking stance and bared his teeth, his whole body shaking. “I’m an animal!”

“And you caught your own shadow.”

“No—a phantom. He flies! Likes to watch over the yard. Bet he’s after my squeaky frog. Today, he tried to give me something gold and shiny. Completely inedible. So I chomped him.”

Technically, Pirate’s rubber toys were supposed to be inedible too. I sighed and wrestled a simple white top off its hanger. Normally, I would have ignored a rant like that. Wait, who was I kidding? Normally, I wouldn’t be having this—or any—conversation with my dog.

Holy hand grenades, I sure hoped Pirate was imagining things. I didn’t want to think of shadowy figures hanging out in my yard. Watching me. To be safe, I said, “Promise me, if you ever see the Phantom Menace again, you will not go anywhere near him. Understood?”

Pirate attacked his tail.

I eyed the little beast I’d shared my bed with for the last three years. “Pirate.” I stroked him behind the left ear and he turned to mush in my hands. “Are you listening to me? Remember what we learned in obedience class? A good watch dog also listens.”

“Ahhh…anything you say, Lizzie. Just keep hittin’ the sweet spot.” The instant I stopped scratching, he jumped to his feet and began nosing around the semi-folded clothes in my suitcase. “You know, we would have passed that class if that sexy Pomeranian hadn’t winked at me. Lost it on that one. Dames.”

“Pirate,” I warned. “Don’t attack any yard spooks. You come get me.” He treated me to the innocent doggie look, but we both knew he wasn’t fooling anybody. I pulled on a pair of khakis and, yanking down my top, plowed through my closet for the comfortable, lace up shoes I wore to teach school.

I plunked down on the bed to tie my shoes and while I was there, gave Pirate a quick rub on the head. “Let’s motor. I’m going to try to convince Grandma to head to the airport, but we have to hurry if we’re going to make the next flight to Memphis.” My stomach roiled at the thought. Flying gave me hives, but all I had to do was look out into the driveway and there sat my courage, with chrome wheels and silver flames painted down the sides.

“Give me a Frosty-Pupsicle and I’ll tell you where I hid your wedge sandals.” He burrowed himself between two pillows.

I rolled my eyes and attempted to clip the clasps on my bulging suitcase. “You’d just better hope we can convince Grandma to get off that hog of hers.”

“A hog?” Pirate shrieked and pillows flew. He raced to the window behind my bed and shoved his nose against the glass. “Ohh, biscuits! I could zam down the highway, wind in my face. Checkin’ out the babes.”

So he hadn’t processed anything I’d said about bike versus plane. Peachy. I had a talking dog, not a listening dog.

Good to know, I decided as I tried to force the suitcase shut with the weight of my butt. My socks and underwear bulged out from between the clasps. “I expect you to back me up on this one.” I’d tell him later that he’d have to fly cargo.

“You ready yet?” Grandma charged up the stairs holding a sandwich and one of the apple juice bottles I kept on hand for school lunches only. “Lizzie! Stop farting around.”

“You have to be kidding me.” She may have been willing to jump in front of a demon for me, but I didn’t appreciate how she thought I could wrap up my life in the time it took her to make a cheese sandwich.

All I wanted was a simple, stable life. I liked to have things I could count on—my friends, my job, and even Cliff and Hillary. Heaven knew they’d never change. My spontaneity came from Pirate, and when that miniature problem with paws ran amok, I could just pick him up. Crisis averted. I didn’t want to be special. As far as I was concerned, it was overrated.

Grandma shook her head, her long, gray hair tangling over her shoulders. “Time’s, up, Lizzie. We’ve got trouble.”

Because we hadn’t had enough of it lately.

My stomach dropped. “Don’t tell me you blew up my bathroom.”

“Worse. Remember my purple emergency spell? It turned blue. Demons sucked the red right out of it. They’re coming. Fast.”

Yikes! I attacked the case with renewed vigor.

“Stop!” Grandma commanded. “What do you think this is, Spring Break at Daytona Beach? There aren’t any suitcase racks on my Harley. One backpack.” She held up a single finger, with a silver snake ring wound around it. “One.”

“Let’s just fly,” I pleaded, hearing the desperation in my voice. “It’ll save time!”

She looked at me like I had two heads. “I can’t protect a whole plane! You want demons camping out on the fuselage?”

Oh my word. We were a human tragedy waiting to happen. I shoved the image out of my mind. “Fine,” I said, yanking my school pack from its peg. “This will barely fit a tube top and a pair of socks.”

Grandma raised a brow. “Well, won’t the truckers enjoy that?”

I packed a change of clothes and a hairbrush, then dashed to the kitchen for Pirate’s Healthy Lite dog chow and a spare water dish. The bathroom was indeed glowing an incandescent blue. The haze spilled out into the hallway, carried on an invisible cloud. It had a palpable presence. A demonic one. It crept up to the ceiling and inched down across the floor like a slow, steady breath of evil. Holy h-e-double hockey sticks.

Grandma had already dragged Pirate out front to fit him for his riding gear. He’d have to be fastened to me. Grandma had this contraption that was basically a glorified, strap-on baby carrier. Pirate would hate it. It wouldn’t be fun for me, either. Pirate hadn’t had a bath in a week or two and besides, he tended to have digestive issues.

I stuffed his food and bowl into my purse, checked the back door lock and dashed through the living room toward the front door.

“Akkk!” Pirate dashed circles in the yard while Grandma chased him with a black leather harness that looked like it came straight out of the Ozzy Osborne Pet Gear Catalog.

“Damn it all.” She tossed the contraption to me. “You try it. Lucky Bob built it for his late ferret, Buddy.”

Pirate went shock still. “Why late? What happened to Buddy?”

We didn’t have time for this. “Pirate! Sit!” I said, summoning up the voice I learned in doggie obedience classes.

“Like hell!” He took off in a dead run.

“Pirate! Ditch the drama before Grandma zaps you in the butt with one of her demon spells.”

He dug in his front legs to stop, but his back legs kept going and he flipped over. Pirate popped back up, shaking with doggie indignation. “She’s going to tie me up! Look at that thing. It’s a doggie straight jacket!”

Grandma loomed over him, fear burning in her eyes. “If we don’t get on this bike in two minutes, you’ll be wearing your intestines as a necklace.”

Pirate released his bladder. I didn’t blame him.

“Sorry.” Grandma wound her thick hair into a bun and stuffed it under her helmet. “Your dog’s not too good at listening.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said, fighting to untangle the black leather straps of the carrier.

The Harley roared to life. She pumped the engine until the kickback rattled my teeth. “Lord help us,” I mumbled as I finagled Pirate’s hard little noggin through the ferret carrier. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I yelled, trying not to breathe in any of the choking exhaust billowing from Grandma’s chrome pipes. I hoped Pirate could hear me over the deafening roar. He lashed his head back and forth. I tried to summon the tone I used with my preschoolers. “It’s snug, but that just means I can hold you close and keep you safe.”

“Bullshit.” Pirate yelped, half in, half hanging out of the carrier.

I heaved us both up on the pink Harley with silver flames shooting up the sides. “Hold still,” I ordered as I lowered both terrier and carrier over my head. Not an easy task, considering he’d decided to escape. His stubby legs, grasped for traction as they dangled out of the baby carrier.

Grandma secured her bag of jars. “Strap him in!” She insisted, her worry evident. “We need to go. Now.”

“This is humiliating!” Pirate lamented to Grandma’s back as I wedged him in tight and fastened the straps around his tummy, his stubby tail poking me in the stomach.

Grandma reached around to tighten the straps. “You two okay back there?”

I adjusted my helmet and tried not to think about the deep scratch marks that marred its dull, black surface. How many wrecks had this lady been in? Maybe we could stop somewhere for an extra-heavy-duty helmet with a face mask. While we were at it, maybe we could rent a Volvo.

Grandma wore a sleek silver helmet. Hers didn’t have a safety mask either. What? Would it have broken some kind of biker code to fly down the highway and head smashing speeds while wearing full protective gear? She eyed me as she pulled on a pair of riding goggles.

“Hold on to my waist,” She instructed over the engine. “Lean when I lean and for God’s sake turn your helmet around. You’ve got it on backwards.”

My fingers dug into the strap under my chin. I didn’t know how I was going to survive this odyssey when I couldn’t even buckle a helmet right. And talk about scary instructions. Lean when I lean. How far? How much? I chewed at my lip. If we crash, please don’t let it be my fault. I felt so helpless.

Grandma eyed the blue smoke curling out from under my locked front door.

“What if Xerxes tears apart my neighborhood?” I asked, wrapping my hands around grandma’s thick waist. I never really met my neighbors. They never seemed to venture outside of their houses, but still… Pirate squirmed, his legs flopping in the air. All three of us lined up on Grandma’s hog like a warped version of the Three Musketeers.

“I’d never let that happen.” She reached in her pack for a mossy-looking Smuckers jar wrapped in masking tape. “Do you have any loose eyelashes?”

“What?” My mind failed to make the connection.

“Don’t worry about it.” She yanked off a section of tape, touched it to my arm. “Think of it like a Band-Aid,” she said, giving a swift yank.

It stung like blazes. “God Bless America!”

Grandma inspected the tape that held way too many of my arm hairs. “Perfect.” She stuck it back against the nasty looking jar. “Confuto aggredior!” She fired the jar at my house and it shattered on the front porch. Glass flew everywhere and greasy slime oozed down my top step and onto my red brick walk.

“They’ll be following us now.” Grandma gunned the engine, and my back slammed the safety bar as we peeled out into the gathering dusk.

***

“Yell if you see Xerxes or any of his hell raisers,” Grandma said at the first stoplight we reached. “We’ll make Evel Knievel look like a pussy.”

“Urgle.” I nodded, stomach churning. Two blocks and my butt throbbed from the vibrations. Maybe in another two, it would go blessedly numb.

“What? Why’d we stop? Did someone say stop? Pup-per-roni, we were flying! Wind in my face, wind in my ears, wind in my toenails. Wind whipping all up in my…”

“Pirate! If you keep whamming me in the gut with that tail, I’m going to heave.” Yeah, blame it on the dog. Nausea climbed up the back of my throat. I fought to ignore the smushed stink bugs on the front windshield. And the gas fumes from the cars surrounding us. And the pulsations that rattled every raw nerve in my body when I just wanted to lie down. Why did I ever think this would work? I could barely ride bumper cars without yarfing all over the place.

Pirate’s tail pounded my fragile stomach. “Your problem is you got no sense of adventure. Green light!”

Grandma cranked the gas and we lurched from zero to five hundred in two seconds flat. The wind stung my face and arms. Pirate flung his legs out in the air. “Eyyah! I’m king of the world!”

“Car!” I screamed as we slammed toward a Honda Prius.

“Yyy-yes!” Grandma swerved at the last second, zig-zagged between lanes and gunned it out into the open road.

I am going to die. What was worse? The road ahead of us or the demons we left behind? At that moment, I wasn’t sure.

***

Thanks to small miracles, we made it out of Atlanta alive. We zipped over the Georgia/Alabama border near Bowdon and caught the back roads from there. Alabama had plenty of quiet, side roads where we could still rumble at butt breaking speeds without risking detection on the open highways.

In the darkness, the trees on the side of the road formed an army of shadows, breached occasionally by the light from a house. I breathed in the warm night air. It was a moment to savor because—sure as Grandma’s Smuckers jars—our luck had to run out sometime.

It almost didn’t seem real—the demon in my bathroom, my biker witch Grandma, any of it. And now we were out on the road with barely a change of clothes and a doggie bowl. This was so not me. I didn’t like to leave for the grocery store without a typed shopping list and my color coded coupon file.

Worry about things you can control, like…

Darned if I could think of anything.

Okay fine. I could still have a moment of peace. I tuned out the droning roar of the bike and focused on the good in my life. I nuzzled my little dog, his prickly hair warm against my cheek. It reminded me of when he was a puppy and used to like to curl up on my chest and listen to my heartbeat. I felt myself relax. Pirate too. He fell asleep somewhere after Talladega, his little legs dangling out of the baby carrier.

Sure enough, trouble found us at a QuikTrip just outside of Jasper. We’d stopped for gas, a clean bathroom and a Rooster Booster Freezoni for Grandma. While she parked herself in front of the self-serve slushy counter, debating the merits of adding a blue raspberry layer to her energy drink, I found a field for Pirate next to the station.

He sprinted across the small meadow, leaping here and there, just for the fun of it. “I was made for the open road. How come we never blew out on a road trip before?”

Because I’d never thought of it. The full moon illuminated my romping dog, as well as the road dust clinging to every inch of my body. Ugh. I smelled like a diesel gas pump. I brushed at the grime on my arms. “We were fine in Atlanta.”

“Fine does not mean alive!” he said, hurdling over a patch of weeds. “Tingly!” He hopped back the other way. “Oh yeah. That’s what I’m talking about,” he said, continuing his assault on the shrubbery. “Belly scratch!”

“Pirate. Hurry up. Do your thing. Grandma will want to leave sooner rather than later,” I said, as I caught her out of the corner of my eye. She’d chucked her Freezoni and jogged toward us with a hotdog wrapper flapping out of her pocket and the look on her face I was coming to dread. Shadows gathered in the skies above the QuikTrip.

Pirate sniffed furiously at a clump of dried grass. “Hold the phone, Lizzie. You guys eat hotdogs while I get dull, dry dog food. And now you rush me in the john.”

“Four pixies,” Grandma called out before stooping over to catch her breath, “back by the beef jerky. Two more by the weenie machine. Let’s move, people!”

Sweet heaven. Pixies? She might as well have told me she’d spotted the Easter Bunny.

Pirate’s head popped up from a clump of wild daisies. “Don’t pressure me. I can’t stand pressure.” He circled twice. “Oh look, now I’m all locked up.”

Grandma and I made tracks for the bike at Pump 6 while I tried to wrap my head around our newest supernatural terror. “So pixies are bad?”

“They report to the imps. I thought we’d keep you under the radar, least ‘til we sharpened you up.”

“Maybe they didn’t see you,” I said, watching the convenience store.

“I think they were looking for us. First Xerxes, now this. They must really want you.”

“That’s not comforting.”

She turned to me as we reached her bike. “I will protect you. But I’m not going to lie to you about the danger.”

I actually appreciated that.

“Wait.” I gripped her arm. “You smell something?”

She locked eyes with me. “Open yourself up, Lizzie. What are your powers telling you?”

A faint trace of sulfur floated past. And what else? Burned hair. It smelled like evil. I didn’t know what my powers had to say, but my instincts were telling me to run. “Pirate, now!”

For once, he listened. I stuffed Pirate into the baby carrier while Grandma reached for a Smuckers jar. She unscrewed it, revealing a leafy-looking sludge.

She yanked the top off of her silver snake ring. “Here.” She forced the severed cobra head into my free hand. Its emerald eyes twinkled under the fluorescent lights of the gas station. Protruding from the ring, which was now basically a snake neck, was a very small, very sharp looking needle. Grandma plunged it into her chest.

I couldn’t believe it. “What are you doing?”

She winced as it pierced the flesh above her heart. I seized her arm as she flicked one, two, three drops of blood into the jar.

“I’m saving our butts.” She took the snake head and snapped it back onto her ring. Dark, wet blood stained her Kiss My Asphalt T-shirt. “Blood. It’s a small death. Makes the spell stronger.” She braced the Smuckers jar between her thighs and drew on her helmet. “We’re gonna to need an ass load of magic to get out of this.”

“Ohhh squirrels!” Pirate struggled against the baby carrier, his legs automatically giving chase.

Not squirrels. My voice caught in my throat. Three—no—at least five shadowy creatures slinked toward us. I scrambled for my helmet, if only to whack them with it. They curled around the gas pumps and past the only other car at the pumps, a white Chevy Nova. “Help!” I called, hoping like heck the Nova belonged to an exotic animal wrangler.

“Pipe down. Nobody can see the imps but us.”

Imps?

Lovely. I’d have to thank Grandma for opening my eyes to the wonderful world of magical creatures. Sweat pooled under my arms and chest. The imps’ congested breathing grew more and more excited as they drew closer. Purple eyes glowed from under dark, furry brows. They had weasel-like faces and the bodies of thick, hastily constructed people. Dark hair clung to their bent frames.

“Confudi!” Grandma tossed the Smuckers jar and it shattered between two of them. The air radiated for a split second and the creatures screeched.

The imps retreated as fast as they’d appeared. Yow. I let myself breathe again. “You’ve gotta teach me about those jars,” I said. Maybe I’d try something with a SoBe bottle or two.

Grandma’s eyes widened. “Move!” She shoved both of us against a gas pump and I felt a wave of energy crackle past.

I spun to face her, Pirate dangling between us. “What was that?”

Huge wings beat a blue streak above us. I looked skyward and dread swelled inside me. A monstrous eagle with the body of a lion circled above the convenience store. Big as a truck, it screeched and displayed feathers of red, purple, green, blue. Impossible. Oh begonias. After today, who was I to even think that?

“The Phantom Menace!” Pirate’s legs clambered for him. “You coming back for more? Shake your tail feather this way. I’ll show you more.”

The creature blocked out the moon as it plunged right for us. I scrambled for the hard, leather seat of the Harley. The bottoms of my shoes slipped off the riding boards as Grandma peeled out of the parking lot. We were on Route K in a heartbeat, flying so fast it made my head spin.

“I float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!” Pirate hollered as we sped off into the night. I clung to Grandma and closed my eyes to keep from being sick. I didn’t know how we were going to outrun that thing. My hair swirled under the edge of my helmet, and I could feel my face stretching with the wind. Every hill we crested, I swore the bike went airborne for a second or two. Heaven help us.

“Eee-yah!” Grandma hollered as we careened around a hairline turn at a speed I didn’t even want to know. The bike skidded, skipped over a dip in the road and slapped pavement again. My fingers dug into her sides when I saw the road ahead. Or make that, the lack of road.

Our stretch of asphalt ended in a small lake. It consumed both lanes of the road and the forest beyond.

Grandma hunkered low and steady over the handlebars. “Hold on!”

“What? Stop!” My gut clenched as we thundered straight for it. A flash flood like that could sweep a car away, much less three idiots on a bike.

There were no detour signs, no road cones. No reason for the water. My toes curled and I clung to Grandma tighter. We were traveling uphill. Water does not run uphill. But this water did.

Pirate fought the baby carrier. “Oh no. I don’t do water. Water is not good.” He lurched, just like he did every time I tried to dunk him in a—

“Bath!” he yelled and pitched his body to the left.

“Shiii…p!” I screamed, as I lost my balance and toppled into thin air.

“Holy hell!” Grandma grabbed us by the doggie sling. The bike plunged into the lake and skidded sideways through the surging water. Depression and rage swelled from its depths. “It’s an ambush!”

We lost the bike in a wave of water. I clutched Pirate as we slammed nose over toes into the abyss. Eyes closed tight against the muck, I fought past fleshy ropes of seaweed. It clung to my arms, heavy and stringy.

Please let it be seaweed, even if we are a thousand miles from the ocean.

Pirate’s flailing leg caught my arm, and I winced as his doggie claws sliced deep.

We broke through to the surface and, blessedly, I was able to touch bottom. Afraid to draw too much attention, I crouched in the water, just high enough for Pirate to keep his head above the churning darkness. The despair of this place surrounded us. Waves of hopelessness and fear tangled my insides. Grandma was no where in sight.

Pirate flailed in his carrier. “Oh, biscuits! Calm down. You calm? I’m calm. Oh, biscuits.”

“Shhh. You’re fine.”

“Shit.” Pirate shook off as best as he could, peppering me with putrid water. “That’s what I said. I said I was fine.”

“Look for Grandma.”

Pirate tried to wriggle a leg out of his carrier. “Oh yeah, the lady who said she wanted to wear my intestines for a necklace? Yeah, let’s get right on that.”

Hang tight. Focus. I scanned the area for demons, witches and anything that wasn’t one hundred percent normal. Grandma had called this an ambush. Someone or—I gulped—something had created this lake in the middle of the road. And they had us stopped cold.

A shimmer spread throughout the water. Goose bumps snaked up my arms. Holy moley. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Is it me or is the water glowing green?”

“Oh, man,” Pirate said, ready to climb up to my shoulders. “You know I’m colorblind.”

An emerald glow radiated from the depths of the water and broke to the surface in a roil of bubbling water. Churning foam sucked at my shoulders. “That’s it.” Ambush or not, I broke into a run, the waist-high water sluicing off us. We had to get out of here.

In a flash, Grandma appeared at the far side of the lake, at the edge of the woods. Shadows dove at her from every direction. “Lizzie, run!” she screamed before she disappeared.

“Grandma!” I made a mad dash for her. I had no idea what to do, but I had to do something. She was family. More than that, this woman was my only tie to this new, magical world and I had no idea what I’d do without her. Die, most likely. And if what she’d said about the demon was true, I’d probably lose my soul in the process.

The air itself vibrated and smoked. It tasted like singed hair.

“Stop! Halt! Cut it!” Pirate yelled. “Wall!”

“Wall?” Then I saw it. It shimmered like a giant soap bubble. There was no time to stop. I felt my toes leave the ground as it sucked us through.

Thick, wet undergrowth tangled around my ankles. I steadied myself, ready for the worst. I clutched Pirate’s knobby little body and blinked once, twice. We’d raced headlong into a clearing littered with scores of rodentlike faces staring up at us. Imps. Their glowing purple eyes bounced through the darkness as they scuttled toward us, baring row after row of glistening teeth.

Grandma braced herself at the far edge of the clearing. Heavy iron cuffs bound her wrists and ankles. She struggled to hold them away from her body, despite the weights pulling at each cuff. An eerie tickle crept up my skin when I realized why. Curved snakelike fangs protruded from the cuffs and connecting chains, ready to pierce her skin if she gave in to the weight of her restraints. I wondered what horrors waited inside the fangs.

“Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?” she lamented, breathing heavily with exertion. “I told you to run, not get yourself trapped. Honestly, Lizzie.”

She could at least pretend to be grateful. “Ditch the attitude. I’m saving you,” I said. Somehow.

I didn’t really have a choice, did I? I was toast without this woman.

The imps cackled like psychotic weasels as they skulked closer. I rubbed Pirate, who hadn’t stopped shaking since we broke through the wall.

Grandma fought to keep the razor-sharp fangs from plunging into her skin, “Well, if you’re going to save me,” she stopped to catch her breath, “untie the damned dog and let’s get to work.”

“Right,” I said, desperate to mask my fear.

I released Pirate. His wiry body slid down mine and to the ground. I had to focus, find my power. If I didn’t get this right, I hated to think what could happen to us.

Focus. Breathe. Find a way.

They might have numbers on their side, but I’d done something right the last time and, well, I’d just have to do it again.

Pirate circled my legs as the imps stalked us from every direction. “Oh, you’d better get your ass back,” he said, “you filthy looking, I don’t know what you are. You do smell kind of nice. But don’t you be testing me. I’ll kick you into next Thursday. Don’t you think I won’t.”

I ignored Pirate and reached deep down inside. I was the most uptight, disciplined person I knew, and I had to use that. Whatever raw magic I possessed, whatever had allowed me to drive Xerxes from my bathroom, I’d find it and own it. Now.

“Water nymph at two o’clock,” Grandma warned. A dripping, green fairy rose from the marsh at the edge of the lake and skimmed toward us. She might have been beautiful if she hadn’t looked so desolate. She was tall, with the body of an underwear model. But her face sagged and her eyes held horrors I didn’t even want to imagine. She wore a shift that—ick—looked like it had been crafted from the skin of imps. And, I gulped, she held cuffs, the same kind that bound Grandma.

I dug my fingernails into my palms. Show no emotion. Instead, I focused every bit of will I possessed, felt the magic churning inside of me. The center of my body hummed with energy. I could feel it right down to my fingertips. I let instinct take over and screamed the first thing that came to me. “Be gone!” My own voice tore at the back of my throat as I flung my power into the clearing.

The imps cowered, clung to the ground.

“Be gone!” I zapped them again with everything I had. This time, they stood still, studying me. The water nymph had sunk down into a puddle after my first try. Now, she drew toward me, curiosity playing on her features. Oh no.

“Solvo dimittium,” Grandma hollered.

Hope flared and died quickly. They didn’t react to that either.

“Lizzie.” Grandma struggled against her chains. “You say it! Solvo dimittium.”

“Right.” I nodded, resisting the urge to run, which I knew would be useless and stupid and wrong. Solvo dimittium. Solvo dimittium. Driving my power to me once again, I opened my mind, took a deep breath and bellowed, “Solvo dimittium!”

A slight wind rippled the water nymph’s hair. A curl of blue flame sizzled a circle around her water-logged hair before fizzling.

“Shit,” Grandma said.

No kidding. “That’s it?” My voice hitched as the creatures closed in around me. “What else should I do?”

Pirate brushed past my leg. “You stand there and look pretty. Let me give it a whirl.” Pirate stalked toward a scowling imp.

“Pirate, no!” Bravery was one thing. This was something else.

Pirate thrust his tail out. “Suave dimmi-who’s-it’s, you bug-eyed freak of nature.”

The imp shrieked and reared back to attack. Pirate yelped as it leapt onto his back, claws digging into his fur.

“Pirate!” That thing could kill him with one bite. It clambered up his back, heading straight for his neck.

Rage boiled inside me, and I drop-kicked the imp like I was punting a football. Three more took its place. I booted another. Blood flowed down Pirate’s back. At least one imp landed hard on my shoulders, clawing rivers of fire down my back. I spun, desperately trying to throw it off when I spotted another creature circling.

A winged beast the size of a Clydesdale descended upon us. The same breed of creature we saw at the gas station, with the head of an eagle and the body of a lion. A griffin? Tail swishing in the gathering wind, it reached for us, claws outstretched, like a hungry bird of prey.

Pirate broke free and bit the nearest imp. I threw an imp from my shoulders straight at the pair of talons leveled at my head. Grandma screamed something or other, but it was impossible to hear her over the high-pitched yelps of the imps and the screeching calls of the griffin. The flying creature dove straight for the water nymph.

But the nymph was fast. She disappeared into the nearest puddle as the bands on Grandma’s wrists and ankles snapped and crumbled away. The imps scurried back to the shadows, save the two dead ones at my feet. “Take that!” Pirate chased the remaining imps to the edge of the clearing.

I stood catching my breath, my back burning. The coppery scent of blood hung heavy over the clearing. I wanted to collapse with relief. Or was that fear? Just because this thing didn’t kill me before didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt me now. He landed a few feet from me, settling his wings around his body like a bird. He wore a single emerald ring on one of his talons, and his feathers shone in a burst of colors.

Grandma bustled over to me. “Everyone alright?”

I nodded.

“Well, then.” She flexed her hands, working to get the circulation going again. “Hiya, Impetrix Heli—” She paused. “Um, Impetrix. Thanks for saving our asses. Now with your permission,” she saluted him, “we’re outta here.” She grabbed my arm. “Come on.”

“He’s just going to let us go?” I asked, hustling behind her.

“If we go quickly.”

I fought the urge to look behind us. Good enough for me.

We exited the clearing, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp. The immense lake had disappeared as if it never existed. Grandma’s bike lay twisted down a steep embankment off the main road. We scrambled through some mud and pulled the hog upright. Grandma wrenched the handlebars and yanked the seat.

“Hurry,” she said quietly.

“So he’s…?”

“Trouble.” We managed to heave it halfway up the embankment, but the bike was too mangled and heavy.

“Is he worse than the imps?”

Grandma groaned as she hauled the bike with everything she had. I joined her, pulling until I felt my arms stretching half out of their sockets. For every inch we dragged the flipping thing, we sank two in the mud. It was no use.

“God damn it!” Grandma shoved the bike and it fell back into the ditch, nearly taking me with it.

I slid an extra few feet and stared down at the wreck of a bike. It was toast, and we were trapped.

She brought a bloodied hand up to her mouth. “Yeah. In a way, he is worse than the imps.”

My nerves quivered. The air felt heavy, smoky. I felt it in the pit of my stomach. Maybe my magic was finally kicking in. It was about time. “What is it, Grandma?” I asked. “More demons?” Or the griffin?

“It’s not that,” she said grimly. “It’s him.” She jabbed a mud slicked finger at an imposing, olive skinned man who stood like royalty at the edge of the ravine.

I gripped her hand and felt my pulse leap. “Is he a monster?”

“That depends,” she said, giving him the evil eye.

My blood warmed just looking at him. He was striking. If you liked the GQ type. He wore a dark, tailored suit cut to fit his broad shoulders. His angled features gave away nothing as he watched us. I felt his eyes, hidden in shadows, sweep over every inch of my body. I blinked twice, studied him. Something inside me felt like I knew him.

That was impossible, I thought with a twinge of desire. If I’d ever met this man before, I would have remembered. He seemed so out of place on this swampy, dirty backwater road. Everything about him was polished, it seemed, except for the way his thick, ebony hair curled around his collar.

His eyes flashed orange, then yellow. Holy Moses. I stumbled backwards in the darkness as his eyes began to glow with a positively arresting, utterly horrifying grassy hue. My body tensed, ready for a fight if it came to that.

“Well, look who likes you, Lizzie.” Grandma rubbed at her wrists where the chains had been.

What? The automatic excitement that flared at the idea of a good-looking man finding me attractive fizzled under the dread that it was this emerald-eyed…person. Why couldn’t any normal guys like me? Oh wait. One of them might have. Tonight, at this very moment, I was supposed to be enjoying a Rum Swizzle with a boatload of friends as well as Hot Ryan Harmon from the gym. A birthday extravaganza with the stunning Mr. Harmon as the ultimate party prize. Instead, I stood here, at the bottom of a ravine, staring up at this magical enigma.

“I’m glad to see you’re keeping your distance,” Grandma said, drawing me toward her like an old girlfriend. “That man is nothing but trouble.”

No kidding. Yet another supernatural complication I could do without. “So who is he?” I asked.

“Well, sugar beet,” Grandma said, giving my hand a firm squeeze. “He’s your protector.”

Chapter 4

I gaped at him. My protector?

Grandma straightened her shoulders. “I’ve got to tell you, though, I’m not a hundred percent sure.” She leaned close. “So watch yourself.”

“My protector,” I said, trying to wrap my head around it.

“I took you without his permission.”

I stared at her.

“You’re my granddaughter, for goodness sake!” She sniffed as he tossed a climbing rope down the embankment. “Damn that man. He’s stickier than a pine cone enema.”

He’d stripped off his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves away from his dark, muscled forearms. “Now we’re going to have to let him help us,” she said, as if we’d lost a major battle. “Whatever you do, don’t tell him about what happened in your bathroom. Don’t go anywhere alone with him, and don’t reveal too much.”

Too bad, because I was sure I’d never met anyone like him.

She threw up her hand. “Stop!” she said, as he prepared to descend to help us. “We’re fine on our own.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said. There was pride and there was practicality. This ditch was taller than I was. Besides, we had to get out of here before more griffins, imps or anybody else showed up. We didn’t have time to see if my seventy-something grandma knew how to climb a rope.

Grandma grabbed the line and clambered up. Her boots scratched at the embankment, sending down a shower of mud clumps, weeds and god knew what else. “Show off,” I muttered. But my heart wasn’t in it. I was too focused on the sharp featured man who didn’t look at all pleased. His eyes had stopped glowing, so that was something. Still, I couldn’t help wondering what kind of person he was.

My protector. I rolled the thought around in my mind. When I reached the top, he took my hand. I’d thought I was warm. He was positively toasty. I detected a trace of sandalwood cologne. His other hand was steady and strong at my back as he led me away from the edge. His very presence cut ribbons of heat down my spine. I tried my best to ignore it. Facts were facts—something brought this man here, to us, at this particular moment. I wondered what he wanted.

“Lizzie Brown,” he said, with a slight Greek accent that made my name sound almost lyrical. “Dimitri Kallinikos. It’s an honor.”

“How did you find us?” my grandma demanded before I could say a word.

He arched a brow, deliberately unruffled by her tone. “I have my ways,” he said, dropping my hand. “Although, as I said, I would have rather gone with you.”

Grandma cocked her head up at him. “You weren’t invited.”

He leveled an icy gaze at her.

Oh, please. The wind whipped through the trees, chilling the night. “We were fine by ourselves,” I said. “Really.” Was I going to have to separate these two?

But he’d forgotten I was even there.

“I am her protector,” he insisted.

“And I am her grandmother.” She glowered at him.

Hello? I was standing right there. But if there was one thing I learned teaching preschool, it was how to pick my battles. Let them argue. I’d figure out how to get us out of here. I scanned the sky for griffins.

Pirate scrambled up the side of the dropoff, sending globs of dirt flying every which way. “What’d I miss?” Mud, and worse, slicked his fur.

“Pirate, get over here.” I winced when I saw the bloody gashes on his back. He danced away from me when I tried to inspect them closer. “Oh yikes.” We had to get out of there.

“Hey.” I waved at the dueling duo. “Less talking. More moving.” I wiped my hands on my khakis and nodded toward the Harley, crumpled at the bottom of the ditch. I prayed we could get the hog going. It might not be pretty, but we just needed it to work.

Dimitri extracted Grandma’s hog with barely a wrinkle to show for it. In the meantime, Pirate had run off to hide. We didn’t have time for this.

“Oh, Pirate,” I yelled to the forest of trees edging the narrow, blacktop road. “I have a Peanut Pupper for you. Come on, little guy. Mmm…what about a Pupper-Mint stick?” I listened for any sign of Pirate among the chirping crickets and other sounds of the night. Traces of magic hung thick in the air. He didn’t need to be out there. This place was bad news. It creeped me out that we hadn’t seen another car or truck on this road, save the black Lexus SUV parked a little ways down the shoulder. Dimitri’s. He’d turned on his emergency flashers and was busy getting something out of the back.

“Come on, Pirate. How ‘bout I throw in a Schnicker-poodle?” Heck, I’d toss in a whole bag of them. I hoped he was okay. Right when I was about to head into the trees to search for him, Pirate called to me from underneath the SUV.

“Show me the Schnicker-poodle.”

Oh geez.

“Ah hah. You don’t have no Schnicker-poodle. I know the whole Schnicker-poodle act. You pulled that act at the park last week. Schnicker-poodles, my ass.”

Dimitri closed the back tailgate as I dashed up to him. “My dog is under there.” I bent over to look underneath the car and there was Pirate, hiding out behind the muffler.

“He’ll come out when he’s ready.” He eyed me intently. “Won’t it be easier if you don’t have to force him?”

Yes, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Dimitri. “How’s the Harley?” I asked, afraid to know.

“Too wrecked to ride.” He gestured toward Grandma, twenty yards back on the shoulder. She was alternatively coaxing and kicking the mangled mess.

What else could go wrong? I sighed and focused on the man in front of me. I wasn’t one for hitching rides with strangers, but since Grandma knew him and he’d saved our butts, we’d have to trust him. For now.

“Think we can hitch a ride?” At least it would throw off our pursuers. And besides, I’d admit it—if only to myself—I had to get out of there. The place was too empty. I rubbed at the goose bumps on my arms.

Dimitri seemed to sense my anxiety. “We’ll leave soon as your grandmother is ready.” His gaze flickered over my bloody arms as he opened the back door for me. “Wait here.” He returned with a white golf towel and a bottle of spring water. I braced my damp, dirty rear on the edge of the back seat and reached for the towel.

“Let me,” he said, gently easing me onto the buttery leather seat.

“You’d better not, I mean—” I said, cursing myself for rambling, but I wasn’t used to this kind of attention. It was too intimate and frankly, it made me nervous. “I’m stinky and wet and—”

“Brave. When you need to be.” He touched the cool cloth to my elbow and I winced. Every stroke of his fingers spiraled right down to my toes. I really didn’t need to be here, especially when I found myself wanting to reach out and touch him back.

Keep it together, Lizzie. He’s just trying to keep as much gunk as possible off his nice leather seats. I flinched as the water stung a particularly deep scratch. His warm palm cradled my forearm. I pushed through the pain until the only thing I could feel was the soft cloth and him holding me steady.

I had to know. “What are you?”

His eyes met mine. A rich brown, sinful as buttermilk chocolate—not green or yellow…or orange as they had been before.

He shrugged. “I am your protector. That’s the only thing that matters.”

I felt my blood run cold. It was a straight question, and I deserved a straight answer.

Sure, I had a lot to learn about the magical world, but at least Grandma was trying to fill me in. And actively protecting me. I snatched the cloth from him and cringed at the stinging pain as I dabbed at my own friggin’ arm.

He gave me my distance. “Your grandmother has been less than honest with me.”

I was sure she had her reasons. “Doesn’t feel very good, does it?” I pressed the cloth to a burning scrape.

Grandma was down the road, saying something to her bike. A final goodbye, perhaps. Even the best bodyshop repairman would need a boat load of magic in order to put that hog to rights again.

He saw me watching her. “She hasn’t told you the whole truth.”

We hadn’t had much time. “Actually, in the one-day I’ve known her, my grandma has been remarkably straight with me.”

If I thought about it, that was probably one of the reasons I’d jumped on her hog in the first place. That and the demon in my bathroom.

Reluctance swept across Dimitri’s features before he resumed his mask of calm. “There’s something you need to know. I’d let your grandma tell you herself,” he tossed the towel over his shoulder, “but she won’t until it’s too late.”

He placed his hand on my leg, his dark eyes catching mine. “Lizzie, your grandmother is wanted for murder.”

Nothing could have prepared me for that. Shock slammed in my throat. I couldn’t see her as a killer. I just couldn’t. Not without a good reason.

“Murder?” I repeated. Impossible. My mind reeled, trying to deny it, knowing very well it could be true. If so, it would explain more about why she was on the run. “Who did she kill?” A person? A creature? I searched his face. “Is that why those things tied her up back there?”

The tiny lines around his eyes crinkled as he frowned. “No,” he said, reluctant to say more.

“What? You’re going to tell me just enough to worry the snot out of me? Stop being coy and level with me.”

He contemplated the darkness, seeming to decide if he wanted to come clean. The muscles in his jaw clenched before he finally answered. “Facing the evil that surrounds us takes strength, focus. Your grandmother has too many of her own problems. Her energy is scattered.”

He searched my face. “You need to have a serious talk with your grandmother. Make her explain why she’s on the run. While you’re at it, ask her how she thinks she can possibly protect you.”

Doubt gnawed at me. “We did fine,” I said. “At least those creatures didn’t get what they wanted.”

He shook his head. “No, they didn’t.” His eyes caught mine. “Lizzie, I’m afraid those creatures wanted you.”

Lovely.

And why, by the way, was everybody after me when I couldn’t even fight an imp without getting my butt kicked? My brain felt like it was about to explode. “So tell me. What makes you think you can possibly protect me? And why do you even want the gig? What’s in it for you?”

He opened his arms, palms raised to the sky. Mr. Innocence. My foot.

“Oh no. That act doesn’t fly. I know you have a stake, or you wouldn’t be out in BFE in the middle of the night, dragging bikes out of ditches and—miracle of miracles—you also happen to be the only man who can drive us back to civilization.”

He gripped my shoulders—warm, demanding. “I suppose this would be the wrong time to inform you that you need me. I know you don’t trust me, and that’s fine. I haven’t earned that yet. But it is crucial that you look to me for guidance.”

Fat chance.

Even though Dimitri was a godsend while we were stuck here with a broken-down hog, I didn’t hold any illusions about him. He’d probably aired Grandma’s dirty laundry in order to chip us apart. It burned me to realize it had worked. I did doubt her. Well, enough to learn more.

Grandma’s boots crunched against the loose rocks on the side of the road. She whipped the towel from his shoulder and used it to wipe the sweat from her neck. “I’d say she’s clean enough, buster.”

Dimitri snapped to attention and leveled a steely-eyed gaze at Grandma. He pulled another clean towel from his back pocket. “This one’s for your dog. I think you’d better handle him.”

Pirate jammed his nose into the highway rocks at Dimitri’s feet. He circled, muttering to himself. “You say I never met you, but I know that smell. I could smell a German Shepherd drug sniffing dog to shame, that’s how good I can smell.”

“Pirate!” This time, he leaped into my arms, my cuts burning with the impact.

Pirate made show of sniffing the air in front of Dimitri as I touched the damp cloth to Pirate’s back. “E-yow!” He scrambled to escape.

It was everything I could do to hold him down. The imps had sliced his back pretty bad. It hurt to look at it. One particularly deep scrape might even require stitches. I cleaned his back as well as I could, pain for my little doggie lodging in my throat. It was my fault this happened. I should have left him at my mom’s house in Atlanta.

I looked up and found Dimitri watching me. Something flickered in his eyes. Understanding?

Grandma huffed. “So are we going to stand on the side of the road all night, or are we going to get out of here?” My thoughts exactly.

Dimitri flipped a Milk-Bone to Pirate as my watch dog and I scooted into the backseat.

“Do you have a dog?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” Dimitri replied, sparing a glance at my grandma.

The door thwumped closed and silence enveloped us. “I swear this backseat is bigger than my first apartment,” I said, eyeing the gray leather interior.

“I still say something smells funny.” Pirate devoured the Milk-Bone and immediately began sniffing for crumbs.

Grandma rode with Dimitri in the front seat. If she was a cold blooded murderer, I wondered what he’d done to get her goat. Something worse? While it was true I didn’t know the woman very well, she didn’t seem like the type to get offended easily. Still, Grandma wasn’t surprised enough when he saved our butts. Or grateful enough. What did he have on us?

As soon as he started the car, they fell into a heated discussion. I tried to listen, but Dimitri turned up the radio. The only thing I could hear from the back of the car was Mick Jagger belting out Sympathy for the Devil.

Oh no. Not on my watch. I unbuckled my seatbelt and shoved between the two front seats. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Grandma huffed. “Except for the fact you need instruction.”

“She needs to be safe,” Dimitri said, his eyes on the road.

“My coven can keep her safe,” Grandma declared.

“Oh yes,” he said, contempt dripping from his voice. “With troll hit men after her.” He paused to let that sink in before he continued. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they unleashed the demons.”

Um, like Xerxes? Maybe Dimitri had a point.

Unfortunately, the chat fest in the front seat had turned into a glaring session.

I tried to use the remainder of the journey to rest up. The hum of the motor was a treat for my aching muscles. Pirate and I were asleep before Haleyville. We curled together in an easy slumber until the SUV started bouncing through a country side road with more holes than Augusta National.

I opened my eyes, my contacts fused to my corneas, and batted a muddy paw out of my face.

“The coven in Nashville would be a wiser choice,” said Dimitri.

“All dead,” Grandma said, her voice catching.

I rubbed at my eyes. What kind of nightmare was I living?

I stared out the window at a small, main street. This wasn’t Memphis. It had to be one of the smaller towns on the outskirts. Worn, turn-of-the-century buildings housed a pawn shop, a barbeque joint and a few junk shops disguised as antique stores. We stopped in front of a bar called the Red Skull. Purple neon snaked up the side of the crimson front door. Beer signs suffocated the windows. The thump thump of heavy metal music was obvious even inside the car. Large black crows roosted in the twiggy trees that sprouted from breaks in the sidewalk. I could just imagine what we’d find inside.

“Here we are.” Grandma patted the seat back as she twisted around to see me. “Home for the next month or so. We live on the two floors above the Red Skull.”

“A heavy metal bar?”

“Buck up, buttercup. The Red Skull is a happening place. Lenny named it after our red hat club.” She frowned. “You know, for gals fifty and over.”

“I thought you belonged to a biker gang.”

“What’s the difference?” She sidled out of the car.

“I smell cheeseburgers!” Pirate jumped over the seat and darted out behind her.

“Stay where we can see you!” I called to my dog, who chased the crows off the trees. The birds beat their wings and squawked in protest.

“We weren’t always bikers, you know,” she said as we made our way to the entrance. “We’ve been on the run from Vald for so long,” she trailed off, “thirty years on the road and it just sort of happened.”

Grandma opened the door to the Red Skull, and Iron Maiden’s Stranger in a Strange Land blasted out. She ushered us inside the dark hole of a bar. About thirty bikers, mostly women, crowded the pinball machines and pool tables. Cigar smoke burned my lungs.

“Gertie!” Wild shouts erupted and we found ourselves at the center of a group of leather-clad bodies. I stared at Grandma, who now had a cigarette dangling from her lower lip. So that’s how I got Gertrude as a middle name.

I knew Dimitri stood behind me. I felt him. His presence put me on edge. I didn’t know what he wanted from Grandma or from me. The folks in the bar seemed to give him a wide berth. More than one gray-haired rider nodded solemnly to the man behind me before diving at Grandma with a whoop and a holler.

“Everybody meet Lizzie, my granddaughter,” she said with pride.” Grandma led me through the crowd. “This is Ant Eater, Betty Two Sticks, Crazy Frieda…” I nodded at the parade of Red Skulls, knowing I’d never be able to keep the names and faces straight. Not tonight, at least.

They all seemed glad to meet me, which was nice. I wasn’t going to turn down a warm welcome after what I’d been through. Even if I was getting winked at by a witch with a rhinestone bedazzled bandana.

As soon as Grandma fell into conversation with a group of witches, Dimitri drew me against his hard chest. Oh my. The man had abs. “I need to see you,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Tonight.”

“Not until you tell me why.” In the last twelve hours, I’d been taken from my friends, my job, my home. I’d been stalked by imps, a griffin and a demon. Now I was an honored guest at a Red Hats biker bar four hundred miles from home where a seventy-year-old-plus woman named Ant Eater sat stuffing peanuts up her nose in a disturbingly successful attempt to impress a woman named Betty Two Sticks. I didn’t need to be playing games with Dimitri.

The crowd jostled us as Grandma hugged some friends and thumped others on the arm. I did my fair share of hand shaking and smiling as I tried to ignore Dimitri and at the same time, hear something, anything these people said above the roar of the music.

Dimitri’s warm hand seized mine and pulled me away from the crowd, toward the pinball machines. His dark eyes studied me. “I’m serious. I need to talk to you.” His fingers rubbed at the sensitive spot between my thumb and my forefinger. “Leave your bedroom window open.”

Well, when he put it that way… “No.”

“Do it,” he said under his breath as Grandma hurried toward us, her posse in pursuit.

I stared up at the massive hunk of man in front of me. “I’ll open my window when you come clean about who you are and why you think you’re my protector.” In the meantime, he could stay outside with the troll hit men, the demons and maybe a few regular old criminals.

“Thank you, Dimitri,” Grandma said, attempting to hitch herself between us. “But I think your services are no longer needed.”

He refused to budge.

“Goodbye, Dimitri,” Grandma said, irritation tingeing her voice.

The corners of his mouth tugged into a devilish grin.

He reached down and kissed me, a brief brush of the lips. But still, I felt him shudder, or maybe that was me.

It was over before I knew it. Heck, it was enough, with everyone watching. But he didn’t stop there. I went rigid with astonishment as he came back for more. He ran his thumb along my chin, tilting my head back for a kiss that sent molten heat coursing through my body. Claimed. In front of everyone. A wicked heat wound through my body, along with a little hum of pleasure. My first touch of goodness in a horrid night. That jarred me back to reality and I broke away.

What a presumptuous, forward, ungentlemanly—”Jerk,” I whispered.

His eyes burned. “You win,” he said, his lips inches from mine. “I’ll tell you everything. Tonight.”

I touched my hand to my mouth as he pulled away. His mouth curved into a predatory smile.

Dimitri ignored the gaping crowd of bikers, except for one. He nodded to a tall, bald fellow with a Ride Like You Stole It tattoo before he turned his broad back and strode out into the night.

Chapter 5

“I declare,” Crazy Frieda checked out my bloodied arms. “Lizzie Brown, you look you picked a fight with a briar patch.”

At least she was kind enough not to mention Dimitri’s kiss. I didn’t know what to think, much less how to explain it to anyone else. He’d been gone ten minutes and I still found myself stealing glances at the door.

Don’t trust Dimitri, I warned myself. Don’t trust Dimitri. Maybe I should write it on my hand so I wouldn’t forget.

“You okay?” Frieda cocked her head. Geez, it was like she was the biker reincarnation of Flo from Mel’s Diner. Or maybe I’d watched too much Alice as a kid. “You don’t look so good.”

Said the woman whose fashion choices included a paisley dog collar and a canary blond bouffant. The rhinestones on her lashes sparkled in the glow from a neon tribute to Milwaukee’s Best. I did feel rotten, though. The few hours of sleep in the car had been a tease. Even then, I’d slept with one ear open, waiting to hear if Grandma confronted Dimitri. I still didn’t know why he wanted to help us. I didn’t trust him, even if his kiss made my toes curl.

“I need to talk to my grandmother,” I said to Frieda.

“You will, sweetie,” Frieda’s white plastic hoop earrings dangled practically to her shoulders. “But first I’m gonna help you out.”

Well, what would it hurt? Ant Eater had Grandma in a headlock and didn’t look like she’d be letting go anytime soon. Pirate perched on the bar, sharing a basket of popcorn with Betty Two Sticks. I followed Frieda to the back.

It irked me to admit it, but Dimitri was right about one thing. I needed to learn more about Grandma’s past. There hadn’t been time before. Now that I was officially hiding out with the Red Skulls, I deserved to know if Grandma had killed someone and exactly what the members of her coven had done that kept them on the run for thirty years.

Frieda led me to a door marked Employees Only. “How long have you known my grandma?” I asked. And is she a murderer? I wanted to add.

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve known Gertie since before you were born.” She held the door open for me, and I snuck one last look at Grandma. I could barely see her flowing gray hair behind a crowd of bikers. I’d never had that many friends in my life, much less in one room. And the kicker was, Grandma had to be feeling as bad—or worse—than me.

“Why is the demon chasing your coven?” They didn’t seem like much of a threat.

“Don’t let appearances fool you. Our coven is old—and strong.” She pursed her lips as she drew on her cigarette. “We were the only coven capable of producing a demon slayer line.” Smoke curled out of her nose. “Vald is a power hungry monster. He hunted down and,” she paused.

I realized she was trying to find a kind word. “Just say it.”

She looked sad. “He stole the life and soul from every one of the Northern witches. He did the same with those whose magic is based in the East and in the West. He’s all but wiped out the minor Southern covens.”

Yow. “Why?”

“We think he’s trying to increase his power in hell. At least I hope that’s it. Some think he’s trying to break out of hell.” She sighed. “We’re what’s left.”

“How many?” I asked.

“Forty-six,” she said, heavy with regret. “We’re earth-based witches. We get our power from the land. Plus, we started running at the first sign of trouble. And we adapted. The other, more traditional branches had no chance.”

Silence grew between us. My back throbbed, my legs ached. I plucked at my muddied khakis. They were starting to dry stiff and smelly.

“Come on,” Frieda said, patting at my arms. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”

We passed through a small industrial kitchen and up a narrow, back staircase. Sticky booze residue clung to the concrete floor. The place smelled like pork rinds and beer.

“Too bad you missed dinner,” Frieda said, the heels of her boots echoing on the hollow stairs. She stopped abruptly and I nearly ran into her. “Skunk Surprise.” She rubbed a manicured hand over her almost flat tummy. “We don’t hardly get it, but when we bag one or two, it’s certainly a surprise. Phew! You hungry?”

“No,” I snapped. “I mean, no thanks. My stomach is still pretty shaky from the ride over here.”

Frieda lit another cigarette and the smoky fumes poured into the claustrophobic space between us. The rhinestones on her cotton candy pink nails flickered along with the bare bulb dangling above our heads. “At any rate, we set fire to the Beast Feast as soon as we heard you were coming. Like I could eat another thing. But you’re gonna love it.”

The smoke burned my lungs. “Beast feast?” I choked. My mind raced back to the etiquette classes Hillary had forced me to take. I scrambled for a polite—or heck, less than utterly offensive—way to decline. But in no way, no how, no universe was I ready for a heaping helping of road kill surprise.

“It’s what we got.” Frieda took a long drag off her cigarette and blew the smoke out her nose. “Don’t fret if anybody nods off,” she said, a few smoke curls lingering above her pink glossed lips. “We’re used to turning in by ten o’clock or so.”

“Why tonight? You don’t need to be staying up for my sake.”

Frieda’s eyebrows shot up and practically collided with her poofy, bangs. “Oh, honey, it has to be tonight. We can’t offer you our protection until we complete the Covenant Rite. Besides, you don’t want to miss the Beast Feast reception after the ceremony. Possum pate, rotisserie raccoon…” she said, like she was rattling off the courses at a four star restaurant. “We’ve got a squirrel cacciatore that’ll make your head spin. It may not be traditional, but it’s tasty. Now chop, chop.” She clapped her hands together as best she could with a cigarette dangling between two fingers.

Frieda led me down a narrow hallway. Well-traveled photos lined the bare, plywood walls, jammed into place with silver thumb tacks. Most had been folded at one time. Two, often four creases marred the images.

Frieda kissed her hand and plastered it over a gnarled photo of a bald man with a thick, braided beard. Humor sparked from his heavy lidded eyes and he had the look about him, like he was getting ready to tell a whopper of a story. Frieda didn’t say who he was. She sashayed down the hall, her silver bracelets clinking, all the while humming Love in an Elevator.

She knocked twice on the wall outside a doorway draped with a yellow, flowered sheet. “Bathroom’s clear.” She pulled the makeshift door aside to reveal an industrial shower. It didn’t have a curtain, no real floor even. The water drained into a metal pipe that pushed up about an inch out of the concrete floor. “Don’t dawdle.” She treated me to a conspiratorial smile. “I was supposed to take you straight into the hole.”

“Hole?” My voice caught in my throat.

She gave me the same look she probably used to comfort animals and small children. “It’s nice.” Her voice trailed off. “For a hole.”

Did I want to know? Probably not. It couldn’t be any worse than what I’d already been through. Could it?

I ducked under the wonderfully strong shower and let the hot water pound my aching muscles. What I’d give for a steaming hot chocolate followed by a soft, warm bed. Or a nice, warm man. I groaned. Where had that come from?

Oh, who was I kidding? I grew melty just thinking of Dimitri’s kiss.

He’d given me the kiss of my life right in front of an entire bar full of people, and I’d enjoyed it. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. It’s not like I was into public displays of affection. But I couldn’t get around how heady it felt. I liked a man who knew what he wanted.

Honeysuckle soap sloshed down my body as I lathered my shoulders. It didn’t make any sense. We barely knew each other. It was crazy to even think about him. He was a complete unknown and besides, I knew he wasn’t quite human. Dimitri had shown up right on the heels of the griffin who’d rescued us. Coincidence? I wouldn’t bet on it. Besides, those eyes of his—I’d have been perfectly fine with green, but orange and yellow? No. I wished I could have remembered what color the griffin’s eyes had been.

Add that to my list of questions for Grandma. I washed my hair twice with a half-full dish soap bottle labeled Wild Ass Gertie’s Homemade Sage Shampoo. What would Dimitri do if I refused to meet him tonight? Or—my cheeks flushed—what would he do if I did let him climb through my bedroom window?

Yow.

When my sore body had enough, I reached for the ancient towel Frieda had left on the peg next to the door. After being so utterly stinking, dirty, clean felt amazing.

“Hey, babe!”

I about leapt out of my skin as Frieda poked her head past the flowered sheet. “Gertie says you lost your luggage. We’re about the same size, so I put a few of my things on your bed. Third door on the right.”

A draft snuck past Frieda and chilled my damp skin. Oh wow, I hadn’t even thought of my backpack since we threw it in one of the saddlebags on the side of the Harley. I clutched the towel around me. I’d lost everything. My wallet, my credit cards. Every stitch of clothing that wasn’t in my demon-infested house. “I need to make a phone call. If anyone finds my Visa, they can go on the shopping trip of the century.” I hardly used the thing.

“Don’t worry. Gertie cancelled everything.” Frieda took in the expression on my face and shrugged. “We researched your background as soon as we found you. Social security number, credit history, education, criminal background check, any phobias or complications that could endanger the mission. Standard practice.”

How could these people do in-depth background research when they couldn’t even buy a shower door?

Everyone had their priorities, I supposed. Doubt crept into the pit of my stomach. Good thing I trusted Grandma or else I would have been very, very afraid.

Frieda patted her bouffant. The steam from my shower wasn’t doing anything for her hairdo. “I don’t know what Gertie was nattering on about. You talk less than a witness taking the fifth.” She tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears. “But never you mind. Just get dressed. I’m going to go check on the ceremonial whosits and whatnots.”

I checked to make sure there was no one in the hallway before I tip-toe ran to my room. At least this one had a door. The space was the size of some people’s walk-in closets, and mostly bare. Nevertheless, I managed to trip over a cardboard box poking into the entry way. I slid it to the side with my foot. A beat-up child’s dresser painted white with gold trim stood by the window.

My new clothes were spread neatly on a mattress on the floor: a pair of tiger-striped black leather pants and an orange tank top with a diamond cutout between the boobs. Lovely. To make matters worse, there was no bra in sight. Instead, Frieda had draped a pair of black underwear across the tank top. The tiny wisp of fabric looked like it was designed to fit a munchkin. I clutched my towel and leaned closer. There was some kind of writing on the panties. I gingerly picked up the underwear by the black ribbons on the sides. Eek. My first thong. The front was embroidered with a dainty announcement in pink, scrolling letters: My vibrator has two wheels.

No way.

No how.

No.

Grandma burst through the door and frowned at my towel-clad body. “Aww! Frieda told me she let you shower. Dang it, Lizzie. We gotta get you to the hole. Now.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said, holding the panties as far away as I could. “Where are my old clothes?”

She threw up her arms like I was the crazy one. “Out in the trash heap, buried under deer guts and various other entrails.”

“I don’t care. Go get them.”

“Cripes, Lizzie,” she said, meeting my glare head on. “Stop being dramatic. I know you had a tough day. Hell, I smashed my hog. But these people stayed up to wait for us and now they’re staying up later to give you the mystical protection you need to survive the night. So move your keister.”

Survive the night? Now who was being dramatic?

“Frieda told me she’d filled you in on what happened to the other covens. We’ve survived this long because we don’t fool around. We’ve learned what it takes to make it in this world and you will too.” When I didn’t budge, she sauntered over to inspect the clothes. “Now look. These aren’t bad. Be glad she stayed away from the zebra pants. I’ve seen those in action.”

I tossed Grandma the offensive panties that—let’s face it—should have come with a warning label. I didn’t want to know where any of these clothes had been, especially the underwear. This was not me. I wasn’t going commando either, so Grandma had better come up with a solution, or at least some underwear that wasn’t sold with a brown paper wrapper. “There’s not even a bra in here. I wear bras. Most normal women wear bras. And I’m not going to wear someone else’s underwear.”

“So then why are you bitching about a bra?”

“Grandma!”

She hooked the edges of the black underwear under her thumbs and whistled when she held it up to the light. “Isn’t she a beaut? Frieda bought this special in Lubbock. Been saving it for a special occasion.” She pointed the thong at me like a finger. “She must have taken a shine to you or she’d never have gifted you with these jockeys. Don’t you insult her by refusing.”

Oh lord. “But this isn’t me!”

“Newsflash, Lizzie. This isn’t about you. Or me. Or any one person.” She dug through the box next to the door. “Here.” She tossed me a plain white sports bra. “Buck up. At least you got to shower.”

I struggled into the black leather pants while the thong gave me the wedgie of the century. “Oh yeah, Lizzie,” I muttered to myself. “Leave your home, your job, your family—dysfunctional as it may be. So you can hop on a Harley and follow Grandma Thong to the freak show of the century.” The too-tight sports bra mashed my boobs and showed through the diamond cutout in the orange tank top. Thank goodness. It was certainly better than showing more skin.

Because there was some luck left in the world, the witches had spared my oxfords, stained and smelly as they were. I ignored the wet squish as I slipped my feet into what was supposed to be a pretty comfortable pair of shoes.

I hurried downstairs to the bar and found Grandma next to a hole in the floor where the Pop-A-Shot Basketball game had been. I wished these witches didn’t have to be so freakin’ literal. The entrance to their ceremonial room was basically a brick-lined hole with a rust-flecked ladder leading down. Voices echoed from deep in the cavern below. I leaned closer, but had a hard time making out any actual words. Musty air tickled my nose. I paused, gathering my courage when a seventy-something man in a tricked-out wheelchair came barreling toward me. Pirate rode in his lap, his tongue flapping out the side of his mouth.

The man skidded to a stop and howled like a banshee when I had to jump backward to save my toes. He thrust a hand out at me. “Sidecar Bob,” he said, “great to meet you.” His silver goatee was immaculately trimmed. His hair was not. It stuck out in tufts from his ponytail and basically rebelled against the black hair net he wore.

“You see that? That’s what I’m talking about! “ Pirate practically tap danced in Bob’s lap. I was glad to see Pirate had left his bandages in place. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten about them completely.

“I feel the need…” Bob announced.

“The need for speed!” Pirate and Bob shouted together.

I swear Pirate could make friends with a doorknob. In this case, he had great taste. I liked Bob immediately. “You tell me if this mutt gets to be too much for you,” I said. “Feel free to send him back.”

“Hell no!” Pirate buried himself under Bob’s arm. “We were in the kitchen cooking. And eating. That is some fine squirrel. That barbeque sauce isn’t bad, either.”

I resisted the urge to lecture Pirate about his eating habits. The little guy had been through a lot. He deserved a break. “So, Bob, are you heading down to the ceremony?”

He threw his head back and guffawed. “My old lady would have my head.” His belly poked out of the navy gym shorts that seemed horribly at odds with his black leather vest. “Nah. I’m stoking the fires, keeping the Beast Feast warm for when you’re done.” He scratched his nose. “But I did want to give you something.” He glanced at Grandma. “None of the gals will admit it, but you do need it.”

“Well, thanks,” I said, trying to sound casual, feeling anything but. I yanked at the skin-tight orange top, creeping up my stomach.

Bob fished a rubber band from the fanny pack strapped to the side of his chair. “Here ya go. Put your hair back. It gets messy down there.”

“Sure,” I forced a smile.

“We’ll keep the squirrel fires burning!” Pirate said as I clung to the cool, metal bars and made myself descend. A crowd had already gathered below, their whoops and hollers echoing off the subterranean walls.

“Welcome to the Rat’s Den!” Ant Eater clapped me on the back, her gold tooth shining in the light from dozens upon dozens of candles. The ceiling hung so low I could have reached up and touched it. The smell of paraffin and candles burning assaulted my nose. Under it, I could smell old brick walls and mildew.

The place needed a serious cleaning. Boxes, discarded barware and old CB equipment cluttered the tiny room. On every surface candles of all shapes and colors crowded against each other. Not smart. I winced as Frieda brushed past a box stacked with candles and nearly sent it crashing into a one of the old beer posters lining the walls.

“Eeeee!” Frieda shimmied up to me. “Oh Lizzie, you are hotter than a two dollar pistol. You meet Ant Eater?” Frieda indicated to her gold toothed buddy. “Whew, does she have some good stories. This woman—” She paused while Ant Eater guffawed. “This woman will try anything once.” She cocked her head and leaned in closer “And I do mean anything.”

“Okay people, pipe down!” Grandma hollered from behind me. She lifted her head toward the open hole. “Bob, you can close ‘er up.” The trap door above hissed like an airlock. The candles blazed as the light from the bar receded and we were left in semi-darkness. “Join hands,” Grandma instructed.

I took Grandma’s strong hand and Frieda’s chilly one, as the crowd of about twenty witches drew back. A fire crackled in the center of the room. Flames curled around a smoke-stained burner on a portable camping stove. A worn, silver pot boiled on top of it. My mouth went dry. If Bob was upstairs stirring the port braised beaver, I couldn’t imagine what they dumped in that pot.

The witches stood transfixed and closed their eyes. I felt the magic build. The only sound in the room came from bubbles frothing in the pot. The air grew warmer, thicker by the second as the candles cast tall shadows on the walls behind us.

Grandma bowed her head and the others followed. “We, the witches of the Red Skull, are bound to the magic that has sustained our line for more than twelve hundred years. In it, we find warmth, light and eternal goodness. Without it, we perish. This night, we welcome into our fold a sister who was lost to us. As we pledge ourselves to her, she pledges herself to us.”

My hands grew damp. Oh boy. I wasn’t too sure about that last line. What did pledging myself to them mean? Sure, I wanted help, but I wasn’t ready to join the Red Skulls.

Grandma stepped into the circle, holding a monstrous Ziploc bag filled with rust colored pulp. Ant Eater scrambled for my free hand. The witches observed Grandma with bated breath as she popped open the seal and dipped her fingers into the mush. She stood and faced me, her heavy breath tickling my bangs.

“From death comes new life.” She rubbed the goo onto my forehead. It felt sticky, wet and it smelled like road kill. She dipped her fingers again and came at me a second time with the wet, lumpy gloop. “May you see with new eyes.” She rubbed it into my manicured brows.

“May you listen to your heart.” She rubbed it onto my ears. A rivulet of juice trickled down into my ear canal.

“May you speak against the evil that surrounds us.”

Oh no. I pressed my lips together, and she slopped the pulp from one side of my mouth to the other. The sweet, meaty fumes scoured my nose, and I almost gagged.

“May we forever travel together as guardians of the light.”

She visited each witch, thumbing a portion of the gloop onto their foreheads. I wondered if I was allowed to wipe mine. The small room, jam packed with bodies, started to feel stuffy. My tiger striped leather pants grew sweaty and itchy. A drip of liquid trailed past my left brow and down toward my eye.

Grandma stood in the middle of the circle. “May we see our future as one coven, united in our quest, sharing our earth magic.” The witches scurried to the boxes behind them. One by one, they held up dead animal pelts. Foxes, coyotes, deer. Oh my.

The animals had been skinned so that their legs and tails dangled. The witches positioned the animal heads over their own, peering out of the hollowed eye sockets.

Frieda jabbed me in the arm with her fingernail. “Here,” she handed me a damp, burlap cloth. “Wipe that raccoon liver off your face. We don’t want it staining your deer hide.”

“Urgle.” I rubbed the rag against my mouth and face until my skin felt raw. I wasn’t cut out for this. “What is it with the dead animals?” I cringed as Frieda lowered a deer head over mine.

“It’s the circle of life, sweetie.” Frieda tugged at the deer’s empty eye sockets until I could see, well, barely. The thing had about as much visibility as a Halloween mask and it smelled like old leather and moth balls.

“Don’t fret,” she whispered, wrapping the deceased deer’s front legs around my shoulders while the hooves bumped against my chest. “It’s only for show. Ceremonial and all.”

Now she tells me.

“Your Grandma likes to do things up nice.” She stepped back. “There.”

“Frieda,” Grandma warned.

Frieda slipped back into place next to me. Grandma snuffed the fire under the large pot. A tall, red haired witch with ruby rings on her pinkie fingers rushed forward with a large platter. It held a crystal goblet with handles on the sides. Grandma ladled a portion of boiling liquid into the cup. It steamed with the heat. The amber liquid continued to boil for a few minutes, sending up chunks of what looked to be meat. Mystery meat and crystal. How very…them.

I couldn’t drink that.

I locked my knees with dread and wondered how I could possibly get out of it.

Grandma held out the cup to the group. “As we drink, we are one.” She inhaled the vapors above the goblet and took the first sip.

Frieda went next. She accepted the cup from Grandma and brought it to her lips. Ugh. The chunks looked even bigger up close, with bits of membrane who-knew-what floating around. I wasn’t a militant vegetarian, but this had me re-thinking my policy.

I wanted to hug Frieda when she passed the cup to the witch on the other side of her. I scratched at my steamy leather pants. She calmly watched the other witches drink from the goblet.

This ceremonial stuff might be no sweat to her. For all I knew, she did this every Saturday night. I didn’t. I’d had enough excitement for one day—battling a demon, meeting my mysterious protector and joining a coven of witches. Now was not the time to quaff down a goblet of road kill surprise. I appreciated what these people were doing for me. And of course I would never do anything to offend them or dishonor their traditions. At the same time, I had my limits.

When the cup came to me, I forced myself to take it. Heat radiated from the swirling brew. I wished it would stop moving. I held my breath and brought it to my lips. The pungent odor of mint rose with the steam.

I can’t. I just can’t.

I tipped the cup, moved my throat and pretended to sip. I felt the group exhale. They’d doubted me too, it seemed. I wiped the excess from my lips and handed the goblet to Grandma, who solemnly drank the remainder.

I wanted to sigh with relief. Maybe now I could be bestowed with my protection and get to bed.

The lights flicked on above us and I suddenly had to squint.

“E-yow,” Frieda threw a hand over her eyes. “I hate when they do that.”

A tangle of voices rose from the crowd. The show had ended, it seemed, and I wasn’t protected.

“Wait a second,” I said, grabbing Frieda’s wrists by the bracelets. “It can’t be over.” It couldn’t be. “What about my protection? Am I covered?” Grandma hadn’t said anything about it during the ceremony, and I certainly hadn’t felt anything magical happen after they sealed the door. “Don’t tell me I had to wear raccoon liver for nothing.”

Frieda giggled. “Relax, honey. You are protected. And just in time. Look, there goes your Grandma to meditate.” We watched Grandma break the seal and climb out into the bar above the ceremonial room. “The demon that’s been chasing us, Vald, we think he knows about you.” Frieda shivered. “He’s coming.” Worry flashed across her face before she forced it aside. “But don’t worry. We have you. That potion, it sealed you to us. You don’t have to be alone anymore. You have all our magic working for you.”

My stomach did a back flip. “Potion? You mean the one with the chunks?” I didn’t drink it. Why didn’t I drink it? Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.

“What can I say? It’s not pretty, but it works. Of course the real magic comes from the bakki root. Smells like Wrigley’s Gum.”

Of all the ways for me to screw this up, this was, well, this was not good. “I’ve never heard of bakki root.” Maybe we could get some more.

It’s magical. Takes forever to grow. Ant Eater is our resident gardener. “Mmmm…it tastes like heaven, doesn’t it? Gives me a bit of a buzz, too.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. “How hard would it be to make some more?”

Frieda giggled. “Sorry. I am buzzed. Believe you me, I’d die for more, but we used up the whole kit and caboodle on you, dearie.”

Oh no.

She smiled. “Don’t look so upset. You’re worth it! Where are we going to find another long-lost demon slayer sister?”

I didn’t know if they’d want me when they discovered what I’d done.

Chapter 6

“Beast Feast!” Sidecar Bob hollered down into the ceremonial room. The witches snuffed the candles and stampeded to the exit in record speed.

“Wait. Hold it!” I fought against the current of the crowd, struggling to reach the remains of the protective stew growing cold on the portable camp stove.

“Bottoms up!” Ant Eater quaffed the last few drops from the silver pot. She wiped her chin as I screamed, “No!”

“Gotta be quicker than that, sport.” She wiped down the pot with a blue bandanna.

She had no idea what she’d done. There went my protection, my insurance policy against the demon Vald, who—according to Crazy Frieda—was at this very moment on his way to see us. I had to fix this. “Is there any more? What about that bakki root? Did you save any of that?” Please!

“Relax. I’m just clearing out the leftovers.”

Holy hexes.

I had to find Grandma. She’d know what to do, after she kicked me into next Thursday. Why didn’t I just drink the potion?

The thwump, thwump of heavy metal music blared in the bar above me, accompanied by the whoops and cheers of the coven. I scrambled out of the hole and nearly fell into a cheap, metal-backed chair with a vinyl padded seat. Every table in the bar had been lined up to form a massive banquet table.

It would have smelled heavenly—roasted potatoes, onions and garlic—if I hadn’t known the other ingredients. The tiny blue-haired witch next to me flopped into the nearest empty place. “Liquid appetizers!” she hollered, as she reached for a pitcher of beer. Two of her friends wedged in next to her, mugs in hand.

A buffet line ten witches deep formed in front of the steaming dishes set out on the bar. Sidecar Bob pulled up to the table with two heaping plates of road kill surprise. Pirate bounced on his lap, nearly out of his skin with anticipation. “Lizzie! It’s people food! And I have a plate. Lookie there. Food! On a plate. For me! Me! I’ve made it, I tell you. I’ve finally got a seat at the table!”

Sweet squirrels. My stomach rolled over. “That’s road kill, Pirate.”

“Oh no,” Bob piped in, “we wouldn’t waste road kill on a banquet. Road kill’s special magic. It goes straight into a spell jar. This here on the table is hunted meat.”

Okay, that was a relief. But still, Pirate should have been eating his Healthy Lite dog chow. Of course that disappeared off the bike along with my clothes. I watched him eat an entire slice of meat in two bites. Pirate loved to eat. And despite his enormous energy and complete willingness to chase anything that moved, he tended to have weight issues. Pirate peeked up from his plate, took one look at me and started to eat even faster.

Lucky for him, his weight was the least of my concerns now. “Bob, Grandma got out of the pit before I could talk to her. Frieda said she was heading off to meditate. Do you have any idea where she might be?” I ignored his disapproving look. “This is serious,” I said over the thwump, thwump, thwump of the loudspeaker above us. “I have to talk to her before she gets too involved with whatever she does in there.”

Bob sopped up some gravy on a piece of bread and fed it to Pirate. “Listen to this guitar solo,” He closed his eyes and felt the music. “You hear that? That’s Marty Friedman, the old Megadeath axeman. Oh yeah.” He played air guitar against his chest. “Yeet, yeet, yeet!”

“Bob!” I’d tell him where to shove his yeet. “This is a matter of life or death.”

I really hoped I was exaggerating.

“Where’s Grandma?” I asked again.

He hung his head. “Aw, Lizzie. Don’t ask me that. The Cave of Visions is sacred ground.”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.” We didn’t have time to haggle. “I mean it, Bob. You’ve gotta trust me on this one.”

Bob rubbed Pirate’s back absently as Pirate climbed halfway onto the table and began to lick his plate clean. “Okay.” He scratched at his arms. “But if she chews out my ass, I’m sending her after you next.”

“My butt is yours.”

Pirate leaned too far over his plate and nearly knocked over Bob’s beer. Bob snatched up his wobbling brew and took a long swallow, watching me.

Pirate sniffed at his empty plate. “I’m sorry. My manners are rusty. I haven’t been using my table manners when I’ve been forced to eat out of a dog bowl.” He sniffed at Bob’s full plate. “You don’t mind, do you?” Pirate started in on Bob’s dinner.

Bob slipped Pirate, and his plate, onto the floor. “Come on,” he wheeled backwards, away from the table. “It’s out back. Looks like a cheap storage shed. What the hell am I saying? It is a cheap storage shed. We needed to get her some place quiet, and this bar didn’t cut it.”

“Thanks.” I patted his shoulder as we weaved our way through the crowd toward the back door.

“Lizzie.” He captured my arm. “Don’t go barreling out there. Your grandma’s under guard. Approach slowly. Tell them who you are. Be prepared to prove it. Demons can take on many forms.”

“Right,” I said. I could handle this. I hoped.

The back door clacked on its hinges as I stepped out behind the bar and onto a small patio, crowded with rusting bar chairs. Sheesh. And I thought they’d dumped all their junk down into the hole. Crushed beer cans littered the narrow parking lot that led into the alley beside the bar. Tufts of grass and weeds poked up between and around the faded yellow lines. A rusting Camaro sat stranded on concrete blocks.

At the edge of the parking lot, just beyond the dumpster, stood a plastic storage shed framed by scraggly trees.

Bob nodded to the tall, red haired witch standing guard. I recognized her from the protection ceremony downstairs. “Go on out. If she can, I’ll bet Gertie will be more than glad to hear what you have to say. If not, well, there’ll be time later.”

Yeah, well maybe. Maybe not.

The chilly night air tore at my hair and whipped the dried leaves and grass into circles. I crunched over a mashed Budweiser can as I made my way to the storage shed. I could see a faint light between the plastic swinging doors and I chose to focus on that, rather than at the hawk-nosed witch standing guard. She hadn’t looked too friendly down in the hole and she looked even less glad to see me now.

“Hi. I need to talk to my grandmother.” When she didn’t move, I added, “It’s a matter of life and death.” How terrible to realize I wasn’t exaggerating at all.

She stood her ground in front of doors imprinted with the word Yardsaver. “Leave,” she said automatically, “or I’ll be forced to have you removed.”

An eerie creek sounded from inside the storage unit. A blast of air shot out between the doors, chilling me to the core.

“What was that?” I smelled sulfur, evil. Oh my word, I hoped Grandma was okay in there. “You’d better check on her.” I told the tall witch. “Grandma?” I hollered. “Do you need me in there?” Like I could help her, I thought automatically. Wait. It was time to get out of that habit. I could help her. Somehow.

The tall witch blocked me. “No, Lizzie,” she said, low and serious. “She’s meditating. No one disturbs her when she’s out of body. It’s dangerous.” Her eyes traveled to a spot over my shoulder. “Ant Eater, see that Lizzie makes it back inside. And keep her there.”

“What? Oh, come on,” I said, as Ant Eater’s grip practically wrung the blood from my right arm. “Ow!” Where had she come from? “Look, I made a mistake. We need to straighten this out,” I said, as Ant Eater practically dragged me back into the bar. “Damn it.” I tried to shake her grip. “Let me go! You don’t understand.” I tugged at the black, spiked bands criss crossing her wrist. “I screwed up. Royally.”

She dragged me through the back door and bulldozed me against an old fashioned phone booth. Pain laced through my shoulder blades. I could smell the bakki root on her breath. “Don’t you ever push me or endanger anyone in this coven.” She shoved me again, hard. “I don’t care whose grandbaby you are or what you can do. I will fuck you up.”

“Okay, I get it,” I said, trying to catch my breath. They’d survived by being tough. Her last slam had sure knocked the wind out of me. “But I still need to talk to Grandma.”

She brought her fist back. Holy schneikies! I braced myself, sure she was going to haul off and hit me.

My salvation came in the form of a blond bouffanted Frieda waving a roasted leg of…something. “God almighty, E!” Frieda yanked me so hard my arm about stretched out of its socket. “What are you doing?”

Ant Eater stood there with her fist cocked, breathing heavily. “She almost killed Gertie.”

“What?” Frieda exclaimed.

“No!” Never. “I need to talk to Grandma,” I insisted. “This is important. Hugely important. I was trying to explain myself out there when this jerk went all Naomi Campbell on me.”

Frieda glared at Ant Eater. Then she leveled the same contempt at me.

What the heck did I do?

“Come on,” Frieda said as she hustled me out of Ant Eater’s reach. I met at least twenty pairs of eyes as the witches stopped their feast to watch the show. Frieda dragged me through the crowd and back into the kitchen.

Industrial pots bubbled with stews and sauces. A rust-stained sink labored under a mountain of dirty dishes. Bob loaded up a fresh tray of barbequed squirrel while Pirate snatched up every scrap Bob tossed down to him.

“I swear I’m gonna kick some ass!” Frieda dragged me toward the stairs.

“You said it. I can’t believe the way she manhandled me. That woman needs professional help!” I tried to catch Bob’s eye, but he took a sudden interest in his oven mitts.

Frieda dragged me up the stairs. “Lizzie, I love ya. I really do. But if you pull something like that again, I’ll strangle you myself.”

Wait, she was on Ant Eater’s side? “You’ve got to be kidding.”

She pulled me into a room at the end of the hall and slammed the rough, wooden door. Homemade bunk beds lined each wall, with room for little else. Frieda blinked her rhinestone-tipped lashes, fighting for control. “Lizzie. Oh, Lizzie. You could have killed your grandmama tonight.”

I felt myself pale a few shades.

“Sit,” She plopped my butt down onto a saggy mattress and, straightening her back, arranged herself next to me. “When Gertie is in a meditative state, any interruption can be dangerous. Fatal.” She paused to take a breath. “To see into the evil that surrounds us, she needs to draw herself closer than any of us would ever dare. Any breach, any break in her concentration, well—it would be like walking through the ‘hood waving a wallet full of fifties. You’re just asking for trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no idea.”

She patted my hand. “I know, sweetie. Ant Eater does too. She’s an over-protective sort.”

Over-protective like a Mack truck. “How long does Grandma stay in her trances?” I asked.

“A few hours, a few days—however long it takes.” She knitted her brows. “I worry about her. It’s not like she goes out to the shed often, but when she does, she usually prepares. Gathers her strength. Tonight, she ran in there like Rambo. At her age, it’s just not smart.”

From what I’d seen, Grandma hadn’t slowed down since I met her.

Frieda crossed her legs and leaned in closer. “She’s trying to get a leg up on Vald. He’s pure evil. She told me he had a minion on you as soon as you gained your powers.”

“I met Xerxes in my bathroom.”

“The black lords don’t usually recognize demon slayers so quickly after the change. She’s worried about you. We all are.”

“You’re talking about Vald, aren’t you?”

“He’s a fifth-level demon—the worst. Your Great great great Aunt Evie, the last slayer, locked him up in the second layer of hell. He’s been trying to break out ever since. As far as we can tell, he’s close. I don’t even want to think about what he’d try to do to us.” She shook her head. “He’s been able to destroy the other covens with just his minions. He’s gained their power and is now using it against us. I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.” She gave a small smile. “You’re our ace in the hole.”

“Then you’re in real trouble,” I said, only half joking.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so, Lizzie. You’ve shown that you’re brave. You have the ability inside you. Now we just need to help you grow your powers.” Frieda squeezed my leg, shooting pain through cuts I forgot I even had.

“Answer me this,” I said, “what would happen if Vald came back?” It had to be bad or the coven wouldn’t have put me under their immediate protection. And Grandma wouldn’t have rushed out there tonight.

Frieda worked a bit too long on her answer.

She could sugar coat it all she wanted. Heck, she could wrap it in cotton candy. I already knew. “He’d come after me, wouldn’t he?”

She blinked. “You and the rest of the world. But he’s trapped for now. I know it’s hard to imagine at the moment, but you are strong. And you’ll only get stronger. You’re with us now and we’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

I supposed it would have to be enough.

“Here.” She fished a hand down her bra and pulled out an airline bottle of Jack Daniels Tennessee whiskey. She handed it to me and I took a swig.

It burned all the way down to my stomach. Yeah, Lizzie, drink a shot of Jack but not the uber-rare protection potion. I was the worst demon slayer ever.

Frieda finished the bottle. “Got some more under the bed. You want to hang out a bit?”

Definitely. I’d have to stop drinking, of course. I could already feel that shot in my dazed head. Out of all the dumb things I’d done today, getting drunk wouldn’t be one of them. I needed to be sharp, especially if Vald decided to show up.

Frieda dug through the plastic grocery bags under her bed while I took a look at the photos she’d plastered across the wall beside her bed. Most were of Frieda and various witches I’d seen downstairs. And there were two more of the heavy-lidded man whose picture I’d seen in the hallway. Mr. Love in an Elevator. I wondered what had happened to him.

Frieda handed me a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream liqueur. Darn. I would have had to waste my shot on the Jack. I rolled it between my hands. I should get to the bed they’d given me, but I didn’t want to be alone. Heck, I didn’t even want to think. It was hard enough to let go of the fact that I’d faked my way through the protection ceremony tonight. Me, the person who prized honesty above all things. Then again—I yanked the orange tube top down over my stomach—I wasn’t exactly myself tonight.

An eerie moan drifted up from the yard outside. I reached for Frieda’s bony arm. “What was that?”

“Come on.” She led me over to the window. Age clouded the glass. I tried to yank it open, but it didn’t budge. Together, we pried it away from the rotting windowsill. Another moan, louder this time, pierced the sounds of crickets chirping in the night. “Your grandma’s having one of her visions.”

I looked out into the copse of trees beyond the back parking lot. Purple rays of light streamed from every joint and corner of the Yardsaver shed. Heaven help her. “Grandma?” I gulped.

The red headed witch knelt in front of the swinging doors, her arms spread against them as if she held them closed. Her even chants floated out into the night air.

Frieda peeked out beside me. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “Scarlet has her covered.”

Yeah, well I didn’t like Scarlet. The snitch. From what I could tell, Grandma needed someone who could think on her feet, not a panicky know-it-all who would rather call the guard instead of having an honest-to-goodness conversation with someone, aka me.

“Come on back, baby,” Frieda said. “We’ll only distract them.”

Scarlet looked pretty intense to me. I hoped Grandma could handle herself. Or if she couldn’t, that Scarlet was half as powerful as the griffin who’d come to our rescue at the edge of the lake.

For the moment, I let Frieda lead me away from the window. We each sat on the bottom of a bunk bed, facing each other. It felt like a twisted version of summer camp. If I heard anything strange—anything—I’d be down there faster than Frieda could blink those crazy lashes of hers.

And since she’d mentioned rescuing, “Frieda, what do you think of Dimitri? He said he’s my protector, but I don’t know. You’d think I would have felt something, kind of like when I met Grandma. Something about her made me feel like I was supposed to be with her.”

Frieda handed me an airline bottle of Smirnoff. “Hard to say.” She plopped onto her side, reached into a plastic Valu-Mart bag on the floor and withdrew her own little bottle of Jagermeister. “He’s helped us out from time to time,” she said, unscrewing the bottle. “Done us some favors. But with guys like him, favors always seem to come with a price tag attached.” She took a long sip. “E-yahhh.” Her bracelets jingled as she wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. “One thing’s sure. He seems to have taken a shine to you.”

I tipped my Smirnoff bottle back and forth, watching the liquid swirl. No question about it, that man could get my blood flowing. I didn’t know if it was the way he’d looked at me downstairs—like he’d like to devour me whole—or the fact that he probably could. I hadn’t met anyone like him. Heck, I hadn’t run into many interesting guys at all since college. Happy Hands Preschool wasn’t exactly hot date central. It felt good to be pursued. Then again, I wasn’t about to lose my head just because some hunka hunka burning male rescued us from the side of the road. “I don’t trust him. It’s too convenient. He has to want something.”

Frieda waggled her brows and I felt my face warm.

“Besides…that,” I added. Oh lordy, I had to stop thinking about that kiss. I had no business indulging in mildly shocking, utterly delectable forays with my mysterious Greek protector. He belonged in their world. Not mine. As soon as I learned to control my powers, I’d be back to my normal life, and that didn’t include men whose eyes flashed yellow and hung out with griffins.

“I can’t believe I saw a griffin tonight.”

“Saw one?” Frieda scoffed. “You smooched one.”

My stomach squinched. “I was afraid of that.”

“Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself,” she grinned. “I sure wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”

I tried to mirror her humor, but I wasn’t feeling it. Twenty four hours ago, I didn’t even know griffins existed. My brain needed to catch up with my hormones.

“At least he’s not a werewolf,” Frieda said, spinning her Jagermeister cap on a pink glossed nail.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” I eased back onto my elbows. Even if I could accept what he was, I still didn’t know if I could trust him. “Tell me, Frieda. And be honest. What would you do?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know, honey. I just don’t know.”

Frieda fell asleep in the middle of her mini bottle of Jagermeister. Phew. I capped the bottle and turned off the light. The faint odor of black licorice hung in the air as I stood by the window and watched Scarlet, still prostrate, in front of the glowing Yardsaver shed. Nothing had changed down there. I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

At least Frieda’s roommates hadn’t come up from the Beast Feast. Pirate would certainly be one of the last to leave the party. This room was closest to the storage shed. It was the least I could do, to watch over Grandma after I nearly messed her up tonight. And being with Frieda, even if she had fallen asleep, her lashes twinkling in the moonlight, was better than being by myself.

I don’t know when I fell asleep. I certainly hadn’t meant to. But somewhere in the early morning, as I sat below the open window, my night caught up with me. And that was a big mistake.

A heavy scratching grated me awake. My hands found the rough wood wall behind me and the musty carpet underneath. “Grandma?” I asked, right before a heavy hand clamped over my mouth.

What the—? Oh my God. Vald? Smoke swirled in the air around me. I felt suffocated, cut off.

Strong hands whipped me around and I saw his face in the moonlight. Dimitri!

“Quiet,” he commanded, his Greek accent more pronounced than before. Boy, did he look ticked. He wore black from head to toe and looked more like a Navy seal than the GQ businessman I’d met. His eyes flicked over my revealing shirt and leather pants, and I felt myself flush.

I hadn’t been in my room to meet him. Had he searched the whole bar? Or had he sensed me? “How did you find me?”

“I said—quiet,” he hissed.

Frieda was gone.

Something was very, very wrong. “What happened? Where’s Frieda?”

His eyes held a steely warning.”I don’t know and I don’t care.” He wrapped an arm around me and guided me to the open window.

He couldn’t possibly think…

Oh no. This is not how it was supposed to work. So much for my fantasies of a romantic tryst in the moonlight.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I fought his grip. Anxiety churned in my stomach. I might not be a part of this coven, but I could feel something was utterly, terribly wrong. And where was Pirate? I had to get downstairs. Anywhere. I had to see what was going on.

Dimitri picked me up and started down the ladder propped against the outside of the building. I kicked at the empty air. Eep. I hated heights and I hated having to cling to his shirt for dear life. Worst of all, I hated seeing the dark Yardsaver shed, its doors flung open.

As soon as my oxfords hit the rock-strewn ground, Dimitri pulled me toward the woods beyond the back of the property.

This was crazy.

“We need to go back!”

“I forbid it.”

“You whaaa—” We flew through the forest like we’d jumped on Grandma’s hog. I didn’t know how he did it. My legs ached and my lungs burned like we were running full speed. But we weren’t running. We practically flew. The moonlight flicked eerie patterns on the back of Dimitri’s back as we raced through the trees.

Wind whipped through my hair. I wanted to scream. Of all the hacked-up, strange and downright disturbing things that had happened since I met Grandma, this had to be the worst. Not because I was in any imminent danger—and lord knew I probably was. But because those witches back there needed me. I knew it like I knew my last name. And I was doing the worst possible thing. I was running.

Dimitri had pushed me too far.

Chapter 7

I had no idea how long we sprinted before we lurched to a stop. The woods screamed with insects, animals and—

Please let it be just insects and animals. After the zigzag path we’d cut through the countryside, it was impossible to tell where we’d come from or where Dimitri was headed. My heart sank. I didn’t know how I’d ever find my way back to Grandma.

Dimitri pulled me behind a thick tree. The rough bark scraped against my back. Every one of my nerve endings erupted as his hard body pinned me. I clutched him, trying to gain a foothold in the fallen leaves and soft dirt underneath. Heat burned through his soft black T-shirt. I braced my fingers against his chest. At least he seemed as out of breath as I was. And dang, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man.

Enough.

“What do you want?” I asked, letting go of his shirt, wishing I could shove past him. “Because it had better be frickin’ amazing.” And I couldn’t think of anything worth Grandma’s life.

Dimitri was going to lead me back, whether he liked it or not. I hoped I wouldn’t be too late.

He planted his hands on each side of my head. “I’m saving you from what could turn out to be a very unpleasant evening.” He bowed his head, breathing heavily. Whatever he thought we’d needed to escape, we’d run full out. He lifted his head, listening to the sounds of the night swiftly turning to morning. “You can start by thanking me.”

He had to be kidding. “Don’t hold your breath, buster.” Something very bad had happened. My best guess? Grandma’s mind meld with Vald the demon hadn’t gone as planned. Frieda said Grandma had to draw herself closer than anyone else would dare. Grandma had rushed in without preparing and, after our night, she’d been bruised and tired. “Did it ever occur to you that I might have been able to help Grandma back there?”

He looked at me intently. “You may have a rudimentary understanding of what’s going on, but you’re not a demon slayer yet.”

The way he said it chilled me to the core. Worse, he was right. As it stood, I was no match for a fifth-level demon like Vald. And if the witches did have a plan, I was willing to bet it didn’t include me. Or Pirate. My poor dog. Tears burned the back of my eyes. Pirate had trusted me to keep him safe.

Focus.

I couldn’t let this get to me, or I wouldn’t be good for anyone. “Okay,” I told Dimitri, easing him off me. The crisp night air crept between us. “I might be more of a liability than a help at this point. I’ll stay out of the way of anything big. But we need to at least see what’s happening.”

From the way Dimitri was scowling, I could tell he didn’t like my idea one bit.

Yes, well I owed it to the Red Skulls to go back. Part of me wondered if I was meant to help the witches in some way. That’s probably why they’d tried to give me the potion. Vald had been chasing Grandma and the coven for thirty years. It couldn’t be a mistake that tonight, the night I arrived, he chose to attack.

Besides, I was half cold, half sweating and not used to standing around. “So are we going to help save these witches or what?” I ducked around Dimitri. The cold night seized me, gelling the sweat and making me wish I had a lot more on than Frieda’s tube top. I took my best guess on the direction of the coven and started walking.

Dimitri captured both my wrists in one hand. “Not on your life.” Heat crept up my arms and I had an acute awareness of the crushing power he held in check.

“Do not fight me on this.” I bit at every word, locking down my frustration until I could barely stand it anymore. Dimitri’s fingers held my wrists firm and that was all it took. I let out a shout to rival any battle cry. I had to. If I didn’t let the frustration boil, I’d start crying. I couldn’t afford to fall apart now or someone could get hurt—or killed—and it would be my fault.

He yanked me against his chest, infuriated. “Has it occurred to you I’m trying to save your life?” he asked, his face inches from mine. “It’s my job to protect you. The witches have a plan. You don’t. If that really is Vald back there—and my guess it is—he could suck out your soul before you could even form a thought. There’s no foreplay. No warning. It’s gone. And so are you.”

Fear clenched my gut. “Look, if something happens to them, I have no one.” I pushed out of his grip. “And I don’t trust you.”

He watched me like a predator. “You don’t need to trust me. You just need to listen to me.”

Fat chance. “I’m a demon slayer.” I was the only one that could—potentially—set this right.

He shook his head, a wry smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Not yet, you aren’t. Have you ever tried to steal a demon’s essence? Thrown a switch star?” His eyes narrowed at my obvious bewilderment. “Name one of the Three Truths.”

“I eliminated the imps,” I said.

His expression hardened. “I rescued you in the swamp.”

It figured. Frieda had said he was a griffin. And a griffin had certainly saved us from those imps. “Fine. Then you’re coming with me. You can protect me when we get back to the bar and get everyone out.”

He stood in front of me, a wall of muscle and grit. “Without you, everyone is doomed.”

I shot him a dirty look. “My point exactly.”

Maybe I didn’t have any business going back there and maybe Grandma and the Red Skulls could handle themselves. Lord knew it would have been easier to run, hide until I’d done my homework. But I didn’t have the luxury to wait. I had my power. I had Dimitri and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to the Red Skulls or Pirate while we stood around and did nothing.

I blew out a breath and faced the man looming above me in the moonlight. At that moment, he reminded me of an enraged mountain lion, as cunning as he was dangerous, with a territorial streak a mile wide. “I’m going and you’re going to help me.”

He didn’t even have the courtesy to blink.

I shoved past him. “If you’re not going to help, you can get the frick out of my way.”

Endless trees loomed in every direction. I took my best guess at a direction and set off.

“Lizzie. Hold on. You can’t.”

On the contrary, I could and I would.

Besides, when Dimitri first took Grandma and me to the coven, he’d been worried about the troll hit men after us. Maybe I’d get lucky and only find assassins. What would the old Lizzie have had to say about that?

He caught up with me, lingering a step behind, casting his long shadow over mine in the moonlight. “Don’t go back there. It’s…dangerous.” He sounded worried.

“Déjà vu,” I said. “We already had this conversation.”

“There are things at work that you cannot understand.”

Okay. That ticked me off. “Believe me, I understand enough.” And frankly all of it was unbelievable.

I pounded my way through a thick swash of fallen leaves. “We’ll get along much better once you stop patronizing me,” I called out to the shadow behind me. “So, you’re not human. So you have more magic than I do. I get it. That’s not helping me.” Even if he was my protector, he couldn’t protect me at the expense of all those other people.

If I was ever going to figure out what I was meant to do, it would be because I was trying to make a difference, not because I was out wandering around in the woods.

I couldn’t hear him behind me, which was creepy, but I knew he was there. Finally, he said, “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, well so am I, buddy.”

All things considered, I thought I was handling my new life pretty darn well. I may have had to put up with demons, imps and a crazy grandma but I didn’t have to put up with any b.s. from Dimitri. I tromped through the underbrush, kicking at it as I went. Maybe I’d sic Ant Eater after him.

Just move. And listen for the screams. Or barks. Please be okay, Pirate.

I had to find my way back, or this would all be for nothing. I forced my anger away, opened my mind. I had to start using some of the magic that had screwed up my life or I’d never be any use to anybody. I felt the cool breeze of the night on my face. My mind reached out in front of me like fingers through water. I could almost hear it. I shifted direction. This could be it.

Calm down. Feel this. Let go.

“Give it up, Lizzie.”

Ignore him. Feel. I started to jog through the trees, their branches whipping against my arms and shoulders. My breathing fell into a steady rhythm. I saw the coven like a dot of light in my mind.

My feet dodged fallen tree limbs and roots. I didn’t even need to look down anymore, I realized with a start. This felt right.

Dimitri might think he could keep me from Pirate, but there was one thing he hadn’t counted on. I had an inner compass. I could sense it. I knew it like I knew my way home. Excitement, satisfaction, pure joy swelled inside of me. This is what I was meant to do.

“Stop!” Dimitri tore through the woods, hot on my heels.

No way.

Hold on, everyone, here I come.

So I didn’t drink the protective potion. I made a mistake. Now I was about to make things right.

“Lizzie, no!” Dimitri yelled as I felt the earth give out beneath me.

I fell. It was like falling in a dream, until I hit the ground hard. My head rang with the impact. Pain shot through my ankle, my shoulder. I laid on the rocks and dirt for a moment. What happened? I stared up at the rock walls surrounding me, illuminated by the bright moon and stars above. I’d fallen into a crack in the earth. Grass and weeds clung to the top, about five feet up. I wiped the dirt from my forehead, tried to stand. “Crimeny!” Pain seared my ankle.

I could hear water trickling. I turned around and saw the entrance to a cave. I knew what this was, a cave fissure. It had been a passageway until part of the cave collapsed and formed a ravine of sorts. Thank you, Discovery Channel.

Dimitri appeared at the top of the hole. Oh goody.

“Make yourself useful and get me out of here.”

“Don’t move, Lizzie.”

Yeah, right. I didn’t have the luxury of slowing down. I tested my ankle. It hurt like heck, but I had to keep moving.

“Listen to me,” he said, serious as death. “Look to your right. Turn slowly.”

I didn’t like that tone. I turned. The fissure ended about six or seven feet to my right, the rock forming a vee. And in that vee…Oh no. I saw movement. I squinted, my heart slamming in my throat. A big, black snake coiled in a nest of fallen leaves.

“Oh yikes.” I jerked back and it hissed, its white mouth illuminated in the moonlight. Cripes.

“Wait,” Dimitri said. “Wait until it calms down.”

That could take a while. I tried not to breathe too deeply.

“That’s it,” Dimitri said. “That’s it. Now back away.”

I gulped and took three steps back.

“Slow,” Dimitri cautioned. “Easy. That’s it. Easy. I’m lowering my shirt. Grab on to it and I’ll pull you out.”

I kept my eyes on the snake, its fangs jutting from its gaping mouth.

“That’s it. Okay. Reach behind you.”

My hand caught hold of the black T-shirt, still warm from his body.

The snake reared back, fangs out. Not good. “Fast! Fast! Fast!” I wound my fingers around the cotton of his shirt and scrambled up the rock wall, my injured ankle burning with the effort. Dimitri gripped my hand in his and pulled me to safety. I let him have his T-shirt back and stood there, catching my breath. Yow. That was close.

Dimitri’s gaze slammed into me. I’d ticked him off, or at least worried the snot out of him. Good.

I shook the dirt and leaves out of my hair. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he enjoyed standing there shirtless. Of course he looked fabulous. His chest—well-muscled, but not overdone—gave him an air of understated sexiness. A swirl of black hair traced its way down his lower stomach and down toward his…oh my. I blame my overt interest at a time like this on either head trauma or years of reading Johanna Lindsey, probably both.

He saw me watching him and his lips quirked into a predatory grin. “We can do something about this attraction if you’d like.”

“Yeah, let’s make out. That’ll solve everything.” Besides, if he thought I wanted to touch him after what he pulled, he’d better think again.

I stared out at the trees surrounding us, trying to get my bearings. “I should have ducked into the cave,” I said. Then I might not have needed him at all.

“Bad idea. There are bats in there.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Three of them have rabies. Guess which three you would have found?”

My ankle throbbed. I leaned against a tree for a second. I planted my hands on my knees and blew out a long breath. “Why?” I asked, not even expecting an answer anymore.

“Simple. You’re a demon slayer. That means you’re attracted to danger, problems, things that need to be fixed.”

Oh, I had a problem alright. He was standing right in front of me.

“Think of it as a slayer skill,” he said, “a very valuable one. You need to be able to sense evil. Your powers give you an understanding of the nature of whatever it is you need to face. Now, if you were trained properly, you would have been able to make your way back to the coven. And I would have let you go. But, sadly, you are untrained. Uneducated. Underdeveloped. When you tried to focus on finding your way back, instead you began sensing every potential danger and running right for it, with no distinction between the supernatural and a cottonmouth snake.”

Boy, he sure knew how to make a girl feel good. “So you’re saying my supernatural compass is broken?”

He considered the question. “Not broken. Untrained. Weak. Immature.”

“Got it.”

“Coarse. Unpolished.”

“Zip it, Obi-Wan.”

He raised a brow. “I’ll help you strengthen your powers. Then you can use this ability to your advantage. You’ll be able to sense evil, even before it closes in on you or those you care about.”

Very tempting. I gritted my teeth. So if I’d known my magic from a hole in the ground, I might have even prevented whatever had happened tonight. Talk about a guilt trip.

Okay maybe he could protect me. A bit. “Can I get the express version before we go back in there?”

He barked out a laugh. “There are three demon slayer Truths that are absolute. Live by them and you will tap into unimaginable power.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. I could do this.

He looked down at me, his expression intense. “Look to the outside. Accept the universe. Sacrifice yourself.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’ Demon slayers spend a lifetime pondering the Three Truths.”

I didn’t have that kind of time. “Get me back to the coven.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not until we’re done here.”

“Oh, we’re done.” He could play hide and seek in the woods all he wanted. I had more important things to do.

He was having none of it. “It all starts with the Three Truths.”

“Yes, it will,” I agreed. “Later. Now we figure out what happened. We find my dog.” He was stalling me. I knew it. I’d seen it at naptime at Happy Hands. I recognized the signs.

I planted my hands on my hips, wishing I had a clue which way to head. Which sparked an idea…

Dimitri needed me safe. I had no idea why he cared so much. At the moment, it didn’t matter. That was my bargaining chip. And I’d use it on him like I used Goldfish crackers on my three-year-old preschoolers.

“Hey,” I said, tugging at his black shirt, right above a bulging bicep. “If you don’t take me back to the coven right now, I’m going to jump back in with the snake.”

He seemed almost amused. “It left.”

“What?” I reached out with my mind. Blast. He was right. Worse, I didn’t even have a desire to jump into the hole, which meant even the rabid bats had wandered off. Just my luck.

I cleared my mind, focused my thoughts. I could feel danger to my left, fifty yards. I limped as fast as I could in that direction, hoping my ankle would loosen up. Or fall off.

His humor faded. “Where are you going?”

“Over here,” I huffed, pain slicing through my foot. “Look to the Outside, right?”

Whatever I find, please don’t let it be too horrible. How far was I willing to go?

“What are you trying to pull?” Dimitri’s voice betraying a hint of concern. “Okay. Hold it. Lizzie!”

But still, he let me hobble closer to…it. Arrogant jerk—why didn’t he stop me? I didn’t have time to be fighting everything in the woods. I struggled to see something, anything in the darkness ahead. It was no use. I couldn’t see more than four or five feet in front of my face.

Still, I hurried as fast as my ankle would allow. I had no idea what I’d find. An angry bear? Axe murderer? Deer stampede? I supposed it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, I headed right for it.

“Wait!” Dimitri blocked me. “Don’t.”

I lifted a brow.

He stared me down.

“Take me back or I’m never speaking to you again.” I practically spit venom myself. He looked as angry as I felt. “I don’t even need to go in. You can go. But we need to head back now.” I stared him down. “Do what I say or whatever it is you want from me, you won’t get it. I promise you that.”

He stood there, indignant.

“You wanna go again?” I asked. “I sense something nasty back behind that tree over there.”

A muscle twitched in his neck. “Fine.” He gripped my shoulders, too tightly. “I’ll take you to the coven. But you’re not going to like what you see.”

Chapter 8

It looked like someone detonated a bomb inside the Red Skull biker bar. Crimson smoke poured from the rickety two-story structure. I felt a wave of pain for the witches, for how scared they must have been when the coven had come under attack, for what they had undoubtedly lost.

I covered my mouth with my hand, as if I could somehow block the acrid sulfur burning down my throat with every breath. Dimitri squeezed my shoulder. It felt good to have him there. I wouldn’t have wanted to be alone at that moment. The forest around the house had fallen silent—not a cricket dared to chirp. The air felt heavy, foreboding.

A strange vapor curled from the edges of the Employees Only door at the back. It hissed from every window frame and—I gasped—it billowed from the open window of Frieda’s second floor room. It was eerily similar to the mist I’d seen filtering out of the Yardsaver shed earlier tonight, when Grandma had communed with the demon Vald.

I checked out the storage shed and saw it had melted at the edges. A trail of charred grass and cooked asphalt led from the shed to the bar. My heart skipped a beat. “Holy Hoodoo.”

Dimitri’s shoulder brushed mine. “I wouldn’t call it holy.”

Pirate was nowhere in sight.

Every idiot demon slayer instinct I had ordered—no, screamed—to race into the house and face whatever lurked inside. Dimitri had been right about one thing. I was enthralled with anything and everything that could snap my limbs or chop my head off.

As if he could sense my fear, Dimitri leaned closer. “Having second thoughts?” he asked, his voice edged with concern.

Um, yeah. I watched as shimmers of light danced in the upstairs windows. How about third, fourth and fifth thoughts? At least Dimitri was starting to treat me more like an ally than a ward to be protected.

Maybe I was getting through to him. I could use a partner right about now. A low moan sounded from somewhere inside the house, and I fought the urge to run far, far away. If I had this much trouble even looking at the house—imagine how Pirate must be feeling if he was still inside. Hang on, little guy.

Now that he wasn’t trying to hold me back, Dimitri could turn out to be my ace in the hole. “Let’s,” I choked. Embarrassed, I cleared my throat to make it work right. “Let’s circle around front to see if we can learn anything.”

I may not know a lot about this supernatural world, but I prided myself on my logic and my ability to stay focused. I’d done pretty well for the past thirty years, and I’d held my own against the demon in my bathroom. I wasn’t about to take any unnecessary risks, but I had to think I could handle this too. Or at least try.

We ventured as far as the trees and shrubs would hide us. A violet haze enveloped the street out front. The precise line of bikes we’d seen on the way inside tonight lay scattered like matchbox toys. I took heart that about half were missing. At least some of the witches had gotten away. Dimitri’s SUV lay on its side with the windows smashed in. It was impossible to know what hit it, but if I didn’t know better, my first guess would have been Godzilla.

I didn’t see the bike with the sidecar. I hoped Bob had made it out okay. I wished I knew whether Pirate had gone with him. One thing was certain. Grandma would not have left the bar with any of her coven members still inside. That meant two things. Number one, we had to check this place out whether we wanted to or not. And number two, I had a confession to make.

Dimitri stood beside me, dark and strong. This wasn’t going to be easy. I blew out a breath and hoped I wasn’t about to torpedo our fledgling truce. “I have to tell you,” I said, practically wincing. “I was supposed to receive the coven’s protection tonight, but it didn’t happen.”

Dimitri stiffened, anger pouring from him in waves. Good going, Lizzie.

“I thought they were smarter than this,” he hissed. “If you were a member of our clan, we would have conducted a protection ceremony as the first order of business. They have no right to have a slayer in their ranks if they can’t defend what’s theirs.”

Theirs? Hello, twenty first century calling. Oh who was I kidding? I had bigger things to worry about. I’d set off his protection vibe. Big mistake. “It wasn’t their fault,” I said, thinking of the botched ceremony in the basement. “It was mine. I have a few trust issues,” I said, in the understatement of the year. “Look, I’ll explain it all later. The point is—”

“The point is we’re closing in on a demon infestation and you don’t have the proper knowledge, training or security.” He loomed over me until I had to crane my neck to see his stormy expression.

“Fine.” I thundered back. “What do we do about it?”

He stared at me, no doubt expecting an argument. I’d moved past that. We needed an action plan.

Screeches echoed from the house, like metal rubbing glass.

“First off, we need to save anyone trapped in the bar,” I told him. I didn’t know what was happening in there, but it wasn’t good. The sooner we snuck in, the sooner we could run like heck.

He drew in a hard breath. “Agreed,” he said, his gaze trickling through me. “Your natural skills will serve you well. But before we begin, you must accept my protection.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. Dimitri wanted something from me. He hadn’t told me what, which in my mind meant it was probably something I didn’t want to give. It made me nervous to think of him having power over me.

“I’d prefer to rely on those natural skills you mentioned.” I may not have read the handbook, but I could feel my power churning inside me. And while I might be dreading what we’d find, I’d already held my own against a demon and a small army of imps.

But Dimitri wasn’t letting me off the hook that easy. “Lizzie,” he prodded. “You know it’s the right thing to do.”

Oh, I knew. I sighed, torn between the urge to stand on my own and the knowledge that he was right. I’d refused to drink the witches’ protection potion. I didn’t want to make the same mistake again. I clenched my jaw until it throbbed. Grandma said I shouldn’t trust him. But I needed him. And without the protection of the witches, I was probably crazy to even think about being as close as we were to whatever lurked inside that house. There was bravery, there was independence…and then there was pure stupidity. I didn’t need to go into this half-cocked. And if Dimitri could help me prepare, well, I had to accept that gift.

“Fine.”

He tried to hide his pleasure, but I could tell he was as happy as if I’d told him he could keep me in a lock box and throw away the key. I’d let him enjoy his little victory.

“For now,” I added, wishing I could scrub the crooked smile off his face.

Warning bells sounded in the back of my mind. He’s too happy. Of course those were the same warning bells that told me not to drink Grandma’s protective potion. Forget it. I’d made my decision. I had to, or we weren’t going to get anything done here. “How long will it take?”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, velvet pouch. He tipped it into his palm and out slid an emerald the size of a grape. I whistled despite myself. It was shaped like a teardrop and glowed from the inside out, like it had its own energy, which of course was impossible—like everything else that had happened.

“This is an ancient stone from the Helios clan. My clan. A proud and ancient order of griffins from the island of Santorini. I will offer it,” he said, “You will accept it.”

No problem.

“And my protection.”

He had to throw that in.

“With free will,” Dimitri added.

Ah, so that was the key. Okay. I was willing. For now. “Let’s get this over with,” I told him, eyeing the blue and red orbs cascading from the bar’s rooftop vents.

Dimitri held his hand under mine. His calloused fingers sent a rough heat spiraling through my veins as he placed the gem in the center of my palm. It felt toasty, whether that was from his pocket or from something else. I felt its energy flow through me like a soft touch. “I offer you the protection of the Helios clan, freely given, freely taken.”

A bronze colored chain, as thin as a spider’s thread, snaked from the tip of the teardrop. “Um,” I began. The unexpected intimacy of the moment caught me off guard. I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed.

“I accept.” I paused for a heartbeat. “Freely,” I added, fighting my reluctance.

It must have been good enough because the emerald glowed warm in my palm. My hand shook as the chain wrapped itself around my wrist. I resisted the urge to pull it away, to break the hair-thin band.

“Relax.” Dimitri’s touch reassured me as he pulled me farther into the cover of the woods. A breeze caressed my shoulders as I leaned back against the trunk of an old walnut tree. His emerald felt heavy on my wrist. It was strange, but I did feel closer to Dimitri, connected somehow. He narrowed the space between us. Was he going to seal the deal with a kiss? It occurred to me that I should keep my distance. He’d already bound me to him with the emerald. I didn’t need any more complications, but I couldn’t quite make myself walk away.

I should have been afraid of what would happen next. Instead, I found myself anticipating it. Dimitri was the kind of man who made women want to touch him. Too bad I wasn’t immune. I still wasn’t sure I trusted him. But we did want a lot of the same things. And I had to admit he fascinated me.

Dimitri hitched one leg against the tree and drew a long bronze knife from a holster in his boot. The thing was ancient, with strange carvings and green gemstones wrapped around the hilt. The polished blade gleamed razor sharp. There’d better not be blood involved in this ceremony.

Dimitri ran his thumb along the blade of the knife. “Remember this favor, Lizzie.”

Somehow, I didn’t think he’d let me forget. Frieda was right. It seemed Dimitri’s help did come with a price tag attached.

“Let’s not forget you owe me too,” I told him. If he hadn’t kidnapped me, I might have been able to get Pirate out and raise the alarm before the house started smoking from every nook and cranny. I was about to get into that when I felt my wrist go disturbingly heavy.

“What the—?” I looked down. The wisp of a bracelet had thickened into a manacle. Of all the things I might have expected to happen tonight, I hadn’t even dreamed of this.

“Oh don’t you even—” I watched in horror as thick chains snaked from the cuff around my wrist. They slithered down my leg and captured my ankles. Fear slammed into me. “What is this?” I clutched at Dimitri. He stepped back, empty of emotion.

“What are you doing to me?” I demanded, my voice cracking. My heart slammed against my chest. The chains wrapped around my waist and wrapped around the battered walnut tree. “Stop!” I struggled with everything I had, but the chains were relentless, twining around my body, trapping me like a fly in a spider’s web.

That liar! Dimitri betrayed me in the worst possibly way.

His gaze traveled the length of my body, sending a rush of hot anger through me. His mouth tugged into a smile, but there was no understanding or warmth. As he advanced on me like the predator he was, I struggled against the chains, dreaming what it would be like to slap the smile off his face. Dimitri leaned in close, his face inches from mine. He radiated heat and a raw power. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

His eyes burned with something that wasn’t quite desire, although there was a lot of that too. He cradled my head in his hands. And curse my mutinous body, red hot anticipation shot through me like wildfire.

“Don’t even think about it,” I told him, my voice not as steady as I would have liked.

“I’m protecting you,” he said against my mouth.

As far as I could see, his protection was one of my main problems right now. “Yeah?” I thrust out my chin and ignored the heat spiraling through me. “Who’s going to protect me from you?”

He pulled away, which was what I wanted. Still, it seemed like I’d missed out, which made me even angrier. I hated games.

Dimitri brushed his lips against my forehead, strong and confident. I felt his touch all the way down to my toes. Arrogant jerk. He seemed to enjoy taunting me. And I hated myself for buying into it. He’d be better off facing Vald than enduring one minute of what I’d do to that high-handed, good-for-nothing, two-faced brute. I never should have trusted him. Never. If I had to do it again, I’d take his teardrop emerald and shove it up his nose.

I struggled against the manacles at my feet. This is where trust got me. I was better off on my own. When I’d counted on my skills, I’d survived. Teamwork had gotten me lashed me to a tree. He’d better hope he found Pirate, Grandma and the Hope Diamond in there. Maybe then, after a hundred years had passed, I’d consider speaking to him again.

I yanked at the chains. The teardrop emerald whipped against my wrist. Never. Never again.

Dimitri gave me a long, dark look before he headed into the house, alone.

***

He stayed inside the house too long, way too long. With every passing moment, it grew less and less likely I’d ever see him again. Blast it. I struggled until I felt like I’d run a marathon. The chains didn’t budge. A trickle of sweat ran down my back. What if he didn’t find Pirate? Or Grandma? What if he ran into a ticked off Vald? He’d carried one ancient knife inside, and even though it was sharp as all get out, it didn’t look very sturdy. What would I do out here, chained to a walnut tree, if Dimitri didn’t come back?

Dawn approached, bathing the world in shades of gray. Still, not a bird chirped. Not one car drove down the road in front of the bar. It felt like we’d landed in purgatory. A drain pipe on the side of the house clattered as it began to shake.

Dimitri burst out the front door. His black T-shirt hung in bloody shreds, and he looked like he was running for his life. He leapt behind his overturned SUV as the house exploded. I would have given anything to duck. Windows shattered with the force. Smoke poured from the house as it sagged in on itself.

My chains coiled away from the tree. I lurched forward, catching my balance as they wound away from my ankles and up my legs. It was the worst feeling in the world, like something living had attached itself to me. But I had bigger things to worry about.

Dimitri bolted for the nearest motorcycle still standing, a silver Harley with red skulls painted on the side. “Get on!” He slid onto the seat, rolled the throttle and hit the ignition. The engine roared to life. I ran straight for him, my oxfords crunching against glass and debris.

For a split second, I thought about grabbing my own bike and getting as far away from here as I could. But I didn’t know how to ride. Worse, I had no idea where to go.

“Now!” he yelled.

The bike didn’t even have helmets. Some protector. I caught a glimpse of a pink helmet, half buried under a collapsed bike. It was mine now. I grabbed it and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw the chain around my wrist had morphed into body armor that stretched across my chest. Intricate carvings wound up the armor, with the teardrop emerald centered above my breasts.

Dimitri slammed his bike to a stop in front of me, spitting rocks and dirt as I shoved the pink helmet on my head and climbed behind him. I wanted to ask him if he found any sign of Pirate, if he saw anything else inside the house and if it was pure stupidity or a death wish that made him tie me up. Before I could get a word out, he jumped on the gas. My back smacked against the metal safety bar as we peeled out into the night.

***

We drove for at least an hour on dusty, unpaved back roads. Dimitri made sure to hit every pot hole and ant hill. I’d never realized what a smooth ride Grandma delivered. I closed my eyes as we hit another bone-rattling dip in the pavement. Please be okay, Grandma. I didn’t know where we were going, but wherever it was, I hoped she’d be there. There were so many things I needed to tell her.

Dimitri slowed in front of the first sign of civilization we came upon, an old broken down Shoney’s restaurant. Weeds crowded the parking lot, fighting for space between the cracked concrete with its faded yellow lines. The Big Boy himself lurched to one side, in bad need of a paint job and a can of Rust-oleum. Darkening shades draped the picture windows, their window boxes filled with faded plastic geraniums.

The bike swayed as we rounded our way to the back parking lot. I could feel every muscle and tendon in Dimitri’s back as I gripped him tightly. The blood on his T-shirt had dried, making the material crunchy. The gashes on his back had already begun to heal. Impossible, yes. But I’d been staring at the proof for darned near an hour.

I eased away from Dimitri as the bike slowed. This place gave me the heebie-jeebies. A mini-city of beaten down trailers huddled at the edge of the lot. Near them stood a haphazard car port with a dozen bikes stashed inside. We pulled up to the end of the row.

As soon as Dimitri killed the engine, I poked him in the back. “What did you find in there?” And please don’t let it be too awful.

“No living souls,” Dimitri said, shutting down the bike.

“Are you sure?” I asked. I couldn’t believe the battle had been over that quickly.

He took a deep breath. “Yes. I didn’t see your dog or your grandma, either. Both of them must have made it out.” He eased off the bike. “Come on,” he said, reaching for my hand, “let’s get inside. This is the safe house. It’s run by some friends of mine. The Red Skulls were slated to meet here if something happened at the bar.”

I ducked off the bike, avoiding his outstretched hand. A flash of pain crossed his features. Well, tough. No way was I letting him near me.

Side-by-side, yet universes apart, we crunched through the gravel parking lot. My ankle throbbed and my legs felt woozy after that hour on the bike. In a lot of ways, stepping off a bike was like getting off a ride at an amusement park.

I tested the armor on my chest. Solid as steel and just as impossible to remove. I fought back a wave of claustrophobia. It was as if the bronze plates been welded onto me. “Mind telling me what you did to me?” I asked, almost angry I had to say anything to Dimitri at this point.

He walked beside me, his eyes straight ahead. “I gave you the gift of protection. Ancient magic, designed to defend you. Your panos will always be what you need it to be.”

“Well, take it back.” Body armor or not, it was creeping me out.

“It’s a gift.”

“Yes, one that is slithering all over my body.”

“Don’t be a drama queen,” he said, proving he had no idea who he was dealing with. As I debated whether to stomp on his foot or shove him into a bush, he said, “It isn’t my choice to make.”

I wanted to take the high road. I really did. “You are such a jack—” For the first time, I almost let something nasty slip. But then he opened the glass door and my mouth dropped open.

I hardly heard the tinkling of the bell as Dimitri ushered me inside. A woman leaned against the hostess’ desk. She wore red button earrings and a matching bandana. Only it wasn’t a woman. It was a werewolf.

Chapter 9

The werewolf’s ears pricked as we entered the restaurant. She had a thick coat of streaky yellow hair and flashed claws that could tear your heart out. She growled, low in her throat.

I went on instant high alert. “Dimitri,” I said low in my throat. Some protector. He’d led me into the wolves’ den.

“Steady.” He placed a firm hand on my back. “She’s just trying to scare you.”

Yeah, well it was working. Never in a million years would I have expected to walk in on a werewolf, and at Shoney’s, no less. This was supposed to be a family restaurant, one where people came to eat, not to be eaten.

The air around the werewolf shimmered. I stood speechless as she began to change. If I hadn’t seen with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. Her body shifted and her hair receded until she was left with smooth tan skin, a sassy blonde page boy haircut and cherry red fingernails to die for. Her body was sculpted, her breasts perky and she lounged against the hostess stand with the practice of a Price Is Right model. Un-fricking-believable.

The formerly-furry sex goddess dipped her chin toward Dimitri. “Hiya, babe. I knew I’d see you back here one way or another.” From the way she said it, it was obvious those two had a history. And judging from how she undressed him with her baby blues, their relationship hadn’t exactly been rated PG.

Lovely.

Dimitri ignored it, either oblivious or a good politician. “Andrea, this is Lizzie,” he said. “Lizzie, this is my friend Andrea.”

I didn’t like how he said the word friend. Andrea didn’t either. Her face twisted into the kind of snarl perceptible only to women. And I swear her fingernails grew a half an inch.

Don’t worry, honey. I don’t want him anyway.

She sniffed at my borrowed clothes in disdain. “Nice pants.”

Now I really wanted to hone my demon slayer powers so I could fire some switch stars, or maybe a bolt of lightning, up her butt. As it stood, I simply nodded to the bitch (the word bitch being a technical term for her condition, of course).

The hostess area stood apart from the main restaurant by a wall of paneling that might have looked classy if it hadn’t been cheap, faded and strewn with used ticky tack. An ancient M&M candy machine didn’t quite camouflage the splintered hole behind it. The rest of the area was bare except for two bodyguards, who stood directly behind Andrea. They stared at me, heavy-lidded and suspicious. As if they had anything to fear from the non-demon-slaying demon slayer. They could rip my arms off without breaking a sweat.

Behind the wall, I could hear the murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware. Sausage, potatoes, and eggs should have smelled heavenly, but after the night I’d had, the mere thought of food made my stomach sour.

“Don’t tell me you’re going out with this pop tart,” Andrea sniggered, proving beyond a doubt she was no lady herself. “She wouldn’t know what to do with a man like you.”

Oh pul-leeze.

“Watch yourself, Andrea,” Dimitri warned.

“Are we done playing Melrose Place?” I asked. “Where is everyone?”

Andrea scowled at me. She hitched her head back and called to whoever was behind the paneling. “We got two more!”

A cascade of voices and a smattering of applause greeted her announcement. Frankly, I didn’t know what we had to cheer about. The coven’s hideout was destroyed, some of the witches were missing and a fifth level demon could be popping by at any moment.

Pirate skittered around the corner and suddenly, nothing else mattered. Thank you. Thank God he got out of there. That moment was worth every second out there in those dark woods. I rushed to my doggie, scooped him up and hugged him tight. “How are you doing?” I asked, stroking him, inspecting his back, his paws, his tail, everything. His paws were black with mud and—phew—he could use a bath, but otherwise he seemed to be alright. “You okay?”

He licked my arms, my elbows, everywhere he could reach. “Whoa, Lizzie. Don’t you ever scare me like that again. I mean I was scared. I was more scared than when you went to Florida and left me at that doggie day spa with the shaking pet pillows.”

I buried my nose in his hair, so glad to see my little dog. Someone had even made sure he had fresh bandages for his back.

“Aye-eee!” I heard Frieda approaching before I ever saw her. I could smell her too—cigarettes with a tinge of cinnamon gum.

She hugged me from behind. “You disappear again and I’m going to kick your butt into next Sunday. We didn’t know what happened to you,” she said, squeezing me tight. She turned me around, chewing as she talked, “how are you feeling? Are you alright?”

I nodded. Talk about a loaded question. I couldn’t go home, the coven was destroyed. I had no idea what to do with my utterly cool yet completely frightening demon slayer mojo and now I’d given Dimitri enough power over me to make me very, very uncomfortable. “Where’s Grandma?” I asked. I couldn’t wait to see her. She’d tell me what to do.

Frieda locked her elbow in mine. “Well, I’ll say one thing. It was a hell of a fight. Come on back to the dining room and we’ll tell you all about it.”

We followed Frieda around the divider and into the main restaurant. Immediately, I could see there were two different groups of people occupying the space. The werewolves dominated the center of the dining room and had set up the Rootin’ Tootin’ Breakfast Buffet. At least that’s what the sign declared in big block letters. That morning, they’d opted to stick with the basics—sausage links, breakfast potatoes and scrambled eggs. A pimply teenager nodded at me as we passed. His gangly arms led down to massive, hairy wolf claws. Built-in pot holders, it seemed as he clutched a steaming platter of undercooked bacon.

Pirate wriggled in my arms. “Oh lookie there. Bacon! I couldn’t eat any before. I didn’t have any appetite before, but now I think I’m over it.”

I stroked the wiry fur on his head. “Later, Pirate. Right now, we have to find Grandma.”

“Oh now, Lizzie,” he began reluctantly. “She never liked me much and besides I don’t think you need to be hearing about the deal them witches made with those werewolves. You won’t be in the mood for no bacon after that.”

Deal? What deal?

“Pirate,” Frieda warned.

“All I’m saying is if Lizzie’s the one who’s got to schlep everywhere, getting rid of those black souls for a bunch of smelly werewolves, then she should at least get some breakfast first.”

Black souls? Pirate was right. My stomach had begun churning enough at that point to make breakfast impossible. I glanced back at Dimitri, hoping this deal wasn’t another one of his tricks. From the murder in his eyes, I guessed not.

“Frieda, care to enlighten me?” I was suddenly feeling quite murderous myself.

Frieda cast a worried glance over her shoulder. “Come on back, honey. I think Ant Eater would like to have a word with you.”

“Oh, well if Ant Eater is behind it, I’m sure I’ll love it.” The last time I’d seen Ant Eater, she’d been holding me by the throat. It made sense she’d want to throw me to the werewolves. Grandma would straighten this out. She had to. It worried me that I hadn’t seen her yet. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lizzie.

As we weaved through the tables, I could feel the eyes of the werewolves on us. One in particular struck me hard. He stood with his back to the wall and a rifle on his shoulder. I did a double take. He was built lean and menacing, like a bad boy drummer in a rock band. Tattoos wound up his arms and neck, past the blond hair that hung in over-stylized hunks almost all the way down to his shoulders. The only thing that gave away his species was the way he sniffed the air. That and he seemed more than comfortable in the middle of a Shoney’s full of werewolves.

Dimitri, walking behind me, touched me on the arm, his fingertips almost brushing the edge of the armor that curved around my side. “That’s Rex,” he said, giving me a light squeeze. “Stay away from him.”

I could feel Rex’s eyes on us. He reminded me of a predator, watching, waiting to discover a weakness. I glanced back and picked up the pace when I saw his fierce smirk. He looked like he’d won the lottery.

The werewolves were the only ones eating. The witches stuck to the booths along the right wall, injured and shell shocked. Sidecar Bob had set up a haphazard triage station on a few tables he’d pushed together at the end of the row of booths, out of sight yet close enough. It didn’t look like anyone was in the mood to venture far.

Frieda led me to the last booth, the one closest to the restrooms. Dimitri walked behind me, as if I wanted him around after what he’d pulled. Maybe Ant Eater would do me a favor and pound him into next Tuesday.

“What happened back there, Frieda? It was Vald, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” She wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulder. “We need to talk.”

Talk and act. “Do you think he’ll try to follow us here?” I asked. “And where is here?”

Frieda shook her head as we passed two booths of witches. I saw the tall, red haired one, Scarlet. But no Grandma. “Come on now, hon.”

“Actually, Vald could have followed us quite easily,” Dimitri said, making sure any of the witches we passed could hear him. Nice, considering these people were probably scared out of their wits as it was.

Dimitri didn’t seem to care. “Nowhere is safe,” he said, anger and accusation seeping into his voice. “We need to get you throwing switch stars.”

“I’m ready,” I said, sliding into the booth across from Ant Eater.

She wore the expression of a soldier who had just returned from battle. Her eyes were hollow, her features taut. She pounded a skinny red coffee stirrer against the restaurant table with the rat, tat, tat of a machine gun. Green soot dusted her curly gray hair.

I waited for her to speak, wary at the same. I knew it would be bad news.

And I was right.

“Your grandma has been taken,” she said with about as much emotion as if she were telling me my car was wrecked or my condo needed a new air conditioning system. It seemed Ant Eater was nothing if not practical.

I knew Grandma wouldn’t have left the coven until every last witch made it out, but it hurt to hear she hadn’t escaped. “What do you mean taken? By who? And why aren’t you trying to get her back?” Grandma had been a member of the Red Skulls for decades. These people were her family. What were they doing sitting around Shoney’s?

Ant Eater slammed her hand on the table and the coffee stirrer went flying. “Don’t you even start on me, hot shot. You’re the reason we lost her.”

I willed myself to stay calm. “Pirate, why don’t you go see if Sidecar Bob needs any help?”

“Oh, but Lizzie, I missed you.” His large, black eyes pleaded with me. “And now I have you and you’re right here and I don’t want to leave you.”

“Pirate.” I hated to be stern with him, and I wanted nothing more than to hold my doggie tight, but I had a feeling this was about to get ugly. Reluctantly, Pirate obeyed.

I squared my shoulders and faced Ant Eater. From her accusation, you would have thought I’d trussed up my grandmother myself. No getting around it, though. I was supposed to be there. I had these powers for a reason and I wasn’t about to shirk my responsibility. They’d offered me their protection because they knew this was coming. I’d let them down. If I’d found a way to stay, I might have been able to prevent this. “Let’s figure this out,” I told her.

“Meaning?” she snapped.

“Tell me what happened,” I said, refusing to take the bait.

The lines on Ant Eater’s face deepened as she frowned. “Vald approached like a stale wind from the north. We’re Southern witches. It’s harder for us to detect a northern presence. But your Grandma Gertie, she knew. By the time she found us, every one of us was face down on the floor.” She planted her elbows on the booth table between us. “See, demons like Vald aren’t all fire and brimstone. They’re sneaky. Sure they enjoy the stark terror on your face before they steal your soul, but they’d just as soon swipe it from you when you’re not looking.”

Incredible. “Is that what he wanted? Your souls?”

She rubbed her hands together, as if to warm them. “He wants our power. Your Great, Great, Great Aunt Evie was a slayer, one of the best. She locked Vald away more than a hundred years ago. He’s been trying to break out, but he needs power.”

“Your power?” I asked, afraid.

“Any power he can get. He’s wiped out the other three major covens. About thirty years ago, he started in after us.”

Grandma had told me about how the Red Skulls had been on the run.

Ant Eater glanced at Frieda. “Lucky for us, he went for power before he went for our souls. It allowed some of us to escape and those that weren’t so lucky,” she cringed, “at least they’re free.”

Ouch. If I didn’t have enough respect for these witches before, I did now. They may be unconventional, but they were fighting a battle that nobody should have to face.

She shook her head. “Now I’m afraid he’s after more than our power.”

I waited, not sure I wanted to hear the rest.

Her eyes bore into me. “He wanted you.”

“Me?” My chest felt hollow.

“We can not let that demon steal your power.” She banged her hand on the table and sent the salt and pepper shakers flying. “We’re all dead if he does. Vald is stronger than we thought. Our protection spell—that potion you drank—should have bound us all together. We would have known he was coming for you. You would have felt it too. We should have been able to beat him off, or at least stall him enough to escape. I don’t know what happened,” she said, eyeing me accusingly.

I refused to blink. “We’ll fix it.” I’d figure this out. I’d get Grandma back. I’d discover how to blast this demon once and for all.

And then I’d get back to teaching preschool.

Ant Eater yanked a sawed off shotgun from the seat behind her and leveled it at me. I lost my breath as I gaped down the enormous barrels of the gun. She pushed it forward and it nudged my left breast, hard and deadly. A chill seeped from the cold metal and crept right through me.

“You fucked up,” she said, low and deadly.

Off to my left, I heard Dimitri cock a gun. I stole a glance. He aimed a pistol at Ant Eater’s head. The restaurant had gone silent as a graveyard. She’d shoot me. I knew she would.

It pissed me off. “Yes,” I said, hating the illogic of it. Hating her. “Shoot the demon slayer. That’ll solve everything.”

Frieda slipped into the booth next to me, shaking. “Put the gun down,” she ordered, her voice steadier than her body. “You know Lizzie is the one person who can save Gertie. Us, too.”

Tears welled in Ant Eater’s eyes. She gritted her teeth, her gold cap gleaming with spittle.

In one fluid motion, she launched herself out of the booth and stormed for the bathrooms. The ladies’ door slammed behind her and every one of us breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, Frieda,” I said, wanting to hug her. Every bone in my body had turned to mush. “Thank you.” I really hadn’t wanted to test that armor.

She slid into the seat across from mine, more serious than I’d ever seen her. “Save it. We got work to do. I didn’t want to say it before,” she craned her neck, “in front of the werewolves, but I wasn’t kidding when I said you were the only one who can help your grandma. I hoped Ant Eater would be able to put it a little better, but the truth is Vald has Gertie. He’s taken her back with him—to hell.”

Frieda raised an eyebrow as my jaw fell open. “Oh yes, buttercup. Hell is real. And there is no escaping without a slayer. You.”

I blanched. Learning how to throw a switch star was one thing. I was still getting used to the idea of taking out the demon. No way was I ready for this. I didn’t think I’d ever be ready.

Frieda didn’t seem to care. “Now Vald hasn’t been able to get Gertie all the way into the second layer of hell. She’s weak, but she’s fighting like a double blast of dynamite. She’s clinging to the first layer,” she said, battling tears, “No question about it, your grandma is a fighter. But she can’t hold out forever. No one can.”

I fought back the emotion. I had to be logical. I had to understand this. “What does that demon want if he doesn’t want her soul?”

“He wants you to go after her. And you can! You can defeat him, Lizzie. You have the power.”

I did. “I just need to learn how to use it.”

“It’s intuitive,” Dimitri said next to me, which didn’t make me feel better. Frankly, I’d forgotten he was there. “Look to the Outside,” he said, “Accept the Universe, Sacrifice Yourself.”

“Yes, but what does that mean?” I asked.

“It means something different to every slayer,” he said, sliding into the booth next to me. “You’re not Harry Potter going to Hogwarts,” he said, as if the whole idea were absurd. “You’re a fully empowered demon slayer. You just need to open yourself up and use your gifts.”

I planted my elbows on the table and stared at my hands. I could feel the power churning inside me. But it was like having all of the ingredients and no recipe. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It can be,” he said, touching my arm, his expression intense. “I’ll show you.”

Frieda burst into tears.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said. When she didn’t let up, I grew suspicious. “What are you not telling me?”

She sniffled, her eyes darting from me to Dimitri. “We need you trained yesterday. You’re the only one who can enter the second layer of hell and defeat Vald.”

“Okay,” I said, “We’ll start right away.”

“As long as we do it my way,” he added.

Naturally.

He crossed arms crossed over his chest. “Now what is this I hear about Lizzie working for the werewolves?”

“Good question,” I said, wishing I’d thought of it first.

Frieda frowned, clearly uncomfortable in her role as the coven spokesperson. “We worked out a deal with the werewolves in exchange for their help this morning. They need her to banish a dozen or so black souls.”

I glanced at Dimitri. He didn’t look particularly happy.

“It will give you practice Looking to the Outside,” he reluctantly admitted.

Oh well, lovely.

“I hope you have my back,” I said to him. If I had to train to be a demon slayer and work a mercenary job for a group of werewolves, then my protector had better live up to his name.

He covered my hand with his. “You can count on me, Lizzie.”

“Good.” I squeezed his hand, not really wanting the support, but needing it all the same. There is a time for pride and a time to survive. And right now, I really didn’t want to ask the question burning the back of my brain. Maybe if I asked it out loud, it wouldn’t be as scary.

“What if I screw up?”

Frieda eyed me, as serious as death. “You can’t, Lizzie. You just can’t.”

I was afraid of that.

Chapter 10

Just when I was afraid I’d screw up Grandma’s rescue, Dimitri beat me to the punch. I jogged after my new trainer—the only man who could help me save Grandma—as his boots crunched across the parking lot. One hushed conversation with the red headed witch and instead of training me, Dimitri made a beeline for the bike we rode in on.

“Where in Narnia do you think you’re going?”

He slammed to a halt, and I nearly ran into the back of him. “Back to hell,” he growled. “Or at least as close as we’ve got to it around here.” His eyes flicked over me. “Don’t do anything crazy when I’m gone.”

What had Scarlet said to get him riled up like this? I didn’t know and, frankly, I didn’t care. Well boo, frickin’ hoo. “In case you haven’t noticed, I need you.” For once. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I have to, Lizzie.” He stalked toward the bike, yanking on his black leather gloves. “Besides, we’re not going to get too much training done without your switch stars. They’re back in my wreck of an SUV, along with something else I have to retrieve.”

“Don’t you give me that,” I said, keeping pace with him. If anyone had a right to be annoyed, it was me. Everyone was counting on me, on us. “What about, ‘I’ve got your back, Lizzie? You can count on me, Lizzie?’” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “When you’re finished training me, you can build a tent and camp out there for all I care. But right now, your job is to help me release my powers.”

He appeared to think about it for a nanosecond. “No,” he said, checking the knife at his hip. And the knife in his boot. And the dagger in his back pocket. Holy Hades. “While I’m gone, you will practice releasing your powers.”

“Are you kidding?” I wasn’t going to sit around pondering while Grandma suffered and he raided the Red Skull for some hoo-ha bit of dangerous magic Ant Eater probably had brewing in the men’s toilet.

Grandma was in the first layer of hell, and sinking. Ant Eater lent me out to the werewolves on what sounded suspiciously like a demon hit job and now Dimitri—my protector, my trainer—was about to ride off.

“This Harley’s not leaving until I say so.” I dashed around him and climbed up on the bike, my tiger striped pants catching on the leather seat, my feet not quite reaching the running boards.

Yeah, yeah he could have lifted me off like an afterthought. But I had a feeling he was a closet gentleman. Or at least not the type of guy to toss me Jerry Springer style off the bike.

I was right.

“You don’t get it, princess.” He glowered at me. “This isn’t about us.”

“Then what’s it about?” I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Look,” he snapped. “We had a deal, remember? I protect you. You do as I say.”

In his dreams. “Our deal is simple. You train me. Now.”

He dug a hand through his thick dark hair. “I’m not trying to pull anything over on you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Trust me.”

“Like I did right before you chained me to a tree?”

“Hey,” he barked. “I was out of options.” His eyes softened and he gripped my wrist, sliding his thumb over the sensitive skin underneath. He leaned close enough to kiss. “Besides, it wasn’t all bad, was it?”

He’d held me against that tree and done delicious things. I fought back a blush just thinking about it.

“In your dreams.” Dang, he was one hundred percent male and he was going to be a pain in my rump if I didn’t watch it. For some girls, it would be the ultimate fantasy to receive a huge, honking emerald from a man like Dimitri. But I knew all too well about the strings attached.

I’d felt his kiss right down to my toes. Right before he chained me to a walnut tree.

Well he wasn’t going to schnooker me this time. I ducked out of his embrace. “You are not getting on this bike.”

He threw one leg over the Harley and slid in front of me before I knew it. He tossed a wicked grin over his shoulder before he slowly, intentionally used his firm backside to nudge me into the passenger’s seat. I could feel the heat rolling off him. He held me there, against the back bar of the bike, the stitching of his Levi’s practically burning a brand into my leather pants.

Sweet switch stars.

“Are you two done?” asked Scarlet. I felt the color rise to my cheeks. I hadn’t even seen her walk up. “We don’t have much time before there’s nothing left to save.” She frowned. “And Lizzie, you need to go get your dog.”

Pirate had the worst timing. “What’s he doing?” I fought back visions of a ruined Rootin’ Tootin’ Breakfast Bar.

She looked at me like I’d sprouted wings. “How should I know? Frieda took him to the trailer where you’ll be staying.”

New visions of a trailer full of shredded toilet paper. “Did he eat first?” Pirate liked to shred things when he was hungry, or bored, or excited or really whenever he felt like it.

“I don’t even want to know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Just get over there. Your roommate can’t stand dogs.”

Roommate? Well, it made sense. The werewolves did have to take in a whole coven. “I would have thought a werewolf would like dogs, you know, due to the whole species thing.”

Dimitri blanched.

Scarlet rushed to explain. “We’d never put you with a werewolf. Do yourself a favor right now, Lizzie, and don’t trust a single one of them. Especially Rex. He’s gunning for the Alpha slot and you do not want to be within ten miles when that happens.” She glanced at Dimitri. “Hopefully, we’ll be out of here before the shit hits the fan. Just remember, coven stays with coven. You’re in the second trailer behind the dumpster. You can’t miss Ant Eater’s bra rack out front.”

“What?” It was my turn to blanch. “You put me with that crazy woman?”

She seemed unaffected by my naked distress. “Ant Eater is in charge now, and that’s the way she ordered it.”

“She pulled a gun on me in a crowded restaurant! What’s she going to do when we’re alone?” Come on. Dimitri had to back me on this.

Scarlet shook her head. “It’s a done deal, Lizzie. Do what Gertie would have done,” she suggested. “Buck up.”

“Oh no, you don’t. Don’t start preaching my grandma back to me.” If she thought for a minute she’d sway me with a low down, dirty tactic like that, she was crazier than Ant Eater.

“Consider it your first test,” Dimitri said.

“Then it’ll be your fault if I Accept the Universe and blast her butt.”

The corner of his mouth cocked into a grin.

He ran a familiar hand down my leg as I climbed off the bike.

Then he fired up the engine and peeled off down the road.

“I hope whatever you’re going after is worth it,” I said to Scarlet as she buckled her helmet. She shrugged, gunned her engine and took off after him.

Accept the Universe.

“Screw the universe.” I needed some switch stars.

***

Clouds rolled across the sky and the air felt like it was going to rain any minute. I stomped over tufts of weeds and various other lawn junk as I zeroed in on the trailer with a front porch full of bras. No telling why Ant Eater had fled with her motorcycle bags full of bras rather than her uber-rare herbs. No telling why Ant Eater did anything.

The magical do-it-all breastplate began to hum. Even Dimitri’s emerald knew I was in trouble. I kicked a rusty Budweiser can across the field. “Frickin’ Dimitri and his two ton emerald. If I could do it again, I’d tell him to stick it in his ear.” The metal warmed against my skin. I held my breath. It was doing it again.

The hum turned into a steady vibration. Creepy, creepy, creepy. Think of something else. Yeah, right.

I stood motionless as the bronze metal slid over my skin, reforming into—what? I cringed to think what I needed now. I closed my eyes and wished for a full suit of medieval armor. That could come in handy against Ant Eater.

Alas, my mystic emerald had a mind of its own and I soon found myself the proud owner of a metal helmet that refused to come off. Goody. I couldn’t keep my hands off my head as I walked the rest of the way to the trailer. It felt like a baseball cap without the brim. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unnerving.

Ant Eater better not try to whack me in the grape with a baseball bat. My fingers probed the intricate designs of the helmet and skittered over the teardrop emerald embedded front and center.

“Okay, stop fiddling with the hat and face the music,” I told myself as I stood in front of the trailer I was going to share with Ant Eater.

The wood of the front porch had cracked and grayed with age. The entire thing rocked slightly as I hoisted myself up the stairs. Along with Ant Eater’s enormous red bras, as well as a leopard print teddy I refused to think about, the porch sagged under the weight of a rusted wash tub full of discarded beer cans, the front bumper of a car and too many petrified hand towels to even count.

I paused, blew out a breath as I contemplated the holes in the front screen door. Shotgun blasts? No question about it, this was the worst roommate situation I’d ever faced. Ant Eater scared the beeswax out of me. Part of it was the fact she’d tackle you first and ask questions later. But most of it stemmed from the sheer rage I’d seen in her eyes this morning. We’d have to find a way to make peace or it would be a lot harder to help Grandma.

I smoothed a few stray hairs out of my eyes and pulled them behind my ears. Well, she hadn’t thrown me off the front porch yet. I supposed that was something to celebrate. The sun peeked out from the clouds and I caught a glitter out of the corner of my eye. Tiny rhinestones clung to each red bra, forming little skulls at the center of each cup. I swallowed hard and opened the front door.

“Lizzie!” Pirate popped up from where he’d been curled up, watching the front door. “Am I glad to see you. I’ve been dying for some company and this lady is no company at all.” Pirate’s collar jingled as he skittered toward me. I scooped him up in my arms, reveling in his warm little body.

Ant Eater tossed me an acidic glare and went back to stacking glass jars in a small pyramid next to a beat up brown couch. She’d tied a black leather skullcap over her short silver curls. Chocolate brown furniture cluttered the narrow front room. Ant Eater had shoved most of it toward the back hallway in order to make room for stacks and stacks of pickle jars. I’d seen Grandma’s jars. They shouldn’t surprise me by now. Except—my stomach squinched—the goo in Ant Eater’s jars seemed to be alive.

“Hi there,” I said to her. I was not going to let this woman intimidate me. I picked my way across a yellow-brown rug that probably hadn’t started off that color. Lamps decorated with belching frogs topped white plastic end tables. Somehow, I’d expected these mercenary werewolves to live better. Perhaps this was simply an outpost where they stashed fugitives like us. I shuddered to think what kind of mission they had in store for me.

She hunkered over the jars, her wallet chain swinging from her back pocket. “Go to your room. It’s in the back. And stay the hell away from me.”

I felt my smile tighten. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was bullies. And she was one of the worst I’d ever met. I had to stand up for myself now, or she’d only get worse. “No,” I said. “Let’s get one thing straight. You are not going to treat me that way.”

She paused, her back to me. And that was another thing. The woman had to have at least two dozen jars stacked along the walls. How had she fled the coven with all of them? Perhaps Ant Eater had more notice of the attack then she’d let on. The thought made me very, very uncomfortable.

Slowly, deliberately she reached for a jar with—ohmygosh—a preserved human ear inside. I braced myself, ready to duck if she tried to throw it at me.

She held it up, her wide face flushed with anger. “Know what this is? This came from another smart ass.” Her bushy brows plummeted downward as she sneered. “I warned him. Said if he touched my motorcycle again, I’d bite his ear off and keep it in a pickle jar.” The distended ear bobbed in the grayish liquid. Ant Eater seemed to relish the fear tingling up my spine.

A nudge at my leg nearly sent me jumping out of my skin. But it was only Pirate. He danced in place on his two front paws. “Now I think this might be one of those situations where we let the old lady have her way,” Pirate said. He turned tail and hurried back through the trailer. “I’m all for fighting and all,” he called from somewhere down the hall, “but that is just wrong. Ohh, water bed!”

I wanted to follow him. I really did. There was no reason to provoke a crazy bully who would like nothing better than to whack me in two with the Samurai sword in the corner, or the very large machete under the coffee table or the—geez, there had to be at least twenty shotguns stacked in there. Not to mention the pistols lining the counter by the sink.

“Yeah, that’s right, Lizzie,” she said, daring me to push it. “Back away.”

I wanted to. But, “No.”

“What?” she spat.

I could feel my blood pounding in my skull, but this was no time to roll over. “If you want to share a trailer with me, there’s no reason why I can’t sit here on the couch and read a magazine.” I eased onto the squishy sofa and practically sank down to the floor. The thing was worse than a bean bag chair. And there were no magazines. Fine. I’d relax and contemplate the Three Truths of the demon slayer. Look to the outside. Accept the universe. Sacrifice yourself.

Sacrifice myself? Please don’t let it be today.

Ant Eater charged me and slammed the couch over backwards. Pain exploded in my head as it smacked against the linoleum floor. “You’re the only one who can kill Vald and you want to read a magazine?” She stood over me, fuming. “You high-and-mighty bitch, you’re the one who has to save Gertie. Time to feel some pain, princess. You’d better get used to it.”

She seized the toad lamp and yanked the cord from the wall. I scurried past the breakfast bar into the arsenal of a kitchen as the lamp crashed into the mugs above me and sent a whole rickety shelf tumbling down. The rack pounded into me and the cups sliced at my back as they shattered. I reached for one of the guns. My fingers touched the cool metal, and I stopped. I didn’t need to make this worse.

There had to be another way.

Look to the outside.

What outside? Outside myself? Okay. I’d stop worrying about myself and focus on the problem. Every red jowled, overblown, lethal inch of her.

I faced the crazy woman. Rage boiled in her eyes. “Stop!” I ordered. “Let’s talk—” She reached under the coffee table, grabbed the machete.

“Yeeee!” Pirate launched himself at her ankle.

Oh my word. Where had he come from? “Pirate, no!”

He chomped his teeth into her leather chaps.

“Son of a bitch!” She whipped her leg around and launched him into the hallway.

“Pirate!”

Ant Eater hurled the machete at my head. I hit the floor as the heavy blade shattered the kitchen window behind me.

This time, I did grab a gun, a Glock. It was like the one Cliff and Hillary kept in their bedroom in case burglars invaded the mini-mansion. Praying I didn’t have to use it, I shoved the hulking pistol under the waist band my too-tight leather pants. Pirate and I had to get out of here. But to do that, we’d have to get past Ant Eater.

Holy Hades. I’d have to take her down.

“Pirate, you stay put!” I called to him, but when I stuck my head around the corner of the breakfast bar, I saw him crumpled in the dirty hallway. “Baby dog!”

Rage boiled inside me. She could hate me all she wanted, but if she hurt Pirate, I’d never forgive her. “You bitch!”

She snarled like the predator she was.

A dark thing hovered over Pirate. A cloud of jagged black creatures—more than I could begin to count—swarmed, writhed to form a single, horrible monster. How dare she cast a spell on an innocent animal?

I glared at Ant Eater. “What kind of sick, twisted freak are you?” I had to get Pirate out of here.

My eyes flew to the Samurai sword by the door. She saw where I was going and raced me for it.

She beat me.

I slid the last few feet like a ball player sliding in to home and spiked her ankle with my oxford. She let out a howl of pain, but held tight to the sword. She ripped it from its sheath and drove the razor sharp blade down on me. It clanged against my helmet and ricocheted to the floor. Panic screamed through me. I scrambled backwards, into the corner between the front door and the breakfast bar.

My back knocked against stacks and stacks of pickle jars. I grabbed the nearest one and threw it at her head. It smacked her in the chest with a dull thud.

“Get your hands off those!”

“Drop the sword!”

Her face twisted in hate and she charged right for me, sword raised. My hand dove for a red swirling jar at the bottom of the stack. I had to have that one. I aimed it straight for her sneering nose. It exploded at her feet with a deafening crash. Red smoke shot through the room, suffocating every surface. Ant Eater dropped the sword. It clattered to the floor as she fell to her knees, her hands clutching her throat.

I ran past her and found Pirate. He lay on his side, half curled in a ball. I pushed through the hot, stinging magic. It bit like a thousand fire ants, but I didn’t care. Pirate was alive. Relief poured through me. Blood oozed from the back of his head, and he was wheezing as bad as Ant Eater. I gathered him up in my arms and hurried him outside while I could still see the light from the doorway.

A crowd of witches and werewolves had gathered in the yard. They stood in shocked silence as I lowered Pirate to the ground outside the trailer. His breathing had grown even more labored. I didn’t know what to do.

Chapter 11

“Ant Eater?” Frieda called as she struggled across the lumpy yard in three-inch heels, watching in horror as smoke poured from our trailer.

“She’s back in the trailer. Something’s wrong with Pirate.”

Betty Two Sticks lumbered up, her Woody Allen glasses fogging with the wet heat escaping from the trailer. Heat? “I think Lizzie threw a death spell,” she told Frieda.

“What’d the jar look like?” Frieda demanded.

“How’d you know—” I hadn’t said anything about a jar.

“We don’t have time! What’d it look like?”

“Red,” I said. “Swirly. A pickle jar with a gold lid.” I’d wanted that one. I knew I had to throw it. I took a deep breath. My go-for-the-most-dangerous demon slayer mojo had gotten us in some serious trouble this time.

“Anaconda Spell.” Frieda’s voice dripped with fear and contempt.

“How’d she beat it?” Betty challenged, pointing at me.

“Who cares?” Frieda said, crouching down next to me. “You gotta go back in there.”

Pirate had curled on his back, fighting for every breath. I never should have brought him here.

Frieda touched me on the arm. “You let loose one of the death spells. You’re going to kill Ant Eater and your little dog, if you don’t reverse this now. Find the white jar. Betty, you get the matches. Go!”

“So much for trusting the universe,” I muttered.

“Accept the universe,” Frieda and another witch said in unison.

Like I had time for that. I dashed back inside. The air felt wet with smoke. It reminded me of the way Hillary used to make me steam my pores. But it wasn’t hard to breathe. If anything, it was easier. Seeing was another matter. I stumbled over Ant Eater’s body. I found her arms and struggled to drag her out of the trailer. I had her head onto the front porch when Frieda started screaming again. “Get the jar. Now!”

A cloud of red smoke churned inside the trailer. I couldn’t see a foot in front of my face. I felt my way along the wall next to the door, nudging the floorboards with my feet until I knocked up against a pyramid of jars. I grabbed as many as I could carry and headed for the front porch. I lined them up on the weathered gray wood. Two blues, a pink and the ear jar. No good.

Ant Eater’s finger tips had turned blue. Her face wedged against the open screened door.

I ducked back inside. On the fourth trip, I found the white jar. While the contents of the other jars swirled and smoked, I could have mistaken this one for a jar of white paint. But then I noticed the tiny bubbles, like soda fizzies.

Frieda grabbed it from me. “You can’t look at it too long.” She’d pulled off her hair scarf and used it to shield her face from the smoke pouring from the front door.

We left Ant Eater on the front porch, half in and half out of the trailer. By this time, the crowd had swelled to a throng as every witch and werewolf within ten miles gathered to see what Frieda would do next.

Frieda dumped the white liquid out near the front steps of the trailer. “Let death be broken. Let life surmount.”

Her face took on a look of panic. She turned back to Betty and me. “Shit. We don’t have a death. We need a death. Betty?”

The other witch stammered. “I think I have a squirrel tail somewhere.”

“No, wait.” I had a better idea. I dashed up the front steps of the trailer and found the ear.

She nodded. “Drop it in.”

I twisted the jar open. Formaldehyde fumes burned my nose. Eyes watering, I dipped my fingers into the liquid and retrieved the ear. I threw it down onto Frieda’s soup and tried not to wince as it flopped wetly into the white goo. She struck a match, dropped it and the whole thing went up like she threw lighter fluid onto a burning barbeque pit. Energy rushed past us in a soundless wave. I found myself holding my breath for no reason as I reached down for Pirate. I scooped him up in my arms as he hacked up a storm. Finally, he opened his eyes. “Are you alright?”

He blinked, his eyes watering. “Oh yeah, sure,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I get whacked by crazy ladies all the time.” He sneezed.

I hugged him to my chest.

“Now that’s nice. I like that,” he said, his cold nose finding my collarbone. “Anyone ever tell you how pretty you smell?”

Like road kill and severed ears, I imagined, wiping my free hand on my ruined pants. The outfit Frieda had lent me was a total loss. Of course so was the outfit Frieda had on, I noticed, as she knelt over a coughing Ant Eater, who was still half in, half outside the trailer and holding the screened door open with her head.

“How are you?” I asked, careful to stay out of her reach.

Ant Eater hacked like a seasoned smoker and looked at me through bloodshot eyes. “They tell me you walked right through a death spell.”

I hadn’t really had time to think about it until right then. But I had. Several times if you wanted to count my trips in and out of the trailer, trying to track down the white jar to reverse the spell. “I guess it doesn’t work on me,” I said, in the understatement of the year.

Ant Eater nodded. She coughed several times, without covering her mouth. When she finished, she used the back of her hand to wipe away a clump of spit from her bottom lip. She eyed me like I’d grown four feet and gained two hundred pounds. “How about I don’t try to kill you and you don’t try to kill me?”

“Deal,” I said.

“Now get me up,” she said, struggling to sit. “And get some of the young ones in here to clean up the place. I want all my jars in my room. If I gotta live here with this pain in my ass, we might as well keep a tidy living room.” She snapped my bra and chuckled when I jumped. No way I’d ever understand Ant Eater.

“You still want to live together after I nearly choked you to death?” If anything good had to come out of the afternoon, I hoped I could at least end the nightmare roommate situation.

She adjusted the American flag bandana around her neck. “I don’t want your dirty undies hanging next to mine either, hot stuff. But I don’t see anyone else around here who wants to live with you while Rex is out for blood.”

“What?”

She seemed to enjoy my shock. “Yeah.” She paused for a long, hacking cough that brought tears to her eyes. “Assholes like that will zero in on a weak spot. You.” She braced her hands on her knees. “I was getting to that in the diner before your boyfriend pulled a gun on me.”

I wanted to remind her she had a shotgun pointed at my chest at the time, but I stopped myself.

She grinned and wiped her eyes on her bandana. “You might be from another world, but after today, I got hope.”

“Me too,” I told her. I may not have mastered my powers, but I had a feeling I was on my way. Or I could at least handle myself. As for Rex, well, we’d just have to see.

Ant Eater seemed to read my mind on that one. “Rex won’t come round.” She eyed her shotgun. “Mine’s bigger than his.”

I’d known we weren’t completely safe here, or anywhere, but…I glanced back at the rapidly thinning crowd. “Don’t we have a deal with the werewolves?”

Ant Eater succumbed to another coughing fit.

“It should be no sweat,” Frieda said. “Frankly, I’m more nervous about the politics. The Alpha wants to use you to clean up the place. Only Rex is gunning for him hard. If you screw up, or if Rex kills you, the Alpha looks weak.”

Oh great. Kill me to get to some guy I’ve never even met before.

Frieda tugged at her soot stained corset top. “You okay, babe?” she asked Ant Eater, who nodded, face red, as she hunkered over to catch her breath. “Come on inside. Both of you. You’ll feel better after a shower and a change of clothes. Andrea and some of the wolves headed to the Goodwill in Monroe City.”

While Ant Eater shuffled inside, I turned to Frieda. “I’m sorry about these,” I said, rubbing at the leather pants she’d lent me. A hunk of gravel dislodged from the pants and clattered to the deck.

“Well,” she said watching the gravel bounce under a petrified towel, “like the saying goes: it’s not what you lose, it’s what you do with what you have left.”

“Who said that?” I asked, following her through the screened door. “Maya Angelou?”

“Oprah.”

Amazingly, the red smoke had whooshed away as fast as it had appeared. But dang, we’d sure made a wreck out of the place. Frieda helped me hoist the saggy brown couch upright. We planted Ant Eater on it. I helped Frieda and a few of the younger witches clean up the broken glass, then they headed out, leaving me with a sleeping Ant Eater. I was about ready to sit down myself when Andrea the Annoying banged on the screened door. I don’t know why she bothered because she barged right in before I could invite her…or tell her to scram.

She stepped her high heeled boots daintily around an overturned coffee table. “Heard about your accident.” She tried to contain a snigger but couldn’t. “Pity. Power struggles are always so messy. I wouldn’t want to end up on the wrong side of one…bloody, bloody, bloody.”

“Thanks for the sentiment. Now leave.”

“I brought you some new clothes. Alpha’s orders,” she said, dumping a bag on the floor.

I wondered what was behind the personal delivery.

She flipped her platinum blond page boy hair. “Good thing you didn’t kill Ant Eater,” she said, breezing over to the couch with a paper shopping bag. “We had to make a special trip to Leather Up for her. My boss has a thing for the ladies.”

Oh, this was getting old. “Pack up your fake boobs and your fake hair and your fake attitude and scram before I show you what I did to Ant Eater.”

Andrea opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again.

“Now,” I said.

“Enjoy your new clothes,” she grumbled, the trailer door banging on its hinges behind her.

I picked my way past broken glass to retrieve the bag. All things being equal, I would have rather collapsed in a chair and slept for a week. But I did need to get cleaned up, and we had a lot bigger problems than my lack of sleep. Once Dimitri hauled his butt back here, I had to learn how to throw switch stars. And I had to somehow loosen up and let my powers flow—that was on me. Good thing I’d never backed down from a challenge, whether it was a room full of sugar-crazed three-year-olds or an out-of-control death spell.

At least I’d gotten something out of Ant Eater’s rampage. When I stopped worrying about myself and focused on the problem, I did get better at fighting her. Look to the outside.

An uncomfortable thought struck me. Perhaps Dimitri had been right to leave me on my own this afternoon. He’d given me a powerful instructor—me. I’d learned to trust my instincts. It was an unspoken kind of learning, a feeling that can’t be taught from the outside.

Accept the Universe. I toyed with the plastic handles of the bag.

I did get help in the form of a power I didn’t even know I had. And even though I still couldn’t pry it off, the helmet had come in handy against Ant Eater’s sword. While I was feeling brave, I looked inside the bag. Eek.

A pair of stained men’s cleats sat on top of what could best be described as a mumu.

“What am I, Mrs. Roeper?” I griped to myself. Nobody else was listening. I held the nylon day dress out in front of me. Yellow birds paraded, beaks open, over a loud green and blue checkered background. It would have made an ugly table cloth. As a sack-shaped dress? It was the most hideous thing I’d ever seen. As usual, Andrea had gotten the last word.

The final item in the bag—much to my relief—was a pair of granny panties. Those I could wear.

But I had bigger things to worry about than fashion. I took a shower and donned the mumu. It fit like a Hefty bag and was almost as attractive. I paired it with the scarf Frieda had used as a face mask. Lovely. At least the scarf around my waist gave me a hint of a figure, even if it was eerily reminiscent of a twist tie. I swung my arms. At least I could move in it.

I tugged on the cleats, along with the men’s gym socks I’d found rolled up inside. They were certainly more comfortable than my ruined oxfords and besides, they might help with my training. Athletes wore cleats when they threw baseballs. I’d wear them to hurl switch stars. Andrea, the tarnished angel of mercy, had actually given me a pretty good demon slayer outfit.

Pirate lifted his head. “Dimitri’s back.”

“Now how could you possibly know that?” I asked, moving toward the window.

“Doggie intuition,” he said, following me.

Darned if he wasn’t right. I pulled the dusty curtain aside and saw Dimitri and Scarlet pulling up in the Shoney’s parking lot. Well thank goodness. We had work to do.

***

Dimitri went straight into the Shoney’s and I decided to join him. In the time it had taken me to make it across the field, he’d settled into a back booth with a man who could have been Mister T’s evil twin. The guy wore stacks of jewelry, and his foul temper made me want to take three steps back.

Dimitri raised a brow at my outfit. “Lizzie, this is Fang. He’s the Alpha of the Blue Moon Pack.” He shook a packet of sugar into his coffee and stirred it, as nonchalant as if he were catching up with an old friend. I didn’t buy it for a second.

Fang, huh? So this was the wolf Rex needed to beat. Yikes. I hoped Fang held on to power long enough for us to rescue Grandma and get the heck out of Dodge. The large werewolf looked me over like I’d escaped from the loony bin. “This is the slayer? Not what I expected.” His eyes narrowed.

“I get that a lot,” I told him.

I slid into the booth next to Dimitri. This had disaster written all over it. If the Red Skulls didn’t need this guy’s protection, I would have been out of there faster than you could say “dead demon slayer.”

Fang leaned his meaty arms on the table. “The black souls hovering around here are a threat to my pack. Get rid of them by midnight tomorrow, or all bets are off.” He glared at us, clearly expecting a challenge.

Dimitri merely raised a brow.

“Fair enough,” I said. I’d have to trust myself on this one.

“We’ll throw some switch stars after this,” Dimitri said, as if we did it all the time.

“Sure,” I said a little too quickly, “I might as well take some target practice.”

Dimitri’s hand found mine and gave it a squeeze. “You ready, Lizzie?”

“Yes,” I said, getting up to leave. I was as ready as I’d ever be.

Chapter 12

Well thank God and hallelujah. I slipped two fingers into the delicately carved holes of the switch star. Think of it as a tricked-out Frisbee. The switch star was flat and round, about the shape of a small dinner plate. Five blades curled around the edge. They’d been dull in Dimitri’s hands. When I touched them, they glowed.

Dimitri guided my shoulders into position, his grip firm. “Remember your stance.”

The evening breeze whipped a few loose tendrils of hair into my face, tickling my nose. I resisted the urge to scratch and instead studied the target, a fifty-gallon plastic drum that had once held Grade A Lard, or so it said in industrial block letters on the side. Cliff and Hillary’s tip-top arteries would have clogged at the sight of it.

We stood far back from the village of trailers that dotted the grassland behind Shoney’s. In theory, we were at least a football field away from prying eyes. In reality, several of the werewolves had followed us. They’d pulled up a few ramshackle sofas and chairs and, of course, Andrea perched on the end of the shabby gold divan closest to Dimitri. She wore a leather bustier overflowing with cleavage and had kept busy painting her nails and flirting loudly with every werewolf within a half mile.

Like I cared. She was small potatoes compared to what Grandma was going through. Scarlet had spent the afternoon in the nearest thing she could find to a Yardsaver shed, an empty dumpster back behind the restaurant. She’d reported Grandma was still trapped in the first layer of hell, holding on with everything she had, fighting Vald as he tried to suck her down into the second level with him. I had to get Grandma out of there.

The witches had gathered in the nearby woods for a purification and strengthening ceremony. Seems I wasn’t invited to that one.

“Give me some space,” I told Dimitri. Only one way to tell if I was getting the hang of this.

I eyed Pirate, sitting obediently on Sidecar Bob’s lap. Pirate liked to holler out words of encouragement right as I was throwing. “You hush now, Pirate,” I said, drawing back to throw. He wouldn’t last a minute on a golf course.

“Me? I didn’t say a word. Except to wish you good luck. What’s the matter with good luck? You could use some luck right now.”

I brought my throwing arm down, re-focused. A little bit of magic wouldn’t hurt either. Look to the outside. Accept the universe. Sacrifice yourself. As much as I wanted to save Grandma, I wasn’t too crazy about that last one.

The star felt weightless in my hand. I can do this. I was born to do this. I was the only one who could kill a demon. Once I figured out my switch stars. I whipped the star back and fired it toward the target.

“Incoming!” Pirate hollered. The witches scattered as my switch star hurtled toward their sacred circle. Blast! I cringed as it crashed right through one oak tree, then another, and another, cleaving the tops right off.

“Watch it!” I yelled as tree limbs rained down on the coven.

The switch star circled high in the air like a boomerang and plunged straight for my head, its razor-sharp blades a whirl of lightning. I ducked. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. The star smacked into the ground in front of Dimitri. I glanced back. He didn’t look happy.

Andrea’s laughter rang out, clear and bright, above the guffaws of the other werewolves.

Dimitri dug my star out of the dirt and handed it back to me.

“Don’t say anything,” I warned him.

“I’m not,” he said. Then he leaned close, “relax,” he said, low so that even the wolves couldn’t hear. “Stop trying to control it so much and let it fly.”

I sighed. Easier said than done.

Sidecar Bob’s wheelchair crunched over the discarded plastic cups and rusty beer cans littering the ground. “You got some distance on that last one.” He shook his head. “They’ll just have to remember, no matter how bad it looks, you are the fated slayer.” He tugged on his gray goatee for a moment. “You are the slayer, right?”

“So they say,” I told him. “You should have been there this afternoon.” If that hadn’t proved I was up to the job, nothing would. I’d shown I could live through a death spell. Of course in the last half hour, I’d also managed to decapitate the Shoney’s Big Boy. No getting around it. Those switch stars were unpredictable. According to legend, I was supposed to be a natural at this. My Great, Great, (however many Greats) Aunt Evie had practically popped out of the womb throwing switch stars.

I blew out a breath. Focus.

Then I threw three more into the dirt. Dimitri pulled me aside, taking me several yards into the target range. He stood close, his face earnest. “Okay, tell me what you were thinking on that one.”

No doubt, he expected a pithy answer. Well, I was getting too frustrated to wax poetic.

“Lizzie,” he said intently, rubbing his palms up and down my arms, as if he could draw it out of me. “Reach deep down. You’re hiding.”

He didn’t know the half of it.

Dimitri wrapped a finger around a section of my hair, half mashed to my head from my exertions this afternoon. He rubbed it between his fingers like it, I, was something special. “You can do it, Lizzie. You just need to let go. Sacrifice yourself.”

His touch wound through my body.

“I understand,” I said, wishing that were true.

For being a natural, I was sure working hard. Still, I had to get this by tomorrow night. We had to do the job for the werewolves in less than twenty four hours. I’d never gone to work less than fully prepared and I sure wasn’t going to start now.

No rest for the wicked. I pulled another switch star from the hanging plant hook I’d jammed onto my scarf belt. The switch star’s blades radiated and spun. I clutched my fingers until I felt them dig into the metal holes. I drew back, fired. The star flashed through the air and dropped to the ground like a dead weight. It sprayed a shower of dirt and grass about ten feet in front of me.

I held my breath as a wave of dust blew over us. In the moment’s calm, I distinctly heard one werewolf say to another, “I think she’s getting worse.” I would have been insulted if I hadn’t feared they were right.

Let go. Sacrifice yourself.

I didn’t know how.

“Again,” Dimitri said.

I nodded, and reached for another star.

***

I practiced until the sun started to fade. The wolves and even Sidecar Bob and Pirate had wandered away by then.

Dimitri stood by me.

“What is it?” he asked, as I watched Scarlet in the parking lot behind the Shoney’s. She was climbing out of the dumpster. Behind her, the sun cast purple shadows over the horizon. Her red hair stuck together, stringy and greasy. Her T-shirt, wet with sweat, clung to her curves and hitched under her bra strap. And, phew, she no doubt smelled like the Deluxe Sanitation Master she’d been calling home lately.

“Can we take a break?” I asked Dimitri. “I’m starving.”

“Sure,” he nodded. “I’ll get us something to eat.”

I couldn’t help but grin as he made his way toward the same entrance Scarlet had used.

“Nice work, by the way,” he called out over his shoulder.

I waved back at him. There was more work to do.

Scarlet had been channeling the first layer of hell for a good chunk of the day. The witches had been tight lipped about what she’d discovered. With Ant Eater in charge, I was firmly out of the loop.

I loaded up my switch star belt and made my way toward the restaurant. Through the windows, I saw Scarlet meet Frieda at one of the back booths, within view of the dumpster. Blast it. I stretched my cramped fingers and tried to walk casually. Their chicken fingers baskets arrived in record time. Frieda must have ordered early.

This was it. I’d have to make do with the time I had.

Back at the Red Skull, I’d never made it into the Yardsaver to confess to Grandma that I didn’t take the potion. Now, I had even bigger problems and no Grandma. I was dying to know what Scarlet had been doing in there. Not that I expected to conjure up whatever these witches did in the Cave of Visions. But if there was a tiny bit of my grandma in there…

I clambered up on a stack of wooden produce flats and slipped inside the rotting dumpster. If I thought the acrid smell of garbage burned my nose from the outside—jiminy Christmas—try standing on the stuff. I cringed as I sank down to my ankles in the remains of this morning’s Rootin’ Tootin’ Breakfast bar. The back of my mouth watered. Don’t heave. I didn’t know how Scarlet did it.

A cockroach landed on my shoulder. “Off! Off! Off!” I leapt and flung it away. The thing shot to the other side of the dumpster. I hoped.

However bad it was in here, it had to be a million times worse for Grandma.

I swallowed hard. “Grandma?” I focused on her ten ton diesel voice, the way she cocked a grin. “I don’t know if I had to come in here to tell you this, but, well, I’m here now.” The garbage shifted under me, and I had to adjust my stance.

“I want to let you know I’m working on things, getting better.” I rubbed my arms. I felt so alone. “I will figure this out.” I paused as tears welled behind my eyes. “Then again, you always seemed to know that.”

I scanned the darkness for something, anything to show she heard me. “I’m doing pretty well with the Truths. They sure helped me pitch Ant Eater on her rear this afternoon.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Thought you’d enjoy hearing that.” I sighed. “But the whole idea of sacrifice is so hard for me. Sacrifice myself. I don’t know. I like myself. I don’t want to change. Maybe I don’t know how.” I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. “But I’m working on it. I am.”

Muffled voices sounded outside the dumpster. No, I needed more time. “Grandma, while I’m here, I need to tell you something else.”

Why did this have to be so hard?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry I thought you were crazy when you showed up at my house. I’m sorry I made you drag Pirate into this. I’m sorry I got grossed out by the raccoon liver and the animal pelts, and I’m sorry I didn’t drink the protection potion you worked so hard to give me. I should have told you. I tried to tell you. But when that didn’t happen, I should have told somebody else. I understand that now. If I hadn’t messed things up, you might still be here instead of—” I couldn’t even say it. I didn’t want to think about Grandma being taken by Vald. She must have been so scared.

“I’ll bet you tried to kick him in the balls.” My voice hitched with tears. “You probably got him a few times. Knowing you.” I wiped at my face. “Well hang in there. I’m coming.” I laughed despite myself, and self-consciously smoothed my hair behind my ears. My fingers touched the edges of the bronze helmet. “And, yes, Dimitri did this to me. He’s…complicated,” I said in the understatement of the year. The emerald glowed warm against my fingers. “Still, you might end up liking him. I do. I just wish I knew what he wants out of all this.” I couldn’t shake the idea that he might not have my best interests at heart.

“But don’t you worry about that. You be strong. You fight. I’ll come for you soon.” Grandma knew I could do this. I did too.

***

Nine hours later, I was regretting every word I’d spoken in that flipping dumpster.

I’d promised her I could do this. I launched another switch star into the dirt, like the seven before it. I squinted my eyes closed as the cool night breeze blew back a wave of dust. Hells bells. For a good chunk of the night, I’d blamed the werewolves and their loud partying for my lack of aim. At three a.m., they’d finally settled down and I’d run out of excuses.

Of course Dimitri had stayed with me the entire time. I wish I could have said I’d grown blasé about his presence, or his touch. But I don’t like to lie.

I rubbed my eyes as his boots crunched behind me.

Keep your distance.

Repeat as necessary.

And uncurl those toes immediately.

It had become my personal mantra, except for the toe curling part. That was simply an annoying side effect—one I’d conquer soon enough. I stared out at the trees at the edge of the practice field, willing myself to stay strong until I could look at Dimitri without wanting to wrap myself around him like Pirate on a pork chop.

I was on edge, tired. My defenses were weak.

“What are the Three Truths?” he asked, smooth as silk on naked skin.

I gritted my teeth. “Look to the outside. Accept the universe. Sacrifice yourself.” I threw another switch star. This one skipped over the field in front of us like a flat stone on a pond.

He moved in close behind me. “Focus, Lizzie. Lives depend on this.”

Like I didn’t know that. “Thanks for the pressure.”

I could feel him like a solid wall behind me. Sexy, powerful and completely not helping.

“You don’t understand the Three Truths or you’d have released more of your powers.”

I knew that. I knew all of it. Except how to put everything together. And here he was trying to tear down my walls when I needed everything I had just to keep myself together.

“Look, hot stuff,” I said, turning to look him straight in the eye. Darn it. He did look concerned. If anything, though, it made me even more frustrated. “I’m doing the best I can. And I think it’s darned good considering last week I had a home, a job and a bunch of friends waiting to celebrate my thirtieth birthday. Now I’m supposed to automatically understand three mysterious Truths while doing a hit job for a bunch of werewolves before my grandma gets slaughtered by a demon.”

The lines around his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “Hot stuff?”

Oh no. We did not want to explore that right now.

I planted my hands on my hips. “How are you helping me?”

He flashed a crooked smile. “I tossed you in with Ant Eater.”

I gaped at him. He left me alone with that psycho on purpose? I couldn’t believe it. “Then as protectors go, you stink.” Damn the man. “And stop grinning at me.”

“You looked outside yourself,” he pointed out.

At the risk of life, limb and dog.

He took me by the shoulders and I felt everything, down to the night breeze on my cheeks and his warm fingers through my lumpy dress sleeves. The raw, almost exposed part of me wanted to cover up and run for the hills. The part of me that wanted to jump his bones turned a few cartwheels. So much for my iron control.

He drew me closer. “I’m willing to bet you reached for the death spell only when you Looked to the Outside. You stopped worrying about yourself and focused on the problem.”

Easy for him to say. “I almost killed Pirate and Ant Eater.”

“You wouldn’t let that happen,” he said, his lips inches from mine.

Oh lordy. Why was I getting turned on during a discussion of my particularly horrible afternoon?

“You Accepted the Universe.” He brushed his lips against my forehead until my toes curled like the traitors they were. “You did,” he insisted heartily. “Nothing happens by chance. The tools and the people to aid you will appear. You found what you needed this afternoon. And I am the person you need. You found me on the road,” he said, eyes twinkling.

That was a nice way of putting it.

“Accept help, Lizzie,” he said, too earnest to resist. “You need to be open to the universe if you expect to rescue your grandma. And you’ll definitely need it if you want to defeat Vald.”

Fear tickled my stomach. “I don’t know if I can do it,” I told him.

His eyes searched mine. “You have to kill him, Lizzie.” It felt like he was on the verge of saying more when he abruptly let me go.

Dimitri shoved a hand through his thick, dark hair. “You can do it when you Sacrifice Yourself. Look beyond what you think you know,” he said earnestly. “I’ve seen you, Lizzie. You’ve spent your whole life burying your instincts. Step back from that. Search for who you really are. Trust yourself.”

“Okay,” I nodded. Trust myself. I bent over and stretched my hands to my toes, wrapping my fingers around the ends of my second-hand cleats. He might as well have told me to fly.

“Take this,” he said.

I straightened and found him holding a blue Gap bag out for me. “This is from the universe.”

Inside, I found khaki pants and a white button down shirt. “Dimitri!” I couldn’t believe it. “This is perfect.”

It truly was. I pulled the pants and shirt from the bag, holding them up one at a time. They were just like the ones I’d ruined. And he even got the sizes right. It didn’t surprise me that Dimitri had taken in every detail of my former self. It was uncanny at times how precise he could be. But never in a million years would I have expected this.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“Are you alright?” He asked, clearly unsure what to make of my reaction.

I nodded, afraid I’d tear up if I said more. I didn’t know what to say. No one had ever done anything like that for me before. Growing up, when Cliff and Hilary had bought me gifts, they gave me what they liked, not what I liked.

Even for my thirtieth birthday, I planned the dinner, maybe a little afraid someone wouldn’t. And I specified no gifts. I didn’t want to expect them.

“I’m almost afraid to tell you, but there are shoes in there too.” He eyed me uncomfortably. “Those oxfords you like. Size eight.” It had to be the closest Dimitri would ever come to rambling.

My head stopped up and my giggle came out more like a snarf.

“Are you okay?” Dimitri frowned. The man would run headlong into a demon infested biker bar, but he seemed terrified I’d break down in tears. So much for wanting me to get in touch with my feelings.

Screw it.

I pulled him down and kissed him thoroughly. Yeah, it was probably a mistake. That was the last rational thought I had for awhile as he devoured my mouth, to my complete and utter delight. His fingers traced my shoulders, trailed down my spine, up my sides, all the way…oh my.

Embarrassed, I pulled away. I could feel my face burning. It grew even redder when I saw the intense, exuberant expression on his face. “This doesn’t mean anything,” I told him.

“Of course not,” he replied blithely.

So much for my iron control.

He pulled me into the crook of his arm and gave a squeeze. “Anything to make you happy.”

“You did,” I said, enjoying the feel of him. Let him have his fun. No one had ever done anything like this for me.

I knew whatever was going on with Dimitri and me couldn’t be permanent. Once I learned to control my powers and rescued Grandma, I’d go back to teaching at Happy Hands. He’d race off to live his exotic Greek griffin life. I snuggled closer, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt, knowing I didn’t need to tease myself with any possibilities. But I could wish.

***

Back at the trailer, I grabbed a quick shower and changed into my new clothes. They felt right. I wondered if Dimitri knew how much he’d given me.

Pirate padded into the front room where I sat on the edge of the brown couch, tying my shoes. He’d been sleeping. “You coming to bed?” he asked, ending the question with a humongous doggie yawn.

I tugged on the laces. “Too much on my mind.”

Pirate nudged my leg with his nose. “You want to talk about it? You know how I like talking about things with you.”

I sighed. “Sorry, guy.” I needed to learn how to sacrifice myself and while I had no idea where to start, I knew it wasn’t here. Pirate was the least introspective creature on the planet.

“Oh, I see. It’s important enough to keep you out all night with Dimitri, but as soon as I want to talk, it’s ‘never mind.’”

I sunk back into the couch, trying to ignore him.

Dog tags jingled at my feet. “You know what your problem is? You never let anybody help you.”

“You’re a dog!”

“Now that hurt. Fine. If you want to think about your problems all by yourself, then you do that. I know when I’m not wanted.” He turned to walk back into the bedroom.

“Pirate…” I said, looking away, trying to think of a way to reason with a twelve pound dog.

He spun back around. “What? You want to talk? Let’s talk.”

“No.” I caught a faint glow outside. I heaved myself out of the couch and pressed my nose to the window. “Stay right here.”

Light poured from the dumpster. Scarlet must be channeling something big. I banged out through the screened door and jogged across the field. The hulking remains of refrigerators, washing machines and cars cast dark shadows over the ground.

Grandma staggered out from behind the dumpster and my heart stopped. Whole sections of her long gray hair hung in shreds. Blood clotted her head. Her arms twisted at painful and unnatural angles.

Was it really her?

I approached slowly. The scent of garbage and—was that a tang of ozone?—growing stronger. Sidecar Bob had said it himself—a demon can take on many forms.

The creature perked up when she saw me.

“Grandma?”

“Shit, Lizzie. This isn’t the god damned Easter parade. Get over here!”

I wanted to skip. It was her! My mind reeled. “Oh wow. Grandma!” Her back hunched at an odd angle and she looked ready to collapse at any moment. “You look terrible!”

“Thanks for reminding me,” she huffed. “No. Don’t touch me,” she said as I came close. “I’m on borrowed power. It’d be like jamming your finger in a light switch.” She struggled to stand as straight as she could. “Now, when are you going to stop throwing switch stars at the dirt and get me the hell out of here?”

My throat had all but closed up. I swallowed. “I’m trying, but I’m not there yet.” My excuse sounded lame, even to me. “I’m so close. I know I have the power. I just can’t seem to find it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what your problem is?” She threw her arms out like an Italian grandmother. “You’re so busy worrying, you’re not doing. You’re going through the motions. And frightening a lot of people from the sounds of it.” So she’d heard about Ant Eater. “Your mind is too crowded. ‘I didn’t take the potion. I don’t want to feel all exposed and vulnerable in front of Dimitri. Ant Eater is a big bully.’”

“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “How did you know about the potion?”

“You told me.”

No, I didn’t. I never had a chance to tell her.

“Shut your mouth, Lizzie. You’re catching flies.” She eyed me, hands on her hips. “Did you come to the Cave of Visions to keep a secret? Honestly, Lizzie, sometimes I don’t understand you at all.”

She’d heard me in the dumpster. She’d actually heard me!

“And what the hell is with that emerald skull cap? You look like a rapper.”

My hand flew to my head. “It’s Dimitri’s. I gave him power over me. I had to do it.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. You have enough going on in your life right now and you don’t need to be wasting time with a man who doesn’t know how to stay in one place.”

I blinked once, twice. “Are you lecturing me?” At a time like this?

“What? You don’t think you need it?” She huffed and tossed her long gray hair over her shoulders. “It’s like when Frieda gave herself seven fingers on each hand. The whole time Ant Eater brewed the Erasure herbs, I made Frieda talk to me about that man of hers. Kept her mind off it. I told her she’d better take the chance and yap away because that was the one and only time I wanted to hear about Eddie’s smelly socks.”

I’d bet anything Dimitri had his socks dry cleaned. But, okay, if she wanted to know, “We started off bumpy, but I really like Dimitri.” More than I wanted to admit. “He’s driven and determined,” I told her. That sounded better than mysterious and studly. “He wants to help me.” And take care of me. It was a new feeling for me and I didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Grandma’s image flickered. “It’s your call. Just be careful. And watch the werewolves too. The mean one’s about to make a power play and our coven is a perfect excuse to cause trouble. Even if you get out of here before it all goes down, those wolves will get their pound of flesh. They don’t do anything without getting double back.”

Yikes. Maybe she could tell me what to do. “Ant Eater wants me to get rid of black souls for them. What are they?”

“Suicide for most of us. Training for you. If you decide to do it, bring Dimitri. You might just learn something.” Her image flickered again. This time she yelped in pain and held her side as an invisible energy seared through her.

“Grandma!” It took everything I had not to touch her.

She clutched her abdomen. “Because, Lizzie, I don’t want you to come after me if you don’t think you can do it. I’m an old cuss. I’ve had my time. Don’t let Vald take you, you hear?”

“No. I have to get you. I mean, look at your hands.” Large holes sliced through her palms, as if an invisible blade cut her open right before my eyes.

“Oh yeah. Let’s talk about how much my life sucks right now. Why can’t you stay on track?”

Unbelievable.

I fought to look her in the face. Her skin had taken on an unearthly pallor and the wounds in her head began to bleed fresh. I had to get her out of there. “Tell me how to sacrifice myself. Just tell me, and I’ll do it right now.”

She shook her head. “You have to figure it out yourself. But dammit, Lizzie. Think about it.” An invisible blade sliced her neck. Blood flowed freely from the bubbling wound. “Shit,” she gurgled. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

Grandma clapped a hand over her neck. “If you cry, I’m going to beat the shit out of you. Now think about it. What does it mean to sacrifice yourself? Who are you really?”

I started to reply.

“Hup! I’ll tell you who you are, Lizzie. You’re a brilliant little snit who types out her grocery list on the computer, never had a library late fee and won’t take a dump without planning it on your calendar. I’m willing to bet Pirate was the only half ass thing you had to deal with before I showed up at the door.”

“I’m not—”

She threw a hand up. “The night we met, you had timed directions to a restaurant you said yourself you’d already been to!”

As if I’d wanted to be late to my birthday party. “I’m organized.”

“You’re wound tighter than a gnat’s ass! Let go! Trust your instincts. Stop thinking of every negative thing that could happen five miles down the road.”

Well shoot. I didn’t know what to think. It felt safe to know exactly how my life would turn out. That’s why I planned everything so precisely. And why I stayed in my job for so long. And I didn’t date unpredictable men.

I’d worked my whole life to be normal, accepted. Now Grandma wanted me to blow the whole thing out of the water. Slowly it began to come together. “That’s what Dimitri meant when he said to sacrifice myself,” I said for my own benefit, as much as hers.

“Exactly.” She made a show of swooning. Oh geez. I hoped it was a show.

Grandma popped back up, a little more spry than I would have expected. Her energy surged and her wounds disappeared. She almost looked like herself again.

Sacrifice myself. Okay. I could let go. A week ago, the mere thought would have given me hives. Now I felt giddy. I could do this. “Dimitri wants me to let go of myself.” I couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, Grandma. Dimitri said as much to me. But then again, since when do men make any sense, right?”

“Oh yeah, I’m in hell and now you’re grinning and making jokes.” She waggled a finger, only half kidding. “Now do what you have to do to get me out of here. Besides,” she added, “we’ve got some catching up to do. We missed out on a lot of years.”

I planted my back against the outside of the dumpster. The night sky shone rich with stars. “I wish I could start over, Grandma.”

“Zip it. If there’s one thing I can’t stand is whining. Besides, I heard it all in the Cave of Visions. You’re forgiven. Unless you keep apologizing. Then I’m going to be pissed all over again.”

“Can you at least tell me why?” I asked her. “Why did Vald come after me that night? You must have known something could happen, or you wouldn’t have tried to protect me. Ant Eater says he’s after my power.”

She huffed so hard her nostrils flared. “Well, cupcake, it’s like this. You probably keep hearing about your Great, Great, Great—whatever—Aunt Evie. Lord knows I have. Aunt Evie locked Vald away in the second layer of hell. Aunt Evie was the most powerful slayer in the last thousand years. Aunt Evie made the world’s best potato salad. But what you won’t hear is that Aunt Evie had nothing on you. She never learned how to seize a demon’s vox like you did that day in your bathroom.”

“You mean the green light thingies?”

“If you want to call them that, then yeah. She had the power to lock Vald away.” Grandma brought up a finger. “You have the power to destroy him. Capiche?”

I nodded. Destroy Vald. Yow.

Grandma nodded. “He’s been out of control for too long. You have to take him down. He’s unhatching a particularly nasty plan, worse than anything I’m going to face down here, I’ll tell you that. We’re not sure what he’s up to, but you play a big part. Now I think—aw, shit.” Her image flickered.

“What?” Are you in pain?” I couldn’t stand to see her like this.

“Thanks for reminding me, but it’s not that.” She stared over my shoulder.

Voices called from the field behind me. I turned. Ant Eater headed our way, trailed by at least a half a dozen werewolves.

“Tell them to stay the hell away from me,” Grandma ordered. “I can’t keep my energy with this many auras cluttering the air. Dammit! This is important.”

“Stay back!” I called to the mob, waving my hands in the air.

“Don’t worry. Forget about them!” she demanded, as Ant Eater and the wolves surged forward. Grandma’s image flickered and she let off a load of cuss words that would have made my adopted mother reach for her rosary.

She spoke quickly. “Vald wants you. He wants your power. You will take an unconventional path to hell. That’s okay. You have to—flisbit.” She faded out, then flickered in again. “You have to prepare. Let go of yourself. Look to the outside. Accept the universe. Sacrifice yourself. And remember—”

Ant Eater stormed up in a rage. “Get your ass over here right now.”

“What about Grandma?” I hollered. “Wait! Grandma! What kind of unconventional path?” I demanded as her image crackled one last time and disappeared.

Ant Eater planted her hands on her hips. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She couldn’t see her. None of them could.

Ant Eater seized my shoulder and forced me to face her. “We need you now. Rex made his move. The wolves have got the whole god damned coven backed into a corner.” She cocked her gun.

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t even bother to question my new role. I knew it had changed this afternoon. Here was the test. Deep down, I ached to spend a few more minutes with Grandma, but she would have been the first person to tell me I needed to let it go. Our conversation was now in the past. I had to look to the future. And for once, I was ready.

Chapter 13

I followed Ant Eater to a rusty trailer near the woods. Werewolves jammed the entrance.

Rex stood at the door, a rifle slung over his shoulder. “Your asses are mine,” he told us, way too pleased with himself.

“Stuff it.” Grandma needed me. We didn’t have time to get sucked into werewolf politics.

“Well that was brave,” Ant Eater commented. “Stupid. But brave.”

We pushed our way into the mish mash, the air hot with bodies and alive with voices. I found myself face to chest with most of the werewolves. Danger rolled off them in palpable waves. Every step we took, they jostled us back, as if they couldn’t wait to take it further.

Dimitri’s emerald hummed, which wasn’t the best sign. The bronze metal of my helmet snaked down and wound around my neck. At least it earned me a little respect. The werewolves parted like I was tossing firecrackers. The ones nearest to me caught their breath and muttered their surprise. Something told me these men, these creatures, didn’t gasp like girls every day. I drew my hand up, instinctively.

A rough looking fellow with a nose ring winced as the metal around my neck churned and pulsed, like a liquid noose. You got it, buddy.

The metal locked into place and cooled to the touch. It felt like a metal collar, the kind gladiators wore to the arena. Please don’t let me be a gladiator, I thought as the emerald bounced against the front of my throat.

“Nice trick.” Fang stood in the center of the room, his Mr. T mohawk unmistakable. I stepped forward before Ant Eater could shove me, which no doubt she would have enjoyed, if only because it took the edge off. I could hear her behind me; rap, tap, tapping her nails against a stack of what had to be six or seven cases of Jack.

“Cut it out,” I told her. We needed to show strength right now. The Red Skull witches were safe (relatively) and alive (for now) thanks to the good graces of these werewolves. Sure Rex had been gunning for us from the start, but for the most part, the werewolves had earned our respect. They’d stuck their necks out and taken us in after Vald demolished the Red Skull bar. From his stance in the middle of the room, it was clear Fang still held power. And now he needed to discuss something. Well, fine. But we didn’t need to look nervous about it.

No need to borrow trouble.

The Red Skulls stood behind Fang, cut off from the werewolves and from any means of escape. I caught a glimpse of Frieda near the kitchenette. Sidecar Bob was nowhere in sight—probably pushed to the back of the crowd. Not at bad place to be right now, I mused as Rex glared a hole through me. I wondered what we did to warrant this showdown. Fang had what he wanted—my promise to get rid of the black souls. Maybe that wasn’t enough anymore. Heaven help us.

“Bring the wolf forward,” Fang commanded. The werewolves behind me hollered a litany of curses.

Just my luck. We’d ticked them off.

Nose ring brushed past me, carrying a young woman. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen. The girl’s wide frame and sleek muscles sagged. Her long dark hair was tangled in knots. He placed her in front of Fang. She floundered pitifully as she tried to stand.

If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was drunk. She pitched sideways. Oh my word, she was going over. “Grab her!” I rushed for her and managed to catch her under the armpits.

The rest of her body fell to the floor hard, taking me with it. I whacked my tailbone, but managed to keep her head from hitting the floor. Her eyes rolled back and she gurgled. “Are you all right?” My butt throbbed. She had to be hurting too. “What’s your name?” I tried to pull her into a sitting position. She didn’t seem to notice. Her breathing was labored and shallow.

“Hold on,” I told her. “Excuse me, folks.” I looked up to the three dozen or so people who could have shown a little concern. “Can we get a little help here?”

Fang stood over us, scowling. “Fine time to worry about her now, demon slayer.”

Oh, let’s not be catty. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Who cast this spell?” he thundered, speaking to me but clearly making this a group discussion. “Was it you, demon slayer? Or the devil witches?”

“Try neither.” I hoped.

He grew angrier by the second, and it didn’t help that he had about twenty friends ready and quite eager to tear us apart.

In an instant, he seized me by the throat and lifted me off the floor. I fought a wave of panic and clutched at his hands as my feet kicked at nothing but air. Unbelievable. The man could have strangled me with one large, meaty hand. Except he gripped the bronze choker at my throat. I smothered a yelp. Score one for Dimitri and his emerald.

The crowd hushed as Fang drew his face inches from mine. “Your witches say they don’t understand what’s wrong with my daughter.” He jerked me back and forth until my teeth rattled, as if he could shake the answer out of me. “Why, demon slayer? Why is this is happening to our women and children? They can’t move. They can’t speak. They’re the walking dead.” I could see the fear in his eyes. Despite his bravado, he cared about these people. “Tell me what you did to them.”

“I swear I don’t know what happened,” I gurgled, dizzy from the onslaught. I looked past him to the witches. They huddled at the far end of the trailer, stripped of their jars of magic. Frieda shook her head, sad, confused. Afraid. The werewolves had the Red Skulls backed into a corner. Literally. It wouldn’t take much for the night to erupt into violence, and none of us had any illusions of victory.

Fang dropped me roughly to my feet, and I pretended it didn’t scare the bejesus out of me. Just like that, the game had changed.

“How many women and children have been affected?” I asked him.

“Nine total. Six in the last hour alone.”

Holy moley.

“This is an insult,” he declared, as if the girl were nothing more than a rug on the floor.

I didn’t know how or why the witches could possibly be involved. The Red Skulls wouldn’t attack innocent people. Besides, we needed the wolves.

Ant Eater cleared her throat. Thank goodness. As Grandma’s second-in-command, she had to talk some sense into these animals. “Fuck you,” she said.

So much for diplomacy.

Rex’s lips curved into snarl. “I told you it was a bad decision to take in the witches. Look at what they’ve done to our pups. We can’t trust them, we can’t trust their magic, and their demon slayer can’t even throw a rock and hit something with it. How is such a Gamma supposed to get rid of the Black Souls? Fang is feeble and weak to trust them.”

Andrea curled behind Rex and planted a sloppy kiss on his neck. Oh yick. Now was not the time. “The witches need to pay,” she said.

“We have paid,” Ant Eater said, clearly annoyed. “None of you posers can axe a black soul. Lizzie made two disappear this afternoon.”

I did?

“The shadows,” she said, refusing to look at me as she clarified.

Yikes. The dark clouds hovering over Pirate and Ant Eater had been black souls. Clueless could be a perk sometimes.

Rex looked as surprised as I felt.

Ant Eater took full advantage. “Oh, that’s right, you didn’t see that because she did it while waltzing through a death spell that would have killed any one of you. So shut the fuck up and leave us alone. We’ll honor our end of the deal.”

The crowd murmured.

She scanned the multitude of faces, hands on her hips. “We’re not the reason your wolves are sick.”

“Bullshit,” hollered a wolf in the back.

“Yeah?” Ant Eater countered. “Fight fair and I’ll show you a spell that’ll rot your balls off!”

Voices erupted into chaos. Rex slammed his rifle butt down on the dirty linoleum until he had everyone’s attention again. “I say we kill them all,” Rex said, with obvious pleasure. “The Red Skulls have broken their contract. And now their leader mocks us.”

Way to go, Ant Eater.

“They promised,” he said, gesturing with the rifle like a TV evangelist. “They promised they would not cast mortal magic without provocation. She said it herself. The slayer cast a death spell. We can’t trust them. We have to kill them before they do any more damage.”

Oh, now he had no idea…

The crowd hollered until the trailer shook and I could no longer hear what anybody said.

Curse it all. We didn’t need this. The hospitality of the pack was the one thing standing between us and Vald. And now Rex just had to use my little run in with Ant Eater to stir up trouble. I’d bet my last switch star he was behind the sick werewolves. It would be the perfect way to cast doubt on Fang’s leadership and seize control of the pack. And what would happen to us then?

“The spell caused gagging, weakness, shortness of breath—” Rex bellowed. Testosterone hung thick in the air. Fang looked ready to snap.

Ant Eater gripped the sick girl’s hands and dragged her up.

“Let go of her!” Fang ordered.

I watched in horror as the Rex’s hands split into massive, furry, skeletal things. He drew his razor sharp claws back, ready to rip Ant Eater open.

“Hold it!” Fang commanded.

Rex wasn’t going to listen. Oh my God. He was going to kill her. And challenge Fang’s authority. And start a bloodbath.

Rex sliced his hand through the air in frustration.

For a split second, nobody moved.

Ant Eater blinked twice before hauling the sick girl over her shoulder. Call it bravery or sheer cussed stubbornness. She bent under the weight, keeping an eye on Fang the whole time. “No more using your people like party props,” she said. “She needs a doctor. Not this shit.”

Oh yeah, way to tick them both off. Problem was, Ant Eater was right.

Frieda moved forward, scared silly but prepared to take the girl. The werewolf with the nose ring stepped in and, more gently than I would have thought, he lifted her into his arms. They passed her back through the crowd, hopefully to someone who would actually take care of her.

Andrea shook with anger, her blonde hair falling into her eyes, her boobs practically popping out of her corset top. “You live and breathe by our good graces and you gutter rats have the nerve to insult us. Our leader,” she said the word with distaste, “might not be willing to hold you to the fire, but the rest of us are.”

Fang looked ready to rip her a new one. He dragged her backwards by her neck and threw her to the floor. She yelped in pain and scurried behind Rex. Fang’s face twisted into a mask of rage. “Our pack had none of these problems before we took in you witches and your corrupt spells.”

Ant Eater rested her hand on her revolver. “Hold up, asshole. That was a personal thing between the brat and me. We ended it this afternoon. None of you were invited as far as I can tell. And the Anaconda Spell doesn’t make you sick. It makes you dead.”

Right on, sister.

Rex seethed. “Of course the witch will claim this isn’t her fault. We should eliminate them now before they can cast any more of their death spells. I know a demon who is willing to pay big.”

Vald? He wanted to hand the whole coven over to a fifth level demon?

So much for rescuing Grandma. I’d be joining her if Rex had his way.

The werewolves erupted, pelting the witches with beer cans and bottles. A window shattered.

“Halt!” Fang ordered. “What I say goes and I haven’t made my decision yet.” While the crowd quieted down, he kept an eye on Rex and said, “The debt I owed to Dimitri is paid and then some. You witches are a menace.”

Andrea curled herself around Rex like a python. She snarled at Fang, showing as much disrespect as she dared. “For all you know, these witches killed your son,” she spat. Then to the group, she announced, “JR is missing. There is no second in command.”

Fang launched himself at her, ready to tear her throat out. Rex met him halfway, luring the pack master into a face off.

Ant Eater let out a string of curses that would make your hair curl. “Why does everything have to be a God damned pissing match?”

Like she was one to talk.

Violence could erupt at any second. The werewolves held the whole coven hostage. Any show of weakness could tip the balance.

I held my head high. Fake it ‘till you make it.

Sidecar Bob rolled haphazardly in the melee. He covered his head with his hands as pack members surged around him. Rex descended on Bob like a pit bull on a pork chop. He grabbed Bob by the ponytail and lifted him until his neck arched forward, open and exposed. The crowd jeered their approval.

Did I tell you I can’t stand bullies?

I started in for Rex, but before I could make it, the bulldozing took a deadly turn. I caught a glimpse of a dagger in Rex’s right hand.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

I plucked a switch star from my belt and let it fly. It whistled through the air and sliced clear through Bob’s hair. Rex leapt backward holding a shaking dagger and the remains of Bob’s ponytail.

I did it!

The crowd hushed and dropped back. Rex didn’t know what to do.

“Well that sure shut ‘em up,” Ant Eater said behind me.

The switch star flew back to me and I let it spin on my finger for an extra second or two, enjoying the reaction. I figured the universe could grant me a moment of indulgence.

“We’ll get your son back,” I told Fang. “And I’ll do what I promised about the black souls.”

Rex stood defiantly in the corner. He recovered from his defeat a little too quickly for my taste. I strolled deliberately toward him. I had a pretty strong hunch he was behind the poisonings. I stopped in front of him, tilting my chin up as I addressed the room. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, too.”

Rex snarled at me.

Fang, the ungrateful beast, was beyond ticked. He glowered at both of us, growling low in his throat. “I’d hate to have to kill you, Lizzie.”

I’ll bet.

Chapter 14

“We need a plan,” I told Ant Eater as she banged out of the trailer and practically sprinted across the field. Not smart with all the— “Ouch!” —holes littering the ground. I rubbed at the ankle I’d nearly twisted, but gave it up almost as soon as I’d started. We didn’t have time and, frankly, nobody cared but me.

“Did you see me throw that switch star?” I asked. Yes, I had to rub it in. “I think I finally got it. I let go of myself and pow!”

“In here,” Ant Eater pointed to a VW bus, abandoned near the edge of the woods.

“This is your plan?” Even in the dark, I found the brightly painted peace signs and stars obnoxious. And, phew, the thing smelled like weed and Big Macs.

“Trust me,” she said, ducking inside.

Fine. We didn’t have time to debate it.

“Rex has to be behind the sick wolves,” I said, crouching to fit as she slammed the back door behind us. I sat back and felt the beaded seat covers dig into my rear. It was a simple process of elimination. We didn’t do it. Fang had no reason to upset his power base. “Rex will benefit most.” And he sure didn’t waste any time making a run for the Alpha position.

“Nice job, Nancy Drew.” Ant Eater stumbled over an aluminum ice chest and the whole bus lurched. “Here’s the rub,” she said, pulling me close. “Fang’s son was the original second in command. He was no daisy ass, but he was a lot better than Rex. Now that he’s gone, Rex is going to make our lives hell.”

Ant Eater’s WWE style of diplomacy didn’t help any either. I’d met four-year-olds with more finesse. But now was not the time to discuss it.

“How do we even know JR is gone?” I asked her. I didn’t trust a word that came out of Andrea’s mouth. “Rex just wants to blame everything on us.”

She gave a pained look. “Yes and no.”

She knew more than she was telling me. Naturally. “Answer me straight or you don’t want to know where my next switch star is going.” I held her gaze, daring her to test me. “Are we behind any of this?”

“Yes.”

I leaned my head back against the side of the bus. “I don’t believe it.”

“Hold up. We didn’t make any werewolves sick if that’s what you’re asking. I’d bet anything Rex is poisoning his own people. Makes for a hell of a power play.”

It was the only thing that made sense. Rex wanted power and with JR out of the way, Fang was vulnerable. If Fang looked like he’d put the pack in danger by taking in the Red Skulls, he could be left open for a challenge. And who knew what Vald was willing to pay for us? But that still didn’t answer my question. I rubbed my eyes. “So what did we do?”

“You know you’re supposed to destroy black souls for the werewolves, right?”

Ah yes, the lovely assignment Ant Eater thrust on me. “What about it?”

“They’re gone.”

That should be a good thing, but from the look on her face, I could tell it wasn’t.

“Remember those shadows that used to lurk everywhere?” She studied me. “Come on, I know you saw two in our trailer.”

The shadows I saw above Pirate and Ant Eater. “What about them? You said back there I got rid of them.”

“I lied.”

Wonderful. “Then where’d they go?” I asked, knowing I probably didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Into JR. He’s been compromised.” She clicked her teeth together. “Bound to happen sooner on later, the way he’s been on your tail.”

“I never met JR.” I said slowly.

“He found you before we did.”

I stared at a wind chime hanging from the ceiling and tried to remember. “I didn’t see him.”

“Dimitri was out there guarding you, long before you met your grandma.”

I’d figured as much when Pirate had found his Phantom Menace. Sure all dogs bark at shadows in the backyard. Leave it to Pirate to find something real. But I didn’t know Dimitri brought friends. “Wait. Grandma Gertie only felt me when I was about to change. How could Dimitri know?”

“You’ll have to ask him.” She blew out a breath. “First we’d have to get him to admit he was actually skulking around in your rose bushes.” She changed direction. “Now, here’s where we’re screwed. JR, heir to the werewolf pack, was Dimitri’s backup. Like any asshole spy, he searched the house after you left, probably trying to guess where we were hiding out.”

“And Xerxes the demon came back.” My heart sank when I thought of that creature in my house again. Poor JR. I didn’t even know him and, yes, he was a jerk for wandering into my house uninvited, but nobody deserved to have a shrunken, razor-clawed demon on their tail, especially after I’d sent a few green glowy things through Xerxes’s skull.

“JR was attacked by black souls. A search party found him, strung out of his mind on your sofa.”

I knew my home had been invaded, but my stomach churned to think of JR attacked in my living room. “What are black souls?” I asked. Frieda had said something about black souls when she first told me about this suicidal quest.

“They’re trapped souls—too bad for heaven, too good for hell. If they don’t find their way to purgatory, the demons capture them and use them. These are nasty ass spirits. JR fought them off when they invaded your house.” She shook her head. “Gives me the willies.”

I couldn’t imagine what it would take to fight off a black soul, but if it made Ant Eater squeamish, it had to be bad.

“They didn’t possess him,” she said matter-of-factly. “At first. But they followed him. They’ll wear you down after a while, especially when you’ve got dozens of ‘em after you, like he did. Then he got caught up in the mess on the night the Red Skull bar imploded. A real fucked up situation. Nobody knew he was Dimitri’s second. And it seemed Dimitri was busy with you. He didn’t know his buddy was trapped until the next morning.”

So that’s why he’d raced off on the morning he was supposed to teach me to throw.

Oh my God. I’d been ready to drag him off his hog when all he wanted to do was go rescue his friend.

“This time, JR wasn’t as lucky. Scarlet and Dimitri found him face down behind the bar, possessed by black souls.”

Dimitri must not have seen him the night before, when he’d rushed inside, looking for my dog. A dog. I loved Pirate with everything I had, but guilt stabbed me in the gut when I thought of how I’d worried about an animal when there’d been a real person trapped in there.

“They’ll possess any body they can, make the person stark raving mad before they drain his energy and turn him into one of them.”

“Where is he?”

She shook her head. “Dimitri has him stashed in the woods somewhere. Fang found out right before he dragged us into the trailer. Dimitri thought he could trust Fang. Just goes to show you werewolves are animals. Doesn’t matter that JR is a big boy, or that he worked with Dimitri all the time. No telling what Fang’s gonna do if you don’t handle it.”

We had to fix this. Wait. I had to fix this. “How much time does he have?”

“A day, maybe less,” she replied, the light from the van’s overhead light glittering off her gold tooth.

Why did everything have to be a frickin’ emergency? “Why didn’t you tell me?” I could have at least tried to prevent this. I was the slayer.

“Ha! As I recall, you happened to be cursing me with the Anaconda Spell. When I came to, the black souls had fled the trailer. Means they’d found an open body to possess. I didn’t know who until Scarlet told me.”

“Dimitri, then.” The jerk. “Why didn’t he find me?”

“Probably because you were off skulking around the garbage dump.”

Talking to Grandma. I would have done anything to have her with me right now. This was such a mess.

I shook off the self pity. I had to try to save JR. He was Dimitri’s friend, and besides, he’d been out there helping us. Those sounded like much more noble reasons than the sheer fact they were going to kill us if I failed.

“Tell me,” I said. “I have the power to pull these black souls out of JR and help them find their way.”

“Not exactly,” Ant Eater leaned close, elbows on her knees. A tentative knock sounded at the door. “Go away!” she hollered. “Now you listen to me, missy. Your job ends when you pull the souls out of JR. Let them find their own way.”

It didn’t seem right.

“You’ve got a job to do. You do it. And only it. Don’t try to channel Mother fucking Theresa.”

How could she say that? “But I could save those people.”

“They aren’t people anymore!” Her gold tooth glistened in the moonlight. “They’re things.”

“You said yourself they’re lost souls. You don’t want the complication.”

“Damned straight. Look, Lizzie—you can’t save the world.” She planted her hands on her hips, right above the Glock stuffed into her pants.

“Get your hand off the gun.” She was making me nervous.

“We have enough problems.” Her eyes bored into me. “JR is possessed. Fang wants to kill us and Rex is gonna sell us straight to Vald if you fuck this up.”

Heavens, I hoped I could handle this. “Why didn’t Dimitri tell me any of this?”

“He didn’t want to freak you out. I don’t care.”

“Fine,” I snapped. I’d defeated Xerxes. I could walk through death spells. I had to believe I could maybe, possibly, hopefully do this too. And I absolutely refused to give anybody the satisfaction of seeing how afraid I was. “So now I’m up to speed.”

“That’s it?” She looked at me like I’d sprouted horns.

Score a point for the demon slayer. “What do you mean, that’s it? What else can go wrong?” Unless they’d found another possessed werewolf on my yellow flowered throw rug and imps in my underwear drawer.

I slid past her and threw open the door. Frieda practically fell inside. She’d chipped all the cotton candy pink nail polish off one hand and had started in on the other.

“Horse feathers, Frieda!” We’d told the Red Skulls to run. I appreciated the support, but at the same time, we were trying to get her and the Red Skulls out of danger. “You should have left when you had the chance.”

She twisted her plastic beaded necklace between her fingers. “You think I don’t know that?” she snapped. “Heavens to Betsy, I was scared out of my skivvies for you in that trailer.” She eyed my switch stars, glowing pink. “What happened? What are we going to do?”

There was no “we” about it. The Red Skulls had to get out of there. From what I’d seen in that trailer, I had the distinct feeling we’d already sprung the trap. The Red Skulls were caught up in a dangerous game of werewolf politics. Whoever won, I knew it wouldn’t be us.

Ant Eater poked her head out of the rusting van and scowled at Frieda. “Holy hell, blondie, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a death wish.” She hitched up her leather pants. “Tell the coven I meant it when I said to bail out.”

Frieda hesitated, clearly worried about us.

“Lizzie and I will go after JR. We owe him. Besides, it’ll give you guys enough lead time to escape. We’ll meet up at the Dixie Queen.”

Frieda nodded, twisting her necklace into new knots. Ant Eater glanced at me. We’d take the fallout if we failed—and if we succeeded. It was the best way for the rest of the witches to escape.

I was ready. Still, I couldn’t help thinking about Pirate. “Take good care of my dog, will you?” Tears burned the back of my eyes. I didn’t know what he’d do without me. Or what I’d do without him if…

Frieda gave me a little hug. “Bob has him. We’ll take good care of him.” To Ant Eater she said, “We’ll be packed and out in ten minutes.”

Ant Eater slapped her on the butt as she left. Together we watched Frieda dash across the uneven field in platform sandals.

“So what’s the Dixie Queen?” I asked her.

“Hideout number four hundred and twenty six. A mothballed Mississippi cruise and casino boat. The beds suck, but the roulette wheel still works. Least it did in ‘88.”

“You know, you should go with them,” I told her.

She puffed out her cheeks, still watching Frieda. “Yeah? Who’s gonna watch your pansy ass?”

I had to think I could do this. If I couldn’t, Ant Eater probably wouldn’t be able to save me anyway. At the dumpster, Grandma had told me what it meant to sacrifice myself.

It amazed me how well Grandma knew me after our short time together. She’d been dead accurate when we talked out by the dumpster. I always did type out my grocery list on the computer. I never had a library late fee and I never did anything crazy until she showed up at my door. “Grandma said I needed to be more half ass.”

“Oh and now you’re going to listen?” Ant Eater snorted.

“Yeah,” I said, enjoying the moment.

Grandma said it herself. The last slayer had the power to lock Vald away. I had the power to destroy him.

“Vald wants you,” Ant Eater said.

I knew.

“If he finds you before you’re ready,” she said, “he could kill you. Or worse.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Candy ass.”

“Road bitch.”

She took a deep breath, then blew it out, watching the bobbing lights in and around the far trailers as the Red Skulls prepared to flee. “I’d slit my wrists if anything happened to the coven.”

“Go.”

She shoved herself away from the rusting hippie van. Before she could get far, I reached out and snapped her bra. She didn’t turn around, but I heard her chuckling as she jogged out into the night.

***

Fang and about a dozen werewolves led me down a narrow path into the woods. Dozens of flashlights bounced off the darkened trees. I didn’t miss the two large bodyguards who slipped behind me, cutting off any hope of escape. I kept my focus on the trail.

Show no fear.

It would have been nice to have some warning, especially since Dimitri knew about JR. Then again, what could I have done?

Gee, Lizzie. I hope you get this demon slayer thing down soon because my friend JR is possessed and his dad, the Alpha wolf, is going to kill you if you don’t fix it. Oh, and Rex might kill you anyway. If he doesn’t sell you out to Vald, the fifth level demon, instead.

And where was Dimitri? With JR, I hoped. We’d been walking for about a half hour, deeper and deeper into the woods. I knew we were getting close. I could touch the fear sizzling in the air, like an angry mob clamoring for release. I chewed at my lip, every nerve on high alert. It felt like we were walking into an ambush.

The path opened up on an isolated cemetery. These were old graves, or at least they’d seen better days. Mausoleums scattered across the wide open ground, topped with crosses, angels and crescent moons. Many of the wolves bowed their heads as they passed through the iron gates.

Rex did not.

A stream must have run nearby. I could smell dampness. The crickets and other creatures of the night seemed to have abandoned this place. The air felt heavy and foreboding.

I didn’t like it one bit.

A hollow pounding tore through the night, like a cannon firing on sheet metal. I swallowed my fear and jogged past a series of low graves, toward the source of the noise. Past an altar to the full moon, I saw it—a shadow deep in the cemetery.

On high alert, I traveled around a cluster of silo-shaped mausoleums beyond the altar. These graves held the remains of several Alphas and their families. Crowned half moons carved in stone topped each tomb. I ran my fingers along the inscription, common to each round mausoleum. Never backed into a corner. Glad they didn’t have that problem. I sure did.

At least a dozen werewolves massed behind me. As I came closer to the source of the noise, I could see a dented horse trailer chained to a thick tree. It shook on its hinges like the Tasmanian Devil himself whirled around inside.

Now what was I supposed to do with that?

A hairy, clawed hand tore at the tiny window at the top. A snout followed, pulsing as it sucked air.

I turned to a scowling werewolf behind me. “Don’t tell me that’s—”

We heard a high-pitched whirr, like eighty blenders grinding ice.

The ground shook. Dimitri shot out from behind the trailer, waving his hands as he made a mad dash for us. “Back! Back! Back!” He grabbed me and we tumbled behind the closest Alpha tomb.

Red hot air shot past us and the sickening smell of sulfur assaulted my nose. I was smushed between Dimitri’s warm body and a slightly wet patch of grass, but frankly, I didn’t care about the cold seeping through my khakis. His weight on top of me, though slightly suffocating, was at the same time solidly comforting. He didn’t know how glad I was to see him. I clutched him tight, closed my eyes and focused on his deep, heavy breaths and clean scent. It felt good to have an ally.

Before I knew it, Dimitri stood. He reached a hand down to help me to my feet as he squinted against the dust in the air. Every single werewolf, in front of us and behind, lay scattered in the grass.

“They’re stunned.” Dimitri blew out a breath. “I hope. Anyhow, we have to focus on JR. It’ll take him a few minutes to build up his strength again.”

We made a beeline for the trailer. His fingers danced over the locks as he yanked them open, one by one.

Um. Perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea.

Dimitri tilted his head back at the crippled wolves. “Same thing happened to me when we found JR at the Red Skull. One second I had him cornered in the kitchen, and the next I was flat on my back with my friend ready to rip my head off.”

I wished I’d been further along in my training that morning so I could have gone back with him. I hated to think what he’d risked for his friend. “Is there anything left of JR in there?”

“Right now? I don’t know.” He glanced at me. “I like to think something held him back before Scarlet threw her paralyzing spell.” He shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the memory. “It took four jars to pull him down. Even then, we hardly got the silver chains on him before he went crazy.”

That might have been the last time I saw Dimitri alive. “Sorry I chased you across the parking lot.”

“I’m not.” The corner of his mouth almost twisted into a grin. “All things considered, that was the best part of my day.” He yanked open the last lock. “You ready to see this?”

Ready as I’d ever be.

Dimitri threw open the door. JR lurched for me like a feral animal. The man was built like a linebacker. He’d re-gained his human form, but there was no humanity left in his red eyes. JR’s midnight black hair shone with sweat as he yanked against his chains, his meaty hands and feet, his wide chest bloody from the struggle. It didn’t even seem like he felt the pain. What would we do if he changed back into a wolf? Would the chains hold him?

I felt the familiar urge to run like hell. Call it self-preservation.

Sacrifice yourself.

I really hated that last demon slayer Truth.

JR panted like he’d just eaten an entire village. Every time he exhaled, a thousand tiny needles pricked my skin. In his chest, I could feel them swirling. Dozens upon dozens. I couldn’t get my head around how many black souls churned inside him. They were so angry. They needed a place to be, they missed their bodies. And they wanted him, bad.

“Lizzie?” Dimitri touched my shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered.

When I’d faced Xerxes in my bathroom, I had no choice but to fight him. It was self-defense, pure and simple. But now, I could feel JR slipping away. He shouldn’t have lasted this long. Dimitri’s friend was a fighter. I wanted to help him, but I didn’t know if what I was about to do would save him or kill him.

Sacrifice yourself.

“Down, boy,” I said, easing myself into the trailer. His chains rattled as he whipped his head from side to side, fighting to control his raging body. I could do this. “Work with me, JR.”

I reached out to touch his heaving chest and his hands flew to my wrists, trapping them. He could snap my bones without thinking. “Easy, JR,” I told him, feeling anything but. “Easy,” I repeated. I inched his hands and mine toward his chest. “See, JR? We can do this.”

As long as you don’t eat me.

The moment my hand touched the hot, flushed skin over JR’s heart, I felt a jolt, like I’d wrapped my hand around a live wire. His hands flew back, freeing my wrists. Look to the outside. I let the hum of his body wash over me as I inched my fingernails into his chest. The skin crumpled back like wet newspapers and I could smell his coppery blood. I dug farther, pushing past muscle. I dug through bone. The cracking of his ribs sounded like a batch of popcorn on the stove.

At last, my fingers whispered over his beating heart.

Please, don’t let me hurt him.

I stared down at my wrist, embedded in his chest.

Please don’t let me hurt him worse.

I could tear his heart out of his chest like an Aztec nightmare. It would be over before any of us could stop it. My fingers slipped over the pulsing muscle.

JR stared at me, eyes as wide as the full moon. I caught a glimmer of recognition.

Help me.

“Oh God, JR. I’m trying.”

He groaned in pain as tiny knots bubbled in his heart. They felt like marbles. I coaxed the largest one to the surface and pulled it free. It almost slipped from my hand. “Shit!”

I almost lost it. And if I couldn’t even keep hold of one…I fought back a wave of panic. Sacrifice yourself. I took a deep breath, opened my mind, forced myself to relax and release whatever power I had. The thing wobbled in my palm.

Holy Hades. It sucked me down. As if in a dream, I watched a pretty brunette swimming in a lake at sunset. No. Not swimming—drowning. Do something! I clutched the edge of the boat.

I didn’t push her. She fell!

But we didn’t do anything to save her. Save her! She choked on the water, her eyes pleading.

No! She’s a whore. Let her get what’s coming to her. I loved her! Can’t anyone understand that? I loved her. But I won’t have my children growing up with a slut for a mother. She deserves to die.

It was in the past, a memory of the black soul I held in my hand. I felt its agony and its pleasure as the woman fought the water, gasped for her life. We ached and we laughed, as we watched the woman slip under the waves.

Holy moley. I gripped the black soul in my palm. There were more. I heard their faint screams, watched them bubble in JR’s heart. I didn’t know how either of us was going to survive this one.

“Heaven help us, JR.”

I inched my other hand inside his chest—past flesh, muscle, ribs. Slowly, deliberately, I eased the lumps up from his heart and plucked them like weeds. Every one I touched wanted to penetrate me. Wanted me.

They deserved to die.

I was following orders.

No one will ever know.

They screamed for release.

I gripped them hard as they surged through me.

“Lizzie!” Dimitri’s voice came from another universe.

Swallowing, I tried to answer. I felt like I was moving through water as I pulled my hands from JR’s body.

JR panted hard, his eyes unfocused. There should have been enough blood on the floor to fill a bathtub, but when I pulled free, the wound closed as if it had never been there.

My mind swam. They’d left him. They were mine now. And I wanted them.

“Let them go,” Dimitri was saying.

My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

“Lizzie!” he demanded.

I was weak. All my life I’d been weak. I’d been a sucker, always doing what people expected. Good Lizzie. Perfect Lizzie. Now, with these souls at my command, I felt powerful. And I didn’t need Dimitri or anybody else telling me what to do.

“Back off.” I shoved Dimitri as hard as I could. He crashed against the wall of the trailer. Good.

I had to get the souls inside me. I brought them to my chest, willing them. Please. I felt their power.

“Stop. Lizzie!” Dimitri yanked my hands from my chest.

He was turning into a real pain in the ass. I wondered how hard it would be to kill him. He pulled me against him and the souls surged.

Another body!

He’s mine! Mine!

Get away!

I felt myself sway. The negativity, the greed—it wasn’t me. This wasn’t me! I fought for control. I’d opened myself too far. I started slamming the doors in my mind as Dimitri’s power poured into me. I didn’t care what he was doing or how he was doing it.

Dimitri’s hands warmed mine and through the clamor of the black souls, I felt…peace. I remembered flying. Flying? Not in an airplane, but like I had wings. I dove over olive orchards and soared high above a stunningly blue ocean. Happy. I saw a family, with two twin girls. Dimitri’s sisters. I didn’t know how I knew, I just did. They laughed together, their noses almost touching. I felt the love. It reminded me of how I always hoped my real family would be, if I ever found them.

Pirate, think of Pirate. He was my family. Grandma too. I couldn’t lose her, or myself. Not now.

Dimitri gripped my hands tighter. Once again, I was flying. A mix of feelings slammed into me, red hot desire churning with doubt. And deception? I couldn’t go there. Not now.

I took those feelings and swallowed them deep down inside. Then together, we pushed them up, up, as I opened my palms and let the souls rise up like fireflies, through the ceiling of the rusty trailer and out into the universe.

The sudden emptiness overwhelmed me. Worse, I knew what had almost happened. Dimitri pulled me against his chest, and I wrapped my arms as far as they would go around his broad back. I clung to him for a few long moments, terrified of what I’d come close to becoming. Those black souls wanted me, and I wanted to go with them. I’d learned how to open myself, to sacrifice myself but I knew nothing about limits. It scared me to think about how good it felt to be with them. I felt powerful, alive.

What had JR felt? The werewolf’s breathing had steadied, but he was still horribly pale.

Dimitri checked on him while I leaned my back against the wall of the trailer and fought the urge to close my eyes. The black souls had exhausted me. No wonder JR could barely move. He’d been possessed for days. I’d held the souls for minutes and I wanted to sleep for a year.

Just then my mind pricked. I felt a strange stirring outside. When I peered out of the trailer, an army of ghosts swirled past the tombs. People, werewolves, and—holy smokes—creatures I didn’t even know the names for. “I see—”

What did I see?

Dimitri moved behind me. “Mnemonics,” he said against my ear.

“Can you see them?”

“Sometimes,” he said, simply. “Your experience with death opened you to new worlds.”

They glided through the cemetery, unaware of each other, or of us.

Dimitri’s voice ground near my ear, flooding my body with warmth. “Mnemonics are memories, nothing more. Their souls have moved on.”

I leaned back against him and wrapped his arms around me. He felt solid. Good. I didn’t know what I would have done without him tonight, or any other night for that matter. He caught his breath as I nuzzled against him.

“Okay, coach,” I said, turning toward him, “how do you know so much?”

I about melted at the intensity in his dark eyes.

“I’ve spent my life looking for a slayer. You. Then I met you and—” he lowered his lips to mine and I sank into his kiss.

What started out gentle turned into a heady, powerful rush of pleasure as his mouth ravaged mine. Sweet switch stars. I needed this. I needed him. His hands moved up my sides, caressed the undersides of my breasts and I nearly combusted.

This is what it felt like to be alive.

My whole body tightened. The man was darned lucky we were smack dab in the middle of a werewolf cemetery or I might have lost all control. Then again, something told me he wouldn’t mind.

I pulled back and he nuzzled at my neck, sending a whole new wave of sensations barreling through me. “You do have a way of welcoming a girl back from the almost-dead.”

“Promise you’ll never do that again,” he said against my collarbone.

I kissed him on the nose, trying to hide my worry. “Promise.” I hoped. I still didn’t know how I’d lost control of the black souls. Dimitri, through his sheer goodness, had pulled me back. I held on to him, savoring his warmth. “Who were the girls I saw in your memories?”

“My twin sisters.” He lifted his head, grief written all over his face. “Taken by Vald. He wiped out my entire family.”

I couldn’t imagine his pain. “I’m so sorry,” I said, knowing words could never be enough.

Dimitri reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, velvet bag. He tipped it and slid an intricately woven hairpin into his palm. At its tip, a gold griffin snarled, its orange eyes flashing in the moonlight. “This was my sister Diana’s.”

My fingers hovered above the griffin.

“Touch it,” he said, his voice husky.

“Does it hold any kind of power?” I asked, remembering his teardrop emerald.

“For me.” He turned it over in his hands. “Take it,” he said, his fingers caressing as he wove it into my hair. “Diana would want you to have it.”

I touched the jewel in my hair.

Smiling, I pulled him back to me. The kiss was warm, demanding, almost a promise. I could save what remained of my family, try to ease Dimitri’s pain too. With his arms wrapped around me, at that moment, it seemed like there was nothing I couldn’t do.

A cold wind blasted us apart. Fang crashed down on us. He lashed at us with claw-like hands. His anguished roar tore through the trailer. With a start, I realized it wasn’t Fang. It was his spirit. He hunkered briefly over his son. With a wail, he launched up through the roof of the trailer and into the night.

I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me. “Who killed Fang?” I asked, already knowing.

Dimitri scrambled out of the trailer and I followed a breath behind. The werewolves sprawled over the grass. Save one.

Rex stood over Fang’s bloody body, knife in hand. “You did.”

Chapter 15

Rex dropped the knife and drew his shotgun—the double barrel aimed at my chest. I hurled a switch star without even thinking about it. It fired through the air like a rocket and cleaved Rex’s skull down the middle. The murderous werewolf didn’t even know what hit him.

The two halves of Rex’s head smoked as his body fell to the ground. His blood pooled in dark circles on the grass. There wasn’t much. The switch star had cauterized the wounds, leaving his head neatly sliced.

My stomach squinched. Yick. The smell of scorched flesh and hair made me want to gag. I rested my hands on my knees while I caught up with the adrenaline surging through me. I’d killed him.

I had to kill him. He would have shot us. But how I’d done it—clean through the skull—was awful. I clutched the switch star in my right hand. It had boomeranged back to me, not a drop of blood on it.

Dimitri took a deep breath, his gun cocked and ready. “We have to go.”

“Urgle.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the filet of wolf.

Dimitri checked on JR, then grabbed his backpack from the rear of the trailer.

Poor JR. How on earth were we going to take him with us? He was built like a water buffalo. His black T-shirt, wet with gore, was the only indication I’d reached my hand into his chest. The muscles and bone underneath pushed firmly against the wet cloth as he took short, deep breaths. Even asleep, he was a force to be reckoned with. I could feel the strength and power rolling off him.

I brushed the dirt from his black hair and noticed he’d begun to gray at the temples. I don’t know why I had to touch him again. Maybe I just needed to do something that didn’t involve gripping his heart in my hands.

What would JR be like when he woke up?

Dimitri threw his shoulder holster on. “Here.” He tossed me a set of keys.

I caught them, wondering if I really wanted to unlock the werewolf. Sure we had to take him with us, but I preferred my new friend chained. JR’s eyes clenched shut and he panted hard, like he was fighting something.

The black souls had flown the coop, but that didn’t mean JR wasn’t about to turn into a crazed predator.

Dimitri dumped a small arsenal out of his backpack, along with some first aid equipment—the basic tool kit for taking someone apart or putting them back together. He glanced my way. “Sorry. I can’t guarantee he won’t turn furry. That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?”

“I’ve had enough of rampaging werewolves for one night.”

“Touché. But JR’s my friend and he’s going to need all the help he can get,” Dimitri said, clicking an ammo clip into one of the pistols. “He could be in trouble when the pack recovers from that paralyzing spell. No telling which side is going to wake up first.” He stuffed the gun into his shoulder holster. “With any luck, we’ll be on the road by then.”

“You mean we’re not taking him with us?” At least a dozen werewolves littered the ground around the trailer. It was impossible to know who was friend or foe until they woke up. And then it would be too late.

I didn’t want to know what would happen if Rex’s people got to JR first. Would they execute him like Rex did to their former Alpha, Fang? Or would it be something even more horrible?

“We can’t just leave him here.” Call it selfish, but my conscience wouldn’t allow it. In my book, you didn’t leave your friends to get stabbed, slaughtered or eaten. “We have to save him.”

“We did,” Dimitri said, regret plain on his face as he placed two loaded pistols and a knife next to the fitful werewolf.

Dimitri located a beat up Yankees cap in the corner of the trailer. JR’s, I assumed. He brushed the dirt off the brim and placed it on his friend’s head. “If he’s found with us, they’ll execute him on sight.”

He stood up to his full height, all business. He’d never looked more large or deadly. “You killed pack, Lizzie. You’re their enemy now—and his.”

In what universe did that make sense? “Do the words ‘self defense’ mean anything to these people?”

He shook his head ruefully. “I’m afraid not.”

I fumbled with the keys, shoving them into tiny locks and working the layers of cuffs away from JR’s thick wrists and ankles. In another life I would have been nervous. Lord knew we had reason. We still didn’t know if Pirate and the Red Skulls had escaped. I might be unchaining a crazy werewolf. And any time now, an army of hostile werewolves would wake up and find their Alpha’s jugular slashed and their second in command with a large switch star hole through his forehead.

No way around it. I should have been scared as a hamster at a rattlesnake convention. But I wasn’t. I was pissed. It wasn’t my fault Rex died. He’d been gunning for me from the start. He saw me as a weak link the minute we set foot in Shoney’s. Frankly, he might have been right. But I’d grown into my powers, and it was Rex’s own friggin’ fault he’d been too busy scheming to notice.

Rex had no right to mess with me or the pack. I yanked the chains from JR’s chest and his eyes flew open for a moment. “Whoa!” I pitched backward and landed hard on my rear.

I might have had the demon slayer bit down, but I had a lot to learn about hard ass.

Dimitri leaned past me. “JR.” He shook him. “Hey, buddy.”

JR squinted up at us through bloodshot eyes. Thank goodness they were brown instead of the sickly red they’d been before.

The wolf shuddered.

Dimitri squeezed my arm. “Good job, Lizzie.”

JR broke into a coughing fit. He gulped several breaths. “Talk about a hangover. I feel like the worm in the tequila bottle.”

“Don’t try to talk,” Dimitri told him.

JR waived him off, winked at me and nearly passed out again. “Oh good. You found her,” he said. His eyes focused on the chains hanging from the trailer ceiling. “This isn’t the bar.”

He still thought we were at the Red Skull’s. Good. He didn’t need to remember what happened to him after that.

“You had an accident, but you’re okay. Your pack will explain.” Dimitri shook his head. “I hate to do this to you, buddy, but Lizzie and I have to split.”

JR coughed, catching his breath. “Something I should know about?”

“While you were out cold, the pack had a problem,” Dimitri said, diplomatically.

JR knew without us telling him. “Rex.”

“He’s dead.” Dimitri said.

“Good,” JR said, grunting as he pulled himself up.

“But, listen, we think Rex poisoned half the pack. And,” Dimitri said, clearly dreading what he had to say next, “Rex killed Fang.”

JR nodded, unable or perhaps unwilling to speak.

“I got Rex with a switch star,” I said to fill the silence. He needed to know someone tried to do something. “It was too late.”

JR kept nodding.

“Take this.” Dimitri gave JR a silver dagger. “These too,” he added, handing him the pistols he’d taken from his backpack.

JR’s eyes locked on something past my shoulder. “Go,” he grunted.

I followed his gaze out into the cemetery. Lights bobbed up the path.

With any luck, it meant the witches had safely fled. A bubble of satisfaction welled in my chest. If those wolves were looking for reinforcements, they were out of luck.

But I also knew there’d be no way to explain the wolves crumpled among the graves, or the executed Alpha. Or Rex with his head cleaved in half. We had to get out of there.

Dimitri tossed the backpack over his shoulder and jumped from the trailer. I was about to follow when JR’s heavy hand gripped my arm. He squeezed once, twice. “Thank you,” he said thickly. I had a feeling he didn’t say it too often.

“Glad to help,” I told him. And I was.

Dimitri and I dashed through the dark cemetery. The werewolves could see a lot better and move faster, but if we had enough of a jump on them, we could make it out of there with our hides intact.

We raced past the lonely graves scattered over the far side of the cemetery. They were much older and—I stumbled through a thicket of weeds—untended. The families had probably died out.

Dimitri came to an abrupt stop before a blue granite structure. “Here.”

The name said Flier. A black Harley leaned against the back of the grave.

I climbed on behind Dimitri, pressing myself flush against his back and holding on for dear life as the bike surged forward. My handsome protector introduced me to a whole new kind of terror, zig zagging between trees, over logs and past the few graves that reached beyond the confines of the cemetery.

My brain rattled over every rock and hole we hit. Dimitri wasn’t the best driver under ideal conditions. Now? I did everything I could to stay on.

Dimitri pitched the bike up a steep embankment and onto the road, a narrow strip of asphalt winding into the forest. He gunned the motor and the wind whipped at our faces as we sped off into the night.

We’re coming to get you, Grandma.

We’d done more than play pack politics tonight. I’d learned I could face off in a battle and win. I could live by the Demon Slayer Truths and trust myself, get outside myself enough to release my powers, even if I didn’t fully understand them. It had to be enough.

Grandma had looked terrible when she appeared to me. She didn’t have much time left. I couldn’t afford to wait. We’d meet up with the witches at the Dixie Queen casino. Then I’d learn what I needed to do to find Vald. It probably wouldn’t be too hard, I thought with a shiver. The demon wanted me.

Ant Eater told me I’d know it when the witches arrived at their new hideout. Somehow, I’d instinctively understand how to find them. I reached out with my feelings, searching for the comfort that everything was all right. Instead, I sensed dull emptiness and fear. No telling whether it came from the coven or from my own dark thoughts.

I gripped Dimitri tighter, feeling his warm skin through his black T-shirt. For a moment, just a moment, I allowed myself to take comfort in his closeness. I knew I shouldn’t want him. He was nothing but trouble. But I couldn’t help it. I needed a little good in my life after Rex, after the werewolves, after everything that had happened since Grandma pulled up to my front door on her pink and silver Harley.

I finally understood why Dimitri had sought me out and why he couldn’t tell me the truth right away. That day on the side of the road, I wasn’t ready to hear about the fifth level demon who’d taken his family. I didn’t want to know I was destined to face that demon or that I’d lose someone too. I wasn’t ready for my future or for Dimitri. But that had changed.

***

“I’m going to pass out.” I sat on the side of the road with my head between my knees. The sunrise sent a tumble of red and orange streaks across the sky. I’d made Dimitri pull over in Tupelo, Mississippi. We had to keep moving. I knew that. But my arms felt so weak, my body so tired, I was afraid I’d fly off the bike like a tiddly wink if Dimitri hit one more pot hole.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, rifling around in his backpack.

“Not a good idea,” I said, my stomach threatening to riot. “I’m just…exhausted.”

“Come on.” Dimitri gathered me up in his arms. Yum. It felt too good. His warm, masculine scent nearly undid me. But as utterly content as I felt at the moment, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t go back to that bike.

“Oh no.” I said, muffled in his shirt as he strode toward the Harley. “Let me die on the side of the road. I’m not cut out to be a biker babe.”

“Hold on,” he said, placing me back on the hog. “We gotta get you out of the open. I noticed a safe spot a few miles back. We’ll go slow, okay?”

I nodded. “Where are you taking me?” Did he know of another hideout nearby? If werewolves ran Shoney’s, perhaps a dragon BBQ joint would be just the spot—or maybe Dimitri knew of a Denny’s run by leprechauns. I’d even be open to a mermaid water park. Anything to get me off this bike for an hour or two. “Where in the world of weird creatures are you taking me?”

“Motel 6.”

***

I never would have thought of Motel 6 as a great place to take a break from werewolf fights and black soul possession, but we sure could have done worse. The bored teenager who checked us in was too busy chomping her gum to notice the switch stars I forgot to take off my belt. She simply twirled a Kool Aid red lock of hair and informed us we had a room at the back of the hotel, second floor.

This place was the Taj Mahal compared to the trailer I’d shared with Ant Eater. Much cuter company too, I mused as Dimitri tossed his backpack onto the king sized bed.

Wait.

Dimitri was assuming a heck of a lot.

I eyed the humongous bed with its quilted seashell comforter. “Planning to sleep in the bath tub, are you?”

Dimitri flashed a smile that was pure sin. “If you’d been paying attention to the clerk instead of trying to hide your switch stars behind the gumball machine, you’d have heard for yourself. They only have kings left.”

“Yeah, well don’t get fresh.”

Just my luck he listened.

Dimitri didn’t try to peek when I took a shower, refused to look when I climbed under the covers and allowed me to sleep unmolested for the next fourteen hours.

Jerk.

My head felt hazy when I woke up to find him propped up in bed next to me. He held a small object in his hand, like a pocket watch. Inside glowed the image of two girls, asleep.

His sisters.

It hurt to think about everything he’d lost. All the same, I was glad he finally trusted me with the truth about why he’d hunted me down and why he wanted Vald dead.

I was about to ask him about his sisters when another thought hit me like a rip tide. I sat up so fast I nearly knocked the thing out of his hand. “I know where the witches are,” I gasped.

The Dixie Queen was moored in a deserted inlet of the Yazoo River, just south of the Tallahatchie. Before that moment, if anyone had asked me to find the Yazoo, I wouldn’t have been able to point it out on a map. Now I knew exactly how to get there. I didn’t know how I knew, I just did. Every one of the Red Skulls had made it. Thank goodness.

Dimitri shoved the object in his pocket. “Yeah, I know too,” he said, somewhat annoyed. “Ant Eater got me on my cell.”

Of course.

Speaking of slaying fifth level demons, we had to get moving. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You need all the strength you can get.” He gazed at me intently. “A window will open, Lizzie. Tomorrow. It’s time to face Vald.”

Holy schniekies. A little warning would have been nice. I didn’t even like pop quizzes in school, much less a surprise ultimate face off with an evil demon. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You were throwing switch stars in the dirt.”

“Yeah, yeah, and beheading the Shoney’s Big Boy.”

“Adding a deadline didn’t seem like the best approach,” Dimitri said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, well you’ve seen how I improved.” Truth be told, I was glad. Grandma needed help, the quicker the better.

“Vald has been drawing strength from your Grandma, and from the remains of my family. But drawing energy is like sucking soda from a straw. Every once in a while, you have to take a breath. Tomorrow at midnight, Vald will take that breath. He’ll be open, more vulnerable. It’s the best time to strike.”

“Good to know,” I said, learning all I could about this world.

“Your Grandma saw it in her vision before she was taken.”

“Good.” After what I’d seen, I trusted the Cave of Visions. “So what’s the plan?”

“We rest. Prepare. Tomorrow morning, we’ll head out and meet the coven at the Dixie Queen. We’re about four hours out.” He checked his watch absently. “They’re expecting us at noon. We’ll discuss strategy. Then we face him and win.”

I eased back on the bed. He seemed so sure.

In less than twenty four hours, I’d be facing off with a fifth level demon. Everything I’d done in the last week—heck, in my life—had led to this moment, to tomorrow’s showdown. I hoped I was up to it. Grandma deserved more than to die in the second layer of hell. Dimitri’s family deserved to be avenged. And afterward, I deserved to sleep for about a year. It blew my mind to realize that if I actually survived this, I’d be free to go home, to resume my life, to teach my preschool class. I wondered if I could ever go back. I hoped I could.

I dug my hand into the pocket of my Dockers and found the jeweled griffin hairpin Dimitri had given me. I smoothed it into my hair.

Dimitri caught my hands and held them in his, palms up. My breath caught in my throat. Black marks singed my hands and fingers where I’d touched the black souls.

He brought my hands to his lips and kissed each black stain. “I thought I’d lost you back there,” he said, lingering over my fingertips. “I would have never forgiven myself.”

I nodded, fascinated as his lips and teeth grazed my skin. He was my protector. Yow. Who was going to protect me from him?

“You are so damned dangerous,” he said, his mouth sinking onto mine.

I responded with everything I had. Oh, yes. This was exactly how it should be. I wrapped my arms around him, threaded my fingers through his hair.

He eased his rough and tumble demon-butt-kicking body over me and I squirmed under his delicious weight. ‘Hot for the teacher’ didn’t even begin to cover it. I was no slut puppy, but serve up a sexy protector, a couple of near death experiences and—oh my word was that him on my thigh? A girl can only resist so much.

I tore my mouth from his. “Back off now,” I said, fighting the urge to wriggle against the hard ridge jutting from underneath his jeans, “or I’m not responsible for my actions.”

“If you can still put a sentence together, I’m doing something wrong,” he said, yanking off his black T-shirt with one hand. “Maybe this’ll help.”

If there’s ever a time for a man to exceed all expectations, it’s in bed.

I knew Dimitri would be stacked, but—yee, hee lucky me—he had the chest of a Greek god. I ran my fingers over his olive skin. Mmm…his nipples were particularly dark, and rigid. I grazed them with the barest, teasing touch until they stood at attention. Hmm. And hello, abs. The man could have been an underwear model. I let my fingers curl into the black hair that ran down his lower stomach and disappeared under the waistband of his jeans.

He flicked his eyes up to mine, and his lips curled into a wicked smile. “Are you done fondling me?”

“Not by half.” I scraped one of his nipples between my teeth and was rewarded when he gasped and about doubled over. Told him not to mess with me. He ran his fingers through my hair as I teased each nipple in turn, rolling them in my mouth.

“My turn,” he gasped, gripping my head and plastering me with a hot, demanding kiss. He was all tongue and teeth. He stroked and demanded until my entire body threatened to implode. I squeezed my thighs together. If he could make me wet and aching without even touching down there, what would happen if… ?

He drew a sharp breath as I shifted my body to bring him in line with the part of me that screamed for his touch. Eureka! He felt rock hard, amazing. It had been way too long.

His mouth grazed the thin material over my breast. God, who knew a white button down could feel so good? I threw my head back, brimming with pure rapture.

“Watch me, Lizzie,” he said, his lips hovering over me.

I stared at him, unable to speak, as he slowly unfastened each white button on my blouse. It felt like huge, honking bottle rockets were going off at the juncture between my thighs.

“Oh please,” I croaked, wild with anticipation.

Dimitri chuckled. He drew back my bra with his thumbs. He caught his breath and his look of wonder brought hot tears to the back of my eyes. He slowly lowered his mouth, his eyes fixed on mine as he took one screaming, begging nipple between his teeth. “Oh thank God!” I nearly exploded.

I wanted him. Now. Naked against me.

Which meant, oh geez, “Dimitri,” I panted. I clutched his head, scooted that awful inch away from him. “We have to stop.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” he gasped against my breasts.

“Of course not,” I said, staring at the ceiling, trying to get a grip. “I may have wanted to maim you a few times, but that’s in the past.”

As far as our future together? Well, I didn’t know. And there was the problem. As much as I liked to pretend I could have a night of blazing hot sex with no consequences, I wasn’t the type. Damn, I hated being responsible.

“We don’t need to stop,” he murmured, “Stopping is bad.” His lips found my other nipple. Another wave of pleasure seized me, sending spirals of heat through me until I was ready to surrender.

I knew he wasn’t just talking about tonight. Somewhere along the line, he’d wound himself into my heart—for better or worse. There was no turning back now, no getting him out of my system. I wanted Dimitri with me. I wanted this.

Think. Stop and think.

I curled my fingers into the bed sheets to keep them from finding his beautiful butt. I was usually more rational. I decided how far to go before he, oh geez, his hands moved to my thighs and I nearly passed out from anticipation. I didn’t plan this. But I could touch him a little, right? My hands wandered down his sides. It was like I hadn’t had chocolate cake in a year and I couldn’t stop with one bite. Only it had been more like two years and he tasted better than super double fudge icing and it would be so easy to slide my hand under the waistband of his Levi 501’s.

He ground his mouth against mine and I gave myself up to the sensation. Ribbons of electricity wound through me.

“Are we stopping?” he whispered against my lips. “I need to know. Now.”

We both inhaled sharply as I slid my fingertips under the waistband of his jeans. His skin was superheated, his breath jerky. It wasn’t fair. I had to decide once and for all. I touched the firm flesh of his lower stomach, felt the hair curl under my fingertips, knew if I moved a little more…

“No.” I slid my fingers beneath his silk boxers. “We’re not stopping tonight.”

Chapter 16

“Hold still.” I told him, as I explored rough hair and mmm velvety skin, practically thrumming with anticipation.

“Impossible. To do. When you—ahhhh!”

I slipped my fingers over his enormous length. His cock leaped against his jeans, begging for release. I ran a finger over his tip, already slick and ready.

He moved against my hand. “You want to play?” He yanked my shirt open, sending buttons flying.

“You bonehead! That was my only—”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he said, yanking down his Levi’s.

I wriggled out of my Dockers before Dimitri decided to shred them. They joined his jeans on the floor, and his boxers. Woo hoo! He was hard, ready and giving me a standing ovation.

Nude, he was breathtaking…rock solid legs, narrow hips and shoulders that could haul a truck. He wasted no time straddling me, his hands capturing my wrists above my head, his erection pressed firmly into my panties.

“Ahh, you and me, Lizzie,” he said, blazing a slow trail of kisses across my collarbone, “we belong together.”

“You sound like a Hallmark card,” I said, wriggling against him. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to feel.

“We didn’t plan it,” he said, finding the sweet spot at the base of my neck, “but there’s no sense denying it.”

Oh, yes there is. I tried to tell him point blank, but it came out more like “Oh fargleee yeeees!” In my defense, he’d picked that moment to start rocking back and forth over my most sensitive parts.

I had no room for a handsome Greek protector in my life, once we killed Vald that is. I couldn’t see Dimitri fitting into my old life back in Atlanta. He wasn’t the type to argue politics with Cliff, or help run the Happy Hands Preschool Picnic. This had to be a one-shot deal. Wham, bam, thank you mister “Oh!” His tongue found the ultra sensitive nook behind my ear.

“You,” he nipped my neck. “Belong with me.” Before I could answer, his fingers found the edge of my drenched panties. No fair.

“My people, we know these things,” he whispered.

His people? Sure, his people. Whatever. Oh God, if only he’d move his fingers an inch to the left. A half inch. A centimeter. Anything. He ran his fingers up and down the edge of my panties, waiting. I tipped my hips up to meet his hand. “Less think-y. More kiss-y.”

I couldn’t believe I was actually about to have sex with my studly protector. And his fingers, oh his fingers. He was so close! He hooked a thumb under the edge of my panties and kept it there, no matter what I did.

This was cruel and unusual punishment. “What am I going to have to do to get you to speed this up?” I was on fire.

He ripped off my panties and shimmied down my body.

He ran his hands up the insides of my thighs and spread my legs wide. “Beautiful,” he said before I felt his tongue dip inside me.

I nearly lurched off the bed. His tongue felt hot, branding me from the inside out. My hips—the traitors—thrust up on their own.

“Patience,” he chastised me, before delivering a single, agonizingly slow lick.

“Bastard.”

He chuckled and I felt his breath, warm against me, like its own caress. Holy moley, I didn’t have a chance. His tongue flicked in and out of me. If he kept this up, I’d never let him go. My insides melted. Glimmering heat wound from between my legs and up…everywhere. I whimpered. I couldn’t help it. He dipped a single finger inside of me and I wanted to scream. Fingers, tongue, mouth—he never stopped. My world revolved around the exquisite heat radiating through my body.

When I didn’t think I could take any more, he’d pull back enough, just enough for me to settle down. Then he’d start again, licking, sucking, pushing, demanding. It was too much. I heard myself scream.

Finally, after I could sop up no more pleasure, he took mercy. He lifted his head, and cast me a wicked grin. “You know you belong with me.”

I swallowed, desperately searching for my non-screaming, panting, whimpering voice.

“I think I’ve known for awhile,” he said absently, as if he wasn’t hovering over my quivering girlie bits. “But it hit me like a sucker punch when I thought I’d lost you to the black souls.”

It was hard to think with my whole body pulsing. But he seemed eager for an answer. Okay, so we were smitten. There was no way to know what would happen after tomorrow. I had to return to my normal life. But I knew what I wanted right then and there. “Come here,” I said, urging him into my arms. I wanted him, needed him inside me.

He snaked up my body, pure sin blazing in his eyes. He had to know what that did to me. He was all warm heat and hard muscle.

“I have to tell you something,” he said.

Oh no. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.” He frowned slightly, tipped my chin up and kissed me hard. His tongue found mine and pleasure rippled through every place he’d licked and then some. I could kiss him for weeks and still want more. I ground my naked body against his. Harder, faster, slower, I wanted him anywhere and everywhere I could get him. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

“Once my people make love,” he said, his lips inches from mine. “We have a hard time—aggggguh!” My hips found him and pressed the tip of him inside me.

He was immense and I was drenched. My body gripped him, refused to let him go until he finished what he’d started.

“Ah,” he said, trying to assemble a coherent thought. “I—” His breath jerked in his throat. Clearly, breathing was not a priority at the moment. He held me in a vise grip, fighting to keep me, and himself, from moving another inch. “My people,” he gasped, holding me in place. “We have a difficult time letting go.”

“Good to know,” I managed to say on an exhale. I strained against him, hoping to end any conversation once and for all. But, dang, he was strong. And as far as him not letting go, well, his bad luck he fell for a demon slayer. “Don’t forget. I’m going to hell tomorrow,” I said, giving it one last wriggle.

He pulled out and my body screamed in protest.

“Well, sure you can go to hell,” he said, his naked body pressed to mine. His cock hard against my thigh. “But I mean afterward.”

“You know if you hadn’t started talking, we’d be boffing our brains out right now.”

“Soon. I’m not the kind of guy,” he began. He reconsidered and simply said, “You need to know what you’re getting into.”

I’d already made my decision. Now my body screamed for him to finish what he’d started. “You want me. You need me. I’m yours.” For tonight, for as long as I could have him. Or at least until we got back from hell. “Now will you please—”

“What?” He asked, his mock innocence not fooling anybody.

“Do me,” I demanded.

“With pleasure,” he growled, his eyes hot with anticipation.

He opened my thighs and shouted as he slammed into me. I gripped his shoulders, his back, I matched him thrust for thrust. His muscles were tight with strain. Pure exhilaration spiraled through me and stretched taunt. I stood on the edge. Heaven knew I’d been close, so close for so long. Dimitri pushed me harder, faster until I fell. Pleasure exploded from between my legs and radiated through me. It was almost too much.

“Stay with me,” Dimitri whispered in my ear, as he continued to push me harder, deeper, faster than I’d ever been. I didn’t care if the entire hotel came down around our ears. He ground his mouth over mine, nipping my lower lip, my neck, the tip of my ear. Our bodies grew slick with sweat. I wrapped my legs around him and felt myself coming again. Sweet pleasure washed over me until all I could do was clutch him and feel it in wave after luscious wave.

He tensed, thrust two times hard. He clutched me so tightly that he lifted us both off the bed as he pounded into me one last time. I came again and so did he.

We collapsed onto the bed, his head buried in the crook of my neck.

***

I woke to find Dimitri stroking my arm and sunlight creeping through the light blocking curtains we’d failed to close the night before. Who knew hot love with Dimitri would be as exhausting as, say, battling a power-hungry werewolf or blasting a few dozen black souls? I snuggled closer, wishing we could spend the day in bed, knowing it was time to meet with the Red Skulls and make our final stand against the demon Vald.

I played with the springy dark hairs on his chest. “You don’t have to go with me.”

“Yes, I do,” he murmured.

I lifted my head to find him gazing intently at me. He flashed a cocky grin that made the skin around his eyes crinkle.

What do you say to a guy who’d go to hell and back, just to be with you?

I wrapped my arms around him. “Kiss me.”

He devoured my mouth. It was like coming home. I ran my hands up his chest and to his shoulders, tight with tension. He kissed me like he was afraid to stop.

After a long, enjoyable while, he broke away. “Lizzie,” he said, mouth brushing mine. “I need to tell you something.”

Then he’d better stop thumbing my nipples.

“Lizzie?” he opened his arms and I rested my head in the crook of his neck. “I’ve owed you the truth for awhile now, but it never seemed to be the right time to tell you.”

“Okay,” I said, praying it would be something simple, knowing it wasn’t.

“I lied to you,” he said, his mouth forming grim line.

“About what?” I asked, getting that awful, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that our little love bubble was about to pop.

“I had to do it,” he said quickly. “For my sisters.”

I leaned up on one elbow to face him. “What’s the lie?” I asked.

And why did this have to happen while we were buck naked at Motel 6?

“I’m not your protector,” he said simply.

I stared at him. “What?”

“You don’t have a protector,” he said, as if every word pained him. “You don’t need one. The truth is,” he cringed as he said it, “I need a slayer.”

The shock of it made my head swim. Dimitri needed me, not the other way around. A horrible thought slammed into my stomach. Had he been using me?

I bolted upright in bed. He’d searched me out. He’d found me. He’d lied to stay close to me. Why? I yanked the sheet up over my breasts.

What did he really want?

“I had to do it,” he said, reaching for me, fisting his hands when I ducked away from his embrace. “You’re the only one who can save my sisters.”

It didn’t make any sense. I retreated to the corner of the bed, hauling the covers with me. “But your sisters, they’re…”

“Dead?” He blew out a breath. “Not yet. I need your help. You have to understand—”

“I don’t have to do anything. Of all the sick things to do, you lied about your dead sisters?” He’d planned this from the start. That’s why he’d found me on the side of the road. That’s why he’d trained me. Who knew if he cared about Grandma? Or me.

Sure, bang the demon slayer and get what you want. I understood. “You think this is what it takes to get my help?” He didn’t have to do this. I would have helped him if I could—for nothing. His emerald glowed hot against my neck. I wished for the hundredth time I could chuck it at his head.

“You know it’s not like that, Lizzie,” he insisted. “I mean, it was.” He drove a hand through his thick black hair. “Look, it took me years to find a slayer. You. And when I found you, I would have done anything to save my sisters, even seduce you.”

“Not helping.”

“But then I met you and you were different than I expected. Better. Amazing. I had to tell you I was your protector so you’d let me stay close. You can’t think,” he began, reaching for me again, dropping his hand as I scuttled away.

“Dammit, Lizzie,” he said, launching himself at me. He gripped my shoulders and forced me to look at him. “Where we are right now, this isn’t a lie.” I tried to squeeze out of his grasp, but his fingers dug in until it hurt. “I’ve been wanting to tell you the truth for days, but I was too scared.” His familiar male scent, now tinged with a hint of sex, made me want to run for the hills.

I glared daggers at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But there was the real possibility that your reaction would be,” he indicated to my current rumpled, angry state, “less than positive.”

“So you had to wait and sleep with me first?”

“Yes. No! I didn’t want anything to come between us anymore. What we have here is incredible and I was sick of lying to you.”

I hated him at that moment. I really hated him. He sure hadn’t had trouble lying in the beginning. He’d fooled everybody. “You could have just asked me to help save your sisters.”

“Would you have helped?” He asked.

I would have liked to think so. But when he met me, I’d never seen a switch star, let alone thrown one. All the sudden, I wasn’t too fond of myself, either.

“You didn’t even know you were a slayer when I found you. My sisters need help now. Every female in my family falls into a coma after her twenty eighth birthday. They’re dead twenty eight days later.” He shook his head ruefully. “I met you with five days to spare. My sisters didn’t have time for you to make up your mind.”

“Well I’m glad you thought of everything.” Except me.

I wound the sheet around myself. “About your sisters, they’re not…”

He shook his head. “Tomorrow. He takes them tomorrow.”

“And that’s when you arranged for me to go in,” I stated flatly.

He nodded. “That is why I sought you out. But that’s not why I—” he drew back. “You’ve gotta believe me, Lizzie.”

“Save it.”

I didn’t even want my brain to go there. I’d been ignored by other men—or just plain uninspired—but never used. I couldn’t believe the things he’d made me think and feel. I didn’t want to think he’d lie to get me into bed. Then again, I hadn’t suspected he’d lie to get me into hell.

Fighting to swallow the lump in my throat, I tried to be practical. At least we could help his sisters. He didn’t deserve it, but they did. “Got any other big secrets?” I asked.

He looked guiltier, if that was even possible.

Un-fricking-believable. “This is about Grandma, isn’t it? The night I met you, you tried to pawn off a murder rap on her. Was that a lie too?”

He looked as miserable as I felt. Good. “Tell me now or I’ll never forgive you.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. But Gertie did kill your mom.”

“You’d better know more than that. Spill it. Now.”

Lord in heaven, he actually looked sorry for me. “Your mom, Phoenix, I don’t know what she was, but supposedly, she was very powerful—a secret weapon against Vald. Unlike you,” he said, forcing the words out, “she’d been training her whole life to face him. When the time came, she ran.”

I couldn’t believe it. I could understand, but I still couldn’t quite think anyone would be that selfish. Then again, hadn’t I felt like doing the same thing? “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. The point is, she left the Red Skulls to face Vald alone. The carnage was unbelievable. They lost everything. The survivors went on the run. Your grandma tracked Phoenix down to an occult shop they owned. There was a confrontation. Gertie made it out alive. Phoenix didn’t.”

Fine, so it looked bad.

I grabbed my underpants from the side table and saw they’d been ripped in half. I tossed them onto the floor. I refused to believe Grandma could kill her own child. It had to be an accident, or a mistake—anything but cold blooded murder.

I’d ask the witches, and Grandma herself. I’d be seeing her soon enough. I leapt out of bed and started yanking my pants on. “Talk to me, Lizzie.” Dimitri followed me, trying to get me to face him. I felt the hot tears coming and knew if I looked at him I could lose it. Growing up, I’d had this picture in my mind of what my biological parents would be like. I never had much hope for ever meeting my dad. My birth certificate listed him as “unknown.” But my mom? Call it a stupid gut feeling, but I always felt like I’d meet her someday.

Suspicion clawed at me. I wondered why Dimitri had decided to tell me now. Twenty minutes ago, I would have thought he was concerned. After the whopper he’d told about his sisters, “What do you want me to do now? Save your sisters instead of my murdering grandma?”

At least he had the decency to look shocked. “No. Of course we’ll get Gertie. Vald has them all.”

I glared at him through a haze of tears. And why was a fifth level demon following us around anyway? “It’s your fault he got her, isn’t it?”

“No, Lizzie. He’s been holding out for you, wanting your powers. Sure, I followed you, but so did he. Remember the imps on the road? You may not like how I helped you, Lizzie, but you needed me to teach you as much as I need you to save my sisters tonight.”

“Let’s say it plain. You used me.”

“Yes,” he said quietly

There. He admitted it. He’d used me for my powers, and my body.

He had the nerve to look exasperated. “We couldn’t have a future with lies between us and I want a future with you.”

He stood there with a pained expression, waiting—for what I couldn’t imagine.

“Forgive me,” he said.

“When hell freezes over.”

I tripped over a corner of the bed and he caught me. “Lizzie.” He wrapped me in a bear hug.

“Don’t touch me,” I said, extricating myself. I found my bra wadded up next to the TV stand.

“Okay. Fine. Hate me. I hate myself right now too. But I was desperate to save Diana and Dyonne. It was the only way.”

“Fuck you.” There. I said it. And it didn’t feel nearly as good as I’d imagined.

He stood, looking helpless and forlorn. “Despise me, Lizzie,” he said, jaw tightening, “but it ends as soon as we hit the Dixie Queen. We need you focused for tonight. Vald has your grandma, but what he really wants is you. You have more raw power than any slayer I’ve ever heard of, but you’re still learning. Think about what happened with the black souls.”

“Move.” I had to find my belt.

“Vald thinks he can take your power. You can’t let him, Lizzie.”

“Oh, now you care about what happens to me?”

“I’ve always cared, Lizzie,” he said softly.

I delivered a scalding look as I tried to button my white shirt. Hard to do when there were only two buttons left. I hurled the ruined shirt across the room.

“Okay. That’s not true. I admit it. In the beginning, I only needed a slayer. I’ve been training my whole life to defeat this curse, to save my sisters. You have no idea how rare your skills,” he began, before he shot me a guilty look. “How rare you are,” he corrected himself a little too late. “When I sensed you, I went for you.”

“How long did you follow me?”

“Lizzie, let’s not get into this.”

“How long?” I demanded.

He drove a hand through his hair. “About a week. I sensed your powers through your grandma. She would have found you sooner, but her emotions blocked her. She cared about you. I only wanted to find you.”

I’d asked for the truth. Too bad I never realized how bad it would hurt. But how could I have really prepared myself for him, or this?

I started looking for a different shirt, as if I could conjure one out of thin air and a cheap motel room.

“Vald wants you, Lizzie. Your grandma suspected. It’s probably why he took her.”

So now it really was my fault Grandma was burning in hell. “Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine?”

He ignored me. “If a demon can harness power like yours, there’s a good chance he can break out of hell.”

“What?” I stopped. “And walk the earth or something?”

“Yes,” Dimitri said quietly.

Unbelievable. I rested my hands on my hips. “So technically, we’d be better off to forget the whole thing.”

It was as if I’d slapped him. “What?”

I didn’t mean it. I’d said it just to shock him. But after I said it, the truth of it stuck with me. If I did go down there and fail, the world would be in much worse shape than it was now.

And who was I kidding? I probably needed Dimitri down there with me. He’d certainly up my odds of succeeding.

If I didn’t hate him.

I dunked his boxers in soggy remains of last night’s ice bucket.

“What the hell are you—?” He rushed to rescue his drowning underwear.

“Let’s just assume I’m crazy enough to go and face Vald. How do I know you won’t bolt and leave me down there as soon as we save your precious sisters?”

“You can’t possibly think—”

“I don’t know what to think,” I said, ducking into the bathroom, finding his keys next to his wallet. I stuffed them both into my pants and yanked my hair into a ponytail. The griffin hairpin clattered to the floor and I left it there.

While he went to retrieve the hairpin, I threw his pants off the balcony. Since my shirt was ruined, I took his black T-shirt instead. I regretted it immediately. His musky scent overwhelmed my senses.

Damn the man.

But I wasn’t about to walk out in nothing but my bra. And make no mistake, I was leaving.

I threw my oxfords into the saddlebag and fired up the hog. The motorcycle shook and groaned, as if it was trying to throw me off. I squeezed the handlebars until my knuckles went white. One step at a time. If I could ice Rex, save JR and battle a demon in my bathroom, I could do this.

Dimitri yelled something as he came tearing out of the room in dripping wet—and hopefully ice cold—boxers.

Get out of my life.

I kicked the bike into gear. It lurched forward like a drunken horse. Didn’t matter. The only thing that counted was getting away, far away from him.

Chapter 17

According to Dimitri, the Dixie Queen was a four hour ride. Hopping mad, it took me just under three.

He’d lied to me and I fell for it.

Was I that desperate for affection?

Yes.

If he’d been honest earlier, we might have stood a chance. Now? He could rot back there for all I cared. At least it would be finished tonight—for better or for worse. And if I survived hell, I’d make sure Pirate and I never saw these people again. I wasn’t stupid. There was probably more to Dimitri’s story—which I didn’t want to hear. And I knew there was a lot more to the story about my mom’s death. I’d get to the bottom of it.

Scarlet stood guard over the entrance to the long dirt driveway leading to the mothballed riverboat. I punched the bike and hurtled past her. Pond cypress and black gum branches reached out to snag my arms and swamp maples twined over the road. The marshlands radiated wet warmth and I could smell the river in the air.

If Dimitri had waited to give me any last-minute instructions, he was out of luck. I knew he’d slither his way to the Dixie Queen eventually. But I wasn’t about to wait for him and I’d have a heck of a time listening to him now that I knew he was a two-faced lying jerk. Make that a using two-faced lying jerk. My stomach roiled at the mere thought of that man.

I swerved around a pothole and tried to think. Ant Eater could help set me up for tonight. I’d also duck into the Cave of Visions to try to contact Grandma. I didn’t know how much she’d be able to help me while Vald held her prisoner.

Past a row of overgrown buckeye bushes, the Dixie Queen riverboat lurched on its moorings. The Yazoo River rolled upon itself as it rushed downstream, but not enough to cause that kind of rocking. The boat’s rusted black smokestacks spewed a mustardy smoke and water poured out of the third floor in waves, like a wayward fountain. The clearing smelled like burned hair and dead animals. And—bad sign—the Red Skulls crowded the swampy ground out front. What had they done now?

The witches worked a crude assembly line in front of the boat. Frieda led a group as they scrubbed glass jars in several saddlebags filled with soapy water. Bob, with Pirate riding shotgun, transported the jars to Ant Eater and another group of witches, who seemed to be baiting them like traps.

“Lizzie! I’m here, Lizzie!” Pirate splashed through the puddles and leaped into my arms. I shut the hog off just in time to catch him and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Mmm…wet dog. My wet dog. I squeezed my puppy tight.

“You miss me? I missed you.” Pirate wriggled in my arms.

“What’s with the flooded boat?” I asked.

“Um, yeah. You might not want to mention that. Frieda is sensitive about that as it is. She tried to clear out some of the cobwebs with a wind spell and, well, you know how tricky that can be.”

I had no idea, but I’d take his word for it.

“Lizzie.” Ant Eater jogged over to me, as she unwrapped a fun sized Snickers bar with her teeth and plunked it into the jar under her arm. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”

“Me too.”

She cocked a brow at my black T-shirt. Make that Dimitri’s shirt. The thing felt itchy all the sudden.

“Don’t ask,” I said.

“Wasn’t going to,” she replied, smacking the black leather cell phone holder attached to her hip.

I should have thrown Dimitri’s phone off the balcony along with his pants.

“Now get on over here,” she said, heading back to the stack of jars. “We got a problem.”

***

“What do you mean you cursed the boat?” I asked as we stood at the edge of the Dixie Queen’s rusty gangplank. The third-floor fountain splashed into the river on our right, tossing splatters of dull brown water that occasionally nipped at our legs and feet.

“Unscrew this.” Ant Eater handed me an airline bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. I watched as she poured the whiskey into the jar with the Snickers bars. “We weren’t planning on coming back. So, we booby trapped the thing. Problem is, we were a little preoccupied.”

“Drunk on dandelion wine,” Bob added. I hadn’t even heard him pull up behind us.

Ant Eater sniffed. “And hell, it’s been twenty years.”

“Young and stupid,” Bob agreed. He navigated over the bumpy ground between Ant Eater and me. “So we’re not sure exactly what we booby trapped.” He reached into a bag slung over the back of his wheelchair and pulled out a Ziploc bag of—ohmigosh—tails. Ant Eater offered him the jar and he dropped two tails inside.

“What are you making? A counter spell?”

Ant Eater grunted out a throaty chuckle. “Oh no. That’d only make ‘em mad. We lure the spells out, then, whomp,” she clamped the lid shut, “back in the slammer.”

“Why are you creating new magic?” Or simply a big mess. “What happens to the old magic?”

Ant Eater guffawed. “Nothing. This isn’t magic,” she said, shoving the Snickers-Jack Daniels-rat tail mess under my nose. Ew. The pungent aroma of deceased rodent and whiskey stung my nostrils. “This,” she said, screwing on the lid and shaking the thing up, “is a magical trap.”

Pirate leapt into Bob’s lap and I cringed when Bob scratched Pirate’s head. I knew where that hand had been.

“Choking spells love Snickers,” Bob said. “You can sometimes catch a Disintegration spell too. They go for most anything chocolate.”

It didn’t make sense. “You’re talking like these are live things here.”

Bob blinked. “They are. Some magic is most definitely alive.” Bob thrust his chair backward toward the witch assembly line. He moved forward a few feet, then spun around to face me. “Forget that and you could wind up hurt.” I followed him to the stack of jars, already swirling with colored muck. “We’ve cleared out two dozen of the little boogers already.”

“I helped with that one!” Pirate said, dancing in front of a Smuckers jar filled with a greenish haze. “I call him Larry.” He spun twice. “See? Lizzie, Larry. Larry, Lizzie,” he said, as if making an introduction.

Frieda dashed up to Ant Eater and thrust a jar into her hands. “I think I found it. This has to get rid of the, um,” she eyed me, “issue on the main deck.”

Oh no. Some hideout we had going here. “Issue?”

“It’s nothing,” Frieda tittered about an octave too high and patted her canary yellow hair.

I turned to her partner in crime. “Ant Eater?”

“Detail work,” she said, “Don’t worry about it.”

But I loved details.

Ant Eater held Frieda’s jar to the light and studied the swirling contents. “Thing is, I hate to blast her out of here if we don’t know where we’re sending her.”

“I programmed it for the Poconos,” Frieda told her. “Phoenix likes the mountains.”

“Phoenix?” I asked as Frieda practically jumped out of her platform sandals. How many Phoenixes did these people know…other than my mom?

My throat tightened. “I thought my mom was dead.”

Ant Eater’s fingers tightened on the jar as she continued to swirl the liquid inside.

“Frieda, Bob. Leave us alone.”

Bob’s wheelchair crunched across the leaves scattered on the ground. Frieda followed, reaching out to catch a Ziploc full of mushed snake and stuffing it back into Bob’s pack.

“Come on,” she said, gesturing to a pair of crates, “let’s sit down.”

“Oh great.” The riverboat groaned on its moorings as I followed her.

“Your mom’s not dead,” she said, more serious than I’d ever seen her, “at least I don’t think she is.”

I didn’t know what to think. “Dimitri said it.”

She shook her head. “He’s been listening to the rumors. Yes, Gertie went to confront your mom. It was a terrible time for us. We’d been on the run, fighting for our lives while the other covens fell.”

I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to watch a demon destroy their world like that.

Ant Eater stared into nothingness, the horror of it written on her face. “We were scared spitless, on the verge of losing our very souls.” She leveled a steady gaze at me. “Your mom betrayed us.”

Her words hurt. “Dimitri told me.”

Ant Eater nodded, her shoulders heavy. “She ran. I told Gertie to let her go. But she had to track Phoenix down. She had to know why.” She let out a grunting laugh. “Sometimes there is no ‘why.’”

“What happened when Grandma confronted her?” I asked quietly.

Ant Eater cleared her throat. “I don’t know. She never talked about it. She just said Phoenix was gone.”

“So she didn’t necessarily kill her,” I said, a weight lifting.

“No.” Ant Eater stood. “Gertie helped her hide for good and I can’t say as I blame her.” She looked down at me. “But there are some people here who would just assume she was dead. We can set up a meeting later if you’d like. For now, don’t go saying Phoenix is alive. It’s best she stays hidden.”

I understood. “Thanks.”

She gave a small grin, her gold tooth gleaming. “No sweat.”

“Now how about I help you?” I asked.

Her eyes widened. “How so?” she asked, not completely trusting me.

“Seeing as I can walk through a death spell,” I sauntered over to a blinky orange spell that was trying to hide behind one of the moorings of the boat. I reached out and grabbed it. “Gotcha!” Yeek. It was cold. And slimy. But I held onto it just fine.

Ant Eater’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“It’s not bad having a demon slayer back, is it?” I felt powerful, light as I made my way up the rusted gangplank.

She threw a hand up. “Oh I don’t know about you going in there.”

I was a demon slayer, a person who would stand up to the darkness—whether it meant going to hell or saving these witches from their own magic.

The guard spells churned in the musty ship behind me. They stomped and demanded my attention. I’d never been so attracted to danger in my life.

A green and white flecked spell danced just inside the entryway. It zoomed for my neck and I swiped it out of the air. It buzzed in my hand like a fly. Choking Spell. I crushed it in my hand. A second spell swooped from behind my left ear. I caught it. Giggle Spell.

“Lizzie,” Ant Eater stalked toward me, all business.

Too perfect. Yeah, it was wrong, but Ant Eater looked so uptight down there on the lawn. I hurled the giggler at her and she exploded in a squeal of delight. Her rough-and-tumble body vibrated with titters, her trunk-like legs stomped as if fighting it before they relented and hopped daintily in time to her peals of laughter. Oh yeah. That was the first time I’d felt myself smile since Dimitri and I…I didn’t want to think about it. Ant Eater might try to kill me later, but it was worth it.

A bunch of the witches came running. Most stopped short in amazement.

Of course nothing fazed Bob. “Try to save a few.” He tossed me some jars.

“What? Can I put a bunch in one jar?”

He made an “iffy” motion with his hand. “Depends on the species.”

Okay, well we didn’t have time for a lesson in Magic 101. I’d capture a few of the ornery ones and destroy the worst magic. I’d already seen what could happen when a death spell got out of hand.

“Just don’t trip any Giggle Bombs yourself,” Bob hollered as I ducked inside. “We need you coherent for tonight.”

The ship rocked underneath my feet. Slot machines crowded the entryway, as if the Dixie Queen’s original patrons couldn’t wait to get started. To my right, a roulette table stood abandoned, chips stacked on some of the numbers. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I interrupted a game. The white wood facade, rotting at the edges and chipped by age, extended back to a matching bar. Old fashioned gaslight lamps lined the walls. As I watched, flames ignited in the glass bowls. It made me jump enough to rattle the glass jars I held, but I tried to look on the bright side. Nothing had tried to eat me or possess me—yet.

Beyond the large picture windows at the back, I could see the ship’s balcony, flanked by a bright red railing. According to the emergency exit map, three floors rose above river level, one below. And of course, we had Ant Eater’s mysterious visitor on the main deck, right above the massive, red water wheel.

A slot machine whirled and chimed, odd since the plug was nowhere near the electrical outlet. Instead it swished like a three-pronged tail. “Two in one day!” The machine’s Lucky 7’s spun around and landed on 7-7-7. “Tell me, young lady. You feelin’ lucky?”

I hoped it was a pre-programmed voice. “Are you talking to me?” Please don’t be possessed. I didn’t have the time.

“Funny you should ask. Nobody’s ever asked me that before. But I tell you, it’s been lonely around here. Just the other day, or was it year? I was—”

Enough. I plucked a Freeze Spell from behind the roulette wheel and chucked it at Lucky 7. His voice, thank the heavens, groaned to a stop.

I made my way through the casino and toward the main deck, plucking magic from behind the round, Dixie Queen life preserver and under poker tables. I learned to avoid Itch Spells, got caught up in a few Transport Spells. I had my suspicions about who planted those, since they always sent me to the men’s john. And eyow—Love Spells tended to bite.

The main deck seemed empty. I was almost disappointed. I would have liked to see what they had going up here, friend or foe. Ever since I’d faced down the black souls, I felt pretty good about my odds with the average human. A gooey spell clung to the underside of the huge, red paddlewheel. I leaned under the railing to snag it with my fingers.

“Stop!” A pair of shiny red pumps clacked across the back deck of the ship.

I snapped upright. Oh my word. My voice dried up as I stared at a cheap imitation of my adoptive mother. The woman wore the same fashionable crimson glasses, as if she’d decided to be Hillary for Halloween. She’d styled her hair into blond waves, like Hillary. Her gray pantsuit, although not as expensive as Hillary’s (I hoped) accented her figure. Unlike my adoptive mom, it looked like this woman could put away a cheeseburger. Still, I noticed an unsettling resemblance, right down her French tipped fingernails. A green and white flecked Choking Spell zoomed for her neck.

“Watch out!”

She flicked it away and I watched it land with a plop in the river. “Oh don’t worry,” she said, misjudging my open mouthed horror, “it can swim.”

I felt my concentration falter. The gooey spell tried to sneak behind me. It’d be heck to catch if it made it under one of the tables. I lunged for it.

“Lizzie, no!”

Terror seized me as I watched my hands disintegrate. There was no pain, only a horrible numbness. Blood poured from my wrists. It too faded, along with my forearms, my elbows, my—oh my God!

“Elizabeth Gertrude Brown! Stop that immediately!”

The spell blew away on the breeze. Bit by bit, like a macabre puzzle, my hands came together again. I swallowed hard and flexed my fingers, trying to get a grip on what happened.

I stood there for a long moment, stunned.

“I’m sorry I yelled, but you should be immune to those spells. I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she scolded.

It couldn’t be. “Mom?” I asked shakily, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from my arms and hands. How else would she know my middle name?

A single tear slid down the ruddy blush line on her cheek. “It’s me, baby.”

Chapter 18

This was so not the Oprah-style family reunion I’d dreamed of as a kid. I stood slowly, apprehension prickling up my spine. “I thought you were supposed to be hiding.”

She wiped at her cheeks. “I was,” she said, reaching into her pocket, then thinking the best of it. She withdrew her hand slowly.

I froze, every nerve on high alert. The devil takes on many forms.

“How do I know you’re my mom?”

Her expression softened. “Do you still have that strawberry birthmark on the back of your left thigh?”

Cripes. “What are you doing here?” It came out harsher than I’d intended. Blame it on shock, or pure self preservation.

“You’re leaving with me. Come on,” she said, heels clickety clacking as she tried to lead me off the main deck.

Say what? I held my ground. “I don’t think so.” She couldn’t just show up after thirty years, from the dead no less, and expect me to start following orders. The witches certainly didn’t want her here—not if they were trying to hide her. And what about I missed you, Lizzie. I love you, Lizzie.

I regret abandoning you, Lizzie.

She turned, her hands thrust on her hips. “You have no idea what kind of danger you’re in,” she said, desperation mixed with annoyance.

And she did? “Why are you in such a rush to save me?” I asked. After Xerxes the demon, imps, werewolves, black souls, Harley witches and a lying…whatever Dimitri was, “Why now?” I asked, reaching for my switch stars. The cool metal began to vibrate as I worked my fingers around the holes.

“I thought I’d hidden you from this kind of life. These people. And those terrible switch stars. Please stop spinning that.”

“What?” I glanced absently at the switch star on my finger. “Wait. You knew where I was all these years?” When Hillary put me in a fat camp for being five pounds overweight, when I wasn’t allowed to wear jeans, even in the house, when I had to pose at those stupid society picnics when all I wanted to do was run around like a normal kid.

I’d dreamed about this moment—about meeting my birth mom. And it sucked.

“Lizzie,” she said, and held up her hand. “We have to leave. Now.” She made her way toward the pilot house, beckoning me to follow. What? Was she going to try and launch the ship? I could see us now, sailing down the Yazoo, mother and daughter on a bewitched boat.

I followed, mainly to bag a particularly nasty looking Lose Your Keys Spell. I plunked it in the jar. If only we could rid the world of those things. I’d be willing to bet they reproduced like rabbits.

Oh, who was I kidding? I had a question I’d been wanting to ask for decades.

Mom said a few incantations over the door and the lock clicked open.

Now or never. The question burned in the pit of my stomach. “Why did you leave me?” I asked. Please let it be because you loved me.

She paused, doorknob in hand. “We don’t have time for this.”

“We do,” I told her, my voice sounding steadier than I felt. “Because I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.” No matter how much it hurt. She owed me a heck of a lot more explanations than this one.

She shifted from one sky high pump to the other, the thick, humid breeze blowing her over-stylized hair up in wings around her head. “Lizzie, you have to understand. I gave you up precisely so I’d never find you again. And these people wouldn’t, either. Do you know what they want you to do? Of course you do. You draw those switch stars like a gunfighter. But it’s not fun and games. You could lose your soul.”

The thought made me shiver despite myself. I didn’t want to think about what I could lose. “They’ve got Grandma.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I felt it when they took her.”

“We have to fix it.” Together, we’d have a better chance at defeating Vald.

“No, Lizzie. We’re getting out of here. End of story,” she said, snagging the Hot Foot Spell that hovered at her ankle. “Gertie chose her path, and now she’s living with the consequences. You can still have a normal life.”

“But Grandma saved you,” I protested. How could mom just leave her like that?

“Lizzie,” she barked. Boy, it didn’t take her long to find her “mom” voice. “I didn’t ask her to save me and I don’t owe her my life.” Mom held on to the doorknob of the pilot’s house, as if she didn’t want me to see what lurked inside. “You don’t owe her yours, either. You can still have a normal life.”

I couldn’t believe she wanted me to abandon Grandma. “Like you?”

“Yes.” She squared her shoulders. I write a small society column for a newspaper in Freeburg.”

Where was a good Choking Spell when I needed it? “You can’t just barge in here, scare the pants off me and try to get me to abandon the only real family I’ve ever had.” Yeah, I knew it probably hurt her, but I wanted to at the moment.

She cocked her head. “Drop the switch stars. Leave this place. Come live with me in my condo in Freeburg. I’ll take you to the Lone Star Café and we’ll talk about how you can have a new life without fifth level demons, black souls or werewolves.”

Poor Fang. “So you saw that too?” I asked, noticing a Frozen Underwear hovering near her left hip.

Her eyes softened a bit. “I’m so sorry it ended badly.”

“Me too.” I caught a Giggler and sent it to join the mustard-colored smoke drifting skyward.

She sighed. “I had no idea they’d blame the poisonings on you.”

Say what? If she wasn’t my mother, I think I would have hurled a switch star. “You poisoned the wolves?”

“I had to get you out of there,” she said, as if that was any kind of excuse. “You were too close to completing your training.” She pursed her lips, then said, “Do you know it took your Great Aunt Evie a decade to master the Three Truths? Granted, she started at the age of nine, but still! She sat around for the next eleven years, waiting to turn thirty. And you, you zip right through and want to go face a fifth level demon? For crying out loud, Lizzie, I wouldn’t be surprised to see you go after the devil himself. And for what? You don’t need this. It’s a horrible, horrible life.”

She’d sent me to join Cliff and Hillary in their perfect world, then she’d gone on to create a similar nirvana for herself. I couldn’t have turned out any more different from each and every one of them. But it didn’t matter now. We needed to focus on fixing this thing with Vald. “Help me save Grandma. You don’t want to lose her. I know you don’t.”

A sad smile played across her features. “I’d rather lose her than lose both of you. I’m sure she’d say the same thing, Lizzie. She wouldn’t want you going down there unprepared and you’ll never be good enough to face a fifth level demon.”

Okay, that stung. She looked at me like I was the most pitiful thing she’d ever seen.

“But I’m a demon slayer.”

“So was I.”

My brain buzzed as I tried to process that last thought.

“You what?”

She waved a hand. “That’s beside the point.”

“Oh no, no, no. Tell me right now what you’re talking about or I’m going to leave you and this conversation right now.”

“I’m the chosen one,” she said, as if she was about to tell me I needed to have a root canal. “I mean, count it out. Take it from your Great Aunt Evie, who was actually your Great, Great, Great Aunt. Then her twin sister Edna, but we don’t count her because a demon stole her soul right after training. Skip three generations and you have me. And then, well, by accident—you.”

Nobody had ever put it that way before.

“What do you mean I was an accident?”

“I was smarter than them,” she said, a little too deviously. “I studied everything they gave me, and I did more. I talked to everyone I could—visiting sorcerers, black magicians, warlocks. They thought I was a prodigy. And I learned things all right,” she said with a wicked smile. “I learned how to beat it.”

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the mule. She foisted her destiny off—on me?

“It’s the only way,” she insisted, daring me to judge her.

I couldn’t believe it.

“Let me get this straight,” I said, rubbing my temples to keep my head from pounding out of my skull. “You were overwhelmed with your enormous powers, powers your loving family had trained you to use. So you left them to die, dumped your powers onto me and then scuttled me off to an adoptive family while you ran?”

She didn’t even pretend to look guilty. “It was the only way.”

“Bullshit.” I needed to get off this boat. I stormed for the main staircase, nearly tripping over a Stubbed Toe Spell. Mom chased me, setting off three Frozen Underwears. Served her right.

She ignored them as we clattered down the ornate iron staircase. “Stop being unreasonable, Lizzie. I thought if I hid you, you’d never know what I was or what you are. It didn’t work. I admit that. We can still be a family and figure out a way to end the slayer line for good.”

I came to a halt on a small landing, tears welling in my eyes. For the love of Laconia, I couldn’t let her get to me. As a kid, I’d daydream about what it would be like to meet my real mom. She’d be beautiful and strong and not afraid of anybody. Instead, she was everything I feared I’d become.

I didn’t know if I had the strength or the courage to defeat Vald. But unlike my mom, I knew I had to try.

“Run with me,” she insisted. “We can find a way for you to reject your powers.”

As much as I never wanted this. And as much as I’d always wanted my real mom, I couldn’t have it this way. I needed her and she’d abandoned me. I wasn’t about to leave Grandma in the same position.

“No, Mom,” I said, wiping my runny nose on Dimitri’s T-shirt. “I’m going to face Vald. You want to make a difference? Help me.”

She fiddled around in her purse, her makeup cases clacking together while she rifled through lipsticks and who knew what else? “Here.” She jabbed a lipstick smeared hankie at me. “Wipe your nose.”

Ew. These germ magnets should have been outlawed as soon as Kleenex was invented. But Mom seemed ready to wipe my nose for me if I let her. I found a clean looking spot and dabbed to be polite. The hankie smelled like jasmine with side of pickle relish. Strange. Mom drew a fragile breath, as my world went black.

Chapter 19

Ant Eater shook me hard. “Wake up, miss giggle spell.”

I dragged my arms over my eyes, fighting the hangover of the century. My skull felt like an anchor on the hard, wooden deck. I was with my mom and she…son of a submariner, she drugged me. “Watch out for Phoenix,” I muttered. “She has a hankie.”

“Did you hit her with a Brain Stealer?” Frieda demanded.

“Oh, I’d like to hit her with a lot worse than that,” Ant Eater countered, poking me in the shoulder. I squinted my eyes open. The sunset cast low shadows over the deck of the Dixie Queen. Ant Eater, Frieda and about six other witches crouched over me, forming a circle of curious faces. A white bandage tented Ant Eater’s nose and gauze stuffed each swollen nostril. She must have beat the Giggle Spell into submission. She glared at me from under two black eyes.

My heart thumped. I could feel my pulse throbbing through my body, against the moldy deck. Mom hadn’t stolen me away. Thank God. I didn’t know what I would have done if— “Where’s mom?”

Even Frieda managed to look annoyed at that. “She had a transport portal set up in the pilot’s room. Lucky for us she decided to suck you down feet first. Sorry about your shoes. Ant Eater here hit her with a Hairy Ball.”

“I was saving it for a special occasion,” she grinned. “There’ll be Big Foot sightings in Freeburg for sure.”

“I don’t even want to know,” I said, struggling to sit up. Pain spiked through my head, making my mind swim for a moment. I’d lost my oxfords. Socks too. “Thanks for stopping her.” I didn’t know what I’d do if she’d kept me from Grandma.

Ant Eater sniffed, then winced. “Don’t thank me, sugar lips. He’s the one who got us up here.”

Just when I didn’t think my head could feel any worse, Dimitri stepped into my line of vision, his travel bag slung over his shoulder. Of course he hadn’t taken the time to throw on a shirt. Damn the man. The hard plane of his chest disappeared in to the dirty jeans slung low over his hips. Hurt, disappointment, heaven knew what else churned into a heavy black lump in my stomach. He looked contrite, sad, serious, all of the things I’d expect. And it pissed me off anyway.

“We were going to do a quick ceremony to polish up your aura,” Frieda said, squatting down to brace me in a sitting position. “But we didn’t see any possum on the way over.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers. It was a sad, sad day when this sort of stuff started making sense. “Don’t worry about it, Frieda,” I said. I’d hoped for whatever help they could give me tonight, wanted it. But in the end, it came down to one thing. I had to trust myself. I had to let go, accept my powers, trust the universe.

I also had to watch out for my mother, or a hairy version thereof. Something told me I’d be seeing her again.

Scarlet popped a hard, red candy in my mouth. It tasted like strawberry cream soda and danged if it didn’t work wonders on my magical hangover. As the throbbing eased and the cobwebs cleared, I lurched to my feet. “How much time do we have?” I asked, purposely avoiding Dimitri’s gaze.

Ant Eater furrowed her thick eyebrows, suspicious—as she should have been—at my asking. “It’s almost six o’clock now…” She added in her head. “Just over an hour.”

That couldn’t be right. “I thought our window of opportunity opens at midnight.”

“That’s hell central time,” she said, winding her watch. “We’re five hours behind.”

Naturally. “Well, in that case, I have something to do.”

Frieda knitted her brows. Ant Eater scowled. And Dimitri? I didn’t give a flying fart what he thought as I sauntered barefoot off the Dixie Queen and made tracks for my Harley.

***

“You went shopping?” Pirate had chased my bike for the last quarter mile as I made my way back to the Dixie Queen. Pirate dance in place as I yanked off my helmet and climbed off the bike. Strings of lights illuminated the decks of the Dixie Queen as it bobbed in the ominously swelling current of the Yazoo River.

“Hey, I needed shoes.” I was almost glad my mom’s escape portal had sucked off my boring oxfords. My new black boots were comfy and kick ass.

Pirate jumped up against one of my boots and slid right off the polished leather. “Those witches are going to bust a gut when they see you.” He followed me as I strode toward the boat. “And did you know they have salami?”

“Look—sturdy heels. These are definitely me,” I said, more to myself than my twelve-pound terrier. Pirate had moved on to chasing fireflies.

On the ride over this morning, I’d passed a shop in Greenville. A black awning with flames had invited The Inner Vixen to stop by for a look see. I straightened my purple plaid mini skirt. I had to admit, it felt good.

Dimitri’s emerald felt hard and heavy against the hollow of my neck. I didn’t buy the skirt with him in mind. Okay. Maybe I did. He needed a reminder of what he’d lost. Besides, it had shorts underneath, kind of like the field hockey skirts I wore in high school. I’d be able to move a lot easier than I would in pants and, well, my legs are my best feature. Dimitri deserved to suffer. I topped off my kick butt demon slayer outfit with a leather sports bra that looked more like a corset than anything. Still, it was comfortable, I could move and I couldn’t pass up the purple prairie clovers climbing up the sides. They were, after all, the sacred symbol of my demon slayer line. I stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago.

Ant Eater’s head popped out over the main deck. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

Pirate cocked his head to the side. “I think she wants us in there now.”

I scooped him up and jogged over the rickety boards they’d found to replace the rusted gangplank. Let Ant Eater holler. For the first time, I felt like the demon slayer everyone said I would be. And while my nerves jangled at the idea of facing Vald tonight, another teeny, tiny part of me screamed to let me at him.

On the main deck, the witches worked in teams. Two groups had set up on the walkways to the deck, intercepting curious spells. Good thing I’d gotten rid of most of them, especially the Chokers. Another group had chalked off a large pentagram near the shuffleboard court. They sprinkled bits of gobely gook and chanted. Ant Eater conferred with Scarlet. Dimitri was nowhere to be found. Probably lurking somewhere below deck. And if not? My heart sank. It would be easier without him.

“Nice skirt,” Ant Eater sniggered.

“And here I thought you’d have something useful to say,” I told her.

“You wish. Here.” Ant Eater shoved a thick black belt into my hands. The leather had cracked with age. It looked like a utility belt of some kind, with small cases attached.

“What is this?”

“Just something I stole from Phoenix. It was your Great Aunt Evie’s.”

“She brought this with her today?” Maybe I could convince my mom to help.

“Nah. I took it after she screwed us over in ‘78. Phoenix don’t want to be a demon slayer. She don’t get the damned belt.”

“Ant Eater?” Scarlet called from across the deck.

“Coming,” Ant Eater trotted off to join her.

I settled on one of the observation benches and studied the belt. It seemed to be a demon slayer tool belt of sorts. There was a slot for switch stars to the right of the crystal buckle. Inside the pouches, I found colored powders, stones, a cache of vibrating crystals. Maybe Mom was right. I didn’t know what I was doing.

The belt felt about ten degrees cooler than everything around it. I popped another lid off one of the cases. “Stop!” a voice screeched and slammed the lid back down.

Pirate rushed to my side so fast he slid right past me and spun out behind the next bench. “What was that? You want me to eat it?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, yanking at the clasp I’d opened. It wouldn’t budge. I hoped I could handle this.

“Okay, people!” Ant Eater hollered. “Count down is on. Five minutes. Move it or lose it!”

As the witches rushed to complete their tasks, I fastened the chilly leather belt around my waist.

“Ready, slick?” Ant Eater thumped me on the back.

I nodded.

“Easy, Frieda,” she called. Ant Eater leaned close. “We’re borrowing power from the portal your mom made. Makes for a stronger thread. We won’t lose you as easy.”

“Don’t,” I said. I knew she was just being honest, but she’d hit too close to the truth. I could feel Dimitri’s eyes on me. He was here, no question about it. He rumbled in the background of everything I did, like an unstoppable freight train.

Ant Eater looked from Dimitri to me. “I don’t know whether to hitch a Transport Spell to his ass or get you guys another room.”

The way he’d acted? “Transport.”

She let out a grunting chuckle and dug into the pocket of her leather chaps.

“I was only kidding,” I told her, “Really,” I cringed as she shoved a purple noodle of a spell into the pocket of my brand new skirt.

“That’s okay. I trust you,” she said, patting the lump in my pocket.

The witches moved in sober silence, a far cry from the laughter I’d witnessed in the basement of the Red Skull bar. They were worried. So was I.

I hugged my doggie tight. “You listen to Bob, okay? And don’t eat too much salami.”

He burrowed his head under my armpit. “Oh now, Lizzie. You know I can’t stand it when you leave and you used to just leave for the grocery store and now you’re leaving and I don’t know if I’m ever going to see you again.”

I kissed him on the head. “You will,” I said, hoping I was right.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie,” Bob said, “but we’re going to have to chain him.”

I did it myself. My doggie whimpered while I looped Bob’s old ferret chain once, twice around a nearby bench and clipped the leash to Pirate’s collar. Pirate watched me with big, sad eyes as I joined the witches in the semi circle.

Bob eased a Styrofoam cup from the brown paper bag in his lap. Ice ringed the top and steam bellowed from the wide opening.

“Liquid nitrogen,” Ant Eater told me. “We have to get the portal cold enough. Bet this part was a bitch for Evie in 1883.”

We watched as Frieda used a pool cue from the game room to draw a glowing, yellow orb from the pilot house. She carried it toward the center of the pentagram. The five-pointed star cast faint glimmers of blue and silver magic. It offered protection, control. I needed every bit of it tonight.

“Any last words?” Ant Eater slapped me on the back. “Just kidding,” she said. “Don’t fuck up.”

“Two minutes to midnight in hell!” she hollered to the group.

“Aw. Hell!” The orb bobbled on Frieda’s stick before she lost her grip on it.

Oh no.

“Somebody catch it!” Bob hollered.

We scrambled for the orb as it zoomed low over the deck and hovered, out of her reach, over the back end of the boat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Frieda dangled over the back rail in a vain attempt to capture the dancing ball of energy. I grabbed the pool cue from her and thrust it for the portal. It flitted out of my reach.

“What do we do now?” I shoved the cue at Dimitri, who also failed. We had to get that thing into the center of the pentagram.

“Screw it. It stays there,” Ant Eater announced, as if the portal wasn’t hovering over the sharp paddlewheel and the churning river below. “Change of plans, people. Lizzie’s gonna have to jump off the back of the boat,” she announced. “New positions! We’ll throw the stuff at her.”

Ant Eater yanked me close. “No worries, babe. You’ll be gone before—you know—splat. Just don’t miss.”

Very comforting.

“We’re doing this, people,” she called to the group. “Thirty seconds. Grab your possum teeth.”

She positioned me at the center of the semicircle overlooking the dark waters below. “Possum lungs work better, but it takes forever to scoop ‘em out.”

“Thanks for the mental image.”

If she was trying to take my mind off the portal to hell hovering in midair off the back of the boat, well, it wasn’t working.

The witches joined hands facing the back of the boat. I stood between Ant Eater and Scarlet. Dimitri leaned against a nearby bench. He had no right to be anywhere near us tonight.

The Red Skulls closed their eyes, and I felt the magic build.

Ant Eater bowed her head. “We, the witches of the Red Skull, send forth our sister away from our warmth and into the cold. Away from the light and into the darkness. Apart from us, but always with us. We send her forth so that she may die and be reborn.”

I clenched my toes inside my new, kick ass demon slayer boots. Nobody said anything about dying. What was this portal going to do to me?

Forget it. I could do this.

It pulsed, sending off bolts of electricity as it grew to the size of a person. I could still see the hard, sharp paddlewheel below, ready to chop me to bits.

I glanced back at Dimitri, as he glowered in the corner. He didn’t deserve to go with me. He’d asked for my trust, my loyalty. And he’d certainly made it clear that he wanted me. I could hardly believe he’d been willing to use me. But, heck, he admitted it. It didn’t get plainer than that.

The portal snapped and cracked like a giant bug zapper above the churning river below.

If this doesn’t work, I’m dead. If it does? I’m in hell.

I snuck another peek at Dimitri, curse him. No getting around it—he lied. He broke every rule I had about how a relationship should be. I knew he never meant for it to get out of hand like it did. Despite what I’d said to him back at the motel, I knew he cared about me.

“Lizzie!” Ant Eater jammed her finger into my shoulder and I snapped out of my daze. “Do you venture forth freely in the tradition of the great demon slayers of Dalea?”

“I do,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. I had to trust in my training, follow my instincts. That meant…oh heck. I reached back and offered my hand to Dimitri. He didn’t deserve it. But I couldn’t think of one other person I’d rather go to hell and back with.

Dimitri took my hand, his grasp warm and steady. The circle widened for him, and I could have sworn I saw the corner of Ant Eater’s mouth twitch into a shadow of a grin. “We welcome them into our fold just as we send them forth.”

“Touch shoulders, grab your possum teeth.” Ant Eater said, eyes on her watch. “Okay Bob. Wait for it. Wait for it. Now!”

Bob hurled the liquid nitrogen. It slammed into the portal, sending off a shockwave of blue energy.

“Roadkill!” Ant Eater commanded.

The possum teeth hit the portal, launching flares like fireworks into the river below.

“Both of you. Together!”

I clutched Dimitri’s hand and we leapt off the boat.

***

A frigid wind buffeted me as I struggled to gain a foothold, toehold, anything. We’d plunged into the middle of a giant maze, carved from solid ice. Bitter cold soaked me to the bone and I cursed the ultra sexy, utterly useless miniskirt as a frigid gust blew straight up.

Ahead, the path veered sharply to the left, and the right, and down into a fissure that threatened to swallow us alive. Behind us, a tangle of passageways wound into oblivion.

I braced my hands against slick walls that rose claustrophobically close on each side. Sulfur tinged the air, making it hard to breathe. My heart thumped as I caught a glimpse of hands, faces behind the ice. I yanked my hands to my chest and when that didn’t stop the shivers, reached out to Dimitri, and let his touch flood me with raw warmth.

“So much for hell freezing over,” I told him.

He pulled me close until my chin rested on his bare chest. Poor guy still hadn’t changed from our encounter at Motel 6. I hope his underwear had dried.

“If you think about it,” he said, “hell is the absence of affection, love, anything good. It should be the coldest place in any dimension.”

He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my eyes. Each touch warmed me inside and out. We didn’t have time for this. Besides, I was pretty sure I was still mad at him. A bead of heat wound its way through my body. Just one more kiss. After all, I had to keep my temperature up.

He traced his thumb over my lower jaw. “Feel better?”

Damn the man. He was addicting. “You’re not getting in my pants on the way to hell.”

“This is hell, sweetheart.”

I doubted it for a split second, until “What the—?” My voice lodged in my throat as a sharp sting pierced my spine.

Dimitri hissed in surprise. “Don’t look back.”

Chapter 20

It felt like a thousand biting insects burrowed between my shoulder blades.

A white-scaled lizard lurched out of the ice wall behind us. Its claws sliced at Dimitri as he seized it by the neck and cleaved off its head with his bronze dagger. He tossed the body into the snow at our feet. “Turn around.”

His fingers probed my back. I barely felt them over the screaming, eating pain. “It’s not bad,” he lied.

“Jerk,” I said through clenched teeth. He’d promised to stop holding out on me.

“We can’t fix it,” he said, forcing me to look at him. “Put it out of your mind or you’ll never be able to do what you need in order to get out of here.”

I’d never been so afraid in my life. I nodded and squeezed his hand, or at least I tried. Cold shock had stolen the feeling from my limbs. “Which way do we go?”

“You tell me,” he said, his expression guarded.

I nodded and willed myself to focus on the empty world around us, as the creatures pulsed behind the ice walls towering to our right and left. Past a mass of glowing, red orbs, the path broke sharply and went down to an ice canyon from the feel of it. Straight ahead, I detected a fissure of unknown depth. Behind us, a maze of passageways wound endlessly.

Danger screamed from every direction. I opened my mind, called on my demon slayer instinct to run for trouble and picked our poison.

“Down the hole,” I told Dimitri.

“I figured,” he said, as a gray, shrouded figure drifted from the abyss. Empty sleeves beckoned. It wanted us. I struggled to see its face, buried in the shadows, as it slammed an arctic blast into us. Now or never.

I braced a hand against my switch stars and jogged straight for it. It beat me to the punch, gulping me down in a single bite. I spun head over tail through ice water. Rip tides pitched me deeper, farther. My lungs screamed as they fought to breathe. I clutched for something, anything to pull me out of this hell hole. I dug into my utility belt and released powders, crystals, potions—whatever I could find. One by one, I threw them into the freezing void.

Fresh air rushed me like a wave. I breathed deeply, desperately as I struggled to get my bearings. I pushed myself to my feet, hard to do on a floor made from slush. I sunk down to my ankles in icy muck.

Where was Dimitri?

Frozen walls towered in every direction. I stood in the bottom of a deep chasm. Alone. With no chance of escape and—ohmigod—

“What the hell happened to you?” Grandma demanded. Buried up to her sagging cheekbones in icy quicksand, she crumpled her nose like I’d just blown curfew. Her eyes widened in horror as she gaped at my raw back.

“Dimitri said it wasn’t bad.”

“He lied.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“Put your hands on your tool belt,” Grandma ordered. “Reach for the third pouch on the left.”

My fingers clamored for the pouch.

“No!” she ordered as my fingers dipped into the third pouch to the left. “Sorry. My bad. Third pouch on my left, which is your right.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m screwed in the head lately.”

Yeah, well I think we were both a little stressed.

“Okay, that’s it,” she said, as I flipped open the third pouch on the right. “Take the crystal. Infuse it with healing.”

“What?” Nobody taught me anything about crystals.

“Focus hard and do it. The white crystals—holy shit, get your hand away from your back!”

I yanked my hand away. “Hey, this is my first time flinging magical crystals and pixie dust.” I needed to know where I was aiming.

She brightened. “You have pixie dust?”

“No!”

She rolled her eyes like I was the crazy one. “Just grab a crystal. The white ones are like blank slates. Infuse it with health and happiness.”

“I don’t—”

She glared at me, daring me to ask any more questions.

“Excuse me,” I snapped. “I’m doing the best I can here.” Dimitri had vanished. I was ankle deep in hell, trying to save her sorry butt after some underworld monster took pot shots at me. No one wanted to tell me how to infuse a friggin’ crystal that I hadn’t even known existed an hour ago—Hades standard time—and for all we knew, Vald would be showing up at any second.

“It’s not about you, Lizzie,” Grandma warned.

“Of course not.” I gripped the crystal until it dug ridges in my hand.

Think. I took a deep breath and did my best to shove my anger to the side. Think of the one little guy who’s always happy, healthy, bounding through a clump of wildflowers as gleefully as he rolls in garbage or—soon after on one occasion—Hillary’s white cushioned deck chairs. Pirate knew who he was and what he wanted. Even after I chained him to a bench on the Dixie Queen he’d still found a way to chase fireflies.

“Impressive,” Grandma muttered. “I knew you could do it. Now stick it on your back.”

I felt for the raw wound in my back and hells bells. “I can’t reach it,” I groaned.

“What?” she asked, straining to see.

“It’s too high.” I squirmed and stretched. I could almost feel the slippery blood. My blood. I held my breath and reached with all my might, balancing the crystal on the edge of my own personal nightmare. Warmth rushed through me and I about collapsed with relief. Or was that fear? I didn’t want to know.

“Grandma?” I asked, half afraid of her answer.

“You did it.”

I swallowed hard and smoothed my hands over my warm, utterly unmolested spine. Later, I’d have to ask. But right now: “Where’s Vald?”

“I don’t know,” Grandma shook her head, her long gray hair glistening with slush. He was here an hour ago, waiting for you. Lord, Lizzie. You shouldn’t have come.” Grandma forced her head up and back, burying the back of her skull in the ice. “He wants you, and your power. I tried to come back and warn you, but some asshole filled my dumpster with trash.”

We had to run. I dropped to my knees in front of her and attacked the slush with my hands. “What do you mean I missed Vald? That’s good, right?”

“I can’t get out of here unless you can his ass,” she said, wriggling her shoulders.

“Yeah, well lucky for us, that’s on the agenda anyway.” This stuff was impossible. For every scoop I dug, more slid into the hole. I planted switch stars around her to help melt some of it. I was just about to get ahead of it when—oh no.

“Grandma are you—” She was. She was starting to grow transparent, disappear. I shoveled faster, my knees sinking into the ice.

“Behind you,” she said, as I detected a whiff of rotten chicken dusted with sulfur.

“Vald?” I asked.

“Xerxes.”

“Aw hell.” I could have sworn I killed him in my bathroom.

And if that wasn’t enough, a griffin swooped over us in a burst of color. Dimitri. It had to be. He had a wingspan as big as the back deck of the Dixie Queen and looked ready to snap some necks. Well, too bad for him—and for me—I was the only one who could kill demons.

I spun to face Xerxes, blocking him from Grandma.

He cackled low in his throat, his blackened lips stretched over rows of serrated teeth. “Lizzie, my pet.” His hide, rough and cracked, rubbed like sandpaper as he dug his clawed toes into the slush and readied himself to pounce.

My switch star hit Xerxes square between the eyes, and he exploded into a thousand flecks of light.

“Take that you—ak!” My elation quickly turned to horror as each tiny bit pulsed and grew before my eyes into a demon, just like Xerxes, only pissed.

“Nice going, Lizzie.”

“Can it, Grandma.”

They roiled upon each other in a mounding wave of demonic bodies. Screeching and belching yellow sulfur, they surrounded me in a chorus of cackles and acrid smoke. I yanked the switch stars from the slush around Grandma. I had five. Make that four. No way could I fight them all.

Dimitri swooped down on us. I grabbed hold of a talon with one hand, slung an arm under Grandma’s arm and watched in horror as my fingers sunk almost all of the way through her. She was no more than a wisp of air. I prayed I’d be able to hold on. Dimitri ripped us from the sludge and we soared upward. Wind plastered my hair to my face as we rocketed suicidaly high and tight toward the summit of the ice cliff.

He dropped us hard on a narrow landing at the top of the cliff, way too close to the edge. The mass of demons swarmed below like an upset ant hill.

“Can they fly?” I asked Grandma.

“Xerxes can, as soon as he assembles himself again.” She rubbed the griffin’s shoulder. “Atta boy, Dimitri.”

She ruffled his lion’s body and I could have sworn I heard him purr like a tabby cat.

“Where do we go?” I asked. I reached for Dimitri, but couldn’t quite force myself to touch the short reddish fur on the immense shoulder in front of me. He stretched his powerful lion’s body, touching a brightly colored wing to his back paw. And, yes, I’d known what he was. But to actually come face to, erm, beak with my sleek, half furry, half featured griffin… “I hate my life.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve got problems.” Grandma tried to climb onto his back, but slipped right through his body and landed hard on the ground. “Good thing my butt’s almost gone or that would have hurt.”

At this rate, she’d disappear in minutes.

“Just a sec,” Grandma said, yanked off her silver cobra ring and placed it over her heart.

I could see through to the ice shelf behind her.

“Oh no,” she rolled her eyes. “God damned, mother fucking!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “I knew it,” she said, kicking the ice shelf, her foot passing through like a ghost. “Fucker stole my mother fucking essence.” She shook her head at my open-mouthed stare. “My god damned living soul. It’s already in the second layer of hell. Fuck!”

“What do we do?”

“Move!” she commanded, her eyes boring into mine. “Get your asses out of here pronto.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, desperation clawing at me. “Where are we going?”

“Away,” she said.

“Without you?”

“Here’s a little bit of trivia. You need two demon slayers to enter the second layer of hell…and escape.”

Dimitri stomped in surprise.

“Yeah, you didn’t know that huh, slick? The slayer always has a twin.”

I didn’t have a twin. But I wasn’t supposed to be a slayer. “Did mom have a twin?”

Grandma nodded. “She did. Serefina. Killed when your mom abandoned us.”

Sweet switch stars.

“Your Aunt Serefina rescued the coven, though. Or most of it.”

Grandma had faded almost completely away. “I thought if I could hold out until you got here. I don’t know when he stole my soul.” For the first time, she looked utterly lost. “I didn’t even feel it. Leave, Lizzie. There’s nothing else you can do for me. Thanks for coming this far, babe. I love you. And I’m sorry.”

The griffin let out an agonized wail.

“You too, Dimitri,” she said, running her transparent fingers through his feathers. “And for the record, Lizzie, I approve of your boyfriend, okay?”

We’d failed her. We’d also failed Dimitri’s sisters. Vald was set to collect them in a matter of minutes.

As Xerxes landed on our ice shelf, whole and royally ticked, I doubted if we could even save ourselves.

Chapter 21

“No,” I said. Call me emotional, but “We are not leaving here until we axe Vald and save Grandma’s immortal soul.” Dimitri and Grandma stared at me like I was the one who’d sprouted rainbow wings and a beak. Or maybe it was the immense demon behind me.

“How do we get down to the second layer of hell? I mean it. I’ll—incoming!” I hollered as Xerxes launched a barrage of green pointy things from his eyes. I pitched myself onto the frozen ice shelf. Dimitri bolted upward.

The demon’s missiles shot right through Grandma and slammed into the ice wall behind her. A large chunk of it cracked from the main body thundered sideways down the gorge.

Two of me? How were we going to get two of me?

Dimitri swooped behind Xerxes and knocked the demon back down the ice cliff.

Except there really were two of me—straight laced Lizzie and kick butt Lizzie.

“I have an idea,” I said, shivering up to my elbows in a patch of slush, realizing I was making this up as I went.

I didn’t know if I could do it and it scared me to death and I had no choice unless my non-existent twin planned on showing up in the next thirty seconds. “What if I split my soul?”

“What?” Grandma squeaked, her entire left half flickering.

“Separate myself,” I told her. “Slice my yin from my yang.” This was starting to make sense.

“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Grandma bellowed above the ominously rumbling ice shelf. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing went.

“I didn’t say it was a good idea,” I told her. “But if Xerxes can split into a thousand demons, I’m betting I can cut myself in two.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” she insisted.

Evidently there was an advantage to not knowing what the hell I was doing. “What? Do you have any better ideas?”

“Yeah. Get out.”

“Not happening,” I said. “You said it yourself. This isn’t about me.”

That was the last thought I had before all of hell swallowed us.

It felt like a freefall from ten thousand feet, only I had no parachute and I was trying to split my soul. I didn’t know what my immortal soul looked like, or exactly where it was, but I felt it as sure as I felt my heart pounding like a piston in my chest. I slammed my eyes shut, tore my soul in two, hoping I didn’t make it too jaggedy, or rip it forever, or lose any pieces. I didn’t know what would happen—or if I’d ever be whole again. I only knew that it was our last best chance to defeat Vald.

I opened my eyes when my knees smacked the ground hard. “What the—?” The two halves of my soul fluttered inside my throat. I did it. Holy crap.

I straddled Dimitri’s crotch. He’d changed back to his human form and my hands pressed against his naked abs. My knees ached and my head felt like I’d been pitched wholesale off a Boeing 767. This was so not the time to get turned on, except he looked so damned good. Well, the part of him that wasn’t frowning at me.

Dimitri lifted me off his—hoo ya—naked body and I felt a familiar tightening between my legs as I took in his clean, male scent. Definitely better than the—whew—natural scent of this place. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought we landed in the monkey house at the zoo.

I tore my eyes away from Dimitri, lying on the mint green industrial linoleum, his dagger—the ancient bronze one—strapped to his right calf. I squinted against the flickering, overhead lights and struggled to force my legs into working order. The emerald at my throat stung. I slid my hand between the stone and my skin, ready for it to morph into—who knew—I wouldn’t have been surprised to be wearing bronze underwear at that point. But, oddly, the stone lost its heaviness and grew cold, dead against my hand.

The place reminded me of a high school chemistry lab, if your teacher happened to be Dr. Frankenstein. A web of blue energy crackled above the cluttered dissection tables and industrial countertops. Scattered across it—ohmigod—weasel faced imps twitched as if they were being broiled alive. They couldn’t be. Please. Because they’d each been chopped into bits and reassembled, some more precisely than others. My insides squelched at one pieced together imp in particular, the right half of its body plump and covered in mottled black fur. The other half, thinner, graying and not quite joined at the head. Brain matter jiggled inside the raw wound, oozing with every tremor of the electric current. I drew my right boot across the floor and felt a slippery squish.

“Step back,” a crisp voice commanded.

Vald. I knew it in my demon slaying gut.

I braced myself at the sight of the fifth level demon. He looked to be in human form, his sandy hair slicked back as he hunched over his notes in the far corner of the room. He’d buried his work nook behind swords in various states of decay, half-assembled switch stars and giant, free standing aquariums full of creatures like the ones I’d seen behind the ice. Xerxes hissed from on top an aquarium next to the doctor, spittle clinging to his chin. I reached for my last switch star.

Vald tossed his chart on the counter and eyed me like one of his experiments. “What did I just say?” He wore a pressed white lab coat freckled with burn holes and blood. The slight wrinkles on his forehead deepened as he frowned. “Impatience. The curse of youth.”

“Vald?” I demanded.

“Ah, Lizzie. I know you. You know me.” He reached into his coat pocket and fed the snarling Xerxes. “And I know you’ve met my demon,” he said, rubbing his fingers over the creature’s snout.

My breath caught in my throat as Vald strolled leisurely toward me. “I almost feel sorry for you. You obviously haven’t researched or you wouldn’t be down here.” He stiffened, “And you,” he said to Dimitri, who had been silently making his way behind Vald, his ancient bronze dagger in hand. “You need to stop taking everything so personally.”

I’d like to see that dagger buried in Vald once and for all. I didn’t know how much time we had to save Dimitri’s sisters, but it wasn’t much. Then we had to find Grandma’s soul somewhere among the shelves of chemicals and metal pens carpeted with noxious growths. “Release Grandma and end the curse on Dimitri’s family, or I kill you right now.”

“You don’t have the power.”

I cast a switch star straight for Vald’s heart. It had to kill him. Please. If he exploded into a zillion Valds instead…

The star sliced the demon’s head clean off. Hallelujah…holy hell! Xerxes leapt at me and I dove behind a giant aquarium.

The switch star zoomed back to me too late. Xerxes tackled me and it zipped clear over my head. His weight suffocated me. His sulfuric breath burned me as he reared back to attack my exposed throat. I struggled like an overturned weevil.

Dimitri hollered somewhere behind Xerxes. Now!

The sub demon buzzed like a defective television and disappeared with a pop. The air sizzled with energy, numbing my fingertips and—as soon as I tried to speak—my tongue. “What the…?”

Dimitri yanked his bronze knife back. He turned and thrust it into Vald’s chest. Dimitri twisted the jeweled handle and shoved hard, burying it to the hilt.

Vald’s head lay under an autopsy table several feet away, unblinking and—if I didn’t know better—hacked off.

Dimitri stood over the dead demon, his back muscles pulsing like an athlete’s after competition. Black sludge bubbled from Vald’s chest. I could taste the sulfur in the air.

I moved to stand next to Dimitri, not quite knowing what to say. I wrapped my arm around his bare hip and took comfort in the feel of skin on skin.

“You okay?” He smoothed a tangle of hair back from my face and kissed my forehead.

“Did we get him in time?” I asked, leaning into Dimitri’s strong frame as he folded me against him.

Dimitri tucked his chin against the top of my head and nodded. “I think my sisters are going to be all right,” he said, as if he could hardly believe his own words.

Dimitri’s chest heaved against mine as he reached up to wipe his eyes in relief.

Ding dong the demon was dead.

And that’s when I felt a reminder, against my abs, that my delicious griffin was, in fact, naked. My face warmed, perhaps from the adrenaline coursing through my body. “Come on,” I told him. “We gotta find Grandma.” And maybe an extra lab coat. I had nothing against Dimitri in all of his glory, but I also needed to focus.

Dimitri paused over Vald’s ruined body, an unbelieving grin tickling the side of his mouth.

Just when I thought things might actually turn out all right, Vald groaned and sat up.

He located his head, twisted it back into place and yanked the knife out of his chest with a grunt. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand the human psyche.”

“Impossible.” Dimitri tensed, every muscle in his body stiff from shock.

“That’s just what Lizzie’s Great Great Great Aunt Edna said. Before I killed her.” Vald eyed us like a couple of annoying house guests then strolled over to a plastic tub full of clear liquid. He tossed the knife inside and watched it hiss, bubble and melt into a lump of dissolving metal. “It took you ten years of your life to find that, didn’t it?” Vald popped a crick in his neck and contemplated the remains of Dimitri’s dagger. “At least ten. There’s only one place to get a Slayer Sword and the mistress of Achelios doesn’t part with them lightly.” He raised a brow. “The last I heard, she was demanding sexual favors,” he said, unable to hide a smirk. “I’d be fascinated to learn more. If I thought you’d answer.”

“Shut up, Vald.” Dimitri pulled me behind him.

“Case in point,” Vald said, rifling through his lab coat pocket.

I twisted out of Dimitri’s reach. My last switch star lay under the aquarium behind us. I needed to retrieve it quickly, in case the white scaled creatures could break through glass as easily as they could through ice. “So why isn’t he dead?” I asked. “That thing should have killed him, right?”

A timer went off near one of the cages. Vald pulled two vials of boiling acid from his coat pocket and studied them against each other. “Switch stars no longer concern me. I’ve learned to do many things in the century and a half since your ancestor trapped me down here. Like your mother would have taught you, Lizzie. If she’d been around. If hell gives you lemons, you find a way to suck out their souls.”

The creature inside the cage screamed when it saw the vial in the demon’s hand. “Excuse me,” he said, popping the top with his thumb. “That’s the trouble with experimenting on the damned. You wouldn’t believe the noise.”

I refused to accept my weapons were useless. The alternative was unthinkable. I scrambled under the aquarium, grasped my last switch star and hurled it at Vald’s heart, burying it in the exact same place Dimitri stabbed. The vial flew out of Vald’s hand, sloshing acid and burning holes in his lab coat. I held my breath. Okay, the switch star didn’t zip through the demon, but it did penetrate. If the sword was defective, this could do it. Vald blinked twice and inspected his torn, smoking lab coat.

“Oh now this is rich. You already killed my demon.” He yanked the switch star from his chest. “Well, not really. Once he finishes romping through the third dimension, I’ll send a trio of imps out for him.” He held up the switch star. “In the mean time, I’ll keep this.” He tucked my switch star into his lab coat.

Dimitri drew his arm around me, breathing like he’d been running sprints.

“Quite touching. I’ve always wanted a griffin.”

“How did you?” My mind flooded with panic. He’d beaten my switch stars, Dimitri’s demon killing sword, everything that was supposed to work. He couldn’t be un-killable.

Could he?

Vald eyed me like I was slow. “What else would you suggest I do in here? Knit? Believe me, another hundred and fifty years and I wouldn’t have even needed you to break out.”

That’s right. He still needed my power. Well he wouldn’t get it while I lived and breathed. Come to think of it, that wasn’t much of a threat.

“If I plan my energy carefully, I’ll have enough power to walk the Earth and also revive that great aunt of yours. Evie. I’d like to run some experiments on her. She had extraordinary strength.

“Is that why you took Grandma too?” I watched him closely, hoping he’d betray her location.

“Of course not. She was bait. But she’ll be good for experimentation too. I’m always looking for ways to improve my imps. Hybrids, you see. I’ve never fused an imp with a witch.”

My stomach churned. We had to stop this sicko. But how do you kill a creature that can’t be killed?

Vald checked his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go collect on a bet.” He winked.

Dimitri’s sisters.

Naked, unarmed and clearly insane, Dimitri shoved me backward and launched himself at Vald. Holy hell. I was about to lose my lover, my grandma, my power and my ever living soul all in the same day.

Chapter 22

Vald moved faster than anything I’d ever seen. He shoved Dimitri into the aquarium and both of them crashed to the floor in a wave of shattered glass, ice water and white scaled dragon creatures. The monsters bit into Dimitri like a teeming wave of piranha. I clutched a glass shard in a lab towel and stabbed everything I could, dragging the creatures from Dimitri’s body. They hissed and bit at me as I cleaved heads from bodies. Their blood, like hot steam, burned my hands and arms. Dimitri impaled four of them on the leg of an overturned dissection table, their bodies sizzling on the linoleum floor.

Then we both got wise and started hurling them up into the energy web on the ceiling. White scaled creatures collided with the pulsing imps in an explosion of screams, scales, fur and blood.

“Enough!” Vald yelled. The energy field crackled and died, shrouding the room in shadows. The remaining aquariums glowed, the white scaled creatures writhing and twisting against the glass.

Dimitri curled sideways from the toxic bites raging through his body. I reached for the crystals in my belt.

Vald stalked straight for me. “That’s it. Your soul is mine.”

He reached for me and fire shot up my arm as soon as he touched me.

“Son of a bitch!” Vald retreated, his hands smoking.

My head swam and my knees buckled and I hurled right there on Vald’s shoes.

“Impossible,” he said, inspecting his blackened hands. “I cured that.” He snagged a towel hanging from one of the u-shaped lab faucets.

Dimitri shook on the cold, hard linoleum. Sweat and blood slickened his entire body. I had to help him. I braced a hand on the overturned dissection table, clutching a handful of crystals, one eye on Vald. I infused the crystals with—think, Lizzie, what it felt like to be with Dimitri that night at Motel 6.

The pure wickedness in his eyes as he’d teased me through the boring white button down he’d found for me because I wanted it. He touched me, moved me, made me feel until I almost combusted with it. He hadn’t wanted to change me or improve me, he’d just wanted to be with me. And what we’d done as a result—I couldn’t think of anything more happy or healthy.

The crystals radiated in my hand as I fought the remnants of a smile. Just thinking of what that man did to me…

I rushed to Dimitri and touched the crystals to the worst of his wounds. The rocks emitted a ghostly yellow light, barely perceptible among the sweat and the blood.

It should have been enough, but it wasn’t. He wasn’t healing. Something was horribly wrong. I’d felt immediate relief when the crystal touched my back. Dimitri hadn’t even opened his eyes. He shivered as I pressed more and more stones to his body.

“Oh my god, Dimitri.” Heal, damn it! Heal.

A metal clamp seized my neck. What the—? Dimitri’s emerald bit into the flesh at the base of my throat. I twisted my fingers around solid steel as it dragged me backwards, away from him.

“Stand up or I’ll make sure he’s dead,” Vald commanded.

Vald forced me through a tiny back hallway, lined with vats of fetid chemicals. I tried to catch a glimpse back at Dimitri, to see if he was okay, but Vald’s grip never let up. He led me through into a small room. The faint smell of blood and urine surged the instant a heavy door closed behind us. A closet of a room sprouted from the main chamber and I almost gagged when I looked inside. A pair of bald, tattoo laden identical twins, very dead, and sewn together at the heart. No question about it, this room was used for torture.

Vald followed my gaze. “Rock stars. Scraggly looking things. They said they’d do anything, so I took them at their word.”

In the next room, chains wound around a cafeteria table stained with blood. Cuts and gouges streaked the plastic. Dark scars had settled in the grooves, like cleaves on a cutting board. Hack saws, rusty screwdrivers, pliers and worse hung from a pegboard on the wall.

I dug in my heels grabbed hold of the door jamb and held on with everything I had.

“Come on, now,” Vald said, using both hands to pry me inside the room. “I’m not going to torture you. Yet. This is for my imps. I’ve been finding ways to make them meaner. There’s a fine line between piercing an animal enough to make it vicious, but not so much as to harm the muscular or skeletal systems. I’ve also learned to razor the teeth for maximum sharpness while maintaining core strength.”

He kicked open another door and in the hallway outside, Grandma’s motionless body lay on a gurney, her silver hair tangled and her eyes staring at the ceiling. I fought back a wave of panic and focused on what I had to do.

Vald dragged me into a soaring room with glass floors, a twisted version of the stacks at City Library. Instead of a patchwork of hardback books, glass containers by the thousands stacked the rows upon rows of shelves. In almost every one, a living soul fluttered near the lid.

“What is it with you people and jars?” I inched my fingers into my belt, the third pouch on the right, and dug out a crystal. I infused it with death, destruction, everything I felt for this evil creature who had stolen Grandma’s soul. He left Dimitri to writhe and die on the floor while toxins ravaged his body. He’d systematically sucked the life from every woman in Dimitri’s family. He’d stolen my grandmother. He’d attacked the Red Skulls, kept them on the run for thirty years. He wanted to drain me dry, kill me and use my powers to go all medieval on millions of innocents.

I’d kill him first.

I hurled the crystal straight for Vald’s forehead. It smacked him right between the eyes and bounced off.

He gave me a sour look. “I really wish you’d quit doing that.”

Everyone was depending on me, damn it. I hurled the next crystal straight for his heart. He stepped aside in a blaze of motion and my crystal burst through row after row of glass jars. Souls screeched as they darted, collided and knocked over shelf after shelf. Glass flew, the souls screamed like a thousand fire alarms. In a wave, they bolted for the ceiling like trapped birds. Shit. One of those was Grandma. “Grandma!”

Vald’s eyes blazed for a moment, before he stomped down the emotion. “You try a demon’s patience.” He said, fighting to even the tone of his voice. “You’d better hope she doesn’t singe herself on the florescent lights.”

I strained to catch a glimpse, any sign of Grandma among the thousands of souls dancing around a series of hot bulbs encased in wide set metal brackets.

“How about this?” he asked. “I’ll retrieve your grandmother and you hand over your power.”

I couldn’t do it. He was too dangerous.

“Well what if we include the rest of Dimitri’s family?” asked the fifth level demon, far too reasonably.

My eyes had grown dry from staring. I could save Dimitri, his family, Grandma. But I didn’t want this monster walking the earth. Or, if I let my mind go there, I didn’t want any part of his demon slayer experiments. My mom was right. We should never have come down here. We’d only made things worse.

Vald twisted the clamp around my throat. “What if I do this?”

My body flooded with pain, as if he’d dropped me in a vat of acid. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

As soon as it began, it ended. My body tingled, hyper sensitive to the static electricity racing up and down my arms.

“Was that effective?”

I didn’t know what to do.

“What about this?”

A cramp seized me between the ribs. My breath caught in my throat as Vald drew a spider web thin line of blue energy from my body. He teased it out, unraveling my powers like an old sock. I felt myself grow weak with every pull. My head fuzzed, and my mouth grew dry. When he finished teasing out a length of my shimmering, demon slaying essence, he dropped the thread to the floor.

“This way takes longer,” Vald grunted. “And now I’m going to have to untangle it. An interesting choice you’ve made.”

My rapidly numbing fingers dug into the case at the back of my utility belt. I prayed that the last tool in Great Aunt Evie’s bag of tricks would be enough to cap Vald’s ass for good. I inched my finger underneath the lid to find the mysterious creature I’d glimpsed on the deck of the Dixie Queen.

Ouch! Damn the thing. It bit me. I shoved my finger deeper. If the little degenerate thought its razor-pointed teeth could stop me at this point, it had underestimated this particular chewed-up, spit-out, not-going-take-it-anymore demon slayer.

It wriggled its sand papery body far down into the bottom of the pocket until it disappeared completely. Impossible! I wanted to holler as I dug my bloody finger into the bottom of the leather case. Then again, what the hell did I know?

Back to the third pocket from the right. I reached for my last crystal and jerked back in pain as it burned my fingers. Vald’s pile of power had grown into a tangle of threads at his feet. I no longer had enough energy to use the few tools I had left.

My stomach sank. I couldn’t beat Vald even when I had my powers, much less now. He tossed me a maniacal grin. He was going to kill me and Dimitri—if Dimitri wasn’t dead already. Then Vald would walk the earth again.

As if he could read my thoughts, which he probably could given the grip he had on my life force, Vald said, “It will be important to wipe out the coven. And of course any trace of you, just in case you have a twin. I’ve learned to be meticulous. When I exterminated Edna, I gave in to celebration too soon. Her sister Evie escaped. A very difficult slayer indeed. I’ve regretted it, my lack of attention, for many, many years.”

I felt the two halves of my soul fluttering in my throat. I wondered what Vald would do to them—to me—after I died.

Vald jolted, shocking me out of my haze. Dimitri stood next to my pile of power, holding up a purple Transport Spell.

Sweet happy puppies! Ant Eater had shoved that purple noodle of a Transport Spell in my pocket on board the Dixie Queen. I didn’t care when or how Dimitri had taken it. God love my crafty, demon busting boyfriend.

“Cut it, Vald,” Dimitri said, displaying the Transport Spell, “or you’re headed for the third layer of hell.”

Vald stopped, his face twisted with annoyance and—praised be—doubt. “If you release that spell, you’ll also send Lizzie to the third layer of hell,” he said, wiggling the thin line of energy that connected me to the fifth level demon. “I doubt she’d fare as well as I would.”

Dimitri drew the spell back like a weapon. “Yeah,” he said, his voice colder than the ice cliffs, “but I get rid of you.”

I hated it when Dimitri was right. He might be bluffing, but I hoped he wasn’t.

Even though I was rapidly losing my powers, I was still a demon slayer. And we lived by the Three Truths. Look to the outside. Accept the universe.

Sacrifice yourself.

“Do it,” I told Dimitri.

Vald stiffened. “Don’t be premature, griffin,” he said quickly. “I’ll let you have your sisters if you take them and leave now.”

“I think he’s telling the truth,” I said to Dimitri. “He hasn’t had time to kill them yet.”

Vald cocked his head toward me. “Lizzie’s taken more time than I’d expected.”

The demon nodded toward a row of jars at the far edge of the room. “Open the one with the blue lid. The curse is there.”

A bolt of silver danced inside.

“Will you know?” I mouthed to him, lacking the energy for words.

Dimitri nodded. He backed toward the far shelf. Eyeing us, he popped the lid, reached his hand inside and crushed the curse. His eyes blazed with relief for a split second before they hardened again. “Stupid, demon,” Dimitri said with a smirk. “I still have the Transport Spell.”

Vald launched a switch star at Dimitri. It sliced through his beautiful chest and into the wall behind him. I watched in horror as Dimitri stood for a moment, an awful steaming hole in his chest, disbelief etched on his features, before he pitched forward onto the floor. Blood flowed from him in a sickening, widening pool.

“Stupid griffin,” Vald said. “I had a switch star.”

It was the single most helpless moment in my life. I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t even hold him.

Vald’s pale blue eyes twinkled as he grinned at me. “Ah, switch stars. They’re quite useful, you know,” he said, returning to the slow task of killing me. “You can’t throw a curse from fifty feet.”

Numb, hard shock gave way to pure, blind rage. Dimitri could have used the Transport Spell to save himself. He could have popped it the moment he knew his sisters were safe. But he’d stuck around to help me and I’d be damned if I was going to let him lie there in a pool of blood. I was a demon slayer and I had to start acting like one.

Vald’s evil twisted in his heart. I could taste it like I could the black souls as they twined and pulsed in JR’s chest. I leaned forward, pushed toward Vald like I was swimming through water. He yanked me closer, as my essence bled into his hands.

I breathed in sulfur and rot as I laid my hand on his chest. Yeah, well I’d soon smell the sulfuric ting of black, gloopy demon blood. Gritting my teeth, I used every ounce of strength I had left to dig my fingers into his flesh. He hollered and pulled and for a second I thought he was about to fling me away, but I kept burrowing, through muscle and ribs and the goo that jammed under my fingernails and twisted around my wrist, my arm. I grasped his heart in both hands and yanked.

“Enough!” he demanded.

The muscle spasmed in my hand. It curled and pumped, spouting black gore. Alive. Empty. I felt for Vald’s essence, his living being.

“Demons don’t have souls, you raving lunatic.” Vald ground his teeth together, tethered to me by a single thread, my right hand still inside his chest. The two halves of my soul fluttered in my throat. They wanted to be whole again. Tears pushed against the back of my eyes. I’d give anything to get out of here, to be normal. To leave this entire sick existence behind me.

But it wasn’t about me.

Sacrifice yourself.

I covered my mouth with my hand and tried not to choke on the acidic tang of Vald’s blood. I forced myself to relax, eased my throat opened and coaxed the fluttering half of my soul upward.

Vald pulled at the thin thread, unraveling the last bits of my power. His chest healed quickly, the black blood thickening, his skin closing over the wound. I captured the adventurous half of my soul like a butterfly, wound it into my palm and shoved it into the rapidly narrowing hole in Vald’s chest.

“You clueless,” the demon strained for a breath, “freak of—” His eyes bugged as he clutched the gaping wound over his heart. Vald fell to his knees as blue fire curled from the gash. He stared at me with pure hatred as the cobalt flame lashed across his body, incinerating him from the inside out.

I should have been relieved, and I was. More than that, I was angry—at Vald for starting this whole mess, at Dimitri for trying to be brave and at myself for not doing more to protect the two people in this world that would have done anything to protect me.

Vald burned hot and fast. I’d heard of spontaneous combustion and this had to be the closest thing to it. But the blue flame left nothing, not even ashes.

Soul jars burst like popcorn popping. I wrapped my arms around my face and head as souls careened throughout the room. They rushed up, out, in a flurry of beating wings.

My own energy knocked me backward as it surged into my body. Heat blasted through my veins. Unable to move, I stared for Dimitri’s pale, lifeless body. He wasn’t breathing.

No. I tried to stand. It couldn’t end this way. I wouldn’t let it.

A familiar presence landed on my shoulder. Grandma.

“Stay with me,” I said, as I struggled toward Vald. Holding my breath, I pulled my ever living soul from the demon’s chest with a wet glop. My spirit dove back into me, searing me with its intensity. I caught my breath for a moment, overwhelmed.

It was too much.

I felt my chest. I was whole. But what about Dimitri? What about Grandma?

“Wait for me,” I said, hoping he could hear.

I had to help Grandma while I could.

Her soul on my shoulder, I struggled to stand. My legs felt like rubber as I forced them to move. “Don’t you dare fly off on me, Grandma.”

Head swimming, I put one foot in front of the other until I made it to Grandma’s body on the gurney outside the torture room. With a squeal, her soul belly-flopped back into her. I thought I saw her eyes twitch, but we didn’t have time to get her off the slab. Not yet. Dimitri could be dying back there. I heaved the table around and pushed Grandma back through the broken glass in the soul room, the wheels spattering through Dimitri’s blood.

Oh God.

I clutched Grandma’s hand, Dimitri’s hand. I squeezed my eyes shut and called to Ant Eater, the coven, anybody else who was listening.

“Get us the hell out of here!”

Chapter 23

I didn’t even see the portal. It must have snuck up behind us because when the world stopped spinning, we lay crumpled on the floor of a tiny, square shaped living room. The pilot’s house. Not that I cared where we were, as long as it didn’t involve the second layer of hell. We’d made it back. Now I just had to make sure we all lived.

Which is why I kept my eye on the orb as it stalked us from the edge of a framed Yazoo River map. “Down, portal,” I told it. The last thing we needed was to go back to hell. Who knew if demons like Vald stayed dead.

The portal darted sideways and hovered by decorative brass steering wheel hanging on the wall, honoring a certain Captain Clebius Barnam. It dipped and swayed, gathering courage. I gave it the stink eye and it zipped backward, clanging into a brass bell.

Grandma’s eyes fluttered among the mass of long, gray hair tangled in her face. “I’m getting too damned old for this.” She pushed her hair back with one shaking hand and braced the other against the wooden wall, slathered in years upon years of white paint.

“Please tell me you know first aid,” I said, stuffing Dimitri’s borrowed lab coat against his chest wound. The switch star had cauterized part of the wound, but he still bled. Way too much. If he was still bleeding, he was still alive, right? The switch star had cut a hole through the left side of his chest. It had to have hit his heart, his lungs.

The coppery scent of blood hung thick in the humid, night air. Dimitri’s skin, drained of color, had gone bluish around his lips. His pulse felt thready, at least it had a few seconds ago. Now? I couldn’t feel it. “His heart’s stopped.”

No, no, no.

“Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Grandma hijacked his wrist while I moved north, thrusting both hands against the artery on his neck. No pulse. “Damn it! Tell me you know CPR or magic or something!”

She shook her head. “I know he’s supposed to die.”

I couldn’t believe it, even though I held the proof in both hands. “What?”

She looked as helpless and mortified and exasperated as I felt. “Back in the Yardsaver Shed. I saw Vald plotting to drag you down into the second layer of hell. Look what happened when I tried to stop that. And later, I saw Dimitri dying to save you.” She sighed. “It was inevitable.” She wiped a spot of blood from his wrist, ignoring the puddle of blood that soaked her jeans from the knees down.

“So he’s…” I couldn’t say it.

“Gone.” She helped me ease his head onto my lap. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I know what he meant to you.”

She didn’t know jack. Okay, so he lied to me and I was mad at him, but he’d had his reason, a good one. And now he’d never know that I needed him too. He’d shown me that I could be strong. I could break a few rules, wear kick ass black boots and make love until I screamed. And just when I was ready to let go of my past, Vald had stolen my future.

The portal crackled as I sat there with his head in my lap, unable—no, unwilling—to move. I knew we needed to get out of here. We were free from the second layer of hell, but that orb could send us right back to Vald’s laboratory—or somewhere worse.

Maybe there was nothing I could do for Dimitri. But getting up out of the puddle of blood, letting go of him, I’d never get this moment back again. When I stood up, he’d really be gone.

“Lizzie?” Frieda rattled the pilot house door. “Oh snot. It’s stuck. Lizzie?”

“Open the God damned door,” Grandma ordered. “You locked us in with an itchy portal.”

“Gertie? Well I’ll be a buttercup!” Frieda squealed. “Ant Eater! Get yourself over here! Gertie’s back!”

I wanted to smack Frieda for being happy about anything right now. Of course she didn’t know Dimitri lay crumpled and—I forced myself to think it—dead in my lap. I didn’t know how I thought things would end, but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

He’d been too alive, too sexy and too stubborn.

“At least he saved his sisters,” Grandma said.

I uncrumpled the bloody lab coat from his chest and spread it over his body. He’d have told me it was worth it. But it wasn’t. Not to me.

“He wanted to make this thing between us work,” I said, running a finger along his strong jaw. “I told him when hell freezes over. Guess we were both wrong.” I grazed my fingers over the lips that had kissed away the marks from the black souls, and touched me in ways, well, in many, many ways. Tears crowded my eyes. He’d taught me a thing or two, about switch stars, myself and, heck, what it felt like to be wanted.

“Motherfucking damn it.”

“Excuse me?” I said, eyeing Grandma’s stormy expression through a squidgy window of tears.

“You’re turning me into a pansy ass,” she said, shoving her hair back from her face with bloody fingers. She puffed up her cheeks and blew out a breath. “We can save him, okay. If we act now. It’s stupid and pointless,” she harrumphed, “and there’s no turning back from it.”

“How?” I asked, hope tickling my stomach. I’d take any chance we could get.

“You’ll be opening yourself to him in ways you can’t imagine.”

“No,” I told her. “I mean how do we do this?”

Grandma frowned before she shoved her hand inside my vest.

“Yow!” Icy fingers. “Some warning first!”

“Like I got time to buy you flowers,” she muttered, her nails scratching the smooth skin under my collar bone. “Damn it!” A sizzle zipped through her and she yanked her hand back. “I was hoping I could touch it. You have to.”

“Fine. What am I looking for?”

I lifted my shirt away and almost choked when I saw it.

“We need to work on your sensing abilities,” Grandma muttered as I stared at the pure white light glowing from inside my chest. I couldn’t feel it, but it was a part of me.

I reached down and touched it, felt it vibrate against my fingers. It hummed steady and strong—my living essence, the thing that Vald wanted so bad, was reaching out to Dimitri.

“You do it and there’s no turning back,” Grandma warned.

Yes, there’d be consequences, but I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was having Dimitri back, alive.

I forced myself to look as I my fingers crept into the sliver of chest above my heart. Blood pulsed in my ears, against my fingers. The essence clung to me, warm and steady. I took what was mine and slid it into the gaping wound in Dimitri’s chest. I tried not to think of how cold he felt. Grandma muttered a series of incantations as I watched my power sizzle inside him.

Freely given, freely taken.

His chest healed before our eyes, muscles knitting together, skin growing whole. I felt for his pulse. Nothing. My hope sank. But still, I had to believe he could do this. Don’t give up. Please, Dimitri. I did the only thing I could think to do. His head in my hands, I bent down and touched his lips to mine. His lips felt cool. Tears burned my eyes.

He gasped.

Sweet switch stars!

I searched his face. His eyes remained closed, but his chest moved up and down in a beautiful, steady rhythm. I wanted to hug him, Grandma, the portal. He was alive. He saved me and I’d saved him right back.

His emerald glowed hot against my neck.

Kick butt demon slayer that I am, I started crying all over again. “Thanks, Grandma,” I said, running my fingers through his thick hair. I couldn’t help but think back to the first time I’d given in to the temptation, under very different—and quite toe-curling—circumstances.

“It was dumber for him to go down there than it was for you,” Grandma said. “Griffins rule the elements, not the underworld.”

“He cares about his sisters.”

“And you.”

I ran my fingers along his broad shoulders. The idea made me smile. I didn’t know he was awake until he broke open a weak, but saucy grin of his own. I kissed it right off him. “How do you feel?”

“You don’t want to know.” He cupped the back of my head and dragged me down for another kiss. His lips were solid, eager and insistent. I ignored the blood that clung to him and focused on him, clean earthy and masculine. Pure delight threaded through me as he nuzzled his cheek against mine.

“I thought I was dead,” he murmured.

“You were,” Grandma said.

“Grazed by a switch star,” I said, nipping at his delicious lips. “You’ll live.”

Grandma cleared her throat. I didn’t know if she disapproved of the public affection or the lie. Frankly, I didn’t care. I’d been through enough in the past twenty four hours that I should be able to kiss this man for a week. In front of a room full of grandmas. And the Pope.

And if she questioned my little white lie, well, I had to do it. If he knew we were somehow connected, he might never let me go. He’d touched me in ways I never knew existed, but I didn’t belong in this world any more than he belonged in mine.

But I would take one more kiss.

***

There were at least a dozen witches and one elated terrier ready to tackle us the minute we walked out of the pilot house. Pirate dashed for me, his nails skidding on the wooden deck.

“Lizzie! You’re here! I didn’t know if I’d see you again and I was counting the seconds you were gone. But you know I can only count to four. So I had to count one, two, three, four,” He squirmed like a puppy when I picked him up. “And then one, and two and,” he said, between licks to my hands, face and wherever else he could reach.

“Ease up, buddy. I’m here,” I told him, trying to keep hold of my dog in one hand while my other wrapped around Dimitri’s waist. He looked terrible with the bloody lab coat hanging from his frame. But he felt good. And call it wishful thinking, but I could have sworn he grew steadier with each passing minute. I didn’t think my nuzzle therapy had hurt, either. Well, except that we had to wait a few minutes before Dimitri wanted to stand up.

“Sorry it took a bit,” Frieda patted Dimitri’s arm, her bracelets clanging together. “We locked the portal here in the pilot house so it wouldn’t get away again. It likes to ring the bell.”

“It’s not alive,” I told her.

“Okay,” she said.

“Step aside!” Sidecar Bob pushed his way through the crowd around us, medical bag balanced between his knees. “I need to get a look at him,” he said, nearly running over my toes. “What happened?”

“Grazed by a switch star,” I said, yanking my foot back as he spun his wheels sideways for a better look.

“Lizzie! You didn’t!”

Thanks for reminding me about my aim.

“No. I didn’t,” I said. Which just goes to prove, first impressions die hard.

Witches crowded the main deck. I accepted some congratulations, and a horny toad from Redneck Sue. (I didn’t ask). The riverboat’s ancient sound system blasted AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” as Pirate and I wandered up to the narrow deck at the front of the boat. Let Grandma have her fun. I wasn’t much for loud parties. Besides, it would be hard enough to say goodbye to this life without teasing myself with the revelry outside the pilot’s house. Hopefully, Frieda had remembered to lock the door on that portal.

“Watch yourself,” I told Pirate as I crushed a Mexican Food Craving Spell near his tail. Lord knew what that would do to my dog.

I watched the dust from the spell flutter toward the wooden deck. It would be tough to leave this place, but I’d never made any bones about the real reason I wanted to learn about my powers. I loved my job at Happy Hands. Heck, I wanted kids of my own someday. And while running around with biker witches and griffins had done a lot for my confidence and my love life, this wasn’t the place to have a family.

Case in point, as Grandma lumbered up to me with two hands full of steak knives. “For the Beast Feast after the ceremony.” She dropped them onto the bench behind me and ignored the ones that missed and clattered to the deck.

“What ceremony?”

“The one for you.” She dug her finger into her right ear. “Dang thing’s been buzzing ever since, well, I guess I don’t have anything to bitch about, do I?”

“Need help getting ready?” Perhaps I could keep the squirrel guts out of the ceremonial goblet.

“Nah. It’s a job for the coven. I gotta round them up before they tap the keg.” She cast a wry grin my way and hitched up her belt. “I’m not good at this, so shut up and listen. I was blown away by how you handled yourself down there. Don’t get me wrong, I always knew you could do it. You’re my grandbaby for God’s sake. Anyhow, I’m proud. And your mother would be too.”

“About my mom,” I said, one eye on Pirate, who sniffed at the knives.

“Scarlet told me. I should have warned you except, damn it, I thought I’d start with the life-saving shocks and work our way down to the life-changing ones. I thought we had time.” Her expression grew serious. “I saw Vald’s plan for you while I was meditating in the Yardsaver shed back at the Red Skull bar. Unfortunately Vald also saw me.”

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I just wish…” What? That my mom cared about me? That she’d been brave or strong or maybe that she’d warned me before she shoved her powers off onto me? “I don’t have a twin, do I?”

She slapped me on the back. “No.” She dropped her hand. “And I’d suggest you lay off your mom for a while. It took more than you realize for her to come after you, regardless of what you think about her.” She tilted her head and eyed me thoughtfully. “Just know your momma loves you in her own way.”

“Okay.” I’d choose to believe that, for now.

“I meant what I said back at the dumpster. I’m looking forward to being your grandma. Not that I’m going to be throwing chocolate chip cookies at you. Or blowing smoke up your ass.” She dug her hands into the pockets of her rhinestone studded skinny jeans.

“I’m going home,” I told her.

She nodded, watching the full moon. “I told Scarlet what you did, ripping your soul in half. You should have seen the look on her face.” She cleared her throat. “Here’s the thing. She thinks there’s a way to rejoin the two halves.”

I nodded, relieved. Leave it up to Scarlet.

“According to Scarlet, you have a choice. When we rejoin your soul, we can put it back together and leave your demon slaying essence behind.”

“You’re kidding!” I wanted to kiss her. Heck, I’d have been willing to kiss Ant Eater at that moment. Talk about winning the demon slayer lottery. This was even better than learning to control my powers. I could be normal. At last.

“Think about it, Lizzie,” Grandma cautioned. “No more switch stars. No more enchanted river boats. No more throwing Giggle Spells at Ant Eater.”

“No more black souls, death spells, fifth level demon attacks.”

“No more talking dogs. No more griffins,” she said, watching the moon flecked waves slap against the bow of the Dixie Queen.

She would have to mention that.

“Unlike your mom, you won’t have to burden anyone else with your powers. ‘Course you’ll be completely cut off from the magical world.” We stood in silence for a moment. “Except that I’ll be by to visit from time to time. I mean, you are my grandbaby.”

I knew there’d be consequences. I never thought leaving would be easy. Well, maybe I did in the beginning.

While I wasn’t going to run from this world, like my mom, I knew I wasn’t a part of it, like my grandma.

“Let’s do it,” I told her.

“Think about it. No more saving people, making a difference.”

That’s where she didn’t get it. “I make a difference every day when I teach.”

“Good point.” Grandma nodded. “We won’t start the ceremony for another,” she checked her hog watch, “twenty minutes, depending on how fast it takes to steam the armadillo jowls.”

“Of course,” I told her.

I didn’t need twenty minutes to think. I’d already decided a long time ago. I mean, this is what I wanted, right? It was better than what I wanted, which was to be left alone. For good.

So why did I feel so miserable?

***

I’ve never liked goodbyes.

Dimitri leaned against the railing on the back deck, one foot propped up on the rust-flecked metal. He would have to look sexy as all get out in worn jeans that hugged his drool-worthy butt and his trademark black T-shirt, drawn tight over his back. Maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling a bit tense.

Witches called to each other among the clanking coming from the kitchen and main dining room. Preparations for the Beast Feast were in full swing. I’d left Pirate in the middle of it, riding in Sidecar Bob’s lap and sampling everything in reach.

Dimitri’s gaze flickered over my dirty purple plaid miniskirt. “Come here, Lizzie.”

I wrapped my arms around him, ear to his chest and reveled in the thwump, tump, tump of his heart. He’d always have a part of me with him, whether he knew it or not. My chipped pink fingernails traced wicked patterns on his abs. “They send you out here too?”

“Nah. I just got off the phone with my sisters.” He burst into a wide grin. “You wouldn’t believe it, they’re—” He trailed off, lost in his pure rapture. His sisters were alive.

Dimitri shook his head, lit up from head to toe. “Diana has this horse,” he said. “She calls it her pony, but don’t be fooled—the thing’s a full-bred Andalusian. Turns out she’s been dreaming of him while she’s in her coma. She wakes up, glad as anything to be alive and decides she has to ride the horse, right then and there. Well, Dyonne—that’s my other sister,” he paused, physically unable to wipe the smile off his face, “Dyonne tells Diana to forget about the horse. There’s a monster storm brewing off the coast. Lightning, pouring rain, the works. Everybody knows she can’t take Zeus out in that. But all Diana can think about is this horse.”

He shook his head. “So Diana’s out there, soaked and Dyonne is hollering at her from the window, mad as hell ‘Get in here or you’re going to get killed—again!’ She thinks she has Diana convinced when Diana comes busting through the front door of the house and rides Zeus straight into the dining room.” He laughed freely, tears touching the corners of his eyes. “God, I love those two.”

He tilted his chin down, still smiling. I was going to melt into a puddle on the floor if he kept looking at me that way.

He wrapped my hands in his. “I’m flying to Santorini in a few hours to see them,” he said. “If the house is still standing—and at this rate, that’s a big if.” He ran his thumbs in lazy circles over my wrists. Such a small gesture, but I didn’t want it to end. “I’d like you to come stay with us.”

The two halves of my soul fluttered in my throat. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t.

I shouldn’t.

Besides, I’d never planned a trip without two guide books, a typed itinerary and at least three months’ notice. Well, except for my recent excursion with the Red Skull witches and it was safe to say that undertaking hadn’t quite turned out like I’d expected.

“Well?” He hitched a brow.

He couldn’t be serious. “When would we leave? Now?”

“Ten minutes or so,” he said, not half as concerned as he should be. “I was about to come find you.”

“Ten minutes?” It would take longer than that to convince Pirate to leave the kitchen. And how would I take a dog to Greece?

And wasn’t I out here to tell Dimitri goodbye?

“You said yourself school doesn’t start for another week,” he teased, his lips on mine before I could even think about uttering the word no.

He drew me in again and again, his hands trailing down my back, pulling me into him, making me feel…

I pulled away. If I wanted to get rid of my powers, the ceremony was tonight. Of course that didn’t mean I couldn’t see Dimitri later… Wait. Yes, it did.

“What do you think?” He kissed the tip of my nose. I could feel every inch of him crushed against me.

I didn’t want to think. Just like I hadn’t wanted to think when I had him—all of him—on top of me at Motel 6.

It was time to face facts. This was never going to work.

Dang, it was hard to remember that with this utterly hot, raw, sexy griffin so close.

Before I could stop him, he lowered his mouth to mine. He kissed like his life depended on it. It was so easy to wrap myself up in his heat. I circled one of his nipples with a finger and felt him gasp.

“Come to Santorini with me,” he murmured against my lips. Delicious. “Black sand beaches, two crazy sisters, my family’s old country house.” He brushed my hair back from my face and tucked it behind my ears. “I’d ply you with olives and think of many, many ways to entertain you.” His lips tasted mine again. Once, twice. “And of course,” he said, nipping at the edges of my mouth. “You’d have to skip the Beast Feast.”

Yes.

No. My stomach tingled and it wasn’t because of the way his fingers trailed down my back. It had to end tonight. I’d always said I wanted to go back, be with my preschool kids, have kids of my own some day.

Dimitri would be better off too, I reminded myself, ignoring the heat pooling between my thighs. He’d spent most of his life trying to save his sisters. Now, for the first time, he could relax and think of his own future. Maybe settle down with a griffin like him. I already hated her.

He nestled his face in the curve of my bare neck. Every nerve ending zinged with the sensation. Oh my fluttering soul, what would it be like to have him again, naked again, inside me?

I had to get out of here.

I pulled at Dimitri’s emerald and to my surprise, the bronze chain unwound from my neck. We both watched the teardrop shaped stone come to rest in my palm. It lay shadowy and thick in the moonlight.

“Here,” I said, offering it to him.

Please take it before I think about this too much.

“No,” he said, as a brief flash of worry crossed his face. “I gave that to you.”

“I just think it would be safer with you,” I said, dangling it between us.

Disappointment flickered over his features. “You’re not coming to Greece.”

“No,” I said, the stone heavy in my hand.

“Keep it,” he said. “We’ll talk when I get back.”

He captured my head in his hands and kissed me hard. Lips, teeth, tongue. He owned me and I savored every second of it. I wanted to wrap my legs around him, feel him on top of me. He groaned and pulled me against him. Kissed me like he was never going to stop. Almost like a part of him knew we were kissing goodbye.

Chapter 24

This is the right thing to do, I reminded myself as I stood inside the mirrored main dining room of the boat. The witches had blacked out the windows and shoved the tables to the corners of the room. We stood in a circle under a wrought iron chandelier, tipped with dozens upon dozens of gas lights.

I’d watched Dimitri climb onto his Harley as we filed into the ceremony room. It was official. He was gone. And when he got back, I wouldn’t be here. Don’t think about it. What’s done is done.

Frieda squeezed my hand as peals of laughter rang from somewhere below us. “Giggle Spell,” she whispered into my ear. “Bug Eyed Betsy didn’t even see it coming.”

“Been there, done that,” Ant Eater groused on my other side.

“I’m just saying,” Frieda’s bracelets dangled against my wrist, “That woman is slow as pond water.”

“Seal the door.” Grandma ordered as she wheeled in a squeaky, rumbly dessert cart topped with a heated chafing dish. Flames curled under the dish and something sweet boiled inside. I knew better than to get my hopes up for cherries flambé.

The witches closed their eyes. I felt the magic build. The doors to the dining room slammed shut. No one moved a muscle. The only sound in the room came from bubbles seething over the fire. The air thickened as the gas lamps dimmed and cast tall shadows against the mirrors behind us.

I couldn’t help remembering the ceremony in the basement of the Red Skull bar. So much had changed since they’d first offered me their protection.

Grandma bowed her head and the others followed. “We, the witches of the Red Skull, are bound to the magic that has sustained our order for more than twelve hundred years. In it, we find warmth, light and eternal goodness. Without it, we perish. This night, we seek to rejoin the soul of our sister, Elizabeth. May she be one as we are one.”

Yeek. Nobody called me Elizabeth unless I was in trouble. I fought back a tangle of nerves.

Scarlet fiddled with something behind the ceremonial stew.

Beeeeeeep! A laptop screeched.

“Sorry,” Scarlet muttered.

Oh don’t tell me they were getting this spell off the Internet. My soul fluttered in my throat.

Grandma conferred with Scarlet for—not long enough in my book—before she stepped into the circle, holding a chain made from—oh geez—mangled twist ties.

Grandma Gertie was going to fuse my immortal soul with the same stuff I used to wrap bread.

I snuck a glance at Frieda. She seemed to think this made sense. Ant Eater? Riveted. Lovely. The witches observed Grandma with bated breath as she returned to the dessert cart and removed a covered dish. It smelled like chicken. But I knew better. Why couldn’t I be related to a coven that drew their magic from plants or, as long as I was dreaming here, chocolate?

Then again, this would be my last ceremony.

Grandma lifted the lid on a plate full of teeny tiny hearts. She held up the twist tie links and popped a wee ticker into each round hole.

“From death we begin again.” She hung the grisly chain around my neck. Bet Dimitri would be glad now that I’d taken off his emerald. It felt gloopy, wet and it smelled like, well, dead animals. Syrupy excess dripped down my collar bone.

“As we join with you now, may the two halves of your soul be joined again.”

They darted back and forth inside my throat. Holy heck.

Grandma must have sensed my unease. “Relax,” she muttered. “We’re not done yet.”

I nodded and felt the gloppy necklace shift.

“Are you sure you want to give up your magic?” She asked.

This was it.

Shit.

Yes, I wanted to give up my powers. I was a teacher, a damned good one. Not a demon slayer. I had to give this up, I told myself, my palms growing slick and sweaty against Frieda’s…and Ant Eaters. And why did I care about Ant Eater? I didn’t even like Ant Eater. Not all the time at least.

But I loved this life.

Despite everything, I didn’t want to leave.

“Lizzie?” Grandma eyed me expectantly.

I hated sudden decisions. And until recently, I’d never been good at trusting my gut. I closed my eyes and searched hard for what I needed to do. I should give up my powers. I should pack up Pirate and head straight home. But… “I’m not going to do it.” I said. “I’m staying.”

I felt the witches exhale in a whoosh. Heck, I did the same thing myself. I couldn’t believe it. Me, in all of my over planning, over serious, oxford wearing glory. I wanted to be a demon slayer. And, I thought as I squeezed my toes inside my high flying, demon whomping black boots, I might even ditch the oxfords for good.

“Okay!” Grandma said, grinning ear to ear, not quite sure what to do next. “Uh, Scarlet? What’s my next line?”

Scarlet tapped a few keys on the laptop and carried the whole thing over to Grandma.

Grandma placed a hand over my throat and used the other to steady the computer as she read. “As your soul was rendered in pieces may it fuse, whole again.” She caught my eye and winked. “Stronger for the wound that cut so deep. Wiser for facing the evil that caused it. Braver for having risked so much.”

Grandma released my neck and snuffed the fire under the silver chafing dish. Scarlet reached under the cart and held up a large serving platter. On it, she placed a crystal goblet with handles on the sides. I remembered that goblet from the protection ceremony. And if I was lucky, there’d be something in that pot besides mashed squirrel and bakki root.

I felt Frieda dance on her toes. “Ohhh…cherried turtles is a delicacy, you know.”

Grandma ladled the thick stew into the cup. The top of the crystal goblet clouded with steam.

This time, I’d drink.

Grandma held out the cup to the group. “As we drink, we are one.” She inhaled the vapors above the goblet and took the first sip. Frieda went next. The cup made it all around the room and stopped in front of me, with plenty of goo to spare.

Think of cherry pie filling. I took it in both hands, touched my lips to the sweltering cup and drank. It burned down my throat like a dozen shots of Jack Daniels, warming me, filling me. The two halves of my soul fused and radiated a sense of completeness and harmony that burst straight through me.

The witches burst into applause. I felt Dimitri’s emerald warm in my pocket.

I did it.

Frieda hauled off and hugged me while Ant Eater pounded me on the back.

I squinted as the overhead lights flickered on. “Beast Feast!” The witches hollered, stampeding for the door.

Frieda helped me ease off the goopy necklace and linked her arm in mine. “After that’s the dancin’. We captured a ton of dance spells. They take forever to make. Want some?” she asked, digging through her bra. “I’ve got an Angus Young and a Macarena,” she said, stuffing them into my pocket. “Both very big in the ‘80s. And wait,” she said, fishing below her left boob. “Tango!” She nudged me with her elbow. “I saw you out there heating it up with Dimitri.”

Ant Eater shoved her way past. “Wait,” she said. “Gertie forgot part of the ceremony.” Sure enough, Grandma and Scarlet debated back and forth as they studied the laptop screen. “Quick.” Ant Eater popped a salty, jelly beany, bitter-when-I-bit-it thing into my mouth.

“Ugh,” I said, through three chews and a quick swallow. I felt it every inch of the way down to my stomach. But I completed the ceremony this time. I did it. Come hell or highly unusual witchcraft.

Ant Eater burst out laughing.

“What?” Did I finally break through to that woman?

She grinned, her gold tooth flashing in the lamp light. “You just ate an owl eye.”

Ick. “A magical owl eye?” I hoped.

“Nope. Just a plain old eye. Sucker!” She thumped me hard on the arm. “That’s for not drinking the protection potion.”

“Hey, everybody! Lizzie just ate an owl eye,” she guffawed.

I dug into my pocket, past Dimitri’s emerald.

“That’ll teach Lizzie not to mess with me,” Ant Eater said, her attention on the crowd as I slipped a Macarena Spell into her drink.

Too bad I didn’t have time to watch Ant Eater star in Dancing with the Red Skulls. I had to go see about a griffin. And I hoped I wasn’t too late.

***

I didn’t know how I’d find him. My demon slayer instincts were programmed for danger, not sexy griffins. I’d just have to follow him to the airport, or to Santorini, or hell—wherever I needed to go.

As I dashed over the rumbling gangplank of the Dixie Queen, I saw him. Dimitri. I couldn’t believe he was still here. “Hold up!” I called like a crazy person.

He sat, back straight, on his Harley. Well, until he heard me yelling at him. I couldn’t see the look on his face, but I could tell by the way he hitched his long body off that hog that he was happy to see me. It had been a whole half hour, right?

“You’re still here!” I said, plowing straight into him. He caught me and we both lurched sideways. He steadied me in the strength of his embrace.

“Easy now,” he said, running his hands along my arms.

I pulled him down to me and kissed him hard. He held me close, even after I broke away. “I had the worst feeling,” he said, his breath warm against my cheek. “Like if I drove down that road, I’d never see you again.”

I didn’t want to think about how close I came. “You knew I’d come back, didn’t you?”

“Hoped,” he said.

He slid his hand into my pocket and withdrew the emerald. “May I?” I nodded as he slipped the thin bronze chain around my wrist. “You’re coming to Greece with me,” he said.

Like I could resist. I may not know much about the magical world, but I knew a good thing when I saw it. I’d be crazy to let him go. “Well I figure I’ve never ridden a horse up a flight of stairs.”

“Diana will be thrilled.”

A grin tickled the corners of my mouth. “Me too.” I liked the idea of a family whose members watched out for each other. Growing up, I’d have given anything to have that. Now, between Grandma and Dimitri, I could have it two times over.

Dimitri reached into his back pocket and held up my dark blue passport. “A little something JR found in your desk at home.”

I couldn’t believe it. “You stole my passport?”

He had the nerve to look offended. “You stole my wallet.”

“Touché.” Ah, the memories lingered long after the underwear had dried. I nipped at his lips. He really was the most stubborn man I’d ever met.

“They’re here!” Frieda hollered, wobbling as she scurried down the path on her platform sandals. “Boy, oh, boy,” she told us, “Your grandma’s hotter than a goat’s butt in a pepper patch.”

I fought the urge to bury my face against Dimitri’s chest. “What now?”

“It’s your Uncle Phil. He ran off with a succubus,” She patted at her canary yellow bouffant. “Rumor has it, they’re in Vegas.

What did she expect us to do? “We’re heading to Greece.”

“You sure about that? The universe didn’t give you those powers for nothing. You too, buster,” she said, flashing a rhinestone tipped nail at Dimitri. “You owe us one.”

Dimitri’s necklace pulse, glowed, wound down my body to form a—

Oh no.

I lifted the front of my bustier and peeked down at my chain link bronze showgirl bra, Dimitri’s tear drop emerald glowing between my breasts.

Did I really choose this kind of life?

I couldn’t help but smile.

Yeah, I did. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

About the Author

Angie Fox is the New York Times bestselling author of several books about vampires, werewolves and things that go bump in the night. She’s best known for her urban fantasy series about a demon slayer who teams up with a gang of Harley riding biker witches.

Angie also writes the Monster Mash series about a group of paranormal M*A*S*H surgeons.

She claims that researching her stories can be just as much fun as writing them. In the name of fact-finding, Angie has ridden with Harley biker gangs, explored the tunnels underneath Hoover Dam and found an interesting recipe for Mamma Coalpot’s Southern Skunk Surprise (she’s still trying to get her courage up to try it).

Angie earned a Journalism degree from the University of Missouri. She worked in television news and then in advertising before beginning her career as an author. Visit Angie at www.angiefox.com.

Carpe Demon

Book One of the
Demon Hunting Soccer Mom Novels

Julie Kenner

Chapter 1

My name is Kate Connor and I used to be a Demon Hunter.

I’ve often thought that would be a great pickup line at parties, but with a teenager, a toddler, and a husband, I’m hardly burning up the party circuit. And, of course, the whole demon-hunting thing is one great big gargantuan secret. No one knows. Not my kids, not my husband, and certainly not folks at these imaginary parties where I’m regaling sumptuous hunks with tales from my demon-slaying, vampire-hunting, zombie-killing days.

Back in the day, I was pretty cool. Now I’m a glorified chauffeur for drill-team practice and Gymboree playdates. Less sex appeal, maybe, but I gotta admit I love it. I wouldn’t trade my family for anything. And after fourteen years of doing the mommy thing, my demon-hunting skills aren’t exactly sharp.

All of which explains why I didn’t immediately locate and terminate the demon wandering the pet-food aisle of the San Diablo Wal-Mart. Instead, when I caught a whiff of that telltale stench, I naturally assumed it emanated exclusively from the bottom of a particularly cranky two-year-old. My two-year-old, to be exact.

“Mom! He did it again. What are you feeding him?” That from Alison, my particularly cranky fourteen-year-old. She, at least, didn’t stink.

“Entrails and goat turds,” I said absently. I sniffed the air again. Surely that was only Timmy I was smelling.

“Mo-om.” She managed to make the word two syllables. “You don’t have to be gross.”

“Sorry.” I concentrated on my kids, pushing my suspicions firmly out of my mind. I was being silly. San Diablo had been demon-free for years. That’s why I lived here, after all.

Besides, the comings and goings of demons weren’t my problem anymore. Nowadays my problems leaned more toward the domestic rather than the demonic. Grocery shopping, budgeting, carpooling, mending, cleaning, cooking, parenting, and a thousand other “-ings.” All the basic stuff that completely holds a family together and is taken entirely for granted by every person on the planet who doesn’t happen to be a wife and stay-at-home mom. (And two points to you if you caught that little bit of vitriol. I’ll admit to having a few issues about the whole topic, but, dammit, I work hard. And believe me, I’m no stranger to hard work. It was never easy, say, cleaning out an entire nest of evil, bloodthirsty preternatural creatures with only a few wooden stakes, some holy water, and a can of Diet Coke. But I always managed. And it was a hell of a lot easier than getting a teenager, a husband, and a toddler up and moving in the morning. Now, that’s a challenge.)

While Timmy fussed and whined, I swung the shopping cart around, aiming for the back of the store and a diaper-changing station. It would have been a refined, fluid motion if Timmy hadn’t taken the opportunity to reach out with those chubby little hands. His fingers collided with a stack of Fancy Feast cans and everything started wobbling.

I let out one of those startled little “oh!” sounds, totally pointless and entirely ineffectual. There was a time when my reflexes were so sharp, so perfectly attuned, that I probably could have caught every one of those cans before they hit the ground. But that Kate wasn’t with me in Wal-Mart, and I watched, helpless, as the cans clattered to the ground.

Another fine mess …

Alison had jumped back as the cans fell, and she looked with dismay at the pile. As for the culprit, he was suddenly in a fabulous mood, clapping wildly and screaming “Big noise! Big noise!” while eyeing the remaining stacks greedily. I inched the cart farther away from the shelves.

“Allie, do you mind? I need to go change him.”

She gave me one of those put-upon looks that are genetically coded to appear as soon as a girl hits her teens.

“Take your pick,” I said, using my most reasonable mother voice. “Clean up the cat food, or clean up your brother.”

“I’ll pick up the cans,” she said, in a tone that perfectly matched her expression.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that she was fourteen. Raging hormones. Those difficult adolescent years. More difficult, I imagined, for me than for her. “Why don’t I meet you in the music aisle. Pick out a new CD and we’ll add it to the pile.”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

“Sure. Why not?” Yes, yes, don’t even say it. I know “why not.” Setting a bad precedent, not defining limits, blah, blah, blah. Throw all that psycho mumbo jumbo at me when you’re wandering Wal-Mart with two kids and a list of errands as long as your arm. If I can buy a day’s worth of cooperation for $14.99, then that’s a deal I’m jumping all over. I’ll worry about the consequences in therapy, thank you very much.

I caught another whiff of nastiness right before we bit the restrooms. Out of habit, I looked around. A feeble old man squinted at me from over the Wal-Mart Sunday insert, but other than him, there was nobody around but me and Timmy.

“P.U.,” Timmy said, then flashed a toothy grin.

I smiled as I parked the shopping cart outside of the ladies’ room. “P.U.” was his newest favorite word, followed in close second by “Oh, man!” The “Oh, man!” I can blame on Nickelodeon and Dora the Explorer. For the other, I lay exclusive blame on my husband, who has never been keen on changing dirty diapers and has managed, I’m convinced, over the short term of Timmy’s life, to give the kid a complete and utter complex about bowel movements.

“You’re P.U.,” I said, hoisting him onto the little dropdown changing table. “But not for long. We’ll clean you up, powder that bottom, and slap on a new diaper. You’re gonna come out smelling like a rose, kid.”

“Like a rose!” he mimicked, reaching for my earrings while I held him down and stripped him.

After a million wipes and one fresh diaper, Timmy was back in the shopping cart. We fetched Allie away from a display of newly released CDs, and she came more or less willingly, a Natalie Imbruglia CD clutched in her hand.

Ten minutes and eighty-seven dollars later I was strapping Timmy into his car seat while Allie loaded our bags into the minivan. As I was maneuvering through the parking lot, I caught one more glimpse of the old man I’d seen earlier. He was standing at the front of the store, between the Coke machines and the plastic kiddie pools, just staring out toward me. I pulled over. My plan was to pop out, say a word or two to him, take a good long whiff of his breath, and then be on my way.

I had my door half open when music started blasting from all six of the Odyssey’s speakers at something close to one hundred decibels. I jumped, whipping around to face Allie, who was already fumbling for the volume control and muttering, “Sorry, sorry.”

I pushed the power button, which ended the Natalie Imbruglia surround-sound serenade, but did nothing about Timmy, who was now bawling his eyes out, probably from the pain associated with burst eardrums. I shot Allie a stern look, unfastened my seat belt, and climbed into the backseat, all the while trying to make happy sounds that would calm my kid.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Allie said. To her credit she sounded sincere. “I didn’t know the volume was up that high.” She maneuvered into the backseat on the other side of Timmy and started playing peekaboo with Boo Bear, a bedraggled blue bear that’s been Timmy’s constant companion since he was five months old. At first Timmy ignored her, but after a while he joined in, and I felt a little surge of pride for my daughter.

“Good for you,” I said.

She shrugged and kissed her brother’s forehead.

I remembered the old man and reached for the door, but as I looked out at the sidewalk, I saw that he was gone.

“What’s wrong?” Allie asked.

I hadn’t realized I was frowning, so I forced a smile and concentrated on erasing the worry lines from my forehead. “Nothing,” I said. And then, since that was the truth, I repeated myself, “Nothing at all.”

***

For the next three hours we bounced from store to store as I went down my list for the day: bulk goods at Wal-Mart— check; shoes for Timmy at Payless—check; Happy Meal for Timmy to ward off crankiness—check; new shoes for Allie from DSW—check; new ties for Stuart from T.J. Maxx—check. By the time we hit the grocery store, the Happy Meal had worn off, both Timmy and Allie were cranky, and I wasn’t far behind. Mostly, though, I was distracted.

That old man was still on my mind, and I was irritated with myself for not letting the whole thing drop. But something about him bugged me. As I pushed the shopping cart down the dairy aisle, I told myself I was being paranoid. For one thing, demons tend not to infect the old or feeble. (Makes sense when you think about it; if you’re going to suddenly become corporeal, you might as well shoot for young, strong, and virile.) For another, I’m pretty sure there’d been no demon stench, just a particularly pungent toddler diaper. Of course, that didn’t necessarily rule out demon proximity. All the demons I’d ever run across tended to pop breath mints like candy, and one even owned the majority share of stock in a mouthwash manufacturer. Even so, common sense told me there was no demon.

Mostly, though, I needed to drop the subject simply because it wasn’t my problem anymore. I may have been a Level Four Demon Hunter once upon a time, but that time was fifteen years ago. I was retired now. Out of the loop. Even more, I was out of practice.

I turned down the cookie-and-chips aisle, careful not to let Timmy see as I tossed two boxes of Teddy Grahams into the cart. In the next aisle, Allie lingered in front of the breakfast cereal, and I could practically see her mind debating between the uber-healthy Kashi and her favorite Lucky Charms. I tried to focus on my grocery list (were we really out of All-Bran?), but my brain kept coming back to the old man.

Surely I was just being paranoid. I mean, why would a demon willingly come to San Diablo, anyway? The California coastal town was built on a hillside, its crisscross of streets leading up to St. Mary’s, the cathedral that perched at the top of the cliffs, a focal point for the entire town. In addition to being stunningly beautiful, the cathedral was famous for its holy relics, and it drew both tourists and pilgrims. The devout came to San Diablo for the same reason the demons stayed away—the cathedral was holy ground. Evil simply wasn’t welcome there.

That was also the primary reason Eric and I had retired in San Diablo. Ocean views, the fabulous California weather, and absolutely no demons or other nasties to ruin our good time. San Diablo was a great place to have kids, friends, and the normal life he and I had both craved. Even now, I thank God that we had ten good years together.

“Mom?” Allie squeezed my free hand, and I realized I’d wandered to the next aisle, and was now holding a freezer door open, staring blankly at a collection of frozen pizzas. “You okay?” From the way her nose crinkled, I knew she suspected I was thinking about her dad.

“Fine,” I lied, blinking furiously. “I was trying to decide between pepperoni or sausage for dinner tonight, and then I got sidetracked thinking about making my own pizza dough.”

“The last time you tried that, you got dough stuck on the light fixture and Stuart had to climb up and dig it out.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” But it had worked; we’d both moved past our melancholy. Eric had died just after Allie’s ninth birthday, and although she and Stuart got along famously, I knew she missed her dad as much as I did. We talked about it on occasion, sometimes remembering the funny times, and sometimes, like when we visited the cemetery, the memories were filled with tears. But now wasn’t the time for either, and we both knew it.

I squeezed her hand back. My girl was growing up. Already she was looking out for me, and it was sweet and heartbreaking all at the same time. “What do you think?” I asked. “Pepperoni?”

“Stuart likes sausage better,” she said.

“We’ll get both,” I said, knowing Allie’s distaste for sausage pizza. “Want to rent a movie on the way home? We’ll have to look fast so the food doesn’t spoil, but surely there’s something we’ve been wanting to see.”

Her eyes lit up. “We could do a Harry Potter marathon.”

I stifled a grimace. “Why not? It’s been at least a month since our last HP marathon.”

She rolled her eyes, then retrieved Timmy’s sippy cup and adjusted Boo Bear. I knew I was stuck.

My cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID, then leaned against the grocery cart as I answered. “Hey, hon.”

“I’m having the day from hell,” Stuart said, which was a poor choice of words considering that got me thinking about demons all over again. “And I’m afraid I’m going to ruin your day, too.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“Any chance you were planning something fabulous for dinner? Enough to serve eight, with cocktails before and some fancy dessert after?”

“Frozen pizza and Harry Potter,” I said, certain I knew where this was going to end up.

“Ah,” Stuart said. In the background I could hear the eraser end of his pencil tapping against his desktop. Beside me, Allie pretended to bang her head against the glass freezer door. “Well, that would serve eight,” he said. “But it may not have quite the cachet I was hoping for.”

“It’s important?”

“Clark thinks it is.” Clark Curtis was San Diablo’s lame duck county attorney, and he favored my husband to step into his shoes. Right now, Stuart had a low political profile, working for peanuts as an assistant county attorney in the real estate division. Stuart was months away from formally announcing, but if he wanted to have any hope of winning the election, he needed to start playing the political game, shaking hands, currying favors, and begging campaign contributions. Although a little nervous, he was excited about the campaign, and flattered by Clark’s support. As for me, the thought of being a politician’s wife was more than a little unnerving.

“A house full of attorneys,” I said, trying to think what the heck I could feed them. Or, better yet, if there was any way to get out of this.

Allie sank down to the floor, her back against the freezer, her forehead on her knees.

“And judges.”

“Oh, great.” This was the part about domesticity that I didn’t enjoy. Entertaining just isn’t my thing. I hated it, actually. Always had, always would. But my husband, the aspiring politician, loved me anyway. Imagine that.

“I tell you what. I’ll have Joan call some caterers. You don’t have to do anything except be home by six to meet them. Folks are coming at seven, and I’ll be sure to be there by six-thirty to give you a hand.”

Now, see? That’s why I love him. But I couldn’t accept. Guilt welled in my stomach just from the mere suggestion. This was the man I loved, after all. And I couldn’t be bothered to pull together a small dinner party? What kind of a heartless wench was I?

“How about rigatoni?” I asked, wondering which was worse, heartless wench or guilty sucker. “And a spinach salad? And I can pick up some appetizers and the stuff for my apple tart.” That pretty much exhausted my guest-worthy repertoire, and Stuart knew it.

“Sounds perfect,” he said. “But are you sure? It’s already four.”

“I’m sure,” I said, not sure at all, but it was his career, not mine, that was riding on my culinary talents.

“You’re the best,” he said. “Let me talk to Allie.”

I passed the phone to my daughter, who was doing a good impression of someone so chronically depressed she was in need of hospitalization. She lifted a weary hand, took the phone, and pressed it to her ear. “Yeah?”

While they talked, I focused my attention on Timmy, who was being remarkably good. “Nose!” he said when I pointed to my nose. “Ear!” I pointed to my other ear.

“More ear!” The kid was literal, that was for sure. I leaned in close and gave him big wet sloppy kisses on his neck while he giggled and kicked.

With my head cocked to the side like that, I caught a glimpse of Allie, who no longer looked morose. If anything, she looked supremely pleased with herself. I wondered what she and Stuart were scheming, and suspected it was going to involve me carpooling a load of teenage girls to the mall.

“What?” I asked as Allie hung up.

“Stuart said it was okay with him if I spent the night at Mindy’s. Can I? Please?”

I ran my fingers through my hair and tried not to fantasize about killing my husband. The reasonable side of me screamed that he was only trying to help. The annoyed side of me retorted that he’d just sent my help packing, and I now had to clean the house, cook dinner, and keep Timmy entertained all on my own.

“Pleeeeeeze?”

“Fine. Sure. Great idea.” I started pushing the cart toward the dairy aisle while Timmy babbled something entirely unintelligible. “You can get your stuff and head to Mindy’s as soon as we get home.”

She did a little hop-skip number, then threw her arms around my neck. “Thanks, Mom! You’re the best”

“Mmmm. Remember this the next time you’re grounded.”

She pointed at her chest, her face ultra-innocent “Me? In trouble? I think you have me confused with some other daughter.”

I tried to scowl, but didn’t quite manage it, and she knew she’d won me over. Well, what the heck? I was a woman of the new millennium. I’d staked vampires, defeated demons, and incapacitated incubi. How hard could a last-minute dinner party be?

***

Mindy Dupont lives at our exact address, only one street over. Once the girls became inseparable, Laura Dupont and I followed suit, and now she’s more like a sister than a neighbor. I knew she wouldn’t care if Allie stayed over, so I didn’t bother calling ahead. I just bought a chocolate cake for bribery/thank-you purposes, then added it to Allie’s pile as she set off across our connecting backyards to Laura’s patio. (They’re not technically connected. A paved city easement runs between us, and it’s fenced off on both sides. Last year Stuart convinced the city that they should install gates on either side, so as to facilitate any city workers who might need to get back there. I’ve never once seen a utility man wandering behind my house, but those gates have sure made life easier for me, Laura, and the girls. Have I mentioned I adore my husband?)

A little less than ten minutes later I had Timmy settled in front of a Wiggles video, and I was pushing a dust mop over our hardwood floors, trying to get all the nooks and crannies a judge might notice, and ignoring all the other spots. I was pretty certain there was a dust bunny convention under the sofa, but until the conventioneers started wandering out into the rest of the house, I wasn’t going to worry about it.

The phone rang, and I lunged for it.

“Allie says you’re doing the dinner party thing. Need help?”

“Actually, I’m good. My clothes are laid out, the sauce is simmering, the appetizers are on cookie sheets ready to go in the oven, and I even managed to find eight wineglasses.” I took a deep breath. “And they match.”

“Well, aren’t you just a little Martha Stewart? In the pre-scandal, domestic-goddess days, of course. And the munchkin?”

“In his jammies in front of the television.”

“All finished with bathtime?”

“No bath. Extra videos.”

She released a long-suffering sigh. “Finally, a flaw. Now I don’t have to hate you after all.”

I laughed. “Hate me all you want for managing to pull this together. It’s a feat worthy of your hatred.” I didn’t point out that I hadn’t actually pulled it off yet. I wasn’t counting this evening as a success until the guests went home happy, patting their tummies and promising Stuart all sorts of political favors. “Just don’t hate me for dumping Allie on you. You sure it’s okay?”

“Oh, yeah. They’re locked in Mindy’s room trying out all my Clinique samples. If they get bored, we’ll go get ice cream. But I don’t see boredom in their future. I’ve got two years’ worth of samples in that box. I figure that works out to at least four hours of free time. I’m going to make some popcorn, stick in one of my old Cary Grant videos, and wait up for Paul.”

“Oh, sure, rub it in,” I said.

She laughed. “You’ve got your own Cary Grant”

“And he’ll be home soon. I’d better run.”

She clicked off after making me promise to call if I needed anything. But for once, I actually had it under control. Amazing. I tucked the dust mop in the utility closet, then headed back to take a final look at the living room. Comfortable and presentable. Some might even say it had a casual elegance. The dancing dinosaur on the television screen really didn’t add to the ambience, but I’d close up the entertainment center as soon as Timmy went to bed.

I was running through my mental checklist as I headed back into the kitchen. A flash of movement outside the kitchen window caught my attention, and I realized I’d forgotten to feed Kabit, our cat.

I considered waiting until after the party, decided that wasn’t fair, then crossed to the breakfast area where we keep the cat food bowl on a little mat next to the table. I’d just bent to pick up the water dish when the sound of shattering glass filled the room.

I was upright almost instantly, but that wasn’t good enough. The old man from Wal-Mart bounded through the wrecked window, surprisingly agile for an octogenarian, and launched himself at me. We tumbled to the ground, rolling across the floor and into the actual kitchen, until we finally came to a stop by the stove. He was on top of me, his bony hands pinning down my wrists, and his face over mine. His breath reeked of rancid meat and cooked cauliflower, and I made a vow to never, ever ignore my instincts again.

“Time to die, Hunter,” he said, his voice low and breathy and not the least bit old-sounding.

A little riffle of panic shot through my chest. He shouldn’t know I used to be a Hunter. I was retired. New last name. New hometown. This was bad. And his words concerned me a heck of a lot more than the kill-fever I saw in his eyes.

I didn’t have time to worry about it, though, because the guy was shifting his hands from my wrists to my neck, and I had absolutely no intention of getting caught in a death grip.

As he shifted his weight, I pulled to the side, managing to free up my leg. I brought it up, catching his groin with my knee. He howled, but didn’t let go. That’s the trouble with demons; kneeing them in the balls just doesn’t have the effect it should. Which meant I was still under him, smelling his foul breath, and frustrated as hell because I didn’t need this shit. I had a dinner to fix.

From the living room, I heard Timmy yelling, “Momma! Momma! Big noise! Big noise!” and I knew he was abandoning the video to come find out where the big noise came from.

I couldn’t remember if I’d closed the baby gate, and there was no way my two-year-old was going to see his mom fighting a demon. I might be out of practice, but right then, I was motivated. “I’ll be right there!” I yelled, then pulled on every resource in my body and flipped over, managing to hop on Pops. I scraped at his face, aiming for his eyes, but only scratched his skin.

He let out a wail that sounded as if it came straight from the depths of hell, and lurched toward me. I sprang back and up, surprised and at the same time thrilled that I was in better shape than I realized. I made a mental note to go to the gym more often even as I kicked out and caught him in the chin. My thigh screamed in pain, and I knew I’d pay for this in the morning.

Another screech from the demon, this time harmonized by Timmy’s cries and the rattle of the baby gate that was, thank God, locked. Pops rushed me, and I howled as he slammed me back against the granite countertops. One hand was tight around my throat, and I struggled to breathe, lashing out to absolutely no effect.

The demon laughed, his eyes filled with so much pleasure that it pissed me off even more. “Useless bitch,” he said, his foul breath on my face. “You may as well die, Hunter. You surely will when my master’s army rises to claim victory in his name.”

That didn’t sound good, but I couldn’t think about it right then. The lack of oxygen was getting to me. I was confused, my head swimming, everything starting to fade to a blackish purple. But then Timmy’s howls dissolved into whimpers. A renewed burst of anger and fear gave me strength. My hand groped along the counter until I found a wineglass. My fingers closed around it, and I slammed it down, managing to break off the base.

The room was starting to swim, and I needed to breathe desperately. I had one chance, and one chance only. With all the strength I could muster I slammed the stem of the wineglass toward his face, then sagged in relief when I felt it hit home, slipping through the soft tissue of his eyeball with very little resistance.

I heard a whoosh and saw the familiar shimmer as the demon was sucked out of the old man, and then the body collapsed to my floor. I sagged against my counter, drawing gallons of air into my lungs. As soon as I felt steady again, I focused on the corpse on my newly cleaned floor and sighed. Unlike in the movies, demons don’t dissolve in a puff of smoke or ash, and right as I was staring down at the body, wondering how the heck I was going to get rid of it before the party, I heard the familiar squeak of the patio door, and then Allie’s frantic voice in the living room. “Mom! Mom!”

Timmy’s yelps joined my daughter’s, and I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.

“Don’t come in here, sweetie. I broke some glass and it’s all over the floor.” As I talked, I hoisted my dead foe by the underarms and dragged him to the pantry. I slid him inside and slammed the door.

“What?” Allie said, appearing around the corner with Timmy in her arms.

I counted to five and decided this wasn’t the time to lecture my daughter about listening or following directions. “I said don’t come in here.” I moved quickly toward her, blocking her path. “There’s glass all over the place.”

“Jeez, Mom.” Her eyes were wide as she took in the mess that was now my kitchen. “Guess you can’t give me any more grief about my room, huh?”

I rolled my eyes.

She glanced at the big picture window behind our breakfast table. The one that no longer had glass. “What happened?”

“Softball,” I said. “Just crashed right through.”

“Wow. I guess Brian finally hit a homer, huh?”

“Looks that way.” Nine-year-old Brian lived next door and played softball in his backyard constantly. I felt a little guilty blaming the mess on him, but I’d deal with that later.

“I’ll get the broom.”

She plunked Timmy onto his booster seat, then headed for the pantry. I caught her arm. “I’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

“But you’ve got the party!”

“Exactly. And that’s why I need to be able to focus.” That really made no sense, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Listen, just put Timmy to bed for me, then head on back to Mindy’s. Really. I’ll be fine.”

She looked unsure. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. It’s all under control. Why’d you come back, anyway?”

“I forgot my new CD.”

I should have guessed. I picked Timmy back up (who, thankfully, was quiet now and watching the whole scene with interest). “Put the munchkin down and you’ll be doing me a huge favor.”

She frowned, but didn’t argue as she took Timmy from me.

“Night, sweetie,” I said, then gave both her and Timmy a kiss.

She still looked dubious, but she readjusted her grip on Timmy and headed toward the stairs. I let out a little sigh of relief and glanced at the clock. I had exactly forty-three minutes to clean up the mess in my kitchen, dispose of a dead demon, and pull together a dinner party. After that, I could turn my attention to figuring out what a demon was doing in San Diablo. And, more important, why he had attacked me.

But first, the rigatoni.

Did I have my priorities straight, or what?

Chapter 2

The appetizers were in the oven, the table was set, the wine was breathing, and I was dragging a demon carcass across the kitchen floor when I heard the automatic garage door start its slow, painful grinding to the top. Shit.

I stopped dead, my gaze darting to the clock on the oven. Six twenty-five. He was early. The man who’d been ten minutes late to our wedding (and this after I told him it started thirty minutes earlier than it did) had actually managed to make it home on time.

I scowled at the corpse in my arms. “This really is a day of wonders, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer, which I considered a good thing—you can never be too careful with demons—and I shifted my stance, grunting as I maneuvered him back toward the pantry. Knowing our garage door, I figured I had at least two minutes before Stuart stepped into the kitchen. Stuart keeps meaning to fix the thing, and I keep pestering him to hurry up and do it, but right then I was supremely grateful that my husband could procrastinate with the best of them. My original plan had been to get the body out the back door and into the storage shed where I knew neither Stuart nor Allie would dream of wandering. I’d already left a message for Father Corletti telling him about the demon and the cryptic Satanic army message, and as soon as he called me back, I’d insist he send a collection team stat.

In the meantime, I resigned myself to throwing a dinner party with a demon in my pantry. I heard the familiar clunk of the garage door coming to a stop, then the purr of the Infiniti’s engine as Stuart pulled in. I listened, frantically shoving cat food bins aside to make room for the body.

The engine died, and then a car door slammed.

I shoved the demon where the cat food belonged, then slid the bins back in front of him. No good. I could still see the demon’s white shirt and blue pants peeking up behind the bins.

The doorknob rattled, followed by the squeak of the door leading from the kitchen to the garage. I grabbed the first thing that looked remotely useful—a box of Hefty trash bags—and ripped it open. I pulled out bag after bag, whipping them open and tossing them over the body and the bins. Not perfect, but it would have to do.

“Kate?”

My heart beat somewhere in my throat, and I leaped across the pantry in a move that might have been graceful had it not been so desperate. I stuck my head around the open door, smiled at my husband, and hoped to hell I looked happy to see him.

“I’m right here, sweetie,” I said. “You’re home early.”

He aimed a trademark Stuart Connor grin my way. “You mean I’m home on time.”

I stepped out of the pantry, then shut the door firmly behind me. “With you, that is early.” I planted a loving, wifely kiss on his cheek. Then I took his briefcase, pressed a firm hand against his back, and aimed him out of the kitchen. “You must have had a hard day,” I said. “How about a glass of wine?”

He stopped moving, turning to look at me as if I might have been possessed by demons. “Kate, the guests will be here in half an hour.”

“I know. And this is an important night for you. You should be relaxed.” I urged him forward. “Red or white?”

He didn’t move. “Kate.”

“What?”

“Half an hour,” he repeated. “And you’re not dressed, and—” His eyes widened, his mouth shut, and I knew exactly what he was looking at.

“Brian got a homer,” I said, then shrugged. Mentally I cursed myself. I’d cleaned up the glass, then drawn our sheer curtains for camouflage, but there was nothing I could do about the breeze blowing in, kicking the flimsy material up like so many dancing ghosts.

He looked at me. “Have you called a glass shop?”

Okay, now I was annoyed. I cocked an eyebrow, planted a hand on my hip, and glared at him. “No, Stuart, I haven’t. I’ve been a little busy throwing together a last-minute dinner party.”

He looked from the window to me, and then back to the window. “The kids okay?”

“No one was nearby when it shattered,” I lied.

“Where’s Tim?”

“Already asleep,” I said. “He’s fine. We’re all fine.”

He studied me for a minute, then pushed a stray curl behind my ear. He stroked my temple, and I winced.

“You call this fine?”

I exhaled. I didn’t know if I’d been cut by the glass or scratched by the demon. “It’s just a nick,” I said. “No biggie.”

“It could have got you in the eye.”

I shrugged. It could have done a hell of a lot worse than that.

He squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry about tonight I didn’t realize you’d be cleaning up a disaster area in addition to cooking a meal. Do you need any help?”

Okay, I’d been mildly irritated with him, but that faded right then. “I’ve got it under control,” I said. “Go do whatever you need to do. You’re the one on the hot seat tonight.”

He pulled me into his arms. “I really appreciate this. I know it’s last-minute, but I think it’ll pay off big-time.”

“Campaign contributions?”

“Possibly. But I’m hoping for endorsements. Two federal and two state judges. That’s a lot of clout.”

“How can they not be impressed with you?” I asked, tilting my head back to look at him. “You’re amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he whispered in that soft voice that he really shouldn’t use unless he was planning to take me to bed. His lips closed over mine, and for a few sweet seconds I forgot about demons and dinner parties and rigatoni and—

The appetizers!

I broke the kiss. “The oven!” I said. “I need to take the appetizers out.” I couldn’t serve a federal judge burnt mini-quiches. I’m pretty sure that would be social and political suicide.

“I’ll do it. And I’d better cover that window. It’s supposed to rain.” He looked me up and down. “I’m already dressed, but you need to change. They’ll be here soon, you know.”

As if I could forget.

***

I peeled off my PTA T-shirt on the stairs and slid out of my bra as I jogged down the hall to the double doors leading to our bedroom. Inside, I dropped the clothes on the floor, then shimmied out of my ratty sweatpants. I kicked the bundle out of my way, then grabbed the outfit I’d laid across the unmade bed. I’d picked up a cute little flower-print sundress during a T.J. Maxx shopping spree at the beginning of the summer (swimsuits and shorts for Allie, yet another growth spurt for Timmy). With its fitted bodice, tight waist, and flared skirt, it was both festive and flattering. Considering I mostly lived my life in T-shirts, jeans, or sweatpants, this was the first chance I’d had to wear it.

With one eye trained on the digital clock next to the bed, I shoved my feet into some light blue mules, ran a brush through my hair, and stroked some mascara onto my eyelashes.

I never got ready this quickly, but today I had incentive, and the whole process took less than three minutes. Didn’t matter. I could tell the second I raced into the kitchen that I’d taken too long. Way too long.

“What the hell is this?” Stuart said. He was standing just inside the pantry, so I couldn’t see his face, just part of his arm and the back of his head.

His voice didn’t help me, either. He sounded vaguely mystified, but that could as easily be a reaction to a new brand of cereal as it was to a dead body behind the cat food. If he was questioning my switch from Cheerios to Special K, then That’s an incapacitated demon, dear. I’ll get rid of him by morning would be an entirely inappropriate response.

I’d sprinted across the room, and now I put a hand (wifely, supportive) on his shoulder and peered around him into the pantry. As far as I could tell, there was no visible demon. Just dozens of trash bags blanketing the small room.

Big relief.

“Um, what’s the trouble?”

“This mess,” he said.

“Yes, right. Mess.” I was babbling, and I stood up straighter as if good posture would force more oxygen to my brain. “Allie,” I said, jumping on my first coherent thought. First Brian, now Allie. Had I no shame? “I’ll talk to her about this tomorrow.” I could tell he wanted to belabor the point—my husband is a total neat freak—so I urged him out of the pantry and shut the door. “I thought you were fixing the window.”

“That’s why I went looking for the trash bags,” he said with a scowl. “Rain.”

“Right. Of course. I’ll bring you some.” I pointed to the clock. “Thirty minutes, remember? Less now.”

That got him moving, and in a whirlwind of male efficiency, he had the broken window covered in under fifteen minutes. “It’s not a very attractive job,” he admitted, finding me in the living room where I was arranging the tiny quiches on our tangerine-colored Fiestaware platters. “But it’ll keep the weather out.”

But not the demons. I fought a little shiver and glanced in that direction, but all I could see was thick black plastic. I made a face and tried not to imagine a horde of demons crouched below the windowsill, just waiting to avenge their compatriot.

Enough of that. I forced the thought away, then stood up and surveyed the rest of the room. Not bad. “Okay,” I said. “I think we’re ready for battle. If we can keep everyone corralled in the living room, the den, and the dining room, I think we’ll be okay.”

“Oh,” Stuart said. “Well, sure. We can do that.”

Warning bells went off in my head, and I thought of the piles of sorted laundry in the upstairs hallway, the disaster area Allie called a room, and the wide assortment of plush animals and Happy Meal toys that littered the playroom floor. Also, I was pretty sure the CDC wanted to quarantine the kids’ bathroom, hoping to find a cure for cancer in the new and exotic species of mildew growing around the tub.

“You want to show someone the house?” I asked, in the same tone I might use if he’d suggested I perform brain surgery after dessert.

“Just Judge Larson,” Stuart said, his voice losing a bit of steam as he watched my face. “He’s looking to buy a place, and I think he’d like the neighborhood.” He licked his lips, still watching me. “I’m, uh, sure he won’t mind if the place is in some disarray.”

I raised an eyebrow and stayed silent.

“Or we can do it some other time.”

“Yes,” I said with a winning smile. “Some other time sounds fine.”

“Great. No problem.”

That’s another thing I love about Stuart. He’s trainable. “So who’s Judge Larson?” I asked. “Do I know him?”

“Newly appointed,” Stuart said. “Federal district court. He just moved up from Los Angeles.”

“Oh.” Keeping track of all the judges and attorneys that cross Stuart’s path is next to impossible. “You can show him the kitchen and the study if it’s important to you. But don’t take him upstairs.” I bent down and moved the fruit plate slightly to the left, so it lined up nicely with the row of forks I’d set out.

We didn’t decide whether a downstairs tour was on the agenda or not, because that’s when the doorbell rang. “Go,” I ordered. “I still need to put out the wineglasses.” I started running down a list in my head. Appetizers—check, wine—check, napkins—

Oh, shit. Napkins.

I knew I had cocktail napkins somewhere in this house, but I had absolutely no idea where. And what about tiny plates for the appetizers? How could I have forgotten the tiny plates?

My pulse increased, gearing up to a rhythm that more or less mimicked my earlier heart rate when I’d fought the demon. This was why I hated entertaining. I always forgot something. Nothing ever went smoothly. Stuart was going to lose the election, and his entire political demise could be traced to right here. This moment. The night his wife completely screwed up a dinner party.

And forget using demons as an excuse. No, I would have forgotten the napkins and plates even without Pops. That’s just the way I—

“Hey.” Stuart was suddenly beside me, his lips brushing my hair, his soft voice pulling me out of my funk. “Have I told you yet how amazing you are, pulling all this together on such short notice?”

I looked up at him, warmed by the love I saw in his face. “Yeah,” I said. “You already told me.”

“Well, I meant it.”

I blinked furiously. My husband might be the sweetest man on the planet, but I was not going to run my mascara. “I don’t know where the cocktail napkins are,” I admitted, sounding a little sniffly.

“I think we’ll survive the tragedy,” he said. The doorbell rang again. “Pull yourself together, then meet me at the door.”

I nodded, calmed somewhat by the knowledge that my husband loved me even though I was a total domestic failure.

“And, Kate,” he called as he moved toward the foyer, “check the buffet, second drawer from the left, behind the silver salad tongs.”

***

Clark arrived first, of course. And while he and Stuart did the political he-man thing—dishing about the upcoming campaign, bitching about various idiocies being implemented by the newly installed city council—I took the opportunity to round out my role as a domestic goddess.

I hauled out the cocktail napkins (right where Stuart said they’d be), brought in seven wineglasses (I’d used the eighth to kill the demon), and checked on the dessert.

Throughout all of this, I kept looking toward the flimsily repaired window, half-expecting to see a demon army come crashing through. But all seemed quiet. Too quiet, maybe?

I frowned. On a normal day I’d say I was being melodramatic. But I no longer knew what normal was. For fourteen years, normal had been diapers and bake sales and Bactine and PTA meetings. Demons—especially the kind that are ballsy enough to just out-and-out attack—were not normal. Not by a long shot.

And yet years ago, that had been my life.

It wasn’t a life I wanted back. Wasn’t a life I had any intention of letting my husband or kids see.

But here that life was. Or, rather, there it was—in my pantry, dead behind the cat food.

It wasn’t the dead demon that bothered me so much (okay, that’s not entirely true), but it was its words that had really thrown me—You may as well die, Hunter. You surely will when my master’s army rises to claim victory in his name.

I rubbed my bare arms, fighting goose bumps. Something was happening here, something I didn’t want to be a part of. But want to or not, I had a feeling I was already in it up to my eyeballs.

“Kate?” Stuart’s voice drifted in from the living room. “Do you need help, sweetheart?” Elizabeth Needham, another assistant county attorney in Stuart’s division, had arrived a few minutes ago, and now she and Clark and Stuart were doing the war-stories thing. Stuart’s offer was genuine, I’m sure. But I could tell from his tone that he was also voicing a request that I get my butt in there and join them.

“I’ve got it, hon,” I said. “I’ll be right there. I just want to call Allie and say good night.”

Stuart didn’t answer, so I couldn’t tell if he thought that was odd or not. It was. Allie stayed with Mindy and Mindy stayed with us on such a regular basis that Laura and I were basically surrogate parents for the other’s kid. I knew Laura would call if anything was out of the ordinary.

Reason, however, was not part of the equation. I wanted to talk to my daughter, and I wanted to do it right then.

I dialed and waited. One ring. Two rings. Three, and then the familiar click of Laura’s answering machine. I waited through the message, tapping my fingers on the counter as Laura spelled out her family’s vital statistics— name, phone number, can’t get to the phone right now, yada yada—and then finally I heard the high-pitched little beep. “Laura? You there? Give Cary Grant a rest and pick up. I want to tell Allie something.”

I waited, still tapping on the countertop. “Laura?” I stopped tapping, noticing that I’d now chipped the manicure that had managed to survive a demon attack.

Still no answer, and I could feel that cold rush of panic growing in my chest. Surely demons hadn’t gone after my daughter …

“Come on, girl,” I said to the machine, fighting to keep the panic out of my voice. “I need—”

I shut my mouth and my eyes, exhaling deeply as I realized what a fool I was being. Not demons. Ice cream. Makeup might keep Mindy occupied for hours, but my daughter was a different breed. Forty-five minutes, tops.

“Never mind,” I told the still-open line. “Just have Allie call me when you guys get back.”

I checked the clock. Seven-ten. If they went to the mall, they wouldn’t be back until at least eight. I could keep my paranoia in check for fifty minutes.

Stuart stepped into the kitchen just as I was hanging up the phone. “Anything wrong?” He said it in a tone that suggested he almost hoped there’d been some horrific tragedy—because that would explain why his hostess wife was camped out in the kitchen ignoring her guests.

“I’m sorry.” I slammed the phone down. “Just mommy paranoia.”

“But everything’s all right?”

“Fine,” I said brightly. He was angling for an explanation and I didn’t have one to give. The oven timer dinged and I lunged for a hot pad. Saved by baked Brie.

I’d just slid the Brie onto a plate and passed it off to Stuart when the doorbell rang again.

“Well,” I said. “We’d better go see to our guests.”

I led the way out of the kitchen, my baffled husband following. In the living room, Stuart slid the plate onto the coffee table next to the fruit as I breezed past on my way to the front door, an efficient hostess smile plastered to my face.

I opened the door to reveal one of the most distinguished men I’d ever seen. Despite his years—I guessed he was at least sixty—he had the bearing of a self-confident forty-year-old. His salt-and-pepper hair gave him an air of distinction, and I was absolutely certain that this was a man who never second-guessed his decisions.

“Judge Larson,” Stuart said from behind me. “So glad you could come.”

I held the door open wider and ushered him in. “Welcome to our home. I’m Kate, Stuart’s wife.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear,” he said. His voice had a gravelly Sean Connery-esque tone. I may be only thirty-eight, but I’ll confess to a tiny bit of debonair-lust. I could only hope that Stuart would be that sexy and sophisticated when he hit sixty.

“You have a beautiful home,” he added. We were still in the entrance hall, and as he spoke, he was passing me, close enough that I could smell the cologne he’d apparently bathed in. I wrinkled my nose. Sexy, maybe. But I think age must have degenerated his olfactory nerves.

And that’s when I caught it—a foul, garlicky stench hidden under wave after wave of Old Spice. Holy shit.

Forget attraction. Forget sophistication. Forget the fact that I had a party to host.

The judge in my foyer was a demon—and there was no way he was getting out of my house alive.

Chapter 3

Instinct and long-ignored training took hold, my muscles springing into action. I twisted at the waist, planning to kick back and ram my heel into the demon’s gut.

I didn’t make it.

At the same moment that my foot left the floor, common sense flooded my brain, and I jerked to a stop. Too late. My sudden shift in direction threw off my equilibrium, and I landed with a plunk on my rump, the ceramic tile cool through the thin material of my dress.

Stuart cried out my name, but it was Judge Larson who bent down and extended a hand. I stared at him, blinking, mentally reminding myself that I had demons on the brain and not everyone who desperately needed a Certs was Satan’s henchman.

“Mrs. Connor? Are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” Wary, I took his hand, encouraged when he didn’t immediately yank me to my feet and try to rip off my head. That had to be a good sign, right?

With Judge Larson holding my hand and Stuart gripping my elbow, the men helped me to my feet. “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, my cheeks on fire. “I must have slipped on something. I’m terribly embarrassed.”

“Please,” the judge said. “Don’t be.”

By this time, Clark and Elizabeth had come in from the living room to see what all the commotion was about, and two more guests were coming up the walkway. How lovely. The entire gang was there to witness my mortification.

I tugged my hand free from Larson and focused on my husband. “I’m okay. Really.”

The worry I saw on Stuart’s face appeased my fear that my acrobatics had made a farce of the evening. “You’re sure? Is your ankle sprained?”

“It’s fine,” I said again.

It wasn’t fine, of course. It wasn’t fine at all. For all I knew, I was about to serve my famous rigatoni (famous because it’s the only dish I do well) to a demon. And right at the moment, I had no way to confirm Larson’s humanity.

I cast a sidelong glance Larson’s way as Stuart led us all toward the living room. I’d figure it out, though. He couldn’t keep his identity from me forever.

And if Larson turned out to be a demon, then there really would be hell to pay.

***

“More Brie?” I held the tray in front of Larson, leaning forward like some little flirt showing off cleavage. If he wasn’t a demon, he probably thought I was hitting on him. Stuart, bless his heart, probably assumed I was having a psychotic episode.

But I was determined to get another whiff of the man’s breath. At the moment it was all I had to go on.

“No, thank you,” he said as I inhaled through my nose. No use. He’d already helped himself to quite a bit of the Brie, and now the pungent cheese odor masked whatever other stench might linger on his breath. Frustrated, I slid the Brie back onto the table and took my seat next to Stuart. He and Judge Robertson, one of the late arrivals, were deep in a scintillating discussion of California’s three-strikes law.

“So, what do you think of three strikes?” I asked Judge Larson. “I’m all for it,” I went on, “except for those truly evil creatures that just deserve to be taken out, no matter what the cost.” I could see that I’d caught Stuart’s attention, and he was looking at me with some surprise. His platform was tough on crime, but not that tough.

“Vigilante justice?’ Larson asked.

“In certain circumstances, yes.”

“Kate …” Stuart’s voice held a What are you doing? tone.

I smiled at him, but directed my words at Larson. “Just playing Devil’s advocate, honey.”

“Kate can debate with the best of them,” he said to the group. “And she’s got very firm views on crime.”

“Good and evil,” I said. “Black and white.”

“No shades of gray?” Elizabeth asked.

“Some things are uncertain, sure,” I admitted with a glance toward Larson. “I just find those things supremely frustrating.”

They all laughed. “Maybe your wife’s the politician, Stuart,” Judge Westin, a newly elected state court judge, said. “Be careful or she’ll be the new county attorney.”

Stuart rubbed my shoulder, then leaned over and planted a light kiss on my cheek. “She’d keep a tight rein on crime, that’s for sure.” He smiled broadly at the group, and I knew the politician had returned. “Of course, so will I.”

“All I intend to keep a tight rein on is some pasta” I stood up, gesturing for the guests to stay seated. “I need to go finish dinner. If you’ll excuse me …”

In the kitchen I sagged against the counter, my heart beating wildly. I never used to be such a ditz about demon-hunting. Of course, I’d never entertained demons in my house before, either. In the past I’d been given an assignment and I’d carried it out. Simple. I never had to actually locate the demons; my alimentatore handled that part. I just did the dirty work.

And as dangerous and as messy as my old job had been, I think I preferred it to my current situation.

I pulled a wooden spoon from the drawer by the stove and stirred the sauce, feeling a little guilty that I wasn’t playing the perfect wife role to a T. At least the sauce had turned out great. Maybe a really kick-ass meal would make up for the fact that Stuart’s wife was a nutcase. (Just how important was a sane wife to a politician, anyway?)

I ran the evening’s events back through my mind and decided that Stuart’s career was still on track. Our guests probably just thought I had a little color and was tough on crime. I could live with that. More important, Stuart could live with that. Keep acting like a space case, though, and I’d blow his shot before he’d even announced his candidacy.

Think, Kate, think. There had to be a way to figure out for sure if Larson was a demon without ruining my marriage, Stuart’s political aspirations, or the dinner party.

I turned the heat down under the sauce, then dumped the pasta into the boiling water, all the while considering my options. Unfortunately, there are very few foolproof litmus tests for identifying demons. If a demon has possessed a human while the human is still alive, it’s easy. Then you have a Linda Blair situation and there’s this whole raging battle inside the person. Very messy. Very easy to spot. And very not my job (former job, that is).

If you’re possessed, don’t call a Hunter. For that, you need a priest. It’s a painful, ugly, scary proposition involving lots of nasty invectives by the possessing demon, a multitude of body fluids, and utter and complete exhaustion. I know. I watched two as part of my training. (There’s nothing like a possession to get a Hunter in tune with exactly why we want to eradicate the nasty little demon bugs from the face of the earth.) It’s not something I want to see again.

But there wasn’t any battle raging inside Judge Larson. No, if I’d guessed right, Larson wasn’t possessed. Instead, he actually was a demon. Or, rather, a demon had moved in and the real Larson’s soul, like Elvis, had left the building.

It’s a sad fact that there are lots of demons inhabiting our world. Thankfully, most of them can’t do much in the way of annoying or harming humans. They’re just out there, floating around in a disembodied state, spending eternity looking for a human body to fill. A lot of them want to be human so badly that they go the possession route.

But it’s the ones with more patience that I worry about. Those demons inhabit a body at the moment of death. As the person’s soul leaves, the demon slips in, just like Pops in my pantry. You’ve heard the stories of folks who couldn’t possibly survive a car wreck…but did? Or the person on the operating table who against all odds managed to pull through? Or the heart attack victim who collapsed…and then got right back up again with no apparent damage whatsoever?

Well, now you know.

Of course, it’s not as easy as all that. The timing has to be just right. Once the soul is gone, the entry point closes and, poof, no more opportunity. (That’s not entirely accurate. There’s a later point where the body is once again ripe for takeover. I think the decay opens a portal or something. I’m not a theologian. All I know is by that time, there are issues of rigor and worms and all sorts of gross stuff. Demons do resort to that on occasion, and I’ve fought a few zombies in my time. But since Larson clearly wasn’t a zombie, that really wasn’t my concern.)

The other thing about using a human body is that demons can’t inhabit the faithful. Those souls fight. So it’s not like a demon can just hang around a hospital waiting for folks to head out to the Great Beyond. It’s a lot harder than that. Which, when you think about it, is good news for all of us. So, while there aren’t that many demons walking around in human shells, the ones that are out there are hard to spot. They blend in perfectly. (Well, there is the bad-breath thing, but how many non-Hunters clue in to that?) And disposing of them is a real pain in the butt.

But those demons do have certain idiosyncrasies that are useful to Hunters for identification purposes. I’d already tried the breath test on Larson. And while I thought he’d failed, I couldn’t get a good enough second whiff to confirm. And, frankly, even if his breath was so bad it knocked me over, that really wasn’t reason enough to stab him in the eye. It’s difficult enough covering up a demon killing. The accidental death of a nondemon judge was not something I wanted to explain.

Which meant I needed to find another test.

The best test was holy ground. Your run-of-the-mill demons can’t bear to enter a church. They can physically make it through the doors, but it just about kills them to do it. Major pain and suffering, and it only gets worse the closer they get to the altar. And if the altar happens to have incorporated the bones of a saint (which is pretty common), then we’re talking extreme depths-of-hell-quality torture. Not a pretty picture. But since there was no way I could convince Stuart, Larson, and the gang to take a little field trip to the cathedral, that test was pretty much useless.

Frowning, I turned on the tap. I needed to wash my hands and get dinner on the table. Demon detection could wait until after dessert.

And that’s when it hit me. Holy water. The answer was so obvious, I felt like an idiot for not thinking of it earlier. Just like in The Exorcist, holy water burns the shit out of demons. (And I’ve got to say that there’s very little in this world more satisfying than seeing those welts appear on a demon you’ve been stalking. Vengeful? Absolutely. But so very true.)

The timer dinged, which meant the pasta was ready. I dumped the pot into the colander, mixed the rigatoni with my secret sauce in one of the fancy serving bowls we’d received as a wedding present, then carried the dish to the table. I hesitated there, glancing toward the stairs, shifting my weight from foot to foot. My hunting gear was locked up in a trunk in the attic, but every good Hunter keeps a few essentials nearby, even after fifteen years. And I was pretty sure that if I looked in the bottom drawer of my jewelry chest, I’d find an oversized crucifix and at least one small bottle of holy water.

At least, I hoped I would.

I gnawed on my lower lip. Would they notice if I disappeared upstairs? Surely not. After all, I’d only be gone a second.

I was just about to risk it when Elizabeth stepped into the dining room, looking fabulous in something that I’m sure cost at least a month’s salary. (Her husband is a partner at McKay & Case, a personal injury firm. Let’s just say they don’t need to pinch pennies.)

“Can I help?”

I considered letting her finish putting the food on the table while I ran upstairs, but a burst of sanity vetoed that plan. I didn’t need the holy water this very instant. If Larson was a demon, I’d know soon enough. And in the meantime, he wasn’t going anywhere. (And what would I do if he was a demon, anyway? Killing him during dinner would be a social faux pas from which I’d never recover.)

As I finished preparing the table, Elizabeth called in the men. They came, and I seated myself next to Larson, pretending not to notice the chair Stuart held out for me.

We had the salad first, and I actually managed to participate in the conversation. (“Why, yes, I heard some developer wants to put in a mall on Third Street. I hope it falls through. That’s so near the beach.” “Actually, Allie grew the basil, Elizabeth. I’ll tell her how much you enjoyed it.” “Thank you. We certainly love our neighborhood.” Mundane. Boring. You get the drift.)

People tend to get more involved in eating once they get to the main course, abandoning polite small talk in favor of their stomachs. And that’s when I made my move. I cocked my head to the side and made a show of furrowing my brow. Then I leaned forward, meaningfully meeting Stuart’s eyes. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Confusion and a hint of concern splashed across his face.

I pushed my chair back, dropping the napkin in my seat. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said. I was up and around the table, heading for the doorway. “I thought I heard Timmy.” I smiled at our guests. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

Stuart was halfway out of his chair. “Should I—”

“Don’t be silly. He probably had a bad dream. I just want to check.”

That appeased him, and I headed off. As soon as I rounded the corner and was out of sight of the dining room, I took off at a run, bounding up the stairs two at a time.

I didn’t breathe until I hit the bedroom, and once I did, I took the most direct route to my jewelry box, bouncing across the bed in a way that would have earned Timmy a scolding. I yanked the bottom drawer out and dumped it, scattering odd bits of jewelry and memorabilia over the rumpled bed linens.

A charm bracelet, a broken pocket watch, a silver crucifix in a velvet case, a box of Allie’s baby teeth, and—tucked in the back—a single bottle of holy water, the metal cap still screwed on tight.

Dear Lord, thank you.

I didn’t even hear Stuart come up behind me. “Kate?’

I yelped, then shoved the bottle down the bodice of my dress, where I could feel my heart pounding against it. “Shit, Stuart, you scared me to death.” I slid off the bed and turned around to face him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“I thought you were checking on Tim.”

“I was. I did. He’s asleep.”

Stuart lifted his brows and looked pointedly at the mess on the bed.

“I, um, realized I wasn’t wearing any earrings.”

Nothing.

The silence grew so thick that I was afraid he wasn’t going to answer. Then he moved toward me and stroked my cheek, finally cupping my chin in his hand. With the utmost tenderness, he tilted my head back. “Sweetheart, do you feel okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. As fine as anyone could be who had to deal with demons and a dinner party and keeping secrets from her husband. “I’m sorry. I’m just distracted.”

It hit me then that we were both upstairs, and the kitchen was unguarded. What if someone spilled something? What if they went looking for paper towels? What if they looked behind the cat food?

I grabbed his hand. “I guess I felt a little overwhelmed,” I said as I tugged him down the hall. “I’m not much of a Jackie O.”

“I don’t want Jackie O.,” he said. “You’ve done a fabulous job. Just be yourself and everyone will love you. I know I do.”

I forced a smile, but I couldn’t force any words. Because for the first time, the honest to God’s truth hit me: My husband, the man who’d fathered my youngest child and who shared my bed every night, didn’t really know squat about my life.

And if I had my way, he wasn’t ever going to.

***

My opportunity presented itself during dessert. “Would anyone else like some water?” I asked, rising. No one did, so I headed into the kitchen, pulled down our smallest glass (one of Timmy’s with faded purple dinosaurs) and poured in the holy water. Not even half an inch.

I eyed the tap, wondering if it was sacrilegious to mix holy water with the water provided by the City of San Diablo. Even more important, I wondered if it would render the water ineffective.

Since it wasn’t worth the risk to either my soul or my plan, I returned with my tiny bit of water in my tiny little glass. Stuart looked at me, and I shrugged. “We never seem to have enough clean glasses,” I said.

Judge Larson looked amused. “You’re not very thirsty,” he said. “Or are you sneaking a shot of liqueur while the rest of us gorge ourselves on your delicious apple tart?”

I laughed. “Exceptionally thirsty,” I lied. “I polished off most of the glass just walking back.” As I spoke, I headed for my seat, planning to trip over my own feet and dump the water on Larson as soon as I was in range.

The phone rang, and Stuart pushed his chair back, blocking my path and spoiling my plan. “That might be Judge Serfass,” he said, referring to the one no-show who’d called to say her plane was late. He answered, but his expression quickly turned to confusion. “I can’t hear you,” he said, in that overly loud voice people use on bad connections. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

Another few seconds passed as he shook his head, looking confused and frustrated. Then he shrugged and hung up the phone.

“Who was it?”

“No idea. Sounded foreign. Italian, maybe. The connection was terrible, but it had to be a wrong number.”

Father Corletti.

Out of instinct, I turned to look at Larson, and found him looking right back at me.

Oh, hell, it was now or never. I pushed past Stuart’s chair toward my own. As I did, Larson stood. He reached down as if to pull my chair out for me, but before I realized what was happening, he bumped my arm and the glass went flying.

Water splashed harmlessly on the tile. But not a single drop touched the man.

“Oh, look at that. I’m so sorry,” he said. “How incredibly clumsy of me.”

“You did that on purpose,” I hissed as I bent to pick up the glass.

“What?” That from Stuart. Oops. The comment I’d meant only for Larson had apparently been louder than I’d thought.

“I said he really knows how to startle a person.” I stood up and met Larson’s eyes, my smile cold. “No harm, no foul. Water’s certainly replaceable. Tap water, mineral water, bottled water. All kinds of water.”

He didn’t answer me. He didn’t have to. We both knew the score for that round. Demons—one. Me—nada.

***

Another hour of chitchat and political hocus-pocus and then the guests were finally ready to hit the road. Parties often come to an end in a bustle of bodies gathering purses and car keys, and this one was no exception. We all migrated to the foyer, then stepped out onto the front porch where hands started shaking and good-byes started flying.

In the flurry, Larson took my hand, his skin rough against my own. “It’s been a lovely, enlightening evening, Mrs. Connor. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

His eyes reflected a deep intensity. Not necessarily evil…but the man definitely looked as if he knew my secrets.

I shivered, fighting revulsion and a hint of fear. “Yes,” I managed. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths again soon.”

“And I’m so sorry I didn’t have the chance to meet your daughter. I imagine she’s just like her mother.”

My chest constricted and I realized I couldn’t breathe. It was almost eleven o’clock. The mall had been closed for an hour. And I hadn’t heard a word from Laura or Allie.

Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.

“I hear Timmy crying,” I muttered, ostensibly to Stuart, but I didn’t bother to see if he heard me. I raced back into the house, tossing “thank you all for coming” over my shoulder as I disappeared inside.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” I had the phone in my hand and was pacing the kitchen. Laura’s voice, that damn message, the beep, and then, “Allie? Laura? Where are you guys? Hello?”

No one was answering, and I was on the verge of slamming down the receiver and racing to Laura’s back door when the machine beeped and I heard Mindy’s voice, laced with giggles. “Mrs. Connor?”

“Mindy.” I exhaled, and my legs gave out. I sank to the ground and hugged my knees to my chest, my back pressed against the dishwasher. “Where’s Allie?”

“She’s on the treadmill. We both had double scoops, so that means we have to burn like three hundred calories or something to make up for it.”

I closed my eyes and decided I’d save the eating-disorder lecture for another time. “Can you put her on?”

Mindy didn’t bother to answer, but I heard the clatter of the cordless phone changing hands. “Mom! Mrs. Dupont took us to an Adam Sandler movie! Isn’t that cool? He is soooo funny.”

“I didn’t realize you guys were going to be gone that long,” I said. “I thought you were just getting ice cream.”

I could practically hear her shrug. “We kinda begged. But, Mom, it was such a slammin’ movie.”

I assumed that meant she liked it. “Any reason why you didn’t call to let me know where you’d be?”

“Huh? I was with Mrs. Dupont, remember?”

Okay, I wasn’t being fair. “Sorry. I just got a little worried when I couldn’t find you.”

“Then let me have a cell phone.”

My daughter, the pragmatist.

“So,” I said brightly, “why don’t you and Mindy come over here tonight. I’m wired from coffee. If you’re still up for that Harry Potter marathon, I’m game.”

“Um …”

Not the enthusiastic response I’d wanted. “Come on, Al. It’ll be fun. You two can stay up as late as you want.”

“Yeah?” A pause. “Why?” Suspicion laced her voice. Smart kid.

“Because you’re my kid and I love you and I want to spend time with you.” And protect you.

“Oh.” I held my breath while she thought it over. “We don’t have the movies.”

“I’ll send Stuart out to get them.”

“And we can really stay up for all of them?”

“Absolutely.” I could be magnanimous in victory.

“Cool.” A pause, then. “And, Mom?”

“Hmmm?” I was distracted by the realization that I now had to convince Stuart to schlep to Blockbuster.

“I think the guy at the concession stand likes me.”

No more distraction. “Which one? That blond guy who looks like he plays college football?” I’d wring his neck if even looked at my baby girl that way.

“Nooo.” I got the verbal eye roll. “He’s probably about sixteen and he’s got glasses and curly dark hair. He’s cute.”

“You don’t need a boyfriend, Allie,” I said. “Believe me. There’s time enough for that later.”

“Oh, Mo-om. Anyway, I wouldn’t want him as a boyfriend.” Which begged the question of whether there was a particular boy she did want. “I said he liked me. He’s cute and all, but he’s a little bit of a dweeb. And he’s got really gross breath.”

My blood turned to ice. “Allie,” I said, my voice as sharp as a knife. “I’m going to drive over and get you both right now.” I drew a breath, then tried to cover. “Otherwise,” I added, “we’ll be watching movies until dawn.”

***

Despite their enthusiasm for our impromptu marathon, Allie and Mindy only lasted through the first half of Chamber of Secrets. I left them camped out on the floor of the den, then circled the house, checking all the doors and windows, and making sure all the alarms were activated, including the motion sensor on the first floor. We rarely use that feature (inevitably the cat trips the alarm), but tonight I considered it essential. If anyone (or anything) came through the window, I wanted to know about it.

I considered moving the body, but feared I’d wake someone up. Better to send husband and kids out tomorrow with a list of Saturday morning errands, and leave me alone to do the dirty work. If I gave them the option of shopping or cleaning the bathrooms, I could pretty much guarantee they’d depart the house willingly.

I planned to go to sleep on the couch beside the girls, but Stuart woke up while I was checking Timmy’s room, and he tugged me into bed with him. We spooned together, the same way we had for years, but I couldn’t sleep. Instead I lay there, my mind in a muddle. I tried to reach out, to grasp some coherent thought and make some sense of the day’s events, but I was too exhausted.

And, really, there was no sense to be had. I simply didn’t have enough information.

I glanced at the clock, the digits swimming through my bleary-eyed vision. Just after four. I eased away from Stuart and sat up, swinging my bare feet to the floor. Then I padded into the guest room and shut the door.

Time to make a phone call.

Even after fifteen years I could still dial the number from memory, and I punched it in, then waited through the funky beep-ring that always made me think that European phones were more of a toy than a telecommunications device. After four rings the Vatican operator picked up.

“Sono Kate Andrews. Posso parlare con Padre Corletti, per favore?” I said, giving my maiden name. Of course, Father also knew me by my first married name—Crowe—but Father had been like a parent to me. I’d always be Katherine Andrews around him.

The operator put me through, and after a few seconds, Father Corletti picked up. “Katherine?” His voice, once so firm and commanding, seemed weak and feeble. “Katherine? Sei tu?”

“Si.” I closed my eyes, suddenly fearful that Father would be no help to me at all. But he had to be. If I couldn’t turn to the Forza Scura, then there was nowhere else to go.

“I am so pleased,” he said, his accent thick. “When I could not reach you earlier, I feared the worst had come.”

I licked my lips. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“It is you who are there, in San Diablo. Perhaps you should tell me.”

I did. I started from the beginning, going into more detail than I’d left in my earlier message, and ending with Larson’s parting comment and Allie’s revelation about the stinky concessionaire. “They can’t be after my little girl,” I whispered. “Please, Father, that isn’t happening, is it?”

“They seek something,” Father said. “Something in San Diablo.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I accused.

“I have no answer, my child.”

I closed my eyes and fought tears. I was not going to lose Allie. Not now. Not ever. “What? What do they want?”

“That, we do not know.”

“Then find out,” I said. “Or better yet, just eradicate the problem. Surely you have Hunters in place here already.”

“There are no Hunters there.”

“Then send some,” I hissed. I fought to keep control, to keep from yelling at him. My nerves were on edge, my emotions raw, and I had to remind myself that my family was sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake them.

“Ah, Katherine,” he said. “I have, perhaps, been unclear. No? But I think that you do not understand. There is no one we can send to you.” He drew in a breath. “This battle, you must fight on your own.”

Chapter 4

“Excuse me?”
I held the phone out as I spoke, glaring at it as if the handset had just personally delivered the bad news. “I can’t handle this. I have kids. I have a car pool. I have responsibilities.”

“You have always had responsibilities,” Father said.

“Oh, no, no, no.” I kept my voice low—a concession to my sleeping family—so I wasn’t sure that I was adequately displaying the depths of my displeasure. Ranting and screaming would have been so much more effective. “I’m retired, remember? Forza isn’t my life anymore. I’m demon-free, and I like it.”

“Apparently, child, you are not.”

I thought of the demon in my pantry and had to admit Father had a point. I kept quiet, though, waiting for him to say something else. When he didn’t, I kept quiet some more, in the foolish hope that I could outwait him.

Nothing.

“Dammit,” I said, when I couldn’t take it anymore. “Why is this my problem?”

“The demon came to you. That makes it your problem, no?”

“No,” I said, but without conviction. I was caving. I knew it, and he knew it.

He said nothing.

I sighed, anger finally succumbing to a much stronger surge of exhaustion. It had been a hell of a day. And from the sound of things, it was shaping up to be one hell of a weekend, too.

“Okay, fine.” I finally spoke, in part to quiet the overloaded silence emanating from Rome. “But at least tell me why I’m on the hot seat.” I asked the question even though I didn’t really need an answer. Whatever the reason, I already knew the only part that mattered—no one was coming to help me, and I had been, quite without fanfare, unretired. The why of it was completely academic.

Still, I was curious, and I listened with a perverse fascination as he explained in depressing detail the recent dwindling of Forza Scura’s resources and the unsettling implications that followed.

“Young people today,” he said. “They are more interested in television and—what do you call it?—Nintendo. The life of a Hunter has no appeal, and the Forza’s numbers are dwindling.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “Have you watched television? Played those games?”

From what I could tell, it was a rare kid that wasn’t willing to plunk his or herself down in front of the television and do the dirty work.

“Many young people have the desire,” Father admitted after I spewed out my theory. “It is the rare student, however, that has the stamina.”

That made a little more sense. My own daughter’s attention span tended to increase or diminish in direct proportion to the number of boys in the vicinity. “All right,” I said, conceding the point. “I’ll buy that recruiting has fallen off. But I can’t believe there aren’t any Hunters. I mean, there’s still a need, right?”

That was my not-too-artful way of asking if demon activity had fallen off in the last few years. I couldn’t imagine that it had, though. I might be retired, but I still watch the evening news. And believe me, there are demons among us.

“Numquam opus maius,” Father said. My Latin sucks, but I got the gist. The need was greater than ever. “And, yes, there are other Hunters, though not many. As you are aware, the mortality rate is high. We have fewer Hunters now than we did when you were active.”

“Oh.” Although the information was hardly news, it was still sobering. “And the Hunters you do have,” I pressed, “I suppose they’re otherwise occupied?”

“Si.”

“Shit.” And then, “Sorry, Father.”

His low chuckle seemed to wash over me, and I wrapped myself in a sudden, unexpected memory. Me, laid up with the flu, propped up in my dorm-room bed with a box of tissue and a jar of Vicks VapoRub. And Father Corletti, sitting beside me, the flimsy cot buckling even under his negligible weight, as he told story after story of life within the Forza Scura. Serious business, he’d said. God’s work. But still, he was able to find a bit of humor. And by the time my cold had disappeared, I was more eager than ever to get back to my training.

Father Corletti had been the closest thing I’d had to a parent, and until Eric, the Forza was the only family I’d known. So if Father needed me to drop everything and go kill demons, I would. I might not like it, but I’d do it.

“You will not be completely alone,” Father said, and I fought a smile. He’d always had an uncanny ability to read my mind.

“Okay,” I said. “Who?”

“An alimentatore,” he said.

“You’ve got a spare alimentatore, but not a Hunter? Sounds like the Vatican human resources department isn’t exactly doing a stellar job of keeping the proper balance among employees.”

“Katherine …”

“Sorry.”

“He will meet you at the cathedral tomorrow at noon.”

“Fine,” I said, knowing not to push. “Fine.” Then I thought about it a bit more. ‘Tomorrow? It’s the middle of the night here. You mean later today?” I knew he did. “How are you getting him here so fast?”

“He is already there.”

“Already—”

“You will learn what we know tomorrow. In the meantime, rest…and conserve your resources. I fear that you shall need them.”

Once again I held the handset out and stared at it, only this time I wasn’t glaring. This time I was completely befuddled. “You knew about this? You already know what’s going on here? Dammit, Father. Don’t you dare make me wait until tomorrow!”

“Child, now is not the time.” He paused, and I held my breath, thinking foolishly that he might change his mind. “You have of course kept up with your training?”

He’d turned the statement into a question. And though his tone was casual, I could tell the query was completely serious.

“Sure,” I lied. “Of course I have.” Like hell, I have. The only physical training I got these days was chasing a two-year-old, and my most recent mental exercise consisted of debating Allie about just how slutty the gotta-have-it outfit of the moment really was.

Not exactly at the top of my game, I had to say.

“Good.”

That one word scared me more than anything else he could have said. “Father, I know you won’t tell me everything, so I’m not even going to try. But—”

“Goramesh,” he said, the demon’s name turning my blood to ice. “We believe he may have come to San Diablo.”

I stared at the phone once again, and this time realized my hand was shaking. Goramesh. The Decimator. One of the High Demons.

The old-man-demon’s voice echoed in my head—when my master’s army rises up …

Forget scared; now I was terrified.

I crossed myself in the dark, then said good-bye to Father Corletti. I didn’t go back to Stuart, though. Instead I sat there on the guest bed, my knees under my chin and my arms wrapped around my legs. And then, as the first hint of sunlight fired the sky outside the window, I closed my eyes, bared my soul, and prayed.

***

“There you are.
Jeez, Mom, Mindy just left, and Stuart and I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Allie’s voice pulled me from a not-too-sound sleep that had been filled with dreams of demons, death, and Eric. He’d been my partner, my strength. But he couldn’t help me with this newest battle, and so I woke with tears in my eyes and the bitter fear that came with being completely alone.

“Mom?”

Worry filled her voice, and my emotions shifted, guilt now taking the strongest foothold. I held out a hand, and she came to me, her expression wary as she eased onto the bed. I pulled her to me and closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of Ivory soap and Aveda shampoo. I wasn’t alone, and damn me for wallowing in self-pity. I had Allie and Timmy and Stuart, and I loved them each desperately.

“Were you thinking about Daddy?”

Her words cut through me like a knife, and I heard myself gasp.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay to miss him.” She was repeating my own words back to me. My baby girl. Eric’s baby girl. She’d grown so much since he’d died. He’d missed so much. I reached and stroked her cheek, determined not to cry.

“You okay?” she asked, tiny lines of worry creasing her forehead.

I took her hand and squeezed. “I’m fine,” I said. “But when exactly did you grow up?”

The worry lines faded, replaced with a smile that was almost shy.

“Does that mean we can add an extra hour to my curfew?” She spoke lightly, with a little impish grin I recognized as my own. I reflected it right back at her, my mood already remarkably lighter. “I’ll take it under advisement,” I said.

“In mom-speak, that means no.”

“Not only did you grow up, you grew wise.”

“If I’m so smart, how come my curfew’s so early?”

I swung my feet over the side of the bed. “That’s one of the great mysteries of the universe,” I said. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Mo-om.” She rolled her eyes, and just like that, life went back to normal. Or at least as normal as possible under the circumstances. After all, I had a demon to hunt and a body to dispose of. I’d already accidentally overslept. Now I really had to get with the program.

***

The scene that greeted me in the kitchen was almost as scary as my encounter last night with Larson—Stuart standing in front of a griddle, spatula in hand, French toast sizzling in front of him. And the pantry door behind him standing wide open. Yikes!

I leaped across the room, managing to avoid a plastic Tonka truck and half a dozen LEGOs. My hand closed around the knob to the pantry, and I slammed the door shut, then leaned against it, breathing hard.

“Wait!” Stuart called, leading with the spatula as he took a step toward me.

My heart stopped beating.

“I need another loaf of bread from in there.”

Thump-thump, thump-thump. Okay. I was going to survive after all. “There’s a loaf in the bread box,” I said.

“Not anymore.”

I grimaced. How could he go through an entire loaf of bread and still not have enough French toast to feed two adults, a teenager, and a toddler? Even I could manage that.

“I’ll grab it for you,” I said brightly. “After all, I’m right here.”

He raised his eyebrows. “So I see. That’s why I asked you.”

“Right.” I smiled, hoping to forestall any chance of my husband thinking I was nuts.

“Momma Momma Momma.” Timmy’s little voice managed to fill the entire downstairs. “Where you at, Momma?” The patter of footie-pajama feet, and then my little man appeared in the kitchen, a sippy cup in one hand and Boo Bear in the other. “Go potty, Momma. Go potty.”

Shit. Not the most apropos of curses, I supposed, because Timmy had no interest in the whole potty-training experience. He just liked to sit on his little-bitty toilet fully clothed while he tossed things into the tub. Unfortunately, this activity required the presence of a mommy for full enjoyment potential.

“Go ahead,” Stuart said. “I’ll get the bread.”

“Allie, can you take him to the bathroom?”

“Oh, Mom, do I have to?” Allie had plunked herself down at the kitchen table and was now engrossed in the pages of some magazine.

“Yes,” I said, even as Timmy started up again, belting out a rousing chorus of “Mommamommamomma,” without any musical accompaniment whatsoever.

“Timmy, honey, go with Allie.”

“No.”

“Allie …”

“He doesn’t want to go with me.”

“Kate, just take the boy. I can handle getting a loaf of bread.”

Not in this lifetime. I pointed a “don’t move” finger at Stuart, shot a “forget that extra hour at curfew” glance toward Allie, then slipped inside the pantry. I grabbed a loaf of bread and reemerged. I was in there just long enough to see that my demon was still covered and, thankfully, still dead. Always a plus.

I shoved the bread at Stuart, who looked a little bewildered. “Here. Cook.” Then I grabbed Timmy’s hand. “Come on, kiddo. Where are we going?’

“Bafroom! Potty!”

“Lead the way,” I said, letting him tug me along, clearly delighted to have Mommy’s undivided attention.

As soon as we reached the bathroom he shared with Allie, I collapsed onto the closed toilet seat while Timmy proceeded to position Boo Bear strategically on the little plastic potty we’d bought optimistically on his eighteen-month birthday. Now, seven months later, the kid had yet to christen the thing.

In the kitchen I could hear the sizzle of battered bread in my electric griddle then the scrape of a spatula against the Teflon surface. I exhaled, congratulating myself on keeping my husband in the dark.

At the same time, though, I wondered if it would really be that terrible if Stuart knew my secret. I intended to tell Allie the truth eventually, just not soon. After all, she had a right to know about her father, and she couldn’t really understand her dad without knowing about Forza Scura. Stuart, though…

He was my husband. I loved him. And I didn’t want to have secrets from him. But at the same time, I didn’t want him to know this. I eased my conscience by falling back on the rules—my identity as a Hunter was secret, the oath of silence absolute. But that was only a crutch. I didn’t want Stuart to see me as a Demon Hunter. As soon as he learned the truth, he would never see just Kate anymore. And I didn’t think I could stand that. I had a sneaking suspicion a marriage counselor would find a huge red flag in my logic, but that was a risk I’d have to take.

As Timmy gleefully tossed every clean washcloth we own into the still shower-damp tub, I rested my elbows on my thighs and put my head in my hands.

Father Corletti was right; I should have kept up my physical training. I was pooped. Physically and mentally. Not a good sign. Especially since I still had to find the energy—not to mention the time—to dispose of one dead demon and stop an evil demon from taking over San Diablo, not to mention the world.

I checked my wristwatch—just past nine. I had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.

***

To Stuart’s credit, he managed to pull off some pretty amazing French toast. Just enough cinnamon in the batter, a light dusting of powdered sugar (a culinary accoutrement I’m frankly amazed we had in the house, much less that he found it without discovering Mr. Demon). We four sat at the Fifties-style Formica table and wolfed down mass quantities of the breakfast confection, washing it down with tall glasses of ice-cold apple juice, a constant staple in our house due to its toddler-taming propensities.

Allie checked her watch. “If we leave right after breakfast, we’ll get there when the mall opens.”

I gaped as she flipped open the spiral notebook that had been sitting closed and innocent by her plate all through breakfast. I’d completely forgotten that she’d been planning a school wardrobe shopping extravaganza for today.

“I made a list,” she explained, tapping her pen against the page. “We can hit the Gap first, just to check any sales. Then the Limited and Banana Republic. I’ll snag whatever deals I can, then fill in the gaps with stuff from Old Navy. Then we can move on to the department stores to check for any awesome markdowns. I figure we’ll start with Nordstrom and work our way down to Robinsons-May.”

“Don’t forget about the carousel,” I added, thinking quickly. “Timmy loves it.”

Allie was looking at me as if I’d grown two heads. “We’re taking him? I thought he was staying home with Stuart?”

“Kate,” Stuart said, “you know I’ve got things to do around the house.” He’d been hidden behind the metro section of the San Diablo Herald, but now he snapped the paper down, his frown almost as deep as Allie’s. “That window, for instance. I won’t get any of it done with Timmy underfoot.”

Timmy perked up, apparently realizing he’d actually let most of a conversation pass without a significant contribution. Deciding to remedy that, he began to sing “If You’re Happy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands” at the top of his lungs.

“I’ll handle the window,” I said to Stuart, dutifully clapping my hands on cue. We did need to get it fixed, of course, but I have to confess that after passing the night without incident, my paranoia quotient had dropped dramatically. “I was thinking that you could take Allie and Timmy to the mall.”

He stared at me as if I’d gone mad, and Allie’s expression mirrored his. For two people without a single genetic bond between them, at the moment they were doing a good impression of twins.

Allie spoke up first “Mom, no way. Shopping with Stuart? He’s a guy.”

“Yes, he is,” I said. “And he has wonderful taste, don’t you, darling?”

“No,” he said. “I mean, yes. My taste is fine.” His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something to tick you off?”

I stifled the urge to bang my head against something hard and instead pushed back from the table.

“Momma Momma Momma. Where you going, Momma?”

“Just right over there, sweetie,” I said, pointing to the wall that separates our breakfast area from the living room. “Finish your toast.”

I tugged Stuart with me into the living room. I won’t say he came willingly, but he did come, and the second we were out of sight from the kids, he let me have it. “Are you insane?” he stage-whispered. “The mall. You want me to go to the mall. What did I do? Seriously, I’ll make it up to you. A trip to Paris. A day at the spa. You name it. Just not the mall.”

I confess to being somewhat moved by his plea. If Stuart didn’t make it in politics, I saw a bright future for him in acting. The man had melodrama down to a science. “Be serious,” I said. “I thought about this a lot, and I think it’s a wonderful idea.” All of which was true, just not for reasons that I could share. I grasped for a Stuart-worthy reason. “You and the kids need some bonding time. Especially Allie.”

“What’s wrong with Allie? We get along great” His brow wrinkled. “Don’t we?”

“Sure,” I said. “Now you do. But she’s fourteen. Do you remember fourteen?”

“Not very well.”

“Well, I’m a girl, and I do. Fourteen’s a hard age.” Not that my fourteen had been anything like Allie’s. I’d impaled my first demon at fourteen. That isn’t something a girl is likely to forget. “She needs father-daughter time.”

“But shopping?” He looked vaguely terrified by the prospect. “I couldn’t just take her out to dinner?”

I gave him a sideways glance. “Stuart …”

“Fine. Fine. The mall it is. But you can’t expect me to take Timmy, too.”

Timmy was trickier, I have to admit. While I’d managed to concoct a psychologically sound argument for Stuart accompanying Allie to the mall, there really was no reason for a two-year-old to tag along for the ride.

I resorted to righteous indignation, the ultimate fallback for every stay-at-home mom. “Stuart Connor,” I said, propping one fist on my hip and fixing my very best glare on him. “Are you telling me that you’re incapable of spending time with the same two children I spend every single day with? That you can’t find the time or energy to take your own son out for the morning? That you—”

“Okay, okay. I get the drift I guess it’s Daddy’s day out.”

My stern face dissolved, and suddenly I was all smiles. I raised up on my tiptoes and kissed him. “You’re the best.”

Stuart did not look ecstatic, but he wasn’t apoplectic. Score one for Kate. We wandered back into the kitchen to find that Allie had already put all the dishes in the dishwasher and was now going over Timmy’s face (and hair and hands and clothes) with a washcloth, trying to eradicate all signs of powdered sugar and syrup. Even on a bad day, Allie’s pretty good about helping with Timmy. Add in the promise of a new wardrobe, and the kid becomes positively saintlike.

Another ten minutes and they were settled in the van, Stuart armed with credit cards, Allie with her list and Timmy with Boo Bear. As they pulled out onto the street I headed back to the front porch. I leaned against one of the wooden posts and waved, hoping they couldn’t see the way my body sagged with relief. I love my family, really I do. But as I watched the van pull out of the driveway, I had to admit that a little alone time was awfully nice. Even if I was alone with a dead demon.

Chapter 5

Fifteen minutes later a fresh pot of coffee was brewing on the kitchen counter, the pungent aroma of Starbucks Sumatra reminding me of the caffeinated reward that awaited me once my task was complete. At the moment I was hunched over, my fingers tight around the old man’s arms as I dragged him from the kitchen toward the French doors at the back of the house.

My meeting with my alimentatore was at noon, and I couldn’t wait. Ever since Stuart and the kids had left, I’d been fighting the creepy sensation that I was being watched. I’d checked the window first and found no demons (or mortal-variety Peeping Toms) lurking about. The plastic had come loose in a couple of places, but I attributed that more to the cheap off-brand duct tape I’d bought than to the forces of evil.

I’d shoved my uneasiness aside and got on with the job at hand. The truth is, I would have preferred to simply keep the demon in the pantry, then bring my mentor back with me to provide sound and useful advice about how to get rid of the remains. But since I couldn’t be certain that Timmy’s good mood or Stuart’s shopping stamina would last that long, I had to get the demon out of the house and tucked away in our storage shed. In my old life, once I’d done away with a demon, one simple phone call to Forza would dispatch a collection team to take care of the demon carcass, leaving me blissfully unaware of that portion of the job. How lucky I was to now get this peek at demon-disposal methods. (That, in case you missed it, is called sarcasm.)

Though small and wizened, the old man still managed to be quite a burden. He was, after all, dead weight, and I was huffing by the time I reached the French doors. The curtains were drawn, and I pushed one panel aside, peering out into our backyard as if I were a fugitive. I’m not sure what I expected to see. An army of demons? The cops? My husband pointing a finger and accusing me of keeping secrets?

I saw none of the above and breathed a sigh of relief. My paranoia quotient had increased, however, to the point that the sound of the dishwasher changing cycles made me jump.

I left the body in front of the doors, then trotted up the stairs, taking them two at a time as I mentally sorted through the contents of my linen closet. I needed something big enough to wrap the man in, but it also had to be something I didn’t mind tossing out. I didn’t care how good the local dry cleaner was; there was no way I’d ever sleep on a demon shroud, freshly pressed or not.

I grabbed a fitted sheet (100 thread count, so no great loss) and raced back downstairs. Perfect. The elasticized corners even helped keep the floral print shroud attached to the body as I rolled it over and over until it was well cocooned. I doubted my efforts would fool anyone who might be peering over my fence (a body wrapped in a sheet pretty much resembles only a body wrapped in a sheet), but the process made me feel better. And despite my rampant paranoia, I didn’t really believe anyone would peek into my backyard in the time it would take me to get the body stowed in the shed.

As it turned out, it took longer than I’d expected.

Getting the body from the house to the shed was remarkably easy (I remembered Timmy’s Radio Flyer wagon and put it to good use), but getting it into the shed was not. The little building was literally crammed to the gills, and I couldn’t have stuffed a toaster in there, much less a body.

It was still early, so I wasn’t in full-tilt panic mode. Yet.

I had a hefty adrenaline buzz going as I pulled out boxes and furniture and assorted bits of life junk, then stacked it all outside the shed for the single purpose of reorganizing it in a manner more conducive to the hiding of corpses. As soon as I’d made a big enough dent, I climbed inside, then bent down and grabbed the mummy. I slid him inside, discovering that he fit nicely under Allie’s old twin bed. Then I hopped down and started to replace everything I’d just removed. Nietzsche would have made some pithy comment about exercises in futility, but not me. I just wanted the job done. And it was precisely because I was so in the zone that I didn’t hear anyone coming up from behind me until it was too late.

A hand closed over my shoulder, and I yelled. Without thinking, I fell into a crouch and pivoted, ignoring my aching muscles as I whipped my leg straight out to catch my assailant just below the knee before pulling myself back up to attack position. It was a beautiful, brilliant move, and one that I managed without even pulling my hamstring. (Who knew I still had it in me?) The move would, in fact, have been perfect…had I managed to fell a demon. Instead, I found myself looming over Laura, hands fisted at my sides, blood pounding through my veins, and my chest about to explode with the suppressed urge to hit someone.

Fortunately, I did manage to suppress the urge.

Pummeling my best friend would require a lie far beyond my powers of fabrication, particularly in my current state of mind. I bent over and drew in deep breaths, my hands propped just above my knees. Laura was on the ground in front of me, the heels of her hands pressed into the pea gravel that makes up the western half of our yard, surrounding the shed and Timmy’s playscape. From the diameter of her eyes, I could tell I’d surprised her as much as she’d surprised me. For a moment, neither of us could speak. I recovered first.

“Jesus, Laura. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

She blinked, winced. “I’ll remember,” she said, then reached down to rub her calf. “Where’d you learn to do that?’

“Neighborhood watch,” I said. “The cop showed us all some techniques last month.” A ridiculous answer, but she didn’t seem to notice; she was too intent on flexing her leg and wiggling her ankle.

“So what were you doing, anyway? Hiding the family gold?”

I ignored the question, instead leaning over to put my hand on her calf. “How bad is it?”

She grimaced. “I’ll live,” she said. I helped her up and she gingerly put her weight on the leg. “But what were you doing? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so intense.”

“Oh. Right.” I scrambled for a reply, finally settling on the only thing I could think of that would keep her from asking too many follow-up questions. “I had another dream about Eric last night. And since Stuart and the kids are at the mall …” I trailed off, assuming (rightly) that she’d pick up the thread.

“Going through old things?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes I just miss him.”

Her forehead creased, and I saw real concern in her eyes. The truth was I did dream of Eric, more frequently than I liked to admit. And Laura had been my confidante on more than one occasion. Today, though, I couldn’t share my real burden, as much as I might like to. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” I looked at the ground, afraid of what she might see in my eyes. “I’ll be okay. I need to pull myself together anyway. I have an appointment at noon.”

She glanced at her watch, then at the boxes that still littered my yard, then at me, still in sweats and a T-shirt with no makeup and unwashed hair. “I’ll help you put the shed back together.”

I wanted to turn down the offer, but it was already getting late. Besides, I knew it was Laura’s way of helping me out about Eric even though I didn’t want to talk. And since the odds of her thinking that the bundle under the old twin bed was anything other than a rolled-up rug (or, for that matter, thinking about it at all) were slim, I graciously accepted.

“What have you got going on at noon?” she asked as she passed me a box.

“Nothing important,” I said, trying for casual and pretty sure I came off like a bank robber swearing he had no idea where the money was hidden. “An old friend’s in town. I’m going to meet him. Catch up. Trade family pictures. That kind of thing.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun. How do you know the guy?”

“Eric and I knew him,” I said, jumping on the first answer that popped into my head.

She sighed. “Oh, sweetie. You’re getting inundated on all fronts, aren’t you?”

“Pretty much.” I couldn’t quite meet her eyes as I took another box from her.

“Can I help?”

“Wish you could,” I said. “It’s just my past. Sometimes your old life sneaks up on you, and even though you weren’t expecting it, you still have to deal with it.”

She nodded and we finished the job in silence. I shut and locked the shed doors, then dusted myself off before looking pointedly at my watch. “Thanks for helping,” I said. “But I should probably hop in the shower.”

“Sure. I ought to get going, anyway. I promised Mindy I’d take her to the mall for new clothes today. I’ve spent the summer avoiding the thought.”

I laughed. “I enlisted Stuart.”

“You married a keeper,” she said with a small frown. She patted her pockets and pulled out her key ring. She fidgeted, twirling the keys on her finger. “You know, I’m going to be a wreck after an entire day at the mall. Want to have a glass of wine later and wind down?”

I recognized the proposal for what it was—an offer to be an ear after my emotionally charged afternoon with my dear old friend.

She might be wrong about the cause, but she wasn’t wrong about the end result—by the time today was over, I was certain I’d be in desperate need of a drink. Or two.

“Sounds like a plan. Besides, I’m sure the girls will want to compare wardrobes and coordinate for the first day of school.”

“True enough. We’ll need a bit of a buzz to survive the teenage walk of fashion.” Her gaze drifted to the right, and I could picture her mentally inventorying her wine cabinet. “I’ve got a nice Moscato. I’ll chill it and bring it over, along with my daughter and half of Nordstrom.” (As the CEO of a very successful chain of fast-food restaurants, Paul makes significantly more money than Stuart. His daughter would not be shopping the sales.)

Her gaze drifted toward my back door. “Do you have time for me to snag a cup of coffee? I’m out of everything except decaf, and I’ve been dragging all morning.”

“You came to the right place.” Remembering the freshly brewed coffee perked me up.

We went inside and I grabbed one of Stuart’s commuter mugs for Laura. She took it, then headed to my refrigerator for cream. As soon as she opened the door, I heard it—a light scratching at the plastic that was covering the broken window. My heart started beating double-time as adrenaline surged through me, readying my body for action. What was it? A demon intending to complete the job Pops left unfinished? Or maybe a hellhound, sniffing around outside before it lunged and ripped my throat out?

“Mind if I use your Hazelnut Coffeemate?” Laura asked, her head in the fridge.

I didn’t answer. I was too busy watching the plastic. Not now…not yet. I didn’t want Laura around when the thing attacked. I didn’t want her involved. I didn’t want—

YEEER-OOOO!

“Oh, shit!” Laura screamed.

Something small and lithe leaped through the window, half-sheathed in a loose section of plastic garbage bag, screeching in an unearthly way that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. I lunged forward to catch the beast and my fingers grabbed something soft, and—

“Yer-owwwwwl.”

I stopped short, my mind finally catching up with what my hands already knew. No demon. No hellhound. Nothing bad at all—just Kabit, our overweight, overly grumpy, supremely opinionated tomcat.

Kabit glared at me for a long moment, his fur sticking straight up, his tail three times its normal size. Then he marched to his food bowl and started eating, the picture of quiet dignity. I wanted to laugh, but couldn’t quite manage.

“Sorry,” Laura said, bending down to pick up the Coffeemate container she’d dropped. “He scared me to death.”

I looked down at the mess, and suddenly the laughter bubbled up. “Yeah,” I said, breathing through my chuckles, “I guess so.”

Laura’s sheepish expression faded as she joined in my laughter. Together, we sank down to the floor, our backs against the cabinets as we shook with mirth. The situation wasn’t really funny, though, and I knew that my laughter stemmed more from raw nerves than from humor. Today, Laura had only been startled by my cat. Considering the turn my life had suddenly taken, I couldn’t help but wonder if, before this whole mess was over, Laura would see something truly scary.

If she did, would I be there to protect her?

***

Saint Mary’s Cathedral was built centuries ago as part of the California mission trail. The original cathedral building still stands, though Mass is only held there on High Holy Days, a concession to the ongoing renovations to the beautiful building. In the meantime, the Bishop’s Hall serves as a temporary place of worship.

From a purely personal perspective, I’ll be happy when the renovations are complete. The inside of the cathedral is awe-inspiring, whereas the inside of the newer Bishop’s Hall lacks some of that holy oomph. And, yes, I go to Mass regularly (well, more or less). I’ve witnessed exorcisms, staked vampires, and put down demons with nothing more than a plastic swizzle stick from Trader Vic’s—so, yeah, I’m a believer. I even got roped into doing some committee work a few months ago. Of course, the project—which was supposed to have been finished during the summer—is still dragging on. What’s that saying about no good deed going unpunished?

The cathedral is perched on San Diablo’s highest point, the church grounds looking out over the Pacific and the Channel Islands. Like any church, the worship hall is holy ground. But St. Mary’s Cathedral has an added little zing. Everything beyond the communion rail—the sanctuary, the altar, even the basement below and the ceiling above—was built with a mortar that was heavily infused with the bones of saints. It’s pretty common to work a saint’s bone into an altar (well, it’s not as common now as it used to be), but that much saintliness was unique even centuries ago.

Eric and I had believed that such a powerful sanctuary explained San Diablo’s low demon quotient. Sure, demons could still wander free in the town—or on the nonconsecrated church grounds, for that matter—but we’d opined that the cathedral gave off a strong antidemon vibe. Apparently that bit of conjecture was hogwash.

Anyway, I had no idea of the identity of my new alimentatore; according to tradition, a Hunter knows nothing about his or her mentor until the two actually meet. I find that particular tradition to be not only archaic, but also downright idiotic. Unfortunately, I’m not on the Rules Committee for Forza Scura, and no one asked my opinion.

Even though I couldn’t know whom I was supposed to meet, I dearly wished that I had asked Father Corletti for more details on the exact location. For all I knew, my mentor might be sitting in Father Ben’s rectory office twiddling his thumbs and wondering where I was.

The thought sparked another—my mentor might actually be Father Ben.

I rather liked that idea. Although Father Ben is only a few years out of seminary, he seems on the ball and his homilies are never yawners. Still, the likelihood that I was supposed to meet up with Father Ben was slim. Father Corletti might have been vague, but he’d definitely said that Forza had “sent” an alimentatore. Since Father Ben had taken the position of rector years ago, unless Forza had been aware of Goramesh’s interest in the cathedral for far longer than Father Corletti let on, Ben wasn’t my man.

I decided that the actual cathedral building was my best bet and maneuvered the Infiniti into one of the nearby parking spaces. I confess to taking a devious pleasure in saddling Stuart with the more kid-friendly van, and part of me wanted to just sit in the lot, engine running, as I basked in that clean car smell that involved no hint of sour milk or spilled grape juice. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to wallow. I shifted into park, killed the engine, and abandoned the air-conditioned comfort for the equally agreeable Southern California weather.

I followed the stone path to the cathedral, letting my hand reach out to graze the birds-of-paradise that lined the walkway like sentries. The double doors—heavy wood with tarnished brass hardware—were closed but unlocked, and I tugged one door open and plowed on in, crossing first through the small foyer, then slowing as I moved over the threshold into the worship area. The stone receptacles that usually held the holy water at the entrance had been packed away as part of the renovation, replaced with simple wooden stands topped with gold-plated bowls. The floor was still damp, probably from the earlier rain, and I walked carefully so I wouldn’t slip. I dabbed my finger in the basin of holy water, made the sign of the cross, then genuflected toward the tabernacle.

The pews were empty, and I considered heading over to the hall to see if my rendezvous was there. But I’d actually arrived a few minutes early, so it seemed silly not to wait.

I’d brought an empty glass vial, and I filled it with holy water, replenishing my stock. That errand completed, I just stood there, idly flipping through a missal, and checking my watch about every twenty-four seconds. At eleven-fifty-seven I heard the creak of a door, followed by footsteps. Because the room’s acoustics were designed more for singing hymns than pinpointing sound, I had no idea which direction to look. I turned a full circle and was walking toward the communion rail when the mystery was solved—Father Ben passed through a velvet curtain to appear on the sanctuary in front of me.

He carried a clipboard and a pen and didn’t seem to realize I was there.

I cleared my throat, and he looked up, startled. His face cleared almost immediately, though, and he smiled broadly. “Kate Connor. What brings you here today?”

Okay. So he definitely wasn’t my alimentatore. I let loose my preplanned excuse. “I’m picking up some more inventories to type. But the message on my cell phone was garbled, so I’m not sure who called.”

Since our project involved reviewing and indexing the extensive donations received by the cathedral’s sizable archives, I assumed there was a list somewhere waiting to be typed. Thus, I was not actually lying to a priest.

Father Ben rubbed his chin. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you. Delores would know, but she’s not here today,” he added, referring to the committee chair.

“Oh. That’s too bad.” I frowned and tried to look suitably flummoxed. “I was hoping to get started on the pages tonight.” I turned a bit, looking around as if I expected someone to materialize in a pew. “You haven’t seen anyone else around, have you?”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll go check the Bishop’s Hall. If someone is looking for me, would you let them know I’m there?”

“Of course.”

I made polite good-bye noises and headed out the door. I popped into the Bishop’s Hall, looked around, and found no one except the janitor, who was mopping the floor. I backed out quickly, careful not to muck up his work.

The adrenaline rush that had accompanied the thought of meeting my new mentor was being fast replaced by annoyance. I had at least three loads of laundry piled up at home. Not to mention a body that was going to get pretty ripe if it stayed in my shed much longer. I decided to head back to the cathedral in case we’d been passing each other in a not-so-funny comedy-of-errors kind of way. I’d just stepped onto the walkway when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned, but didn’t see anyone. I called out but no one answered.

I reached the church doors at the same time Father Ben did. His face lit up instantly, and this time I could tell that I was exactly who he wanted to see.

“Oh, Kate, I was just going to look for you. I bumped into a gentleman looking for you in the parking lot”

“You did?” My gaze automatically shifted toward the lot. I saw five cars, but no people. “Who?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know his name,” Father said. “He said he’d just looked for you in the hall, but that the floors were wet.”

“They are. I was just there.”

“He asked me to direct you to the courtyard if I saw you.”

“Great. Thanks.”

We parted ways, him entering the church, and me heading around the building toward the courtyard, a small sitting area bordered by the cathedral, the rectory offices, and the Bishop’s Hall. Primarily used by church staff as a place to sit and eat lunch, the courtyard boasts nothing much more than a few concrete benches and some potted plants. A decorative iron fence marks the entrance. The gate was open, and I walked through. I saw no one. The concrete benches had been bleached to near white from day after day of California sunlight and I thought absurdly of bones in a field picked clean by vultures and left to bake. I shivered, as if someone had walked over my grave, and I turned my gaze to the statue of the Virgin Mary, looking for comfort. “Give me strength,” I whispered, closing my eyes only briefly as I crossed myself.

This cloak-and-dagger routine was irritating. I had a cell phone, a fax, a Palm Pilot and high-speed Internet access. Was it really necessary to skulk around the cathedral grounds when one simple e-mail message could have set out an exact time and meeting place? Another glance at my watch revealed that it was now ten past noon. Father Ben had just seen the man, so where the Devil was he?

“Hello?” I called, feeling stupid since there was obviously no one there. Then I muttered the kind of curse you really shouldn’t say in a churchyard, and headed back in the direction I’d come. My blood was boiling as I turned, my entire body tight with pent-up frustration. I wanted to hit something, to lash out and let my frustration find some tangible release. The reaction surprised me. For a decade and a half, I’d worked so hard to stifle those urges, and to live by a different set of rules. I’d succeeded, too. Suburban life made it easy to bury my past. I repeatedly tell Timmy not to hit, bite, kick, or scream; hitting isn’t nice, hitting doesn’t solve anything.

Except sometimes hitting does solve things.

Sometimes, hitting saves your life.

I may have buried my years of training, but I never truly lost them. And now I felt my old instincts clamoring to the surface, my blood burning and my strength returning. And, even more, I felt the desire. To fight. To win. To live.

A twig snapped behind me, the sharp crack reverberating through the courtyard. I spun around, fists raised, muscles tight. I truly expected nothing more than my tardy alimentatore, but I’d crossed some line; I couldn’t simply turn and say “Hi, there.”

And thank God for that.

He was right there. Larson. Looming not two feet behind me.

“Son of a bitch,” I howled as I launched myself at him. I wasn’t consciously thinking, but satisfaction still tickled in my head. I’d been right all along! He was a demon, he’d found out about this meeting, and somehow he’d delayed (or killed) my alimentatore.

On top of all that, I simply didn’t like the man. His comments about Allie had pissed me off, and it was with an absurd breed of joy that I tackled him.

His eyes went wide as he saw me coming, and he held out his hands at the last minute as if to stave off my assault, but the reaction came too late. I hit him with the full force of my body, and down we went. Not the most artful of moves, I’ll admit, but my primary concern had been to get him before he got me.

He recovered quickly from his initial surprise and twisted violently to the left, managing to toss me off in the process. He was much stronger than I’d expect for a sixty-something man of the judiciary, and that only confirmed my belief that he wasn’t a man at all.

His parry had sent me crashing to the cold stone ground, the motion sending my purse flying. My stuff spewed out like the payload from a suburban bomb. I clambered to my knees, clawing at the debris, my hand closing around the first solid thing I found—a Happy Meal action figure, complete with a molded plastic sword. Not great I admit, but I could make do.

I climbed to my feet, and saw that Larson was doing the same, pushing himself up to a standing position. He wasn’t there yet, though, and I took advantage, landing a solid kick somewhere in the general vicinity of his kidneys.

The bastard didn’t stand a chance. He went down, and I lunged, landing on top of him and wrestling him into a chokehold. I’d won, and we both knew it. There was fear and defeat in his eyes, and the thrill of victory pounded in my ears. I moved in for the kill, bringing the Happy Meal action figure closer to his left eye.

“For the love of God, Kate, stop! I’m your alimentatore!”

Chapter 6

***

“Like hell you are,” I said, keeping the plastic sword just millimeters from his eyeball. We were on the ground, my other arm tight around his neck, his head pressed near my chest. If he moved, my makeshift weapon would penetrate the sclera to sink deep into the vitreous fluid like a hot knife through butter. If he were a demon, he’d be dead. Human, he’d be blind.

At the moment that was a risk I was willing to take.

“Kate, think about what you’re doing. Forza sent me to assist you.” He pulled back away from the sword, his head pressing against my breasts. He was cold with fear, practically trembling.

I tightened my grip around his neck. “Explain yourself,” I said. “Explain the dinner party.”

Nothing. Just silence. I gave him a little shake, meant to jostle his enthusiasm for spilling his story.

“Test,” he finally sputtered, the word so low and raw I could barely understand.

I released my hold on his neck just a little, but my fingers tightened around the Happy Meal toy. “Bullshit.”

He coughed, started to speak, then coughed again. I steeled myself to remain unmoved by his apparent discomfort.

“Talk,” I said.

“You’ve been out of touch for a while. I needed to know what we were dealing with. How much training you needed. What your skill level was.”

“So you came to my house and impersonated a demon? I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t.” He cleared his throat and sucked in a breath. I realized I’d loosened my hold even more. “You passed that test at least.” He started to get up, but I jerked him back. He winced. “Although I may still modify that grade.”

“You deliberately baited me. The breath. The comments.”

“The breath I’ll concede,” he said. “A week of eating garlic and not brushing my teeth. The comments, though…”

He trailed off.

“What?”

“I never said a single thing that was damning. You assumed I was a demon and heard what you wanted to hear.”

I tried to think back over the evening, to see if what he said was true. But it was too much of a blur. All I could remember was what he’d said about Allie—that he’d been sorry he hadn’t met her. That she was probably a lot like me.

Shit.

He was right. Unless he was one of Satan’s minions, that was pretty damn innocuous.

Without letting go, I leaned over and took a good long sniff. He opened his mouth helpfully. Minty fresh.

I released the hold from around his neck, and he sat up, rubbing his shoulders and doing head rolls.

“Apology accepted,” he said.

“I haven’t apologized.” I kept the toy poised near his face. I was pretty sure he was okay, but I wasn’t positive.

He groaned, either in frustration or pain, I couldn’t tell, and shifted slightly to the left. “Refilled your supply?”

I had no idea what he was talking about, then I turned in the direction he was looking. My checkbook was lying open near the base of a bench, a vial of holy water half-buried beneath it. I couldn’t reach it without letting him go, and I did a quick run-through of my options. It might be a trick. He might be planning on attacking me (or running like hell) the moment I let go. But since I couldn’t sit there forever, that was a risk I was going to have to take.

“Don’t move,” I said, as if I could keep him there by force of will alone.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I scooted backward, retrieved the vial, and moved back to crouch over him again. I still held the toy, but a bit less enthusiastically. He hadn’t moved a muscle during my scramble for the water, and now he watched me, his face impassive, as I unscrewed the metal cap. “Truth time,” I said, tossing the water at him without preamble.

He didn’t even flinch, and I knew right then what the result would be. Nothing. No ripped and burning flesh. No screams emanating from the depths of Hell. Not even a little pop and fizzle. I felt my body relax.

No demon could tolerate a direct dousing of holy water in the face.

Larson wasn’t a demon. He was just a man, bemused and dripping.

I sighed and passed him a crumpled tissue from the back pocket of my jeans. He started to dab water off his face. “Okay, then,” I said. “I believe you.”

“I would hope so.” He started to stand. I took the opportunity to crawl around, looking for my various personal belongings.

“So you were testing me,” I said, now stating the obvious. “At the party, I mean.”

“I was.”

I shoved my checkbook in my purse, then started collecting loose coins. “Did I pass?”

He peered at me. “Let’s just say there’s work to be done.”

“Right. Of course.” Damn.

***

I don’t like being wrong, and, frankly, I’ve gotten used to being right pretty much all of the time. I’m the mom, and Mom is always right. So it would not be an exaggeration to say that I was taking my error about Judge Larson’s identity a bit less than gracefully.

Fortunately, he seemed to understand, and while I sulked, he drove to the county dump, the demon carcass in his trunk and me in the passenger seat brooding quietly. Not that I’d been sulking the whole time. After a few vigorous mea culpas on my part (I can’t believe I drenched my alimentatore with holy water!), we’d headed to my house. I’d parked the Infiniti out front, while Larson pulled his Lexus into the garage. We tugged the body from the storage shed, schlepped him back though the kitchen, and filled Larson’s oh-so-pristine trunk with one geriatric dead demon.

I learned it costs twenty-five dollars to enter the dump, and no one writes down your name, license plate number, or anything. One grizzled old man was guarding the entrance, but he was more interested in The Price Is Right playing in grainy black-and-white than he was in us. Considering the ease with which we entered—dead body in tow—I had to imagine that a whole plethora of murderous fiends had come this way before us. Not a pretty picture.

Larson parked behind a pile of debris, shielding us from the view of anyone who might wander down the road. The place wasn’t exactly hopping, though, so I wasn’t that worried about onlookers. Together, we hauled Pops out of the trunk, then stuffed him into a space we’d carved among the debris. The stink factor was significant, but with two kids (one still in diapers) my gag reflex is well under control.

We rearranged the trash to cover the body, dusted ourselves off, then headed back out the way we came. With any luck, no one would ever find the body. Or, if they did, they’d never figure out who left it there.

“Are you still annoyed with me?” Larson asked after we’d been driving for a while.

“Yes,” I said. “But I’ll get over it.”

“It was necessary,” he said.

“I understand,” I said, and I did understand. “It just irks me that you felt compelled to test skills I haven’t used in years. I mean, how would you like it if your Property professor dropped by unannounced and quizzed you on the Rule Against Perpetuities?” For the record, I have no idea what that is, but whenever Stuart invites his lawyer friends over for drinks, they inevitably bring it up, and complain about what a bitch it was to understand, and then say how glad they are they don’t write wills for a living. Larson’s eyes crinkled in a very Paul Newman-esque sort of way. “Point taken,” he said. “I wouldn’t like it at all.” He stopped at a traffic light, then held his hand out to me. “Truce?”

I took it. “Truce.” The light changed and we were under way again. A few minutes later, he turned onto Rialto Boulevard, the cypress-lined street that leads into my subdivision. I twisted in my seat to face him. “So how pathetic was I?”

“Actually, under the circumstances you were surprisingly resourceful. Not that I’d expected any less. I’ve read your file and I know Wilson would not have been lax in his training.”

If he was trying to snare my attention, he’d succeeded. “You knew Wilson?”

Wilson Endicott had been my first and only alimentatore until the day I’d retired. The eldest son of some British bigwig, he’d forfeited his inheritance when he left home to join Forza. Where Father Corietti had been like a father to me, Wilson had been like an older brother. I’d trusted him, looked up to him, and I missed him terribly.

A shadow crossed Larson’s face. “He was as good an alimentatore as he was a friend. His passing is a great loss.”

“He’d probably have been mortified to see the way I reacted to you.”

Larson shook his head ever so slightly, then reached out to gently touch my hand. “On the contrary. I think he’d have been very proud.”

I focused on my fingernails. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be sending a positive report back to Forza, Kate. You did well. Truly.”

“Oh.” I sat up a little straighter, trying to pull myself together. “Well, that’s great. How come you didn’t say so earlier?”

He glanced quickly in my direction and I saw a grin sparkle in his eyes. “If memory serves, you had a miniature swordsman aimed at my eye.”

“Right. Sorry about that.”

“No offense taken,” he said. He flipped down his visor to reveal a pack of Nicorette gum. He unwrapped a piece and popped it in his mouth, then aimed a frown in my direction. “Harder to quit than I thought,” he said.

“So how are you going to find Goramesh?” I asked, getting down to business. “That’s the plan, right? You find him, I exterminate him, and life goes back to normal.” I squinted at him then, my comment spurring another thought. “Are you really a judge? Stuart’s going to have a fit if it turns out you can’t really endorse him.”

He laughed. “I assure you, my place among the judiciary is quite secure.”

“So, what? You moonlight for the Vatican?”

I was being sarcastic, but he nodded. “Something like that.”

“No kidding?” Back in my day, Hunters and alimentatores were full-time, full-fledged Forza employees. Outside employment wasn’t even an option.

“I was twelve years out of law school when I contacted Father Corletti about training as an alimentatore.”

“Really?” I couldn’t help the incredulous tone in my voice. Forza is supersecret. I’d never heard of anyone contacting the organization out of the blue.

“Father thought it was unusual, too,” he said. “But I’d been doing some reading on my own about demons and the infiltration of the Black Arts into mainstream society, and I ran across a vague reference to the group in an ancient text. I was intrigued, and the more I poked around, the more determined I was to find out if the organization was real or a product of someone’s imagination.”

“I’m impressed.”

“It took five years, but I managed.” His mouth turned up into a wry grin. “Interesting years, those. Amazing the characters you run across if you’re searching for an elite group of Demon Hunters.”

“So Father brought you on board and the rest is history?”

“Something like that. I worked out of Rome until the new policy went into effect about ten years ago. Once we were permitted to hold a second job in addition to our Forza duties, I returned to Los Angeles and took up my law practice.”

Eric and I had made the same transition, retiring first to Los Angeles after our wedding, then moving up the coast to San Diablo when we found out I was pregnant. “And then you became a judge?”

“Exactly. Three years later I was appointed to a superior court seat.” We were on my street now, and he pulled into my driveway, put the car in park, then turned to me. “As you can imagine, my new position was quite useful to Forza. The criminal justice system provides a fascinating snapshot of demon activity.”

“I’ll bet,” I said. His tone had been matter-of-fact—like a meteorologist discussing the weather, or a doctor relaying lab results. Just the general trappings of his workaday world, but I felt a knot in my stomach. It wasn’t workaday to me. It hadn’t been for a long, long time.

And yet here I was. The man next to me was in the business of tracking demon activity and studying methods of defeating them. I was back in the business of killing them.

I felt suddenly cold and overcome with the urge to hear my kids’ voices. Goose bumps rose on my arms as I rummaged in my purse for my phone. As Larson watched, I punched in Stuart’s cell number. One ring, two, and then his voice: “Please tell me you’re coming to rescue me.”

I was instantly on alert. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Larson turned to me, alarm coloring his features as well, and my hand closed around the door handle, releasing the latch.

Stuart laughed. “Nothing’s wrong. Sorry to scare you. Were you afraid I’d lost the kids somewhere between the parking lot and the food court?”

“Something like that,” I said. “Can I talk to them?”

“Sure, if you want to get Tim all worked up. He’s on the carousel right now with Allie. He’s doing great, but if he hears Mommy’s voice …”

“Right. Never mind.” I hardly needed for Timmy to throw a fit and for Stuart to schlep everybody home. “So what’s your ETA back home?”

“Not sure. Right now Timmy’s happy, so I’m willing to stick it out for as long as Allie wants.”

I felt my brow lift in surprise. “You are?”

“Sure. Why not? I already told Allie we’d do a late lunch at Bennigan’s.”

“Really?” Stuart’s not a chain-restaurant kind of guy, but Allie loves the place, and it’s easy to find food for Tim there. “You’re going to score some major points.”

“I know,” he said, and I could practically hear him grinning. “And it’s better than dealing with that damn window. How’s that going, by the way?”

“Fine,” I lied. I’d completely forgotten about the window.

We wrapped up the conversation, and then I tucked the phone back in my purse, oddly unsatisfied.

“Everything okay?” Larson asked.

“Sure,” I said. But it wasn’t. I don’t know what I’d expected—Stuart to have somehow magically discerned my distress and assured me that all would be well? A promise from my kids to never talk to strangers or demons? Whatever I’d needed, I hadn’t gotten it.

I got out of the car and headed for the house, Larson following in my wake. “You never answered my question about how you’re going to find Goramesh,” I said as we went inside.

“You never gave me the chance,” he said.

He had a point. “I want him dead. I want this over with. I want my kids safe.”

“It will be over soon,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. To assist you and bring this situation to a speedy conclusion.”

“Good.” I thought about what he said. Situation wasn’t the word I would have chosen, but I couldn’t quibble with speedy conclusion. The quicker life got back to normal, the better. “Yeah, that’s great.” I added.

We were in the kitchen now, and the digital clock on the stove flashed the time—just past two. I’d forgotten to ask if Tim had napped in the stroller, but I had to assume the answer was no. Timmy’s not at his most charming on anything less than a two-hour nap, and at the first sign of serious toddler crankiness, I knew Stuart would drag the whole crew home. “We’d better get on with it.” I said. “If you’re here when Stuart gets back, I don’t know what we’ll say.”

I opened the refrigerator, grabbed two bottles of water, handed him one, then headed toward the living room. I was just opening the door to the back porch when I realized Larson wasn’t following. “You coming?”

“Coming where?”

“Aren’t we training?” I made a swishing motion, like Bruce Lee. “Hand-to-hand? Weapons training? Maybe throw in a little sword practice?” I unsheathed an imaginary sword, only to realize he wasn’t amused by my pantomimes. I sighed. “I’m almost fifteen years out of practice, Larson. I need to train. Either I practice, or I’m dead.”

“You were quite adequate in the churchyard,” he said.

“Adequate isn’t going to cut it.”

He cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything.

I leaned against the doorjamb. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Forza is concerned less about Goramesh and more about finding what he seeks.”

“Stop Goramesh, and it won’t really matter what he’s looking for, will it?”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“Fighting, remember?” I waved impatiently in the general direction of the backyard. “The kind of maneuvers Forza spent years teaching me to do—that’s what Father expects, right? For me to take care of this problem? To stop Goramesh?” I wasn’t angry so much as scared. Scared that this life I’d built and loved would come crashing down around my ears, and I’d be thrust back into a world of dark and shadows. “I just want to nail him, Larson. I want it over.”

“And, again, I have to ask. How?”

“Apparently not with your help.” My temper flared. “Why are you here if you’re not going to help me? I need to train. I’m in lousy shape, and I—”

Oh. I closed my mouth.

Something clicked in my head, and suddenly I understood. “Goramesh isn’t corporeal, is he?”

“Not to Forza’s knowledge, no.”

“That puts a little kink into my plan, then,” I admitted. If the demon hadn’t taken a human body, I could hardly kill him.

Larson made a little hmmm noise, and I grimaced.

“So what do you suggest?” I demanded, sounding churlish.

“In this endeavor, we will prevail through brains, not brawn. We need to determine what Goramesh seeks, and get to it first.”

“Great. As soon as you figure out what and where it is, I’ll be more than happy to snatch it.” As I thought about it, the fact that Goramesh was floating around as an unembodied demon was actually good news for me. Without a body, there wasn’t anything for me to hunt. And research was an alimentatore’s job. “Point me toward a demon, and I’ll kill it.” I said. “But except for the one we just buried, I haven’t seen any around.” I grinned, suddenly happier than I’d been all day. “As they say, my work here is done.”

Larson didn’t appear to share my joy. “And Goramesh?” he asked. “We need to ascertain what he wants.”

A finger of guilt poked at me, but I held firm. “No, you need to figure that out.”

“Kate—”

“What?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Come on, Larson. Every demon wants something. But unless he’s got someone in San Diablo doing his dirty work—mortal or demon—then I’d have to say that we’re not exactly at Code Red, you know?”

“That’s hardly responsible.”

“Responsible?” It had been a hellacious twenty-four hours, and the last thing I needed was a lecture on responsibility. “I’m drowning in responsible.” I started ticking off on my fingers. “Car pool, playdates, PTA. Not to mention making sure my family has food to eat and clothes to wear and—if they’re lucky—no science experiments breeding in the bathtub. Those” I said, “are my responsibilities.”

He opened his mouth, but I wasn’t finished.

“And your responsibility is to handle the research side of the relationship.” I said. “Or did Forza change that policy, too?”

“All right.” He nodded slowly. “You make a good point. But my ability to work will be hampered by my job. The records I’d like to review are in the cathedral archives, and I’ll be in court most days working.”

That finger of guilt poked harder. I sighed, on the verge of caving. “Research isn’t exactly my thing. I didn’t even finish high school.” More accurately, I didn’t even go to high school. The Church provided tutors, of course, but it was a nomadic, hit-or-miss kind of education. I spent my youth never expecting to make it to the next sunrise. “This is a little out of my league.”

“I’m hardly asking you to translate ancient texts, Kate. You will only have to review what’s already in the archives. And I’ve already done some of the legwork. I have a few leads. With your help, I can track them down.”

That should be easy enough. I could tell Delores that I’d like to add another layer of responsibility to my volunteer work. So long as I didn’t cut back on the secretarial duties, she’d probably welcome my additional help. The Church had hired actual archivists to work on the rare and valuable stuff. But there were tons of donations still to sort through. From there, I figured I could wrangle a peek at whatever records Larson might be interested in. “All right,” I finally said.

“Excellent.”

I held up a finger, wanting to hold him off until I was sure we were on the same page. “I’ll help with the research, but until we see some solid evidence that Goramesh has demons on the case, I’m not rearranging my whole life. For all we know, we just buried his only corporeal minion. Fair enough?”

His brow furrowed, but he nodded. “Of course. You make an excellent point. Until circumstances indicate that alacrity is called for, there’s no need to rush through the research.”

I gave him credit for being perfectly agreeable. I, however, felt like a prickly bitch. “Good. Great.”

Except it wasn’t good or great. I couldn’t be absolutely certain that I’d killed San Diablo’s only walking, talking demon. And no stinky-breathed fiend was going to put my kids in danger. Not if I had any say in the matter. “Wait here,” I said. I trotted to my pantry, grabbed a Swiffer dust mop and a Swiffer wet mop, and brought them back to the living room with me. I handed the wet mop to Larson.

From his expression, I could tell he thought I was in the throes of some sort of mental breakdown.

“I’ve got two kids and a husband who have no clue what’s going on. If there are any more demons in San Diablo, I intend to be ready for them.”

***

I’d never fenced with Swiffer handles before, and I’m certain that Larson hadn’t, either. But he didn’t protest (well, not too much) as I led him to the backyard. For the record, I actually do own real equipment. Unfortunately, I’d buried it all years ago in the very back of the storage shed, and I had no intention of tackling that project again. The Swiffer handles would work well enough, at least for the quickie session I had in mind.

I marched into the graveled area of the yard, came en garde, and waited for Larson to catch up. “Don’t hold back,” I said as he took his own position. “And while we spar, you can fill me in on everything you already know about Goramesh.”

As it turned out he was pretty damn good, giving me quite a run for my money, and working me hard enough that neither one of us was doing much talking. We’d been at it for about ten minutes—my footwork cutting geometric paths in the gravel and the Swiffer handles doggedly hanging in there during our lunges and ripostes—when I heard the van pull up, followed by the telltale churning of the garage door opening.

I looked at my watch, quite unable to comprehend that they were home already. I caught Larson’s eye, unreasonably peeved to see that he didn’t look the least bit flustered.

“What should we tell them?” I asked.

“Not the truth,” he said.

“Gee, you think?”

“There’s no need for sarcasm, Kate.”

“On the contrary, I think the situation practically demands it.”

“We’ll simply say I came over looking for Stuart to discuss his campaign. Don’t worry. It won’t be as bad as you think.”

Chapter 7

To his credit (and to my relief), it turned out that Judge Larson could bullshit with the best of them. We were back in the house and he was seated at the kitchen table when Allie barreled through the door, almost plowing me over in the process.

“Mom! Mom! Check it out!” She waved a shopping bag at me as I dumped out the old morning coffee and started a new pot, hoping I looked like I’d been doing nothing more than puttering around the house all day. “I got five Tommy Hilfiger shirts at Nordstrom. They had a whole table marked seventy-five percent off and Stuart said I could have one of each, and I got a couple for Mindy, too, and—” She clamped her mouth shut, finally noticing the man sitting at the table. “Oh. Hi.”

I could tell she was trying hard to be polite by not demanding to know who he was. I stepped in to fill the gap, but Larson got there first.

“You must be Allie,” he said, standing. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Mark Larson.”

“Oh.” Allie looked at me, and I smiled in an encouraging mom manner. She hesitated, then held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Kate?” Stuart’s voice drifted in from the garage as I heard the van door slide shut. “Whose car is that? Have you got compan—Judge?” Stuart stood in the doorway, Timmy clinging to him like a baby monkey. Stuart recovered quickly enough, then stepped all the way into the room. “Judge Larson. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting to see you.” He kissed me, but the gesture seemed distracted. I couldn’t blame him. As for me, I was holding my breath. How did spouses who cheat handle it? One tiny little indiscretion and I was already sweating bullets. (Okay, maybe the indiscretion wasn’t so tiny, but still …)

I held my arms out for Timmy, and Stuart passed the munchkin to me, then went over to shake hands with the judge. “When did you get here? Have you been waiting long? I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I didn’t realize you’d be coming over.” His sentences crashed over one another, and under other circumstances I might be amused. Today, I wasn’t.

Before Larson could answer, Stuart frowned, then looked toward me. I busied myself with kissing Tim (who was quietly begging for Teddy Grahams, but any minute would surely erupt into full-fledged howls). “Actually,” Stuart said, turning back to the judge, “I suppose I should ask why you’re here.”

Larson laughed, the sound hearty and cordial. “I apologize for barging in like this. I was in the neighborhood looking at a few houses, and I noticed your car in the driveway.” He gestured at me. “Kate explained that you’d switched cars, but she was nice enough to offer me a cup of coffee while I waited for you.”

Stuart-my-husband may have been surprised to find Larson in the kitchen, but Stuart-the-polititian stepped seamlessly into the fray. “This is good karma on a number of levels,” Stuart-the-politician said, pulling out the chair across from Larson and sitting down. “I didn’t think we had nearly enough time to chat last night, and I’d been planning on giving you a call Monday morning. I was thinking we might talk more over lunch or drinks.”

“I’d like that,” Larson said. “Clark speaks so highly of you.”

They segued into a political banter that I was beginning to find familiar, and I put Timmy down, grateful to relieve myself of his thirty-two pounds of girth. He immediately started tugging on the kitchen cabinets, testing the childproof latches in a familiar daily ritual. When he came to the one cabinet I keep unsecured, he pulled out two saucepans and a wooden spoon and gleefully settled in for the afternoon concert.

“Hon?” Stuart’s voice rose over the din.

“Sorry.” I leaned over Tim. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you out of here.”

“No. Mine. Mine.” He grabbed hold of the pots and didn’t let go. The amount of strength contained in the hand of a two-year-old never ceases to amaze me. I aimed a he’s-your-son-too look at Stuart as I resorted to that age-old mothering trick—bribery. “We can watch Elmo.”

That got him. The little bugger abandoned his makeshift studio and trotted happily toward the living room.

I looked around for Allie, hoping to enlist her as a babysitter, but she’d managed to slip away. Probably already on the phone to Mindy. No problem. Elmo could handle babysitting duty.

I shoved Tim’s favorite tape into the VCR and waited until he was entranced. As soon as he’d calmed down enough, I’d take him upstairs and try to urge him into a late-afternoon nap. Until then I left Elmo in charge and headed back to the kitchen and the men. Not the most conscientious parenting option, I know, but I was desperate. And if I’m being honest, I park the kid in front of the television for lesser reasons all the time. As far as I can tell, he isn’t warped yet.

Actually, I couldn’t get back to the kitchen fast enough. I’d left Larson and Stuart alone, and that didn’t sit well. Stupid, I know. It’s not like Larson was going to accidentally mention there were demons in town any more than he was going to casually announce that back in my prime I could easily kill a dozen of them before breakfast.

No, there wasn’t anything tangible fueling my discomfort. But I was determined to be present nonetheless. (This was my crisis, after all. And if I wanted to sit in on the deathly dull political chitchat and convince myself I was preventing some catastrophe, then by God, that’s what I was going to do.)

Five minutes later I was regretting my decision. They were talking about Gallup polls and voting districts and a bunch of other political mumbo jumbo. I tuned out. I’m not even sure what I was thinking about—though I’m pretty sure demons were involved—when Stuart tapped the table in front of me.

“Honey?”

I jumped, my hand flying to my throat. “Timmy?” I could tell immediately he was fine. I could see him standing on the couch facing the backyard as he jumped up and down, singing “C is for Cookie” in time (more or less) with Cookie Monster.

“No, sorry. It’s just the back door. It’s probably Mindy.”

“Oh. Right Sure.”

From the breakfast table you can see most of the living room, but not the back door. (Thus my odd perspective of the jumping child who was obviously, now that I had all the information, greeting Mindy in his own exuberant little way.) The layout’s the major downside of this house, actually. I have to move to the living room if Timmy is playing on the back porch—otherwise I can’t see him. Which means using the backyard as a distraction while I put away dishes doesn’t work. Not unless I want my kid wandering free in the wild like Tarzan.

As it turns out, Stuart was right, and I opened the door to Mindy and Laura. “Hey,” I said. “Come join the party.” I noticed that Mindy was schlepping not only three paper shopping bags (Nordstrom, Saks, and The Gap), but she also had her familiar canvas duffel slung over one arm. Apparently the kid was here for the long haul.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Laura said, catching the direction of my gaze.

I waved a hand. “Of course not,” I lied. I usually didn’t mind having Mindy sleep over. Tonight, though, I was craving peace and quiet. I had a feeling it might be a long time before I had a shot at that again. “Allie’s upstairs,” I added to Mindy. “In fact, I’d assumed she was talking to you on the phone.”

“She was,” Mindy said. “But we figured I might as well come over. Can we really watch a movie and have pizza after we show off our clothes?”

“Absolutely,” I said, hoping no one else could tell that I’d completely forgotten my earlier plans with Laura for a pizza and fashion extravaganza.

Oh, well. Quiet is highly overrated anyway.

As Mindy bounded toward the staircase with an energy I envied, Laura eyed me with curiosity. Like a reflex, I rubbed my upper lip, as if I might have an errant smear of chocolate there. “What?”

She shook her head, looking slightly discombobulated, and I felt myself begin to worry. About what, I wasn’t sure. But of late, I was trusting my instincts. And something was going on with my friend. Something that I desperately hoped was of the nondemonic variety. “Come on, Laura,” I said. “Spill it.”

We were still by the back door, and now I reached down to lock it, the familiar ritual all the more important lately.

“It’s nothing. Really. Or at least it’s none of my business.”

“What’s not?” Her comment was cryptic, but it made me feel better. Nosiness I could handle. She leaned against the wall facing me, her back toward the kitchen. Beyond her, I could hear the scrape of chairs against the tile as Larson and Stuart continued their conversation. “I feel like an idiot even saying something.”

I held on to the doorknob like a crutch. Now that my fear had dissolved, I was both curious and amused. “Come on,” I said. “Give.”

“It’s silly.” She made a fluttery motion with her hands, and her cheeks actually flushed. I felt my brow furrow. This was weird. Then she took a step forward, her cheeks flaming. “Is everything okay with you and Stuart? I mean, you aren’t, um, having an …” She trailed off, her head bobbing back and forth in a fill-in-the-blank kind of way.

My mind riffled through the possibilities, my own face flushing when I realized what she had to be thinking. “Of course not!” I said. “Everything’s fine with me and Stuart. Everything’s great!” I sounded overly enthusiastic even to my ears. Everything was okay. But I still had guilt. Because even though everything was just fine in the way Laura was thinking (an affair!), I was keeping secrets from my husband. Secrets of the big, juicy variety. “Why on earth would you ask that?”

Relief flooded her features. “Thank God. I knew it was an idiotic question. I just …” She shrugged, then shook her head, then tossed up her hands. She looked a little bit like a puppet controlled by a spastic master.

“Laura …”

“Well, I didn’t know what to think. I saw you in the yard sparring with that older man, and you guys looked so familiar, and I just thought that something must be going on.”

Something was, but not that. “If you’d found me crawling around under the house, would you have assumed I had a thing for the plumber?”

“Hardly. But your fencing partner didn’t seem like the butt-crack type.”

“Don’t dis plumbers,” I said. “You’ll find yourself with a backed-up sink on Christmas Day, and then where will you be?”

“I take it back,” she said, holding up three fingers in typical Boy Scout fashion. “But what were you doing?” I mean, fencing in the backyard with that man? I didn’t know you fenced. And you weren’t even using swords.”

“Fencing?” Stuart’s voice. Followed quickly by the man himself as he stepped into the living room from the kitchen, Judge Larson at his side.

I stifled the urge to curse, and pasted on a happy-homemaker smile as I considered all the possible lies I could tell. None sounded very convincing.

Laura was still facing me, and she mouthed I’m sorry, before turning around to face Stuart. I could tell by the way her shoulders stiffened a half second later that she hadn’t expected to see Larson there, too. And I couldn’t really blame her when the words “Oh, you,” flew from her lips.

I cleared my throat. “Laura Dupont, meet Judge Mark Larson.”

Because Laura is well trained, she moved toward him, her hand held out in greeting. If I’d hoped that such pleasantries would distract Stuart, though, I was sadly disappointed.

“This may sound naive,” he said. “But why on earth were you two fencing? Were you fencing?”

“Ah,” I said, and then closed my mouth, realizing I had nothing to say. I twisted slightly, looking to Laura for help, but she’d already dropped Larson’s hand and was now backing toward the stairs. “I’m going to go check on the girls,” she said. Yeah, Laura. Thanks a bunch.

I returned my focus to the problem at hand, a rather lame “um” the only response I could come up with. Not exactly at my bullshitting best. Larson laid his hand on Stuart’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. He was pulling out all the grandfatherly stops, and I figured I owed him one for that.

“Self-defense,” Larson said, and I decided we were now even. That response I could have come up with.

“Self-defense,” Stuart repeated.

“Right,” I said, because now that he’d put it out there, I was stuck. “And, um, exercise.”

Stuart continued to stare at me, his expression perplexed but interested. Fortunately, I saw no signs that he was contemplating having me committed or, worse, that he thought I was having an affair with Larson (where the heck did she get that idea?).

The silence hung there, and I kept waiting for Larson to fill it. When he didn’t, I jumped into the breach. “It’s a crazy world out there. And, um, I should know how to take care of myself.” Since Stuart was still silent, I rushed on, warming to my theme. “You’re working longer hours, staying late to confer with Clark, and I’m home alone with the kids.” I started ticking points off on my fingers. “Allie will have tons of after-school activities this year. I’ll be picking her up late—with Tim in the car. It just seemed reasonable that I be prepared.”

“And so you were fencing with Judge Larson?” He wasn’t being sarcastic, just confused. I couldn’t really blame him for that.

“Ah, no. Self-defense classes. I’m going to sign Allie and me up.”

“Oh, awesome!” Allie’s voice echoed from the stairwell, and a moment later my own little Britney Spears appeared, decked out in a too-tight T-shirt that plunged so low I could see the lace of her bra and stopped so high I could see her belly button, form-fitting black Lycra pants that clung to her hips (and the rest of her), and white Keds with lace-topped socks. Fortunately, I didn’t see any evidence of tattoos or body piercing.

I scowled at Stuart as she made her way over, Mindy and Laura bringing up the rear. “This is your idea of a school wardrobe?”

He held up his hands and took a step backward away from me. Smart man. “I just drove and paid.”

“We’re really gonna take a self-defense class?” Allie asked, clamoring to a stop beside me. “No kidding?”

“No kidding,” I said, already wondering when I’d find time to sit Allie down for the this-is-not-appropriate-attire conversation.

“I’m so psyched,” she said. “And you’re really going to do self-defense stuff, too, Mom? Like kicks and everything?”

I tackled the righteous indignation part of the equation first “Yes, I’m really going to do it. What? You don’t think I have it in me?”

“Well, you know. You and Stuart are old.” She shrugged. “No offense and all.”

“None taken.” I glanced at Stuart pleased to see that the perplexed expression had now been replaced by amusement.

“Apparently your mother isn’t completely crippled by the ravages of age yet,” Stuart said. “She and Judge Larson put on a little fencing exhibition earlier for Mrs. Dupont.”

“Very funny,” I said, even as Allie said, “No shit?” then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops. Sorry!”

“Allie!” I said, more happy for the diversion than I was upset about her language.

“You were really fencing?” All remorse about her language had died, drowned by waves of curiosity.

“Yes.” I could hardly deny it much as I might want to.

“That’s so cool.”

I beamed. My fourteen-year-old thought I was cool. Old and creaky, but cool.

“Why?” she asked.

The glow from offspring adoration faded, replaced by the frustration of being interrogated. I sighed. “I already explained to Stuart. Woman. Alone with children. It just seemed—”

“No, no. I heard all that. I mean, why fencing. And why with him?” She avoided looking at him, and from her tone, you’d think it was Larson who was the spawn of Satan.

“Allie.” There it was again—my Shocked Mother Voice. The second time in so many minutes. I turned toward Larson. “She’s fourteen,” I said, by way of explanation, even as I wondered if she’d overheard Laura’s suggestion of an affair.

“Mo-ther.”

“Alison Elizabeth Crowe,” I said. “Did you lose your manners at the mall?”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t tell me.”

She drew in a long, labored breath, then tilted her head up to Larson. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything personal, really. I just…I mean…well, why’s my mom fencing with anybody?”

“A very good question,” Stuart said, and Allie moved two paces closer to him, apparently sensing an ally. Laura and Mindy, I noticed, had faded backward into the living room and were now staring at the television, as if they were as enraptured by Elmo and the gang as my son. Cowards.

“I really don’t understand why everyone’s so worked up about a little fencing,” I said.

“Kate simply mentioned her plan to take a self-defense class,” Larson said, his voice coming off smooth and reasonable compared to my high-pitched protestations. “I told her I used to fence, she asked if a fencing class would be worthwhile for her purposes, we started chatting, and before we knew it, we were sparring with the cleaning products.”

Stuart frowned. “Cleaning products?”

“Swiffer handles.” Laura volunteered the info from across the room. Apparently she wasn’t as absorbed in Sesame Street as I’d thought.

“Why—”

I held up a hand, cutting Allie off. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, Judge Larson was kind enough to show me a few fencing moves. It seems like a fun sport, but not nearly practical enough.” That was true, actually. While this conversation had started as a giant bullshit session, it also underscored one undeniable truth—this world is filled with dangerous people, of both the human and demonic variety. My little girl was growing up (too fast, if that outfit was any indication) and if she was going to be out there in the world, I wanted her as safe as possible. Why not teach her to kick a little butt? I figured that was the least a concerned mother could do.

I aimed a measured look at Stuart and Allie. “We’ll start classes next week,” I said. “Kickboxing or aikido or something. I’ll look into what’s available.” What I really wanted was a sensei who could teach her all the basics—and who could work with me on an advanced level when Allie was in school. Not likely, but I could hope.

“You really mean it?” Allie asked. “I’m gonna go out for cheerleader, so we have to make sure the class times are okay, but oh, wow, this is so cool!”

“Glad you think so.” Who knew the promise of working up a sweat would be so appealing?

“That’s a lot of activities,” Stuart said, looking not at Allie but at me. I tempered the urge to tell him that I was a hell of a lot more concerned about my daughter staying alive than I was about her grades. He had a point, though, and part of my pissy knee-jerk reaction was that I hated when I made a Responsible Parent misstep. (And, yes, I know that’s one of the reasons that having two parents is a good thing. But—dirty little secret time—no matter how much I love Stuart, Allie belongs to Eric and me. She just does. So I always get a little tense when Stuart picks up the parental slack where Allie is concerned. Stupid and unfair, I know, but there you have it. And if Allie ends up revealing all on Jerry Springer some day, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.)

“Mom?” I was getting the puppy-dog look now.

“Stuart’s right,” I said. “If your grades fall, something will have to give, and since I think this is important, that something will be cheerleading or drill team or drama or whatever activity you’re fascinated with that week. Understood?’

Her head bobbed. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

I tried to look stern. “So long as we’re clear, we can start the classes. But this is high school, kiddo. It’s a whole new ball game.”

“I know.” She crossed her heart “Really. I’ll totally be Study Girl. You’ll see.” She cocked her head toward the living room. “Can Mindy take classes with us?”

Mindy had been tickling Tim, but now she leaned forward, my apparently boneless child limp across her lap as he squealed for “More tickle! More tickle!”

“Can I, Mom?” she asked, turning her own set of puppy-dog eyes on Laura. “Pleeeeze.”

“You could come along, too,” I said to Laura, already into the idea of Laura and Mindy joining the party. So long as I’d decided to get my daughter into fighting shape, I might as well help our friends gain that competitive edge, too.

“Not bloody likely,” Laura said. “But if you’re willing to schlep two kids, I’m willing to fork over her tuition.”

“Whoo-hoo!” Mindy gave Tim another big tickle, then escaped out from under him to half-run, half-bounce toward Allie.

“You sure?” I said to Laura.

“I can barely get through the basic twenty-minute Pilates workout. I think kickboxing is a little beyond me.”

I’d encountered Laura’s philosophy of exercise before—basically, Laura considered pushing the grocery cart from the checkout stand to the car to be a killer aerobic workout—so I knew better than to press. “Okay, girls,” I said. “Looks like you’re going to be mixing it up pretty soon.”

As Allie and Mindy leaped around the room, kicking and chopping at each other like rejects from the next Charlie’s Angels movie, I shot a quick frown at Larson. A tiny smile tugged at his mouth. I grimaced. How nice that he was amused.

We’d started something this afternoon, he and I. Something I was going to have to finish. I was looking forward to spending more time with Allie (doing something where I was cool); I just wished the impetus for this new endeavor hadn’t been my fear that one of Goramesh’s minions would decide to pay her a little visit after school one day. I forced myself to ignore that possibility for the moment and focus only on the upside of the situation. Bonding with my kid and getting some exercise to boot. There’s nothing like a little demon activity to get a girl back in shape, I always say. And after a few heavy-duty training sessions, I should be able to squeeze back into my size-eight jeans. That’s a perk, right?

I mean, really. Who needs Pilates when you’ve got a town full of demons?

***

After much rapturous bounding around the living room, the girls finally settled down and the afternoon took a right turn toward normalcy. Stuart and Larson adjourned to the kitchen, and I suppressed my urge to follow and eavesdrop. If things went down the way we expected, I was going to be trusting Larson with my life; the least I could do was trust him to keep his mouth shut around my husband.

Besides, Laura’s whole purpose in suggesting this little get-together was to check on my mental health in the wake of my Eric-dreams and my lunch with Eric’s “friend.” I could hardly abandon her for the political babble going on in my kitchen.

“Is that him?” she asked, while the girls were upstairs putting on outfit number one for the First Ever Crowe-Dupont Gala Fashion Show.

“Him who?”

“Eric’s friend. Is Judge Larson the one you had lunch with?”

“Oh.” I quickly debated what the best lie was, realizing as I did so that in the space of twenty-four hours, my ability to bullshit had improved dramatically. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“You didn’t tell me he knew Stuart.”

“I’m still processing the coincidence. He was just your average lawyer when Eric knew him. Now he’s a federal judge.”

“Great for Stuart,” she said, giving me a sideways look.

“Oh, absolutely,” I agreed. “These days, Stuart’s all about the endorsements.”

“Not so great for you, though, huh?”

I knew what she meant, of course. “I’ll deal. It’s not like I don’t think about Eric every day anyway. I mean, I see his face every time I look at Allie.” That much was true; the resemblance was remarkable. What I couldn’t tell Laura was that seeing Larson (well, Larson plus the whole demon-Goramesh-end-of-life-as-we-know-it thing) had prompted more than just memories of my first husband; it also brought into sharp relief the void in my relationship with Stuart. Eric and I had been partners in every sense of the word. He knew me from the inside out, and I him. With Stuart there were shadows between us—my past life (suddenly my present life), and the day-to-day details of his law practice. I didn’t really understand what he did when he went to the office, and although I tried—really I did— when he told me stories about his work life, my eyes tended to glaze over.

I wouldn’t have known how to tell Laura any of that even if I’d wanted to. Fortunately, I was saved from commenting by the thunderous footsteps of the girls down the stairs.

Laura and I exchanged amused glances as they skidded to a halt just beyond our view. I’d put Tim down for his late and desperately needed nap about ten minutes earlier, and now I crossed my fingers, hoping their noise wouldn’t wake him.

The fashion extravaganza lasted forty-five minutes, the girls strutting their stuff while Laura and I cheered them on (quietly, though, so as to not wake the munchkin). In the end, I had to admit that (notwithstanding the earlier outfit) Allie had picked out clothes that met with the Mom Seal of Approval.

“You two will be the best-dressed freshmen at Coronado High,” I said as they took their final bows.

They looked at each other, neither one looking particularly happy.

“What?” Laura and I asked in unison.

“Freshmen,” Allie said.

“We’re stuck back on the bottom again.”

“We were the top in junior high. We were eighth graders. Now we’re pond scum.”

And to think there were times when I actually regretted missing out on a public school education. Amazing. This was one of those mothering moments where you have to stifle the urge to say, “Don’t sweat it. In twenty years none of this will matter.” Right then, in my daughter’s fourteen-year-old mind, it did matter. It mattered in a big way.

“You’ll do great,” I said. “And in just three short years, you’ll be the seniors again.”

“Three years,” Allie repeated morosely. She turned to Mindy. “We’ve so got to make cheerleader.”

Mindy nodded, her expression equally serious. “Definitely.”

I made a point of not looking at Laura, afraid if I did I’d laugh. My instinct was to leap to my feet and give my girl a hug. (When did she turn fourteen anyway? I swear just last Wednesday she was learning to walk.) I suppressed the urge, knowing that I’d be rewarded with a stiff back and an Oh, Mother.

“Okay, girls” I said. “Why don’t you take the clothes back to Allie’s room? Did you totally pig out at the mall, or are you ready to order dinner?”

“I’m starving,” Allie said. “Can we get one with extra cheese and breadsticks?”

“Sure. Why not?” I turned to Laura. “Should we order enough for Paul?”

I thought I saw a shadow in her eyes, but it vanished before I could be sure.

“Daddy’s working late,” Mindy said.

“Then it’ll be a girls’ night,” I said. “Unless Stuart surprises me. He’s spent the last couple of nights eating at his computer and catching up on work. As soon as he and Larson finish schmoozing, he’ll probably go back there again.” I had a feeling this was a portent of things to come if Stuart actually won the election. Stuart locked away in his study, emerging only for coffee and Timmy’s bedtime. I wasn’t crazy about the picture, but I also couldn’t bring myself to drop an ultimatum. This was the man’s dream, after all.

As it turns out, I was right. As soon as Larson headed out (catching my eye only once before taking his leave), Stuart kissed Allie good night, then disappeared to the back of the house. The group dynamic shifted when Tim woke up, but we figured a prepubescent male didn’t alter the hormonal makeup of our little gal fest. Besides, Tim made for great entertainment, doing the hokeypokey ad nauseam with the girls until both Mindy and Allie begged him to stop and we finally had to distract him with a handful of Teddy Grahams.

Once he was more or less tuckered out, the girls debated the possible selections from our DVD collection (taking into account all the various parameters I’d outlined, the most important being that the first movie be toddler-friendly). While they debated like Ebert and Roeper, I gathered the pizza boxes and headed for the back door.

“Need a hand?” Laura asked.

“Not here. But if you start a pot of coffee, I’ll love you forever.” I’d had two glasses of wine with my pizza, and already my head was swimming.

“Does Stuart know you’re such a cheap date?”

“Why do you think he married me?”

As she headed off to the kitchen, I crossed the back patio, then followed the path to the side of the house where we keep the trash cans. San Diablo is a holdout to the ugly, plastic, wheeled contraptions so many towns have switched to. We have old-fashioned metal trash cans, the kind that are so bright and shiny in the hardware store that you really can’t imagine filling it with your potato peels and sacks of poopy diapers. Call me nuts, but I think the trash cans add to the town’s charm.

I’d just lifted the lid when I smelled it, that putrid odor that wasn’t coming from the trash. I whipped around to face this new demon foe (a teenager, no less!), but he was expecting my move, managing to block my blow and land his own against my upper thigh. I went down with a yelp, the trash can lid clattering against the cement, and my not-yet-a-size-eight butt cushioning my fall.

Immediately I pressed my hands back against the sidewalk to lever myself back up, but he was on top of me, one knee against my chest and a hunting knife against my throat.

The icy steel of the blade matched the ice that filled my veins. Yesterday that ice had been tainted by fear. Not anymore. Kate Connor, Level Four Demon Hunter, was back in business, and she was pissed off. That ice was adrenaline and determination and years of training sweeping (hopefully) through my body. I was going to kick the shit out of this scum-puppy. No doubt about it. He was going down. All I had to do was figure out how.

Chapter 8

“It’s over, Hunter,” he said, his mouth curling into a sneer. “My master is moving in, and this town isn’t big enough for the two of you.”

Were the situation not so dire, I would have laughed at the cliché. With his red hair and freckled face, demon-boy reminded me of a young Ron Howard, and I was having a hard time reconciling my memories of Richie Cunningham with this killing machine who now threatened my life.

I took a breath, then took a chance. “What do you want?”

“I want what my master wants.” He grinned, all boy-next-door with a blade. He leaned in closer, and I almost gagged after inhaling a whiff of his breath. “He’ll find it, you know. If it’s in San Diablo, he’ll find it. And the bones will be his.”

“Bones?”

He made a shushing noise, then moved the knife from my neck to my lips, laying it flat across my mouth. I fought an involuntary shiver and lost. He saw the movement and his eyes lit with victory. “That’s right, Hunter. Be afraid. Because when my master’s army rises, you will be among the first to fall. And by the time he’s done, you’ll wish you’d died a whole lot sooner.”

“I’m beginning to wish you’d get it over with now,” I hissed, my lips moving against the cold blade.

His face contorted and I held my breath, suddenly afraid I’d made a big mistake. I was ninety-nine percent sure that he was under orders not to kill me; it was that leftover one percent that suddenly had me sweating.

But the knife didn’t move and my neck stayed intact, and I took that as a good sign. This boy was a messenger, his purpose to scare me, to let me know that Goramesh was here, that he intended to get what he came for, and that he wasn’t going to take kindly to me meddling in his affairs.

Of course, killing and maiming were two different things, and from the way demon-boy was now staring at me, I feared he was thinking much the same thing. Since I’m rather fond of all my various limbs, and would like to keep them intact and unmolested, I started to spit out a purely self-serving apology. That’s when I heard the back door slam open and then Allie’s call of “Mom? Did you get lost or what?”

I met the demon’s eyes, and he nodded, raising the blade just millimeters off my lips. I cleared my throat, but still ended up sounding squeaky. “I’m fine,” I said. “I just got sidetracked.”

“With the trash?”

“Recycling. There was glass mixed with the plastic. I sorted it all out.”

She didn’t answer, but I heard the door close and—though I couldn’t be certain—I thought I heard an exasperated Mo-ther.

“She’ll be back,” I said. “She’s probably just getting a flashlight to help me.” A major piece of bullshit if ever there was one, but it seemed to work. Demon-boy climbed off me, the knife held in front of him, ready to impale me if I made a wrong move. Not damn likely. He’d been sitting on my chest for so long, I wasn’t even certain my internal organs were still functioning. This was one demon I wouldn’t be chasing down tonight. He was, however, on my list.

He turned and ran toward the street, and I soon lost sight of him in the shadows. I sat up feeling like an idiot. There was a reason so many Hunters retired young, and I was feeling that reason in my size-ten butt Just a few days ago thirty-eight seemed so young. I mean, I don’t even have crow’s-feet. “Old and creaky” may be insulting, but I feared it might also be true.

I stood and dusted my tush off, then replaced the lid on the trash can. My performance this evening definitely wasn’t going to win any Forza Scura accolades, but at least I wasn’t dead. And I had a plan. Two plans, actually. One: work out like a maniac and restore my stellar reflexes. And two: admit that Larson won the demons-in-San-Diablo argument and start in full time helping him figure out what trinket Goramesh was searching for—laundry, dirty dishes, and toilet bowls be damned.

As I walked back toward the house, I rubbed a hand across my bruised bottom and replayed the conversation in my head. Bones, he’d said. But whose bones?

I hoped Larson had a clue, because I had no ideas at all.

***

“Bones,” Larson repeated, his voice tinny across the phone line.

“A relic?” I pondered. “One of the saints in the cathedral?” Sometimes demons will instruct their minions to steal first-class relics (like the bones or hair of saints). These relics are anathema to the demons, and the demons will order their human followers to destroy the relics in hideous demonic rituals.

“Possibly,” Larson said. “Let me think a moment.” I crossed my legs under me and tugged the guest bed pillow into my lap, trying to make myself more comfortable while he did his academic alimentatore thing. Hopefully his thing wouldn’t take too long. It was three in the morning, and I was dead tired.

Stuart had stayed up until two working, and I’d stayed up with him, ostensibly succumbing to the urge to clean house (like that’s not a flimsy excuse) but really just wanting to outlast him. When he finally did crash, I cited a fresh load of laundry that needed to be folded if we didn’t want to suffer the absolute shame of wrinkled shirts and jeans. Fortunately Stuart was either tired enough or preoccupied enough not to notice my personality change. (For the record, housework does not keep me up at night any more than worrying about the national deficit. I figure they’ll both be there in the morning, so why should I lose sleep?)

As soon as I was sure he was tapped out, I’d shut our bedroom door, crept into the guest bedroom, and shut that door as well. Then I’d dialed the number Larson had given me earlier. He answered on the first ring, surprising me. At three a.m. I’d expected his machine, not the perfectly poised, completely awake voice that answered.

After the usual greetings, I’d given him the rundown of the evening, trying to remember verbatim what demon-boy had said.

Now I could hear Larson breathing into the phone. “Bones,” he repeated. “Are you sure?”

I’d been sure, but I was rapidly losing confidence. “I think so. He was talking low, but I think I heard him right. I mean, I suppose I could be wrong …”

He made a dismissive noise. “We’ll assume you heard correctly. So far, that’s the best lead we have.”

I leaned forward, pressing my elbows into the pillow as I kept the phone cradled against my ear. “What leads do we have? Father Corletti didn’t tell me, and we got interrupted by Stuart and the kids before you had a chance to fill me in.”

“Two years ago the altar of a small church in Larnaca was defaced with several Satanic symbols, the most prominent being three intersecting sixes.”

“Oh.” I pressed my lips together, not really wanting to reveal my ignorance. I didn’t have a choice, though, so I took the plunge. “Refresh my recollection. Where’s Larnaca?”

“Greece, Kate.”

“Right. I remember now. Defaced, huh?”

“Spray paint,” he said. “The police assumed it was teenage hooligans.”

“But the Vatican knew better?”

“Not at all. The Vatican assumed the same. But then the same symbol began turning up in other locations, and the damage was much, much worse.”

I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

“The offices of a cathedral in Mexico were ravaged.”

“The offices?”

“Correct,” he said, his voice grave. “The altar was spray-painted, but it was the offices that were truly destroyed. Records taken or destroyed.”

“What kinds of records?”

“The pastor and staff were murdered,” Larson said, “so we do not know in great detail. But we can assume the usual.”

I nodded, understanding. Demons—or their human minions—have been known to infiltrate a parish’s records searching for evidence of the fallen faithful. There’s little a demon likes better than to corrupt a once pious soul. And who better to prey on than a soul who is faltering or doubting his or her faith. Which means every time there’s a scandal in the Church, demons dance in the streets. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

I pondered the information for a moment. “Just records?” I asked. “No relics?”

“Not that we’re aware of.”

“Really?” That was odd. As a general rule, a demon’s more keen on action (destroying relics) than on research (reading Church records). “Weird,” I said.

“Indeed,” Larson said. “And there’s more. About four months ago a small Benedictine monastery in the Tuscan hills was decimated. Ripped apart stone by stone. Only the monks’ cells, though. The chapel itself was barely damaged.”

“Good God,” I said. “And the monks?”

“Dead. All but one murdered.”

I cocked my head. “And the one?”

“Suicide,” he said.

I put my hand to my mouth. “You’re not serious?”

“I’m afraid I am. He threw himself from a window.”

I swallowed, trying to focus. Suicide was a mortal sin. What could possibly drive a monk to take his own life? “And we know that Goramesh was behind it?”

“We knew nothing at the time,” Larson said. “The local polizia were called, but the area is very rural and the investigation was slipshod. The crime was attributed to roving gangs—hoodlums—and the case was closed.”

“But not over.”

“A young woman turned up a week later in a hospital in Florence. The police learned that she’d been staying in the monastery stables as she backpacked through Europe. She saw nothing of the attack, but in the wee hours of the morning, she took a walk to the chapel, planning to attend matins. That is when she was attacked. She managed to get to the hospital, but the police obtained no useful information from her.”

“But?” I just knew there was a but coming.

“The Vatican heard about the woman and sent inspectors to visit her in the hospital.”

I hugged the pillow, pretty sure I knew where this story was going. “She was a Hunter.”

“Very good,” he said, as if I was a prize pupil. “By the time she entered, all the monks were already dead. She interrupted a demon rampaging through the chapel—”

“The chapel?” Demons can walk on holy ground, but it hurts like, well, hell. That’s one of the first things they teach you when you sign on with Forza—if a demon enters a church, his true nature will be revealed; the pain is simply unbearable. That’s why holy ground makes for such a great demon test.

“Apparently she is the reason the chapel remained essentially unharmed. According to the woman, he was in a blind fury, probably borne of the torment of his presence in the church. She believed he was looking for something. Presumably he had not anticipated encountering a human, much less a Hunter.”

“He attacked her?”

“He did, and they fought. He was powerful, but because of his weakened state, she was finally able to subdue him. She was a clever thing, though, and prior to releasing him from the body he’d claimed, she forced him to reveal his mission. Or, at least, his master.”

“Goramesh.”

“Indeed. The demon’s last words were cryptic, but the Hunter believed the demon described San Diablo as his next target. The Hunter, of course, prevented the demon from doing any more mischief.”

“More power to her,” I said, sending up a mental cheer for the girl on the front lines. “But did she find out what Goramesh was searching for?”

“She did not.”

“Oh.” I ran my teeth over my lower lip. “Well, is there some connection between the locations? Other than the nature of the attacks, I mean.”

“At the moment I’ve been unable to find a connection, though I intend to do more research this evening. As for your review of the Church archives, perhaps you can see if any of the Church relics hail from any of those locations.”

“Okay. No problem. I can do that.” I frowned, hoping I could do that. My frown deepened as another thought occurred to me. “What about the girl? The Hunter? It sounds like she was on the case. So why didn’t Forza send her here? I mean, if she already had a bead on the situation, why wait until demons start crashing through my windows? And why keep her out of the loop?”

“She’s dead. She prevailed against Goramesh’s minion, but she was mortally wounded in the process. She died six hours after telling her story to her alimentatore.”

He spoke without emotion, but his voice was too tight, too controlled, and the story ripped my guts out. “She was yours,” I whispered.

“She was, indeed.”

“How old was she?”

“Eighteen.”

I closed my eyes, my throat full of tears, as I mourned that girl I’d never known. That girl who—once upon a time—could have been me.

I thought of Timmy and Allie and Stuart, and fear settled over me, cold and clingy. It still could be me.

At eighteen, death hadn’t scared me. But leaving my kids alone in the world? Not being there when they needed me most?

I buried my head in my pillow and cried.

It’s amazing what a few demons will do for one’s level of piety. I confess I’d been less than diligent in making sure we all went to Mass on Sundays, but this morning I rustled everyone up, and we managed to make the eleven o’clock service.

Allie had surprised me by not protesting too violently when I hauled her and Mindy out of bed at nine. Mindy had taken a pass on joining us, and although Allie’s expression had turned wistful at Mindy’s plans to do nothing but “veg out” on the last day before school, in the end my daughter came willingly (willingly being a relative term where fourteen-year-olds are concerned). Even Stuart hadn’t protested too much, though he had insisted on taking both cars so that he could head to the office immediately following the service. Now that the Mass had ended, I kissed him good-bye, then sent Allie off to get Tim from the nursery while I hung back, wanting to talk to Father Ben.

I’d called Delores earlier that morning, and she’d been so ecstatic that I was ninety-nine percent certain she would have already snagged Father Ben and relayed the good news.

I loitered in front of the annex while he did the meet-and-greet routine with all the parishioners. When the crowd cleared away, he saw me and his already bright smile doubled in intensity. Nothing makes Father Ben happier than an enthusiastic volunteer.

“Kate, I was hoping I’d see you. Delores told me you’re going to start going through the in-kind donations.”

“Absolutely,” I said. Honestly, I wanted to tell him the truth, but I’d been too well trained to break Forza’s strict rules. “I wanted to pitch in with more than just typing. I mean, I know there’s quite a lot of work to be done.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he said.

“Always happy to help.” I sounded way too perky for someone offering to sit in a dark room and wade through dusty boxes probably filled with spiders. I couldn’t seem to rein in my tone, though.

Fortunately, Father Ben either didn’t notice or didn’t find my enthusiasm odd. Then again, even if he did, why comment? As it was, he was about to pick up a slave laborer. Why insult her by telling her she’s nuts?

We arranged a time to meet on Monday, and were just wrapping up our conversation when Allie and Timmy scrambled up. (In all fairness, Timmy was doing the scrambling. Allie was tagging behind him, her face a familiar mix of irritation and amusement. I knew that expression; it used to be mine.)

“Mom! Grab him, already!”

I reached out and managed to snag my runaway munchkin with a quick shift to the left “Gotcha!”

He erupted into peals of giggles and went limp, falling to the ground and squealing, “No tickling, Mommy,” when he very clearly wanted desperately to be tickled. I complied, managing to avoid flailing feet as I caught him in one big tickle extravaganza. While he squealed, I scooped him up and let him hang upside down as I said good-bye to Father Ben and promised to see him in the morning.

Only after Allie and I were heading toward the car—me with a limp bundle of boy—did I realize that I could hardly spend the day plowing through church records with a toddler clinging to my thigh. I could barely sit down long enough to check my e-mail without Timmy throwing a fit. Several hours in a basement expecting him to behave just wasn’t feasible.

I frowned, considering my options. I could count on Laura to watch him once or twice, but unless I was extremely lucky (doubtful considering the direction of my luck lately), I wasn’t going to find the answer by Wednesday.

Bottom line? I was going to have to find a day care, not to mention pay for it. That was something I couldn’t keep secret from Stuart, and the thought of discussing it with him made my stomach hurt almost as much as the idea of leaving my baby in someone else’s charge during the day.

Allie must have caught my expression as I was strapping Tim into his car seat. She frowned, then started to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Then, being fourteen, she changed her mind again. “Mom?”

“Yeah, hon?”

“Oh, nothing. No big.”

I could tell from her voice that it wasn’t nothing, but in a particularly bad mommy moment I pretended to be too caught up with my toddler to notice. I gave Tim’s straps a tug, handed him his sippy cup and Boo Bear, then trotted around the van to the driver’s side. By the time I slid behind the wheel, Allie was already buckled in. She looked fine, but she was picking at her fingernails, peeling away the purple glitter polish she and Mindy had so carefully applied last night.

Damn.

I dreaded answering questions that I didn’t want voiced, but at the same time, I couldn’t really assume this was all about me. For all I knew, Allie had a deep and desperate crush on one of the altar boys.

I waited until I’d maneuvered the winding road that led from the cathedral back down to the Pacific Coast Highway. Then I headed north toward our neighborhood, the Pacific Ocean on my left and my daughter—moody and quiet—on my right.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Her shoulders lifted. “Uhdunna.”

I thought about that for a second, then interpreted it as I don’t know. Ah-ha! Progress.

“Are you worried about school tomorrow?”

Another shrug, this one accompanied with an “I guess.”

It was an opening, and I grabbed it. I was pretty sure school wasn’t on her mind at the moment but since I didn’t have any other leads, I jumped in with both feet. “You’re going to be fine. You have, what three classes with Mindy? And most of your junior-high friends are going to Coronado. Give it a month, and you’ll forget you were ever worried.”

Behind us, Timmy was carrying on a serious conversation with Boo Bear. I glanced toward the backseat and he flashed me a sleepy grin, then pulled the bedraggled bear closer. I didn’t need to look at my watch to tell it was getting close to naptime.

“I know,” she said, still picking at her fingernails. “It’s not that.”

“Boys?”

“Mo-ther!” She arched her back and tossed her head, letting loose a sigh of exasperation. Now, this was the kid I knew. “It’s not like I always think about boys.”

“That’s good to know,” I said. I kept my eyes fixed on the road, afraid that if I looked at my daughter, I’d crack a smile. “I’m very happy to hear that.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see her shaking her head, completely annoyed by the pain-in-the-butt who was her mother.

I was out of options, so I kept my mouth shut over the next few miles. At least she wasn’t brooding anymore, so I counted that as a minor victory. Unfortunately, if she really wasn’t worried about school or boys, then that left family. Or some other completely unrelated problem that I knew nothing about.

Neither possibility appealed to me.

Timmy’s soft snores drifted to the front of the van, and I realized I’d missed my window of naptime opportunity. I should have gunned the van all the way home and gotten him into his crib right after Mass. Now that he was asleep, this was it. Never once had I managed to transfer him from the car to the house without waking him, and once he wakes up, he’s good to go for the rest of the day.

I love my little boy, but I love him even more after a two-hour nap. Trust me. Fifteen-minute naps result in rampant crankiness. And that goes for both toddler and Mommy.

I considered my options, then tapped the brakes as we approached California Avenue, the main east-west thoroughfare that divides San Diablo. I made a right turn and headed east following the road as it cut through the canyons before leveling out when we hit San Diablo proper.

“Where are we going?” Allie asked. I understood her confusion. Our house is in a subdivision off of Rialto, the road just north of California Avenue. While the city planners should have put in a few more cross streets, they didn’t, making it impossible to get to our house from the avenue without going through half the town and then doubling back on Highway 101.

“How does the mall sound?”

She eyed me suspiciously. “Why?”

“Tim’s asleep. We go home now, and we’ve got Terror Toddler on our hands.”

“So you’re just going to let me shop while you sit in the van with Tim?” From her voice, I could tell she was expecting a punch line.

“Either that or we can stay in the van together, and you can drive it around the parking lot until Tim wakes up.”

That got her attention. “No way! Really? You’d let me drive the van?”

“Slowly, in a parking lot, with me in the passenger seat. But yeah. Under those conditions, yes, you can drive the van.”

The legal driving age in California is sixteen (with an adult in the passenger seat), but kids can get a learner’s permit at fifteen, so we’ve got eleven months to go. I’d already told Stuart that I wanted Allie licensed up and comfortable behind the wheel as early as was legally possible. While I’m not crazy about the idea of my daughter manipulating three thousand pounds of metal while going sixty-five miles an hour, I’m resigned to the fact that eventually, yes, she will be a licensed driver. I figure practice makes perfect.

My current plan to go joyriding in the half-empty mall parking lot wasn’t exactly legal, but I didn’t care. Timmy would get to finish his nap and Allie would have a blast. Besides, I drove all over Rome at fourteen. Allie’d had a different kind of life (thank God), but she was still a competent and responsible kid.

At the moment my competent and responsible child was gaping open-mouthed at me. “Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?”

“Very funny,” I said. “Very original.”

“You really mean it?”

“No, I’m lying to you in a pathetically involved scheme to torture you throughout your adolescence so that when you’re older you can write a tell-all book, make a million dollars, and retire comfortably. But I’m doing it all for love.”

“You’re weird, Mom.”

“So I’ve been told.”

We’d reached the mall entrance, and I turned in, passing the Grecian columns that in my opinion look positively ridiculous in the California coastal landscape. The developers, however, hadn’t bothered to ask my opinion, and the whole mall was built around some ridiculous Olympian theme.

As I’d expected, the parking lot near the food court was full, but the lot that faced the south entrance was mostly empty—just a smattering of cars near the doors and a few farther out, most likely employees. I pulled into a spot, left the engine running, and got out. As I walked around the van to the passenger side, Allie lifted the armrest, then scrambled into the driver’s seat and settled herself behind the wheel. As I slid back inside, she was busily adjusting her mirrors.

“Good to go?” I asked.

“Yeah. This is great. Mindy’s going to be so jealous.”

“Let’s focus on operating the extremely heavy motor vehicle and worry about gloating later, okay?”

“Sure, Mom,” she said, perfectly happy.

I unfastened my seat belt and turned around, facing backward so I could check out Timmy. I leaned all the way over, reaching out to grab one of his straps. I gave it a little tug, just to make sure. He was in tight and seemed down for the count. I readjusted myself in the seat and, as I was fastening my seat belt, caught sight of Allie rolling her eyes.

“Parental license,” I said. “Even if you’re the best driver on the planet, I’m allowed to worry.”

She didn’t even bother to respond, instead reaching down to crank the engine. Since the van was already idling, the Odyssey didn’t take too kindly to the maneuver, spitting back a growling, gear-burning kind of sound that made my daughter jump.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I do that all the time.”

Attempt number two went smoother, and she pulled forward, a little hesitant at first, but then getting into a groove. “Not bad,” I said. “I think you’ve done this before.”

Her grin was wide, and I knew she was proud of herself. “Not recently,” she said. “And you’ve never let me drive the van.”

That much was true. Before we bought the Infiniti, Stuart and I used to occasionally let her drive the old Corolla around the high school parking lot. But until the new-car smell faded, I doubted Allie would get much of a chance to drive Stuart’s pride and joy.

I pointed her toward a wide-open area, and she drove in circles for a while, then laid out a few figure eights, and finally put the van in reverse and started to drive a straight line going backward.

“Show-off,” I said, but I know she could tell I was proud.

She brought the van to a stop, then shifted again, accelerating until she reached a twenty-mile-an-hour cruising speed. Her eyes were fixed on the road when she spoke, so softly that at first I didn’t even realize she was talking. “Daddy used to let me drive.”

“What?” I’d heard the words, but I hadn’t quite processed them.

“Daddy used to let me drive,” she said, this time more loudly. Defiant, almost, as if she were daring me to challenge her.

I tugged at the shoulder strap of my seat belt, pushing it away from my neck as I turned in my seat. “When did he do that?” My voice was measured, but my heart was beating fast, and not just from the mention of Eric. I’m not sure how I knew—her tone maybe, her mannerisms—but we’d moved on to whatever had been bothering her earlier. This was it. Mom was on deck, and she had to get it right.

“When I was little. About six, I think. He used to put me in his lap. He’d do the pedals since I couldn’t reach, but I got to steer. He said it was our little secret.”

“Eric,” I whispered with a little shake of my head. “You nut.” Eric loved to share secrets like that. Little things that only he and you had. Our marriage had been like that—three months before our official retirement we’d been married in a small church in Cluny. We’d told no one, but those months before our “real” wedding had been precious.

He did other little things, too. Secret notes, anonymous presents. Those memories had always been special, but after Eric died, they became cherished. And I’d always been a little sad to think that he’d died before he could share secrets with his daughter.

But he hadn’t. I should have known that Eric would never have gone and died without leaving one or two special memories for Allie. That just wouldn’t be like him.

“Mom?” She tapped the brakes, slowing to a stop.

I realized I was crying and brushed a tear away. “Sorry, sweetie. I just always loved your daddy’s secrets. I’m glad he shared one with you.”

Her lips pressed together, and for a second I thought she was going to cry, too. When she didn’t I realized that the corner of her mouth was twitching just slightly, and that her cheeks were a soft shade of pink. I knew then that the driving was only one secret and I fought my own smile as I said a silent thank-you to Eric. He’d left us unexpectedly, but he’d still managed to leave a little legacy for his daughter.

I reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, then tentatively tugged her hand away. When she started picking at the nail polish again, I realized we hadn’t yet gotten to the meat of things. I stayed quiet. Sooner or later she’d tell me what was on her mind.

When she started to shift the van back into drive, I realized it would probably be later. But then she let go of the gearshift, leaving the van in Park and the engine running. “Does he have something to do with this? Daddy, I mean?”

Not a question I’d expected, and I was grateful she’d spoken to the steering wheel rather than to me. “With this? What’s this?”

“You know. The self-defense stuff. And Mass. You haven’t dragged me along in a while, and then all of a sudden …”

No dummy, that kid of mine. “What makes you think it has something to do with your daddy?”

“Dunno,” she said, even though she obviously did. “I mean, I’m super-psyched about the kickboxing stuff, but …” She trailed off with a shrug.

I squinted at her, trying without success to read my daughter’s mind. “What?”

“You used to do all that stuff with Daddy,” she said. “But yesterday you were doing it with him.”

My chest tightened and I raised my hand to my throat. “You remember that?” My voice was barely a whisper. Eric and I used to spar a bit when Allie was Timmy ‘s age, maybe a little older. As she grew up, though—and as we became complacent living demon-free—we’d fallen out of the habit. Chasing a toddler was exercise enough, and we were having too much fun being parents to keep up with our training.

“Sorta,” she said. “I remember sometimes you guys would let me play, too. I had my own sword and everything.”

I knew my voice would tremble, but I had to answer. “You still do.” A plastic saber Eric had found at a toy store one afternoon. “I packed it away with my equipment.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “So why start up again now? And why with him?”

“He’s a friend, and he’s got some experience. That’s all.” At least I knew now why Allie had seemed so cold to Larson. I reached over and stroked her arm. “As for taking the classes in the first place, I thought it would be nice for us to do something like this together. And your dad would like knowing you can take care of yourself.” I avoided answering her basic question: why. I didn’t want to lie to my daughter any more than I had to. “Believe me, baby, I’d never do anything to mess up your memories of your daddy.”

“I know.” She snuffled loudly. “I just miss him.”

“I know, baby,” I said. “I miss him, too.”

***

The afternoon played out like pretty much any Sunday, though I will say that both Allie and I were a bit more attentive than usual to Stuart. Guilt will do that to a person.

After dinner Tim played on his xylophone while Allie accompanied him on a bongo drum. Stuart and I filled in backup using Tim’s somewhat slobbery harmonicas. (I confess we were trying to avoid being part of the act, but Timmy’s “you play, too, Mommy” is hard to resist.) After playing, bathing, and reading Chicka Chicka Boom Boom (twice), How Do Dinosaurs Say Good Night? (once), and Goodnight Moon (three times), we finally convinced Tim that he was Super Jammie Man, and it was time for him, his jammies, and Boo Bear to head off to bed, where they could fight for truth, justice, and the rest of it in his dreams.

Silliness works well in our house.

Allie stayed up with us for a while, dividing her time between her room and the living room, with each trip bringing a different ensemble for me to comment on. Despite having lugged home bags of fancy new clothes, in the end she decided on her favorite jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a cute little pink sweater (The Gap, 75% off) to top off the outfit. The internal wrangling before she reached this key decision took approximately two and one-half hours.

After she headed off to bed—with a halfhearted promise not to call Mindy in the dark and stay up all night anticipating the next morning—Stuart and I opened a bottle of Merlot, popped Patton into the DVD player, and curled up on the couch. (He picked it. I’d agreed out of residual guilt. Now I was stuck.)

His arm curled around me and I snuggled against him. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately,” he said. “It’s just going to get worse.”

“I know. It’s okay.” More than okay, actually. I was counting on Stuart being busy enough not to notice his wife’s newly reacquired extracurricular activities. I shifted, then arched up to kiss him. “This is important to you.”

He stroked my hair. “You’re the best, you know that, right?”

I laughed, the sound a little forced. “I’m not the best, but I promise I’ll try. I’ll never be Suzy Homemaker, but if we’re lucky, I won’t completely torpedo your chances of getting elected.”

“Won’t happen,” he said. “One day out of the gate and you’ve already won Larson over.”

“Yeah, well, I guess we just clicked.”

“Who wouldn’t click with you?”

I didn’t answer that one, pretending instead to be suddenly fascinated by Patton pulling out a pistol and opening fire on a German plane. Stuart followed my lead, and we settled in to watch the rest of the movie.

I was cozy and comfortable and actually ended up enjoying the film (go figure), but I still couldn’t quite relax. Things were happening out there in the real world, but it all seemed to be off camera. Just outside my peripheral vision. If only I could somehow turn my head and see the bigger picture— “Hey.” Stuart’s voice was soft as he smoothed my hair. “Where are you tonight?”

“Sorry. Just distracted. Allie. High school. My baby growing up.” Another lie. That made how many? I’d lost track, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many more would follow.

My worlds were colliding, and I wanted to keep the world with Stuart safe and secure. Tucked away in a little box like a treasured Christmas ornament. But my old life kept peeking in, and I was so afraid that Stuart would look at me one morning and catch a glimpse of my secret. Or, worse, that one morning he’d wake up and catch a glimpse of a demon.

I twisted in his arms and kissed him, hard at first, and then softer, until I felt him relax under me and open his mouth to mine. His hands tightened around me, and he pulled me close. I wanted to be even closer. I wanted to curl up, lost inside this man. I wanted him to take care of me. At the very least, I wanted to forget my responsibilities and my promises and my past.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, his tone suggesting that he was amenable to more of the same.

“Can’t I seduce my husband?”

“Any time, any place.”

“Here,” I said. “And now.”

A familiar spark flashed in his eyes, the kind every man gets when he realizes he’s going to get lucky. And then he pulled me close, Patton all but forgotten.

I’m not stupid. I knew this wouldn’t solve my problem, wouldn’t make my worries or the boogeyman go away. Wouldn’t even erase my thoughts of Eric.

I wanted it, though. Wanted Stuart. This husband. This life.

I needed to feel my present tight around me, soft and warm like a blanket. Because bits and pieces of my past kept picking at the loose threads, and I was so afraid that, if I wasn’t careful, the perfect life Stuart and I had built together would unravel in an instant.

And then, I had to wonder, where would I be?

For that matter, who would I be?

Chapter 9

Good sex warps a woman’s mind. I realize that now. But when Stuart asked me if I could throw together another quick cocktail party, I was still lost in that sated morning-after glow. Apparently, one of the paralegals was supposed to host the thing that evening, but she’d come down with something. I murmured yes and then buried my head back under the covers, happy, content, and full of orgasm-induced confidence.

It wasn’t until my alarm went off five minutes later that I realized my mistake.

By that time Stuart was already pulling out of the drive, probably practicing his cocktail party banter as he drove to the gym for an early-morning workout. I toyed briefly with dialing his cell phone and backing out, but then abandoned the idea. It wasn’t a huge shindig. Only five couples. And this was what I was supposed to be doing—helping my husband, stepping in during a crisis, being a good wife and mom. Yes, he may have cheated a bit by asking when my body still tingled, but I’d said yes, and now I was stuck.

And considering I had to get two kids up and dressed—and then drive Allie and three other kids to school before the 7:45 warning bell—I really didn’t have time to sit around regretting my decision.

I tossed on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then pulled my hair back into a ponytail without bothering to brush it. Allie’s a bear to wake up before seven, so I headed for her room first, pounding on the door and calling, “Up, up, up.”

Her muffled response filtered through the door, and although I couldn’t understand the words, the tone was loud and clear—Go away, Mom, you’re bothering me.

“First day of school, Allie, remember? Come on. We’re running late.” A lie, but I figured that might get her moving faster.

Next, I headed for Timmy’s room. This was about the time he usually woke up—six-fifteen—and I could hear him whispering to himself. I pushed the door open with a cheery, “Good morning, Mr. Tim.”

“MOMMA, MOMMA, MOMMA!”

Now there’s a proper morning greeting. I headed over to his crib and soaked up the light from his toothy grin. He held up Boo Bear. “He sleepy,” he said.

“Me, too.” I took the bear, gave it a big kiss, and then very seriously spoke to his little bear face. “Boo Bear, we need to get Timmy up. What do you think? Time for a fresh diaper?”

I didn’t give the bear (or the boy) time to answer. Just schlepped them both the short distance to the changing table. Less than two minutes later (I’ve been doing this for a few years) Timmy had on a fresh diaper and clean clothes and we were heading into the living room. I plunked him on the couch, turned on Jo Jo’s Circus, and continued toward the kitchen to heat up a sippy cup of milk.

Forty-five seconds later Timmy was holding the cup in his chubby little hands, I had my cordless phone cradled at my ear, and I was heading back up the stairs to pound at Allie’s door once again.

“Dupont Mental Institution,” Laura said, obviously having checked her caller ID.

“How are things at your end?”

“The inmates are restless,” she said.

“At least yours is up and moving.” I pounded on Allie’s door again. “Now, Allie. If you’re not dressed at 7:20, I’m leaving without you.” The first day of car pool is always a challenge, and Karen and Emily were unknown commodities. If they were the kind who ran late—where you ended up sitting on the street, engine running, laying on the horn—I wanted a little padding in the schedule.

I switched my attention back to the phone. “What have you got going this morning?”

“Laundry,” she said, sounding about as excited as if she were having a root canal. “Carla refuses to step up to the plate.” Carla came in twice a month to do Laura’s heavy cleaning. This is a point of great envy on my part. One day I’m hoping Carla can be cloned. “And bills. I could be talked into procrastinating,” she added. “If you’ve got a better offer, I mean.”

“Not exactly,” I said as I headed back downstairs. “I was hoping to bum a favor.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Now that Mindy’s a teenager, don’t you miss the pitter-patter of little feet?”

“You’re killing me here,” she said, but I could hear amusement in her voice, and said a silent thank-you. “Just spit it out.”

“I need a babysitter.”

“Oh, really?” Her voice rose with interest. “And what fabulous dalliance have you got scheduled?”

“Nothing as fabulous as all that.” I gave her the short-but-incomplete truth—that I was going to be doing some work at the church.

She made curious noises, but didn’t ask and I didn’t volunteer. As soon as she agreed to watch the munchkin, I swore to do her bidding for the rest of eternity. “You can probably just treat me to dessert at the Cheesecake Factory,” she said, “and we’ll call it even.” A pause. “Or is this more than a one-day crisis?”

“Hopefully just one or two,” I said, making one of those I’m-guilty-but-please-help-anyway faces, even though she couldn’t see me through the phone line. “I’m hoping I can find a day care.”

“Really?” Her surprise made sense. I’d told her over and over that I love doing the stay-at-home-mom thing (I do). “Two days, two desserts,” she said, playing babysitting hardball.

“Done. I’ll drop him by after I offload the girls.” We hung up and I stood silent for a moment, listening for Allie. I heard the shower running. A good sign. At least I wouldn’t have to race back up the stairs and drag her bodily into the bathroom.

“More milk,” Timmy said as I headed toward the kitchen. “Chocolate milk. Mommy. Chocolate.”

“I don’t think so, kiddo.”

I took the sippy cup and filled it with boring white milk, then I ripped open a packet of oatmeal, dumped it into a bowl with what looked like the right amount of water, shoved the bowl into the microwave, and set the timer. I was already pushing it with Laura; I couldn’t expect her to feed the kid breakfast, too.

Two minutes later I had Tim happily settled in his booster seat poking at tepid, gloppy oatmeal with his spoon. Hopefully one or two bites would actually make it into his mouth.

Allie barreled down the stairs and into the kitchen a few minutes later, eyed the packet of oatmeal on the counter, and shot me a look of disdain. “I’ll just have coffee,” she said.

“You’ll eat breakfast,” I said, keeping a proprietary grip on my own mug. We’d compromised on the coffee thing midsummer (that’s when she’d claimed to be a true high-schooler). Minimal guilt on my part, though, particularly when I discovered that my daughter takes a little coffee with her milk rather than vice versa. Breakfast, however, I was holding fast on.

“Fine. Whatever.” She grabbed a Nutri-Grain bar from a box on top of the fridge, then disappeared back upstairs to finish the getting-dressed ritual. “Makeup?” she called down.

“Mascara and lip gloss,” I said.

“Mo-om!”

“I’m not having this conversation again, Allie. I’m deaf to your protests until you’re sixteen.” The real score? I knew she’d continue to bug me and I’d eventually cave. But I was holding fast for at least a month.

No response, but I did hear a lot of stomping going on up there.

“Makeup, Momma!” Timmy howled. “My makeup.”

“I don’t think so, bud. Not even when you’re sixteen.”

In lieu of pouting, he threw a glob of oatmeal across the room. I watched it land with a plop near the missing window, knowing I should go clean it up. For that matter, I should get on the phone and find a glazier to fix the damn thing. Instead, I drained my coffee and poured myself a fresh cup. Procrastination, thy name is Kate.

Allie came down the stairs just before Mindy rapped on the back door. I ushered the lot of us to the van, the girls carrying their brand-new day packs, me sporting a toddler, a purse, and a diaper bag.

We caught a lucky break and both Karen and Emily were ready when I honked at their houses. Emily was last, and as soon as she piled in, I headed to the high school, where I lined up behind a dozen other vans and SUVs. I caught a glimpse of some of the other moms (and a few of the dads). From what I could tell, I was the only one pulling car-pool duty sans shower, with my hair yanked carelessly back, the T-shirt I’d slept in tucked into ratty old sweats. I slumped down in the driver’s seat and made a mental note to get up fifteen minutes earlier on car-pool day.

When the line of cars had moved enough so that we were in the driveway, Emily slid the door open and the girls started piling out. I reminded them that Karen’s mom had pickup duty, then put the van in drive. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

“But not for me and Mindy,” Allie said, her hand on the sliding door. “Remember? We’re staying after to talk to Ms. Carlson about cheerleading.”

“Right,” I said. “I remember.” I hadn’t, of course. (And what are they doing scheduling a cheerleading meeting on the first day of school, anyway?) I mentally rearranged my schedule, realized it was completely impossible, but figured I’d manage somehow. “Call me on the cell when the meeting starts and let me know what time it’s supposed to be over. We’re having some of Stuart’s political folks over for drinks tonight, so Mrs. Dupont may end up picking you guys up.”

“Whatever,” Allie said. It really was unfair. I’d give myself an ulcer trying to work out who was picking who up and when, and all she had to say was whatever.

I sighed. Whatever.

Ten minutes later I was seated at Laura’s kitchen table, a fresh mug of coffee tight in my hand. I nodded toward my munchkin, who was seated across from me, his nose even with the tabletop since Laura had long ago packed away her booster seat. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Honestly. It’s fine.” She was already dressed to the nines, which made me feel even grimier.

I nodded at her outfit. “You look like you had plans.”

She made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, no. Not really. Paul’s just working late again tonight, and I thought it might be nice to, you know, look extra special for him.”

I thought about how I’d looked that morning as Stuart had headed off—how I looked now, for that matter—and shrugged. “I’m sure he appreciated the gesture,” I said.

I expected her to give me some dish or make a snarky comment. Instead, she just looked embarrassed and started unloading her dishwasher. I decided to change subjects. “If he gives you any trouble at all, just call my cell. And for nap, just plunk him in the middle of your bed and put some pillows around him. He won’t roll out.” I tried to think what else to tell her. “There’re sippy cups and diapers in the bag, but if you need—”

She held up her hand, laughing. “Kate, you aren’t heading to Australia. And I have a key to your house. We’ll be fine.”

I looked at Tim, who was happily shredding a napkin into smaller and smaller pieces. “You going to be okay with Aunt Laura? Mommy’s got to go run some errands.”

He didn’t even slow down with the shredding. “Bye-bye, Mommy. Bye-bye.”

Laura and I exchanged glances, and I could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. So much for my guilt about leaving him.

When I actually reached the door, Timmy’s tune changed. Not a full-blown fit, mind you, but enough whining to soothe my mommy ego. I gave him a couple of big hugs, some sloppy kisses, and a promise to be back soon.

I’d left the van in Laura’s driveway, and as she herded Tim back inside, I settled behind the wheel, then mentally ran over my list of things to do today. Shower, find day care, buy groceries, arrange afternoon car pool, gas up van—the usual stuff. In fact, except for two items—enroll in kickboxing class and review cathedral archives to determine object coveted by vile demon—the list wasn’t that different from a typical day’s to-do list. I’d always managed to tackle my tasks, and today would be no exception. Just a list of errands and me, supermom extraordinaire. No problemo. I glanced at my watch. Eight-fifty. Just nine and a half hours until the cocktail hordes descended on my house.

I cranked the engine. Dawdling was over. It was time to get moving. Goramesh might have invaded San Diablo, but he was going to regret it. I was Kate Connor, demon-hunting supermom. And I was going to take him down.

***

Two hours later I was Kate Connor, discouraged toddler mom. Apparently, enrolling one’s toddler in day care requires an act of Congress. The three facilities that I’d noticed in the neighborhood were maxed out on their kid quotient. KidSpace (inconveniently located on the opposite side of town) had a full-time opening in the two-year-old class, and that for a tuition payment that made my blood run cold. I was only looking for part-time, and I turned it down. The woman had made a cluck, cluck noise as she asked if I was sure, offering to hold the spot overnight if I wanted to give her a fifty-dollar deposit charged conveniently to my credit card over the telephone.

I said no.

A dozen phone calls later I realized the magnitude of that mistake. I’d have better luck enrolling the kid in Harvard. And I knew then that the only way Timmy was getting into day care was if I latched on to any opening—no matter how inconvenient or expensive. So far, only one location had fit that description—being both inconvenient and expensive. I practically burned my fingers dialing the KidSpace lady back.

Was the slot still available? Yes, it was, but they’d had three other inquiries. Those moms were coming by to scope the place out. But they hadn’t put down a deposit and she could still hold it for me if I wanted.

I wanted. I whipped out a credit card so fast it would have made Stuart’s head spin. So what if I hadn’t seen the place? It was full and in demand, right? That had to say something. Besides, if it was a dump, they could keep the fifty dollars. A small price to pay for being on what I was now referring to as The List

I told Nadine (the KidSpace assistant director, with whom I suddenly felt a close and personal bond) that Timmy and I would come by tomorrow to check the place out and meet his teacher, and that Timmy would start on Wednesday. She told us to drop by anytime, and I considered that another good sign—a toddler crack house would, after all, surely not want “anytime” visitors.

By now it was almost lunchtime, and half of my day was already shot. Despite my looming list of tasks, I still felt an overarching sense of accomplishment. Absurd, really, when all I’d actually done was make some phone calls and spend fifty dollars against the promise of forking out eight hundred and twenty-five more every month.

Stuart was going to kill me.

I decided not to dwell on that little reality and instead moved on to my next most basic task—getting dressed. I hadn’t yet eaten, so I rummaged in the back of the freezer until I found a box of last year’s Thin Mints. Since I’d skipped breakfast and lunch, I took an entire sleeve out and schlepped it upstairs to the bathroom, along with a can of Diet Coke.

The cookies thawed a bit while I was in the shower, and I snarfed down six, washing the crumbly goodness down with a swig of soda. I didn’t bother to do much with my hair, just ran a comb through it and slicked on a tiny bit of gel to keep the frizzies at bay once it air-dried. (Except for the occasional ponytail, I never do much with my hair. There’s no point. It’s dirty blond and hangs just past my shoulders. I can curl it, spray it, coax it into styles, and two hours later, it’s back to being dirty blond, straight and hanging just past my shoulders. For those special evenings out, I’ll pile it up on top of my head with a rhinestone-studded clip. Not fancy, but it works for me.)

I pulled on jeans, a sleeveless sweater and matching cardigan, then shoved my feet into loafers. After a moment’s hesitation I changed out of the loafers and into an old pair of Reeboks. The chances of bumping into a demon today were slim considering I intended to spend most of my time in the cathedral archives, but it’s best to be prepared. If I did meet another one of Goramesh’s flunkies, I wanted traction—and lots of it.

When I headed back downstairs, I remembered the window (the gaping hole in the kitchen jogged my memory). I glanced at my watch, made an unhappy little noise, and sat back down at the kitchen table, where the phone book was still open to the yellow page listings for Day Care Centers.

I flipped to the G’s and scanned the pages, running my finger down the thin yellow paper until I found a display ad that seemed nicely laid out and not too cheesy. Not the most responsible method of choosing a repairman, I know, but I was in a hurry. The receptionist answered on the first ring, had a pleasant phone voice, and seemed to know what I was talking about when I described the oversize window in our breakfast area. Impressed as I was by such blatant professionalism, I asked if someone could fix it today.

I heard the receptionist tap-tapping at a keyboard. After a moment she came back with the verdict—today was doable, but only if I could be available at four and was willing to pay the rush service charge. Sure, I said, why not? We made all the arrangements, and only then did I think to ask for a rough estimate.

She hedged the response with the caveat that the final cost would be determined on site, then quoted me a number that had me grasping my chest. For two seconds I considered hanging up and letting my fingers do the walking a little bit longer. I nixed that idea fast enough, though. I didn’t have the time to juggle estimates, and Stuart wanted the window fixed by the cocktail party (which was scheduled for six-thirty, according to the note he’d left by the coffeemaker). If Stuart said something about the cost, I’d do a mea culpa then. At least the window would be intact.

I relayed all the necessary info, promised to be home at four, and hung up, mentally congratulating myself for having accomplished yet another task.

At this rate I’d have Goramesh figured out and conquered before the first guest showed up. I was, after all, on a roll.

***

I arrived at the Cathedral invigorated, optimistic, and raring to go. I found Father Ben in his office reviewing his notes for that evening’s homily, and after the usual small talk—the weather, my family, the progress of the restoration project—we headed toward the cathedral.

After a brief pause while I once again refilled my holy water vial, I followed him over the sanctuary toward the sacristy and the stairs leading to the basement archives. From the outside, the cathedral looks old but well preserved. From this new perspective, though, I could tell just how time-ravaged the building really was.

Father twisted a large skeleton key, causing a dingy brass lock to creak. There was no doorknob, and once the lock had disengaged, he pushed on the wood—now smooth from centuries of just such pressure. The door swung inward, ornate hinges creaking with the effort. “Mind your step,” Father said, moving over the threshold.

As I followed, he reached to his side and flipped a switch, the light from five low-watt bulbs suddenly illuminating our path. The bulbs were strung along an ancient bit of wire tacked into the stone wall that lined the staircase on one side. I looked up and could just make out a faint streak of black on the low stone roof above my head. Father had turned back to make sure I was coming, and he saw the direction of my gaze.

“Smoke,” he said. “Before electricity, the priests lit their way down these steps with torches.”

“Cool,” I said, then realized I sounded like my daughter. I was enjoying this, though. It reminded me of the churches and crypts that Eric and I had prowled back in our glory days.

The stairs made a sharp turn to the right, and the temperature seemed to drop at least ten degrees. I started thinking about earthquakes, and sincerely hoped California didn’t decide to do the shaking thing now.

“I can’t tell you how much the Church appreciates our volunteers. We’re paying an archivist to catalog the noteworthy items, of course, but having volunteers help organize the material is certainly helping to keep our budget in line.”

“The cathedral’s well known for its holy relics,” I said. “Presumably some are already archived and cataloged?”

“Absolutely,” Father Ben confirmed. “Although until the restoration is complete, most of the relics are packed up and stored in the basement vault.”

“Really? Seems a shame they’re tucked away like that.” My interest was piqued and I was feeling a trifle smug. I’d get a list of the relics, then look for anything that sounded like “bones” or came from any of the ravaged locations. Easy squeezy.

“It is a shame,” he agreed, without looking at me. The narrow stone stairs we were maneuvering weren’t exactly up to code, and he and I were both picking our way down, careful not to misstep and land in a heap at the bottom. “Of course, some are still in their display cases, and are available for viewing on a limited schedule. We simply moved the cases to the basement to keep them safe during the restoration.” He shook his head. “The collection was on display for years in the cathedral foyer. I’ve only been here a relatively short time, but even to me it seemed like the end of an era when we moved the pieces down here.”

My earlier smugness started to crack. “How long were the pieces on display?” If the bones Goramesh wanted were known to be in San Diablo, there was hardly any reason to rampage through Italy, Greece, and Mexico searching for them.

“That depends on the particular relic,” Father said. “Some came with Father Aceveda when he founded the cathedral centuries ago. Others arrived as gifts over the last few centuries. The bishop has done an extraordinary job ensuring that the temporary removal of the relics isn’t felt too deeply. As soon as the restoration is complete, the items will once again be displayed upstairs. In the meantime, a few items are set out each week in the Bishop’s Hall, and the entire collection is available to view on the Internet.”

I was now pretty sure I’d find nothing of interest to Goramesh among the already cataloged items, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. Frankly, I was assuming that the bones were a recent acquisition. That would explain Goramesh’s sudden interest in San Diablo. Something that had recently been donated, but had some connection to Mexico, Greece, or Italy. Or all three.

He’d reached the bottom stair, and now he stepped onto the dingy wooden floor, stopping to wait as I continued to pick my way down. As soon as I joined Father on the floor, I immediately saw the dimly lit display cases that lined two walls of the cavernous room. I wandered to one and gazed through the glass at a row of six cloth bags, each about the size of a half-pound of coffee and labeled with calligraphy so ornate I couldn’t easily read the text. In the next case I saw two gold crucifixes and a Bible that looked as though it would fall apart if anyone dared to breathe on it. Other miscellaneous relics and artifacts filled the case, and I turned back to Father Ben, fascinated.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” he asked.

I agreed that it was. “Even this basement is impressive.”

The space had rough stone walls into which metal holders protruded. Once they’d held torches; now dim electric bulbs dangled from each, filling the room with an incandescent glow that did little to penetrate the shadows.

He laughed. “It does have a certain atmosphere.” He waved toward another wooden door—this one with a solid-looking padlock. “All the relics are noteworthy, of course, but the truly priceless pieces are locked in the vault.”

I frowned, thinking that an ancient door and one rusty padlock wouldn’t keep out a determined thief.

He must have read my expression, because he laughed. “We tried to maintain the character of the basement. There’s a stainless steel, alarm-rigged vault behind that door. I assure you, the treasures are quite safe.”

“Good to know,” I said. And potentially bad for me. I said a fervent prayer that the bones weren’t locked back there. I could pick a lock (or I could at one time), but breaking into professional vaults? That was out of my bailiwick.

Another question occurred to me, and I looked back up at Father. “Why keep the collection here and not in the Vatican?”

Father Ben grinned, and all his youth seemed to reflect in that smile. “Would you like to hear what I was told when I came to St Mary’s? Or would you like to hear my theory?”

“Yours, of course,” I said, liking Father Ben more and more.

“PR,” he said, then watched, as if waiting for me to jump all over that brilliant revelation. I just shrugged, probably disappointing him mightily.

He sighed. “Sadly, it’s all about the money. Even for a church. And that requires donations, pledges—”

“Which flow more freely when the church has some cache,” I finished, getting the picture.

“Exactly. And while almost all parishes possess some relics, the collection at St. Mary’s is truly extraordinary.”

“Has it worked? The PR, I mean.”

“Apparently so,” he said. “That’s essentially why you’re here.”

Light dawned. “The uncataloged material.”

“Boxes of relics, family heirlooms, old baptismal records. Correspondence between the priests who founded the California missions. Correspondence between lovers married in the church. A mishmash. All of it interesting. Only some of it worth retaining. Very little of it organized.”

Already, I was feeling overwhelmed. “How much exactly?”

“About three hundred bankers’ boxes of documents, and another two hundred or so crates filled with a variety of items.”

I swallowed.

I think a flicker of amusement flashed across his face, but I could be wrong about that. The light down there was terrible. “How much time do you have?” he asked.

“Today?” I glanced at my watch. “Until two. Then I have to rescue my babysitter from my child.” I had more than that on my plate, but I doubted Father Ben would be interested in my rundown of errands.

“That gives you an hour and a half to get your feet wet and get your bearings,” he said. I noticed he didn’t need to check his watch to figure that out. “Actually, that’s probably about right for your first go-round.” He glanced at me, and this time I’m certain I saw a smile. “It’s really not as bad as it sounds. There may be three hundred boxes of records, but they represent the gifts of only about thirty-five benefactors. And of those, only about ten donated major gifts.”

“Okay …” I trailed off, not sure what his point was. Ten was a much smaller number, yes, but those three hundred boxes were still stacked in the basement, just waiting for me to scour them, hoping some vague reference would pop out and bring the Goramesh mystery into focus.

He took pity on me and explained. “The major donors wanted their tax write-off, so each donation was accompanied by a brief description of the items.” He held up a hand as if to ward off my (totally nonexistent) protests. “These were pious men, don’t get me wrong. The donations were made because they wanted to benefit the Church. But even while one is looking toward Heaven, one’s feet are still of this earth.”

“Render to Caesar,” I said.

“Exactly.”

Made perfect sense to me. At the moment, I was feeling pretty charitable toward the IRS myself. I’d change my tune come April 15, but in the meantime, I was perfectly happy to settle down in front of each benefactor’s tax records and see if I could discern any sort of relic that seemed even remotely connected to my purpose. Who knows, maybe the first item on my list would be a big box of bones.

Father Ben explained that the boxes were already somewhat organized. Anything of obvious value—including first-class relics like bones—had been set aside and locked in the vault for the archivist to review. The remaining boxes—filled with miscellaneous papers that, presumably, would include a reference to any relics that had been pulled and locked away—were stacked in this basement area, pending review, sorting, and transfer of the delicate items to a more paper-friendly environment I felt a twinge of guilt. This really was an important project and I fully intended to abandon it as soon as I learned what I came for.

The boxes lined the far wall of the cavernous basement The other walls were lined with either the display cabinets or what appeared to be relatively modern card catalogs alternating with deep wooden shelves on which rested oversize leather-bound books, each about four inches thick, and which may have dated back to the Middle Ages—though I’m not a historian, so I could be way off base with that. The room sported a rough-hewn wooden floor topped with five long wooden tables. I imagined monks sitting there, clad in brown robes and sipping soup from carved wooden bowls. Today, I’d sit, clad in denim, riffling through boxes of papers, and hoping for a reference to bones that was somehow tied to Greece, Mexico, or Italy.

The boxes were numbered and lettered, each letter representing a benefactor, and each number representing a box in that donor’s collection. The paperwork for each donation should (and Father Ben stressed the should) be in the first box of each letter set.

He hauled Box A-l to the middle table for me, made sure I was settled, then headed back up the stairs. Without Father, the room seemed even more dark and shadowy. Were this not part of the church and were I not a Demon Hunter, I’d probably have been spooked. As it was, I made a concerted effort to ignore the heebie-jeebies as I pulled the lid off the box, then groaned in frustration when I realized the entire box was packed tight with manila folders, each of which was, in turn, packed full of paper.

I tugged the first folder out, laid it on the table, opened it, then yelped as a dozen multilegged critters scattered. I was on my feet in an instant, patting myself down vigorously. Yuck, yuck, yuck! Demons, dirty diapers, even last-minute dinner parties I could handle. But bugs? I don’t think so.

I tapped the folder a few times with the edge of the notepad Father Ben had lent me. When nothing else living emerged, I decided it was safe to resume working. I sat back down and skimmed the first page. The Last Will and Testament of Cecil Curtis. I carefully flipped the pages, kicking up dust as I did so, but couldn’t find any itemized list of the bequest to the Church.

My eyes itched, and I let out a violent succession of sneezes. Gee, this was fun.

I shoved the folder back into the box, sneezed again, then pulled out the next dusty collection of papers. I held the sheath at arm’s length and shook it. No bugs. I decided it was clean and plunked it on the table. I checked my watch. Exactly seven minutes had elapsed since Father Ben had left me.

With a sigh of resignation, I opened the folder. It was filled with onionskin paper covered in fragile-looking type, as if each page were the third sheet of a carbon produced on an ancient manual typewriter. Each and every page was full of single-spaced print, and—since Larson would never let me live it down if I missed a clue—I squinted to read every word. After about ten sheets my eyes burned and my head ached, and for the first time in my life, I actually wished I wore reading glasses.

This wasn’t fun. Important, yes, but not fun.

There was a reason I was a Hunter and not an alimentatore. I don’t have the patience for this shit. I’m not a detective, I don’t want to be a detective, and I was unreasonably pissed off at Larson for sitting in a dust-free courtroom while I was locked in the church dungeon with a bunch of bug-infested papers.

I didn’t want to research; I just wanted to hit something.

Unfortunately, there’s never a demon around when you really need one.

Chapter 10

After saying all the necessary good-byes to Father Ben, I headed from the cathedral straight to the gas station, my fingers crossed the entire time as I hoped the Odyssey would maneuver okay burning nothing but fumes.

I’d just started pumping gas when my cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Mom! We’re done, we’re done! Can you come get us?”

“You’re done?” I stared at my watch. Not even two forty-five. “Why are you done?”

“Mo-om. Half day, remember?”

I didn’t remember, but wasn’t about to confess to Allie that her mother was a space case. Instead, I made a noncommittal grunting noise. Allie didn’t seem to notice.

“And we had our cheerleading meeting and I have about a billion forms you and Stuart have to sign and we already have homework. I mean, it’s only day one. And it wasn’t even a full day, so what’s up with that?”

“The fiends,” I said.

“Yeah. Exactly. So, like, can you come get us?”

“Sure. I’ll be there in ten minutes. You’ll have to finish some errands with me.”

I could practically hear her making a face. “We’ll wait in the car,” she said.

I smiled. “Whatever.”

I found the girls loitering on the steps leading up to the main entrance of the school. They were sitting with three other girls, and a group of four boys was camped out on the far side of the steps. From my vantage point, I could see the girls whispering and casting surreptitious glances toward the boys, who didn’t appear to notice.

“So who are the guys?” I asked as Mindy and Allie piled into the van.

“Huh?” Allie asked.

“Your companions on the stairs,” I said, pointing back in that direction.

“Oh, them,” Allie said, sounding just a little too bored. “Seniors.”

“And football players,” Mindy added.

“Don’t even know you’re alive, huh?” I said.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the girls exchange a glance. “No,” Allie finally said. “They don’t talk to freshman girls.”

I raised a silent cheer. My little girl hardly needed to be fraternizing with the football players. Out loud I put on a supportive mom face. “You won’t be freshmen forever.”

The girls just grunted. I tried to stifle my smile as I maneuvered the van back toward our neighborhood.

“So where are we going?”

“Kickboxing class and then the grocery store.”

“Oh, cool,” Mindy said.

“Do we get to take a class today?” Allie asked.

“Not today. I’m just going to find a class and sign us up.”

Without the possibility of imminent fighting, the girls lost interest, ignoring me in favor of the copy of Entertainment Weekly that Allie pulled out of her backpack.

There’s probably a more scientific method for choosing a martial arts class, but I relied on the old P & P method— proximity and presentation. Basically, what I wanted was something close to the house that didn’t look (or smell) like a total dive.

When Eric and I had first moved to San Diablo, it had a true small-town feel. Local businesses lined Main Street, which hosted (and still hosts) a local market day fair the first Friday of every month. Surrounding this downtown area are neighborhoods overflowing with tall trees and wide, shady streets. Over the years the time-worn houses have been renovated into sparkling jewels. Small, but sparkling.

Eric, and I had lived in such a gem when we’d moved to San Diablo. The lack of space in the house for Allie’s toys (not to mention the dearth of kids in the neighborhood for Allie to play with) had made us start to eye the outlying subdivisions greedily. About the time Eric was killed, we’d been seriously thinking about moving. With Stuart, my stint in suburbia officially began.

While downtown San Diablo retains its quaint old-world charm, the rest of the city has become truly California-ized, with strip mall after strip mall and a Starbucks on every corner. (A slight exaggeration. And since I’m a frequent and willing patron, I can hardly complain.)

As far as I can tell, the Universal Code for the Creation of Strip Malls requires each to have a dry cleaner, an insurance agent, a pizza-delivery joint, and a martial arts studio. By my count, there are six malls dotting the landscape between the high school and the entrance to my subdivision.

From my quick glance as I drove by, each studio appeared to be a clone of the one before it. Nothing unappealing, but nothing that screamed exceptional quality, either. In the end the only criteria I cared about was proximity, and I pulled up in front of the Victor Leung Martial Arts Academy, which shared a wall with my neighborhood 7-Eleven. (They know me well in there; it’s where I go when I run out of milk for Tim or realize that whatever I’m trying to make for dinner requires butter or cream or some other item that is sadly absent from my larder.)

“What do you think?” I asked the girls.

Allie shrugged. Mindy mumbled something I couldn’t understand. And with that rousing endorsement, we piled out of the car and headed toward the door.

From the outside the place seemed clean enough, and through the glass (which listed in vibrant red paint everything from karate to kickboxing), I could see a group of kids mingling, their faces bright as they gathered personal belongings from the piles of shoes and backpacks against the far wall. I considered the presence of children a good sign—I may not have done my homework, but presumably some other mother had. Today, I would happily coast on her anonymous coattails.

I pushed the door open, setting a little bell to jingle, and the three of us entered. The kids and a few adults all looked in my direction, but no one moved to greet me. Mindy and Allie took off toward the back of the studio, where someone had hung a collection of black-and-white pictures taken during various tournaments. I couldn’t hear everything they said, but I definitely picked up an “Oh, look at him,” and a “Do you think we’ll learn how to do that?”

I grinned. They could pretend nonchalance, but I knew the truth. The girls were looking forward to this. And, in truth, so was I.

At the moment, though, it wasn’t excitement I was feeling, it was annoyance. Proximity notwithstanding, if someone didn’t offer to help me soon, we were going to get out of there and find some other class. I was just on the verge of gathering the girls when a set of swinging doors at the back of the studio slammed inward and a thirty-something man stepped through wearing a uniform cinched with a black belt. His hair, almost as dark as the belt was pulled back from his head in a ponytail. He sported a day-old beard along with an aura of controlled danger. Honestly, he reminded me of Steven Seagal in Under Siege, one of Stuart’s favorite movies. The urge to ask him if he knew how to cook was almost overwhelming.

“Victor Leung?” I asked as he approached me, his hand held out in greeting.

“Sean Tyler,” he said. “Cutter to my friends,” he added with a smile as he looked me up and down. His fingers were warm against mine, and I realized too late I was blushing. Shit. What was the matter with me?

I tugged my hand away. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Tyler. I was hoping to talk to the owner.”

“You are.” I must have looked confused, because he continued, lowering his voice so none of the lingering students could hear. “There is no Victor Leung. It’s all about—”

“PR. Yeah, I’ve heard this one before.”

He rocked back on his heels, his eyes dark and his mouth curled in the slightest of smiles, as if I amused him. “So how can I help you, Miss…?”

“Mrs.” I said, probably too quickly. “Kate Connor.” I drew myself up to my full height. “I need a trainer.” I went into more detail, explaining that I wanted some one-on-one training in addition to a class that Allie and I (and Mindy) could take together. I pointed the girls out to him, and they immediately blushed and tittered, then finally turned back to the wall again, as if the pictures were the most fascinating thing ever. Apparently, I’d been right—Cutter was a hottie.

I expected him to rattle off a list of class times. Instead, he said, “Someone stalking you?”

Not a question I’d been expecting, and I grappled for an answer, obviously not finding a good one since I blurted out, “Not exactly.”

He laughed. “Is that like being a little bit pregnant?”

I stared at him, trying to decide if he was an obnoxious jerk or a charming rogue.

“Don’t worry,” he said, as if reading my mind. He grinned, all white teeth and charm. “You get used to me.”

About that, I believed him. Cutter seemed like the kind of guy who would grow on you, and I followed as he started across the room toward a heavy oak desk covered with papers. The other parents and students had left, leaving just the four of us in the studio. “So do I get the story?” he asked as he walked. “Or do you like the role of mysterious suburban beauty?”

(I should point out that I’m not naive. He was a cute guy—amendment, a hot guy—running a martial arts studio less than a mile from the entrance to one of the nicer San Diablo neighborhoods. Of course he sucked up to the local moms. If he didn’t, some other instructor would be teaching the neighborhood tots to kick and lunge and jab. I knew all that, and yet I still perked up a bit at the “beauty” comment. There’s a lesson in there somewhere, but at the moment, I wasn’t inclined to look for it.)

He turned and looked at me, silently prompting me to answer his question.

“Years ago I used to be pretty good at this stuff,” I said, as if it was no big deal. “I realized how out of practice I am, and I want a refresher. And someone to train with.”

“And your daughters?’

“Daughter,” I said. “And her best friend.” I shrugged. “I can’t always be there to watch their backs.” I couldn’t help the edge in my voice. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

“Fair enough,” he said. “I don’t have any more classes today,” he said. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”

“Oh,” I said stupidly. I looked at my watch. I’d expected to just run down the formalities today. And I wasn’t that excited about the idea of showing Cutter what I had in front of Allie. “I don’t think that’s such a good—”

“Just dump your things over there.” He pointed to the far wall. “Hey, girls,” he called. “Come on over here for a minute. Your mom and I have a little demonstration for you.”

“Cutter,” I hissed.

“What? You’re going to be taking classes with your kid. Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed to fight in front of her. That’s gonna make class a little cumbersome.”

“Fine.” I glared at him again, feeling a bit like we were having a marital spat. My fights with Stuart just never involved actual fighting. “We’ll spar.” There really wasn’t any reason not to. I’d get a feel for his skills, and I figured I could tone my own skills down a bit for Allie’s sake. Besides, Cutter was right. Allie would get the full sense of what Mom could do soon enough.

As the girls sat cross-legged at the edge of the mat, I headed toward the wall to drop off my purse and shoes like Cutter had suggested. The studio walls were mirrored, so I have no excuse for not seeing him coming. All I knew was that a split second after I passed him, he grabbed me around the waist, one hand going over my mouth to prevent me from screaming.

What the hell?

I could hear Allie yelling in the background, but I couldn’t focus on her. All thoughts had faded from my head, replaced only with a deep desire to nail Cutter’s sorry ass. I wasn’t thinking, I was just doing—and I’ll admit it felt good.

I got both my hands on his one over my mouth, then tugged downward, managing to sink my teeth into the soft flesh beside his thumb. As I did that, I twisted, but his arm held fast around my waist despite his howl of protest. I slammed my left arm back, leading with my elbow, and caught him just under the rib cage. He exhaled with a whoof, and his arm loosened just enough for me to twist to the side, hook my leg under his, and send him sprawling backward onto the mat.

“Mom! Mom! Wow, Mom, that was awesome!”

A split second later I was straddling him, my hands tight around his neck, thumbs against his windpipe. “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked as Mindy and Allie raced toward us.

Blood pounded in my ears, and although I wanted to twist around and flash a reassuring smile at my daughter, I couldn’t quite manage. All of my attention was still focused on Cutter. “Why did you jump me?” I demanded.

“You said you used to be good,” he said. I could feel the tremor of his vocal cords beneath my hands. “I just wanted to see how good. Sorry, I should have asked.”

“Yes, you should have.” I was being tested a lot lately, and I didn’t much like it. So far I’d done better defending myself than I’d expected. For that, at least, I gave myself Brownie points.

“Are you gonna get off him, Mrs. Connor?”

“Why should she?” Allie answered. “She totally nailed him. That was so awesome.”

“Pretty awesome,” Cutter said, agreeably. “Not that this isn’t cozy, but if she got off me, maybe we could show you two a few more maneuvers.”

“Will you, Mom?”

“Not today, hon,” I said. My adrenaline rush was fading, replaced by the keen awareness that I was sitting on the chest of one very good-looking man. At least, I hoped he was a man. At the moment I was leaving nothing to chance.

“Oh, come on, Mom!”

“Sorry, kid. We have to get to the grocery store next.”

“Oh, good,” Cutter said. “A reprieve.”

I made a face as Mindy leaned over us. “Can you teach us how to do that? Flip guys, I mean.”

“Sure, kiddo. That’s why we’re taking classes, remember?”

Allie circled me and Cutter, her finger pressed to her mouth, her expression serious. “I dunno, Mom. Should we take lessons from him? Maybe we should find someone better.”

“Oh, for crying out—” Cutter began. “Your mom definitely knows how to defend herself. I promise I can teach you girls the same thing.”

“Hmmm,” Allie said. I tried to hide my amusement as she turned to Mindy. “What do you think?”

Mindy shrugged. “He’s got all sorts of awards and stuff hanging on the back wall. He’ll probably be okay.”

“Tough consumers,” Cutter said. “Not that this isn’t fun—you sitting on me, I mean—but do you think I could get up now?” He met my eyes, his dark with amusement and something else I wasn’t inclined to examine too closely. “Or we could just stay like this indefinitely.”

“Very funny.” I climbed off of him, but stayed at the ready, standing over him while he looked up, bemused, from a prone position. The truth was, I did need him alone. Just not for that reason. Demon-testing was not for the faint of heart. Neither was it for my daughter to see. “Girls, run over to 7-Eleven and get me a soda, would you?”

“A soda?” Mindy repeated.

“She just wants to get rid of us,” Allie said. “She’s going to chew him out.”

“Smart kid,” I said. “I’ll meet you two outside in a minute.”

“Alone at last,” Cutter said as soon as the door shut behind the girls.

I glared at him.

“Hey, a beautiful woman just laid me out flat. All I’ve got left is my sense of humor.”

I had to admit that, on the whole, he was being a pretty good sport. “You spooked me,” I said simply.

“I guess so. So how long before you get unspooked and quit looking at me like that?”

A very good question. I suppose he could have been a demon, lying in wait in the off chance I decided to train at Victor-cum-Cutter’s studio—but I had to admit the odds were slim. Of course, three days ago I would have said the odds of a demon catapulting himself through my window were nil.

I didn’t intend to take chances.

My purse was still looped over my shoulder, and now I stuck one hand inside so I could rummage in its depths. I found the vial of holy water and managed to open it one-handed. With my hand still inside the purse, I drenched my hand (not to mention my checkbook, pens, makeup, and wallet). “Come here,” I said.

He squinted at me, but complied, and as soon as he was close enough, I reached out and patted his cheek with my damp hand. Nothing happened. (Okay, that’s not exactly true. Cutter muttered a few obscenities and asked the room in general if I was a psychopath.)

I backed off. “Sorry about that.”

I expected him to tell me to get out of his studio. Instead, he just wiped the water off his face with the back of his hand and stared at me. “Any chance you’ll tell me what that was about?”

“Any chance you’ll train with me?” I shot back. “Or teach my daughter’s class?” I hoped he would. Now that I knew he wasn’t a demon, I had to admit I liked the guy. He had gumption, and he didn’t mind (too much) that a woman had bested him. He was also conveniently located near my house, and, as an added benefit, he was easy on the eyes.

“Lady, you don’t look like you need the training.”

“I do,” I insisted. “My reflexes are better than I thought, but my instincts are all off. I should have realized you were coming. You never should have got your hand around my mouth. It took me way too long to bring you down. And to top it all off, my whole body feels sore and bruised.”

“From laying me out?”

I made a noncommittal noise. I was hardly going to tell him I’d been in three fights in so many days. Allie might be impressed by my ability to bring down attacking martial arts instructors, but that was a long way from laying waste to demons. I needed to be at the top of my game, and I wasn’t. Not yet. “I’m not in the shape I need to be,” I said with a shrug. Simple as that.

“Need to be,” he repeated. “For what?”

“For me.” Fighting demons is only part skill and strength, the rest is confidence. My reflexes might still be there, hiding just under the surface, but until my head believed that, I was vulnerable. “I just need to know I can do it.”

***

In the end I’m not sure if Cutter agreed because I’d nailed him, because he believed I was sincere about getting back in sparring shape, or because he thought I was a (somewhat dangerous) nut he had to humor. Honestly, I didn’t much care. I’d come to pencil in times, and I was walking away with a sparring schedule for me (nine-thirty a.m., every day until I cried uncle) and a Wednesday/Friday afternoon class for me, Allie, and Mindy.

Mission accomplished. One more item crossed off my to-do list.

Of course, I’d ended up talking with Cutter way too long. (I chalked it up to male insecurity. As we were filling out the necessary paperwork, he launched into his resume, telling me about his military service, along with the myriad awards and accolades he’d received over the years at various martial arts tournaments. I’ll admit, the guy sounded more than qualified.)

I found the girls outside of 7-Eleven, sucking down Popsicles (“the fruit ones have like no calories”) and describing to each other in minute detail how I’d managed to get Cutter down on the mat.

“That was so stellar, Mrs. Connor,” Mindy said. “I don’t think my mom could ever do anything that cool.”

“My mom kicks butt,” Allie said.

“Allie.” I used my Shocked Mom voice, but I’ll confess to a secret thrill—my kid thought I was cool! “Okay, everyone in the van.”

As the girls and I got back in the van, the digital clock read 3:35. I confirmed that with a glance at my watch (as if somewhere I’d hidden an extra half-hour), but apparently all my various timepieces were in sync.

So much for my supermom routine. There was no way I could get the stuff for the cocktail party and get home in time to meet the glazier. Damn.

I debated my options as I pulled out onto Rialto, still not sure if I was heading to Laura’s house, my home, or the grocery store. I pulled out my cell phone, punched in Laura’s speed-dial number, and stopped at a red light.

Her machine kicked on and I cursed out loud. I waited through the beep. “Laura? Pick up. It’s me.”

I heard the clatter of the phone and then Laura’s breathless “Hey. Sorry. I was changing a diaper.”

“I’ve got Mindy and Allie,” I said. “But could I add one more dessert to our tally?”

I swear I could hear her smile. “What do you need?”

I explained about the glass and asked if she and Timmy could finish out their playdate at my house.

“Playdate, huh?’

I cleared my throat, and she laughed.

“Sure. No problem.”

“I owe you,” I said.

“You have no idea,” she said agreeably.

That task accomplished, I turned into a parking lot and reemerged on Rialto heading the opposite direction toward Gelson’s (the kind of high-end grocery store where after you valet park, you might actually spy a celebrity-—or, more likely, the celebrity’s butler).

This is not my usual grocery store.

Once inside, I bemoaned the fact that we weren’t rolling in the dough. If an overflowing bank account meant that I could shop regularly in a place like this, I might actually learn to cook a few meals other than the old standbys like meat loaf and chicken with rice.

The girls peeled off, ostensibly to check out the produce section, but I expected they’d end up at the dessert counter. I continued on to the back of the store, where a fifty-something woman in a hairnet asked what she could do for me today. I wasn’t shy, immediately revealing my sad tale of woe (I’m a terrible cook and was expected to host a cocktail party in approximately three hours).

Lorraine (I caught a glimpse of her name tag) rose to the challenge, and less than twenty minutes later I was in the checkout lane writing a check for a clump of caviar (and the accompanying sour cream and little potato puffs on which to dab it), foie gras, some fancy crackers that put my usual Saltines to shame, cheese puffs, spinach dip in a carved-out bowl of bread, champagne grapes, and my old standby Brie. (A social faux pas since I’d served it last Friday, but I figured I’d survive the shame). I also had a few bottles of wine (recommended by the store’s sommelier), the basic supplies for various flavored martinis, and two outrageously large slices of chocolate cake that the girls dubbed their reward for surviving the first day of high school.

After writing a check roughly the size of our mortgage, I followed the clerk out to the van and watched as he loaded my purchases, all the while thinking that I could get used to this. A few minutes later we were turning into Laura’s driveway, and I was feeling more than a little pleased with myself.

“Your mom will be back soon,” I told Mindy, who didn’t look like it much mattered to her. “And you,” I said to Allie, “aren’t staying overnight. Come back home by ten.”

“Sure, Mom.”

I waited to make sure the girls got inside all right, then circled the block, heading toward my own house. I parked in the garage, then grabbed a bag before climbing out. I backtracked down the driveway to fetch the morning paper, then headed inside. Laura met me at the door, my phone pressed to her ear.

She held up a finger as I pushed inside, signaling for me to wait. “It’s Stuart,” she said.

I took the phone from her, cradling it between my shoulder and ear as I dumped my bag by the refrigerator. Timmy had heard me come in, and now he was racing to me, his cries of “Momma!” drowning out pretty much every other sound.

“What hon?” I yelled. “Say again?” I bent down to collect my son in a bear hug, and he immediately reached for the phone. “Timmy talk! Timmy talk!”

“Kate?”

“Go ahead.” I wrestled the phone back from Tim with a stern “No, Mommy’s talking.” To my husband, I said, “I’m listening.”

“I was just calling to check in. You got my note? Six-thirty?”

“We’re all set,” I said. “I just got back from the grocery store.” Behind me, I heard the door open and close, and I turned to see Laura traipsing in with the last of my bags. I mouthed a silent thank you.

“You’re the best” he said. “I’ll be home by six to help you out.”

“Sounds good …” I trailed off, looking at my watch as I shifted Timmy’s weight in my arms. I was thinking about all I needed to do in order to get me and the house ready for company, and wondering if I shouldn’t make Stuart come home at five. Too late. Before I got the words out, he’d said the requisite “I love you” and hung up.

Great.

“Lady, you got dry rot.”

And it just kept getting better and better.

I’d moved through the kitchen, and now I looked up to see a scarecrow of a man in coveralls and a baseball cap picking at the window frame with what looked like a putty knife.

“Oh,” I said. He kept looking at me, and so I said the only other thing that came to mind. “I’m sorry?”

He exhaled (loudly). “Yeah, well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“You talking, Momma?” Timmy said. “You talking on the phone?”

“No, sweetie. Mommy’s done on the phone.”

“Lady?”

“Hold on a second,” I said. I headed into the living room and passed Timmy off to Laura, who’d been going through the motions of picking up what appeared to be every single toy Timmy owns.

“The girls?”

“Your place,” I said.

“I figured as much. You want me to keep Allie until after your party?”

Considering I’d already told Allie as much, Laura’s offer couldn’t have been more perfect. “You’re a saint, you know that, right?”

She found Boo Bear under an askew sofa cushion and passed it to Timmy, who clutched it greedily. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said.

“I’ll remember that. And I think we’re up to four desserts, now. With the next favor, I’ll buy you a gym membership.”

She grimaced. “And here I thought you appreciated my help.”

I thanked her again, and as she headed out the back door to go supervise the girls, I put Timmy down. He headed straight for the laundry basket where Laura had been collecting his toys and proceeded to rescatter them across the living room. Next on my list: straighten house.

I moved back into the kitchen, and ten minutes later knew more than I ever wanted to know about dry rot. After a lot of technical mumbo jumbo, we hit the bottom line—he could do a temporary fix, but we needed to get someone in to replace the frame, at which time the new glass could be reinserted and better sealed. He’d be happy to handle the full job, of course, and assured me that his prices were competitive.

I debated the probability of Stuart siphoning enough time to handle this himself against the likelihood that he’d pawn the job off to me, expecting me only to run the estimates by him after all the bids were in. Since Option Number Two was the more likely—and since I couldn’t see fitting home-repair estimates into my already full schedule—I told the repairman he had the job. What Stuart didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. (And to ensure that Stuart didn’t know, I made a mental note to pay the bills for the next two months, even though it was technically Stuart’s turn to handle the checkbook.)

He promised to have the temporary glass inserted within the hour, and I raced back out into the living room to try to straighten the house up. Fortunately, Timmy helped, and that made the whole process go a lot faster. (For those of you who might have missed it, that’s commonly referred to as sarcasm.)

Once the toys were cleared away, I settled Tim on the couch with Boo Bear, his harmonica, a coloring book, and some (washable) crayons, then headed up the stairs to change. Since Stuart had given me no advance warning, choosing an outfit was easy. I wore the only thing in my closet that hadn’t succumbed to wrinkles—a navy blue pantsuit that I’d bought on a whim at a 75-percent-off sale, still sporting the tags from Kohl’s.

I did a quick makeup job, fastened my hair on top of my head with a clip, doused it with hairspray, doused the rest of me with apple-scented body mist (to hide the hair-spray smell), then headed back downstairs just in time to sign the invoice and write an extremely rubber check to the Atlas Glass Company. (Note to self: Transfer money from savings.)

After that I got down to the really important work—moving all my various purchases to my own dishes, and reheating the quiches and cheese puffs until a) they were warm, and b) the kitchen smelled like I’d actually cooked the things. Just for effect, I tossed a few pans, mixing bowls, and other utensils into the dishwasher and turned it on. Early arrivals would assume I was just wrapping up a day of cooking.

Devious, yes. But it calmed my fear that the entire political community would assume that Stuart was married to an incompetent. (“She stays home all day with her little boy, but her house is always a mess, and she can’t cook to save her life. I mean, really. What does he see in her?”) Paranoid, maybe. But I was willing to put on the act just in case.

At ten after six, I walked back into the house after dropping Timmy at Laura’s for the duration of the party (she really is a saint). I expected to find Stuart puttering around, sampling all the food he wasn’t supposed to be touching.

No Stuart. I frowned, more than a little irritated. This was his party, after all. The least he could do was show up when he promised.

I puttered for a few more minutes, straightening the trays of food, twisting the open bottles of wine on the buffet so that the labels were perfectly aligned. I even fanned out the cocktail napkins (there were still some left in the buffet, just where Stuart had said they were last Friday). The timer binged, and I retrieved the batch of cheese puffs, then arranged them artfully on a bright yellow Fiestaware plate.

Still no Stuart.

I fluffed the pillows on the couch and was just about to retrieve a piece of lint from the carpet (how shocking! how gauche!) when I heard the front door rattle. Finally!

I headed for the foyer and pulled open the door.

No one. Just a flyer for pizza delivery. Okay, fine. I tamped down my anger, reminding myself that red, blotchy skin would clash with my carefully applied makeup. There were still fifteen minutes before the party was supposed to start; surely Stuart would be here shortly.

In an effort to appear calm and collected, I grabbed the Herald from the basket we keep in the foyer, then unfolded it as I walked back toward the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of wine (the better for remaining calm) and spread out the paper, flipping idly through the sections.

When I hit the “Local Interest” section, my hand froze, my gaze glued to the page. There, front and center, was a full-color picture of my Richie Cunningham demon, smiling at the camera and looking oh-so-innocent. Underneath the picture was a short article:

English major Todd Stanton Greer narrowly survived an attack by a vicious dog Saturday evening. “It was awful,” said classmate Sarah Black, who witnessed the attack. “It just came out of nowhere.” Local animal-control authorities had no explanation for the origin of the dog. Citizens with information are requested to contact authorities at 555-3698. Greer was admitted to Diablo County Medical Center in critical condition, but was discharged the following evening. “There was no point in holding him,” stated Dr. Louis Sachs. “His recovery was remarkable.”

There was a bit more to the article, but I couldn’t read it. My hands were shaking too badly.

Roving dog my ass. The local SPCA might think so, but I knew better. The dog was a demon manifestation, vile and cold-blooded. And the only reason it had to roam the streets of San Diablo would be to attack and kill—and gain human form for the demon who controlled it.

Todd Greer hadn’t miraculously survived. He’d died Saturday night. And Sunday evening, a demon had walked out of that hospital, headed to my house, and attacked me by the trash. So much for my nice, safe neighborhood.

San Diablo wasn’t demon-free anymore. Worse, everything I’d seen pointed to an aggressive and virulent demon invasion. Forza needed to be out here, fighting the good fight. But at the moment I was the only Hunter on deck.

And I was knee-deep in cheese puffs and Brie.

Chapter 11

With the exception of Stuart’s continued absence, the party was a roaring success. It had expanded beyond the original guest list, and now the living room and den overflowed with politicos, all standing around talking about funding and candidates, with the occasional praise of my cheese puffs thrown in for good measure.

I smiled and nodded and tried not to look at the clock every three minutes. Not easy. I saw Clark cross to the bar, and I tagged along behind him, waiting patiently while he finished up a conversation with a stern-looking woman in a black-on-black suit. “Eminent domain is not a power to be tossed around willy-nilly,” she said. “Be careful, Mr. Curtis, or we will see you in court.”

Had she not sounded so serious, I would have smiled at the phrase willy-nilly coming from the lips of such a buttoned-up woman. As it was, I wasn’t laughing. “What was that about?” I asked as soon as she’d gone.

“The county’s looking to acquire some land for expansion of the college. Unfortunately, the land we want is already occupied by some nice little clapboard houses.” He lit a cigarette and looked so miserable I didn’t even remind him that we don’t allow smoking in the house. “Sometimes I hate my job,” he said.

“Sometimes I hate your job, too,” I said. “Is that the reason Stuart’s late? Do you have him working away on some land deal?”

“Stuart’s my candidate, Kate. Do you really think I’d keep him away from his own party?”

I didn’t, but I’d secretly hoped. Otherwise, I didn’t know what to think.

I mingled a bit more, keeping my political-wife smile firmly plastered on my face, but only half-listening to the conversations going on around me. When I heard the front door open and close, I hurried in that direction, expecting to see Stuart, but instead finding Judge Larson.

“Thank God you’re here,” I said, leading him into the relative privacy of the kitchen. “I’m going crazy.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” I said.

“That bad?”

“Stuart’s not here. He’s half an hour late for his own party. And there are demon hordes roaming the streets near the community college.”

“Oh, dear,” Larson said. He poured himself a drink. “Let’s examine those one at a time. Have you called him?”

“Twice. I just get his voice mail.”

“There was an accident on the 101. He’s probably stuck in traffic.”

“For his sake, I hope so.” Throwing these parties was painful enough. Throwing them without Stuart was positively torture.

“About the demon hordes?” Larson prompted.

“Right,” I said, pitching my voice lower. “Look at this.” I pulled out the newspaper article, then let Larson read in peace as I puttered around, piling more cheese puffs and baby quiches onto a cookie sheet, then shoving them into the oven.

After that I made a quick hostess run through the living room and den with a newly opened bottle of red wine. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, I didn’t catch anyone looking at their watch with a frown, and everyone was polite enough not to mention Stuart’s absence. When I got back to Larson, he was leaning over the table, each hand on either side of the paper, literally shaking with rage.

“Larson?” My voice was barely a whisper, but he heard me. He turned his head up to face me, and the anger I saw there made me take a step back. “Judge? What is it? Did you know him?”

He shook his head. By the time he spoke, he seemed remarkably calmer. “No. No, I didn’t know the boy. I am just—” He cut himself off, and I watched as he clenched his fists, all his attention focused once again on the newspaper. “This should not be happening.”

“I know,” I said, then sighed. I’d already done the anger and fear thing. Now I’d succumbed to a feeling of cold inevitability. I figured Larson would get there, too, soon enough. “San Diablo has always been demon-free. At least, I always thought it was. Maybe I was just blind.”

Larson waved a hand. “The past doesn’t matter. Did you have any luck in the archives?”

I shook my head. “There’s a lot of information down there,” I said. “It’s going to take a while to go through it.”

He nodded, but didn’t look happy. Him and me both. I was the one battling bugs. “We must work swiftly,” he said. “It is imperative we learn what Goramesh seeks.”

We were talking in low whispers, but apparently not low enough. Someone I didn’t recognize walked into the kitchen, leading with an empty martini glass. “Don’t know this Goramesh fellow. Is he seeking the county attorney seat? Stuart’s gonna shit a brick if there’s some contender out there he doesn’t know about.”

I stared at him, not sure what I was more astounded by—the fact that he’d overheard us, or the fact that he was running around a party using the kind of language I always swore would earn Allie a monthlong grounding.

“Something altogether different,” I said in my best hostess voice as I grabbed him by the elbow and steered him back toward the living room.

“Wait, wait,” he protested, then held up his glass. “Gin?”

“Sure. No problem.” I retrieved a fresh bottle from the pantry, then made sure my newfound friend made his way back to the party. I was mentally calculating the cost of calling taxis for all the overindulgent guests as I led Larson into the garage. There, at least, I thought we’d have some privacy.

“I need to be out there,” I said. “Or Forza needs to get on the stick and wrestle up some more Hunters. I can’t do all of this. I can’t scour the cathedral archives and stay up all night racing around to fight demon-dog hordes and get my laundry done and my kids to school and my family fed.” I paused, not because I was finished talking but because I needed to breathe. “This is bad, Larson. This is really, really bad.”

“Deep breaths, Kate.”

I held up a hand. “I know. I’m fine. I’m just pissed. That boy couldn’t have been more than eighteen. In a few years Allie could have been dating him. He’s not supposed to be ravaged by demons. He’s supposed to be fighting acne and studying for midterms.” I ran my fingers through my hair, a bad move since I managed to totally dislodge it from the clip, creating what was surely a less than stellar party look.

I took another deep breath and closed my eyes. Once upon a time I wouldn’t have even blinked at the idea of teenagers getting picked off by rampant demons running amok in the city streets. That had been par for the course. But that was a long time ago, before I’d had a teenager of my own. And now the idea of anyone—anyone—messing with my kids terrified me.

I’ll do a quick run through town after everyone’s in bed,” I said. “It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing, right? And you can talk to Forza, and maybe Father Corletti can send someone else along. We can beg, right? Even a recent trainee. I don’t care. Just tell him we can use some help here.”

“Kate.” He had his hand on my shoulder. “Focus on the key. Goramesh. Find what he seeks. That is where your attention needs to lie.”

I stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?’

“I’m not.”

“But”—I waved a hand back toward my kitchen, which presumably he interpreted as the newspaper article—“demon dogs! Demons in my kitchen! Demons at my trash can! This is nasty stuff, Larson. And it’s not going to go away. I can’t be camped out in the church basement, knee-deep in moldy old paper. I need to be out there. Doing something.”

“Kate, listen to me.” His voice was sharp, commanding. It worked. I listened. “You are a Hunter, yes, and you’re a good one. But do you really want to come fully out of retirement? Now, when you have your children and your husband? Forza called you in to help with one specific threat—Goramesh. Are you really willing to turn your back on your family and return to the life of a Hunter? A life they can never know about?”

“I…but…no.” I wasn’t willing. Even the thought made me queasy. But years ago I’d accepted the obligation. Could I turn my back on that simply because I’d retired? “I don’t want to,” I said. “But who else—”

“Katherine, please. You better than anyone should know that demons are always around. The truth is demons roam the world. They always have, and they always will.”

I gaped at him. “So, what? You’re saying give up? Give in? I don’t think so.”

“I’m saying do the job you were brought back in to do.”

“I wasn’t ‘brought back in’ remember? A demon came barreling through my window.”

“Katherine …”

“Fine. Make your point.”

“Stop Goramesh. The rest will follow. You need to focus on that task.”

“But those kids?” I waved generally in the direction of the community college.

“Perhaps it was an isolated event to serve Goramesh’s purpose.”

“And maybe pigs fly.” Yes, I was being surly. I figured I had cause.

He didn’t miss a beat. “And even if it wasn’t isolated, more will die if you don’t stop Goramesh. Are you prepared to do it all? Can you do it all?”

My flippant response was that I was already doing it all—a lot more than I’d anticipated and certainly more than I’d wanted. But I didn’t say anything. I just took a few breaths and nodded. He had a point. I didn’t like it but I understood it. We pick our battles. And we pick the battles that will reap the biggest victory. Still, though, those kids were vulnerable.

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

“Kate,” he said. “Your heart is in the right place. But Forza needs you sharp. I need you sharp.”

We were saved any more arguing by the sudden thwunk of the garage door opener as it began churning. Stuart!

I sprinted across the garage (not an easy task in two-inch heels) and waited impatiently while the door slowly rose. As soon as it was three feet off the floor, I ducked under, then ran around the car to the passenger side and tugged the door open. I was just about to chew Stuart out when I saw his face.

“My God, Stuart. Are you okay?” I leaned over and pressed my hand against his chest; it was covered with caked blood. “What on earth happened? Have you seen a doctor? Why didn’t you call?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said.

The door finished its trek to the top, and Stuart pulled inside, the light from the garage illuminating the inside of the car.

“It looks terrible,” I said, tossing subtlety to the wind.

He grimaced, then reached to open the driver’s door. I reached over just as fast and snagged his other arm. “Hold on a second there, buddy. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Cocktail parry,” he said, and although he really didn’t sound groggy at all, in my mind I imagined him slurring his words and stumbling into the kitchen in a bloody, political mess.

“Let’s just sit here for a minute and make sure you’re okay.” I glanced through the front windshield and noticed that Larson was gone. Presumably he’d stepped back inside. I hoped he didn’t announce Stuart’s arrival. I really didn’t want half the political world to see my husband covered with a quart of blood.

Blood.

I tried again to get some answers. “Once more. What happened?” I did a quick up-and-down scan, wincing as I did so. “Your head, sweetie. You’re going to need stitches.”

He reached up and dabbed an abrasion on his forehead. “It’s not deep. Head wounds just bleed a lot.”

“So I see.” I squeezed his hand. “Tell me. For that matter, convince me you’re okay, or we’re going to screw the party, back the car up, and get you to the hospital.”

“Paramedics already checked me out. I’m fine. Really, it looks worse than it is. A cut on my forehead and a bloody nose.”

I wasn’t convinced, but I knew Stuart well enough to know I wasn’t getting him to the hospital. “Fine. How’d you get the cut and the bloody nose?”

“Sideswiped turning onto California,” he said. “The driver’s side is mangled. I don’t know if they can repair it.”

“What?” I looked around, realizing suddenly that the front and side airbags were hanging limp, decorating the car like some sort of perverse drapery. Apparently, I’d been too pissed—and then too worried—to notice. “My God, Stuart. How fast was he going? Did you get his license plate? Insurance? And are you sure you’re okay?”

Stuart took my hand, then lifted it to his lips and kissed my palms. Normally, I love it when he does that. Talk about an erogenous zone. Tonight I wasn’t loving it. I felt too numb.

“Stuart.”

“Hush, sweetheart. It’s all right I’m fine. I promise. I got a nasty bump on my head, a busted nose, and a sore wrist but overall, I got off lucky. I was a little woozy for a while, but I’m fine now.”

I reached out brushing his cheek. “You’re sure? Why didn’t you call?”

He leaned over, then picked half of a Motorola flip phone off the passenger floorboard. “Busted.”

“So I see.”

He rubbed his temple. “I didn’t think to have the paramedic call.” His smile was tentative. “Forgive me?”

I wanted to chew him out for scaring the hell out of me, but since he’d apologized first, I’d come off looking like a bitch. Instead, I dodged the question. “You’re sure you’re okay? That had to have been some accident.”

“Paramedic gave me a clean bill of health. No concussion. No nothing. I told you—I got lucky. I’m good to go.”

I frowned, not quite ready to come down from my current level of frantic wifedom. “Your clothes aren’t,” I said. He actually laughed at that. “No, probably not. I’ve got a clean shirt in my briefcase. Grab me one?”

I considered debating, wanting to keep him there, safe with me in the garage. But I could tell he was itching to go play politician. Mentally, I sighed. At least there was no question but that my husband was enjoying the political limelight.

I climbed into the backseat and fetched his briefcase, then slid out of the car and popped into the van, returning with my emergency stash of baby wipes. Stuart stepped out of the car, then peeled his shirt off. I swabbed his face, cringing as I cleaned the gash on his forehead, although my ministrations didn’t seem to bother him at all. He shrugged into the clean shirt and started to button it. “Am I presentable?”

I thought about arguing some more, trying to talk him out of the party. But I didn’t. Instead, I smiled and helped him adjust his tie. “Yeah,” I said. “You’ll do.”

With that endorsement, he headed inside. I waited a moment and then followed, wallowing in the harsh, sad truth—even if I destroyed all the demons in the world, I still couldn’t keep my family safe.

***

In the end, Stuart’s cocktail party went over like a dream, fractured skull notwithstanding. (And, yeah, I know it was just an abrasion. So I exaggerate.) In deference to my tendency to overworry, Stuart refrained from drinking, and once all the guests left he actually sat back and let me shine a flashlight at his pupils. Both shrank and dilated just like they’re supposed to do, and I felt infinitesimally better. Stuart in contrast strutted around like the king of the castle, injuries all but forgotten; at least three people, including one very prominent restaurateur, had committed to backing his campaign. Stuart chalked this up to his considerable political presence and savvy. I laid full credit with the cheese puffs.

Allie came back at ten, pushing a sleeping Timmy in his stroller. While I put him to bed (he woke up once, demanded Boo Bear, then fell back to sleep), Allie and Stuart gathered all the leftover food, saving what we could in those disposable containers that cost a small fortune but are worth every penny.

That, at least, was the plan. When I came back down, the containers were empty and the two of them were seated at the table, a smorgasbord of leftover finger food fanned out in front of them. “You’re supposed to be cleaning up,” I said.

“If we eat it, then there’s nothing to clean,” Allie said.

I considered that, decided she had a point, then snarfed down another cheese puff myself. We did the family thing for about half an hour—Allie giving us the details of her day at school (where fourteen-year-olds are concerned, “details” is a rather amorphous concept), Stuart describing his car accident to Allie’s oohs and aahs, and me sitting back and wondering if there were demonic dogs out wandering the town—and what I could do about it if there were.

“Mom?”

My head snapped up. “Hmmm?”

Allie laughed. “You falling asleep?”

“It is getting late,” I said. “And I had a long day.” I fixed her with a motherly gaze. “So did you. Don’t you think it’s time for bed?”

“No,” she said, but then she yawned, totally destroying the effect. “Okay, maybe.”

She kissed us both good night, then headed upstairs, my “and don’t call Mindy” echoing behind her. I turned to Stuart next. “You should get in bed, too. If anyone’s had a busy day, it’s you, and I’m guessing you’re not going to call in sick tomorrow, no matter how much I beg.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Major land-use project in the works. If I called in, I’d just be dropping a mess in Clark’s lap, and I don’t think that’s the way to keep his love and admiration.”

“You were in a car accident.”

“After which I mingled at a cocktail party for two hours.”

“At least go to bed, then. No news. No Letterman. Just sleep.”

For a second, I thought he’d argue, but then he nodded and kissed me good night. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Finally,” I said, “the voice of reason.”

I accompanied him upstairs, where my husband graciously succumbed to my worrisome ways as I checked his pupils once more, felt his forehead for fever, dabbed some Neosporin on the cut on his forehead (then topped it with a Big Bird Band-Aid), brought him a glass of water, and finally tucked him into bed. His mouth was twitching as I leaned in to kiss him. “Don’t say a word,” I said. “Just humor me.”

He made a zipping lips motion, then pulled me in for a kiss and a whispered thanks. “Don’t you stay up too late, either,” he said.

“Oh, I won’t,” I said breezily. “I just want to clean up a bit.”

I consoled myself with the fact that I’d told no lies. I did want to clean up—my living room and the entire demon population. Since I could hardly handle the latter that night, I decided to focus on the living room, and I puttered around the house until I was pretty sure both Allie and Stuart were asleep. Then I headed for the guest room and picked up the telephone.

I held it a minute before dialing, wondering what exactly I intended to do. Larson was right of course. I couldn’t just emerge from retirement to go searching out demons in dark corners. I had a family to consider. A family that needed me alive and well.

If there was a specific threat—like, oh, a demon bursting through my window—then I’d happily put it out of my misery. But I could hardly go looking for trouble.

Despite all of that, I still found myself dialing the number for the police station.

“San Diablo Police Department. How may I direct your call?”

I cleared my throat, feeling a little silly. “Hi. I’m trying to find out if anyone has reported any dogs on the loose tonight.” I told myself I just needed reassurance. No dogs could mean that Todd Greer was a one-time thing. Not great (especially for Todd), but at least I’d have the comfort of knowing there probably weren’t demon hoards roaming the streets.

“One moment, please. I’ll transfer you.”

I had a vision of being transferred to the demon-dog division, then realized I’d had pathetic little sleep. An officer clicked on the line with a curt, “Metro division. Sergeant Daley.” I explained why I was calling, then waited for him to reassure me. He didn’t. “Normally, I’d tell you to call animal control in the morning, but it just so happens I got a report in about ten minutes ago.”

“You did?” Anger that the demon still prowled surged through me, but it was tinged with a wash of excitement. This is what you do, a little voice said, and I didn’t bother to correct the voice—this is what I did. I drew in a breath, then posed the next question. “Can you tell me where?”

“Lady, what’s your interest in this?”

I pulled another lie out of my pocket and told him that my sister owned an aggressive dog that had gotten loose, and I was trying to track it down again.

He harrumphed in my ear. “If this is your dog, it’s going to be put down. We think it attacked a college student a few days ago.”

“Believe me,” I said, “putting it down’s exactly what we have in mind.”

I think he decided I was basically harmless, because he gave me the location and told me that one of the professors had fought off an angry dog by throwing rocks. I wondered if that professor realized just how lucky he was.

I thanked the officer, hung up, then pulled the pillow into my lap in a gesture that was becoming familiar. Ten minutes ago a dog that fit the description of Todd Greer’s demonic canine had attacked near the college. The attack had been thwarted. To me, that meant it would try again.

What should I do?

The odds were good there was nothing I could do. The dog had probably already found another victim. Right now it was undoubtedly curled up asleep, flush from the hunt, while a new human-looking demon wandered the campus.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if it was still prowling?

And what if I could stop it?

Shit.

I hugged the pillow tighter, letting my gaze drift to the door. I thought about what lay beyond it—my husband, my daughter, my baby boy. A fist seemed to clutch my heart and squeeze. I knew what I should do. I should go to the college. Look for the dog. See if I could save an innocent victim. I was a Hunter, after all. I had responsibilities.

I was a wife and mom, too. And those responsibilities counted for a lot. Not getting myself dead was pretty high on my priority list.

But that dog was out there. And nobody but me knew what they were dealing with.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten, the certainty of what I was going to do settling over me. The bottom line was that I could never live with myself if some kid died that I could have saved.

Slowly I crept into Tim’s room. He was sleeping soundly, and I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. He shifted under his blanket, and I held my breath, wondering if he’d wake up. He didn’t, and so I said a silent promise to return soon, then tiptoed out of the room.

Allie and Stuart were much lighter sleepers, so I didn’t risk a kiss. Instead, I let my fingers trail over each of their closed doors as I passed. Once downstairs, I hit the button for the garage door opener. The thing makes such a racket that I stood stock-still in the kitchen the entire time it was climbing, waiting to see if anyone would wake up.

No one did, so I wrote a note for Stuart saying I’d gone to buy milk (first I dumped the last of our milk down the drain), then I headed into the garage. I climbed into the van and cranked the engine. I debated for a bit, but finally pulled out my cell phone and dialed Larson’s number. I knew he disapproved, but he was my alimentatore, and he should at least be aware of what I was doing.

I let the engine idle as the phone rang—once, twice, three times. And no machine. I frowned. That was annoying. I tried again, this time calling his cell phone. Again, no Larson, but at least I got his voice mail. “Hey,” I said. “It’s me. Kate. I, uh, just wanted to let you know that I’m going to do a drive around the college. I got a lead that the demon dog might be there. So, well, there you go. That’s why I called. Bye.”

I hung up, feeling a bit like a teenager staying out after curfew. I fidgeted in my seat, turning the cell phone in my hand as if it were one of those worry stones. Like every good Catholic, I have a close personal relationship with guilt. And I hated the idea of going without Larson’s okay. But I hated more the idea of not going tonight. If some other kid got nailed…well, that would be guilt, too.

Since Larson wasn’t available, I did the next best thing. I called the Vatican. (I will admit, that’s one of the cool things about being a Hunter. With how many jobs is dialing the Vatican for assistance an option?) I hadn’t thought to calculate the time, but the operator put me through right away, and I almost sagged with relief when I heard Father Corletti’s voice.

“Katherine, mia cara. Com’é bello sentire la tua voce!”

“It’s good to hear your voice, too, Father.”

“What brings you to call? Has something happened?”

“No…yes…I mean, no, we don’t know any more about Goramesh, but yes, something’s happened.” I gave him the quick-and-dirty rundown. “I know I’m breaking protocol by calling you now that I have an alimentatore, but Larson’s unavailable and I need to move now if I’m going to check it out,” I continued. “I want to, but I’m afraid Larson will think it’s a bad idea. Or, at least, a futile one.”

“I see …” He trailed off, but I stayed silent. I knew Father well enough to know he was considering all options. “You cannot ignore your instincts, child. Your alimentatore is your mentor, your adviser, but he is not your superior. In the end, you must follow your own path.”

I exhaled then, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. Vindication is a wonderful thing. “Thanks. Wilson used to tell me the same thing.”

I heard the deep rumble of his laugh. “As would your current alimentatore.”

“Larson said they knew each other.”

“So they did. Their professional relationship was strong, but their friendship was stronger.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Somehow, knowing that Larson was close to Wilson made me feel even closer to Larson. Silly, but there’s no accounting for emotions.

“And since I do have you on the line, tell me, has Edward proved to be of any use to you?”

Edward? “Who the he—heck is Edward?”

“A retired Hunter,” Father said, surprise in his voice. “A brilliant mind, and he has as much skill as a fighter. He has, of course, been unavailable for much time now. I had hope, though, that he would have thoughts on the Goramesh problem.”

“A Hunter? I thought you said there weren’t any.”

“Larson only recently became aware that Edward had moved to your area. He sent word to me immediately, of course. I assumed you were also acquainted with the man. I take it that is not so?”

“No,” I said, a knot forming in my gut. “Edward and I haven’t been formally introduced.” But at the moment I really—really—wanted to meet the man.

Chapter 12

Considering how agitated I was, it’s a wonder I didn’t have a car accident racing from the house to the college. Another Hunter? Why wouldn’t Larson have told me?

I couldn’t think of any answers, so the same questions just kept bouncing through my head, distracting me, and, frankly, upping my blood pressure. I dialed Larson’s cell phone number and his home number—both twice—but got no answer in either case. This time, not even voice mail. I was feeling very persona non grata and my attention span was shot. I knew I needed to focus, but I was having a hard time shifting from irritation to concentration. I had to, though. If that damn (and damned) dog slipped by me unnoticed, I might as well have just stayed home.

Come on, Kate. Quit obsessing.

Good advice. After all, there were any number of reasons Larson might not have hooked me up with this Edward person. Maybe Edward had moved on to L.A. or San Francisco or some place equally geographically undesirable. Or maybe Edward, unlike me, wasn’t about to be sucked out of retirement, and he’d told Larson to take a flying leap.

For all I knew, the elusive Edward could be dead.

I was cruising up and down the darkened streets that surrounded the small community college campus. Built in a warehouse district, the college had a particularly abandoned feel at night. I slowed down, moving my gaze purposefully from one side of the street to the other as I forced myself to think only about the surroundings and not about the Edward mystery.

I rolled down my window, listening for screams, howls, footfalls, anything. But I heard nothing. Come the weekend, I knew, I’d hear a deep bass thrum, highlighted by a cacophony of voices as students traipsed to the various empty warehouses in search of the next rave party. San Diablo may be sleepy, but it isn’t dead (the recent influx of demonic fiends notwithstanding).

Tonight, though, I didn’t even hear the scuttle of rats in the alleys. Most likely, the demon dog had moved on. A lot of time had passed since the police received the report. For all I knew, the dog could be all the way on the north side of town by now.

I was part relieved and part irritated. I’d come all this way, and I hated the thought that some kid up north might end up being a victim. But I couldn’t be two places at once and, frankly, I probably shouldn’t be here at all. I ought to be home, with my husband and kids.

And I was just about to turn the van around and go back when I heard it—a soft scrape of metal against metal. And then, farther away, a jumble of voices. Students, maybe? Working late in the labs and walking home together?

There was nothing particularly ominous about either of the sounds. Even so, the air itself seemed off. Tainted. Evil. (Okay, okay, so maybe that’s a tad melodramatic. But I did have a bad feeling.) I had no specific reason to think the demon dog was still around, but I wasn’t going to leave without warning those kids, and telling them to take the party inside.

I reached up and switched the overhead light to the Off position, then pulled the keys out of the ignition. I didn’t want the van lighting up like a birthday cake any more than I wanted its annoying bing bong to announce to the world that Kate Connor was about to go strolling down a dark alley.

I slid my purse under the seat, but only after first retrieving the little spritzer bottle I’d filled with holy water and the barbeque skewer I’d swiped from our backyard grill.

I pushed the door open and slid out of the van. I’d changed back into jeans and running shoes, and now I bounced a little in my Reeboks. If there was a demon out there, this time I was the one doing the hunting, and I hadn’t experienced the thrill of the hunt in a long, long time.

Two long rows of boarded-up warehouses sat perpendicular to the street, a narrow alleyway running between them. I headed that way, drawn by the low buzz of voices in the distance. Just past midnight and the students were sitting around partying, which is exactly what college kids should be able to do. Party and stay up all night and drink and cram for exams and generally go a little wild—all without the overhanging worry that a demonic band of roving dogs might suddenly decide to call them lunch.

I hurried forward, intending to tell them in my best maternal voice to quit hanging around dark alleys and move their party inside. I thought I heard footsteps behind me—and was about to whip around to take a look—when I heard a new sound. A low, guttural howl, like a wolf in pain. Screams followed, and I raced forward, ignoring whoever might be following me. I found the source of the screams in a parking area, huddled behind a Dumpster. Three kids, probably students, backed into a corner by a giant black mastiff, its bare teeth gleaming with drool.

“Oh, God, lady,” one of the guys called, his voice rough with fear. “Do something. Get it away from us.” From the way the dog was eyeing that guy, I assumed he was the primary target. One look at the fear-frozen girl told me why—she wore a gold cross as a necklace. Might just be fashion, but the demon wouldn’t want to take that chance. If she were devout, killing her wouldn’t do any good. Her soul would leave, but the demon wouldn’t be able to get inside. The other guy had pressed himself so far into the shadows I could barely get a look at him, and I wondered if he wore a cross as well.

“Come here, puppy,” I called in a sickly sweet tone. “Come on. Don’t you know who I am? A much tastier morsel …” I wasn’t actually talking to the dog, of course. Somewhere up there, hovering in the ether, was its demonic master. As soon as the dog killed, the demon would swoop in, taking over the body just as pretty as you please.

The dog cocked his head, just enough to bring me into his view without giving the kids any room to run. He snarled, and when I saw his eyes, my heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline surging in a primal effort to get me to flee, to run, to get out of that place once and for all.

Looking into his eyes was like looking into Hell. Red on black, and behind that a maelstrom of evil so thick it seemed to coagulate like blood. I said a silent apology to dogs everywhere. This was no dog. This was simply… bad. Not a demon itself, but a manifestation of pure evil conjured by a demon to do its bidding.

The thing growled, low in its throat, and I saw muscles tensing beneath the sleek, black fur. I held up the holy-water spritzer as I tried to look fearless. But I wasn’t. At the moment I was scared out of my mind.

As the beast lunged at me, I knew with sudden clarity that Larson was right. I wasn’t back in fighting shape, and I had no business pretending I was seventeen again.

Too late now.

I sprang forward, squirting with one hand and jabbing the barbeque skewer with the other. The dog howled as the mist settled on its fur, but kept coming. As the distance between us closed, my was head no longer filled with self-recrimination but with the desire to stay alive and to kill this creature. “Run!” I screamed to the kids. “Get out of here now!”

I didn’t waste time watching to see if they did, I was too busy being knocked to the ground by two hundred pounds of dog. The holy water went flying, and it was all I could do to keep the dog off all my soft, vulnerable parts.

As its jaws clamped down, I rolled to the right, just in time to feel its teeth sink into my jeans rather than my ankle. I reared back with the other leg and kicked, but that only seemed to piss it off more. It growled and snarled and snapped at my face, as all the while I scrabbled backward on the asphalt, tiny rocks digging into my back and shoulders.

The belly of the beast pressed against my foot, and its weight pushed my leg and knee against my chest, bringing the animal closer despite my efforts to keep him at a distance. I struggled to straighten my leg and toss him off, but I couldn’t do it. Not at this angle. And, sadly, not in my current shape.

Shit.

I still had the skewer, and I slashed at the beast, the protrusion a sufficient threat to keep him at bay for now, but probably not for long. I needed to get close enough to sink the skewer into his head, neck, anywhere. I really wasn’t picky. (Unlike a demon, stabbing through the eye or actual beheading wasn’t necessary. I just had to kill the thing.)

Beside me, I heard a scuffle where I should be hearing nothing—the kids should be long gone by now. I lashed out with the skewer, rocking back at the same time and kicking sideways with my free leg. The beast backed off again, and that gave me a split second to look to my right. The girl was gone, but the two guys were still there—one with a knife pressed to the other one’s breast.

Shit, shit, shit!

“Fun’s over, bud,” I said to the beast with more bravado than I actually felt. I had one shot left before my strength— not to mention my luck—ran out. And I needed it to work if I was going to help that kid.

This time, when the beast lunged, I rose to meet it, rolling forward as if we were doing some perverse dance and sinking the skewer deep into the only place I could actually reach—the dog’s nose. The creature howled, shaking his head in a violent motion to dislodge the skewer. I rolled back, tucking both knees into my chest and then thrusting them out again with every ounce of strength I possessed.

I caught the beast just at the breastbone, and it toppled backward, still unsteady from the stick in its nose. I scrambled to my knees, not wasting a moment as I lunged for the skewer, yanked it out then thrust it down again—hard— through the creature’s heart.

There was no blood. Instead, the creature oozed a thick oil that ignited, bursting into black and orange flames that seemed to consume the beast until all that was left was the echo of its howls.

I scrabbled away, breathing hard, then rolled over and climbed to my feet ready to race toward the men.

Too late.

I saw the attacker draw his arm back, preparing to gain enough momentum to thrust it up between his victim’s rib cage. I cried out—a totally useless response. Far more helpful was the silver blade, spinning through the air, seemingly from out of nowhere. A split second later the metal pierced the attacker’s eye. The body sagged, and I saw a familiar shimmer in the air as the demon escaped to the ether.

The knife he’d been holding clattered to the ground. The terrified student still stood there, breathing hard. He looked at me, looked at the body on the pavement, then ran off into the night.

“A demon,” I said, speaking to no one. “That boy was a demon.”

“You would have realized eventually,” Larson said, emerging from the shadows. He reached down, offering a hand to help me up. “But by then the other boy would have been dead, his body a vessel for the demon controlling the beast.”

I ignored his hand, content to keep my butt on the ground, nursing my sore thighs and my bruised confidence. “I never got a good look at him. The dog had them cornered. It didn’t even occur to me to think. I blew it. I completely blew it.” And I was going to continue kicking myself about that for a while. If Larson hadn’t been there, that boy would have been toast. And so, frankly, would I. Already tired out by battling the demon’s best friend, I don’t know that I could have subdued the knifing demon, much less survived once demon number two inhabited the knifed boy’s body.

“You were otherwise engaged,” Larson said, calmly unwrapping a piece of Nicorette and popping it into his mouth. I grimaced, empathizing a bit. I didn’t smoke, but after that encounter even I could have used a cigarette.

With a hefty grunt, I got up and dusted my butt off.

“In truth, I can’t take credit for having exercised any particular skill in the identification of demons,” he said.

I’ll admit I cracked a smile at that. The man was too formal by half. “Well, you showed more particular skill than I have.”

“The demon revealed itself.”

That caught my attention. “What?” Once in human form, a demon rarely shows off any of the bells and whistles that look, well, demonish. (You know, the theatrical stuff like horns or glowing orange eyes or a pig nose. The effort it takes for a demon to manifest itself like that is extreme unless the location is particularly evil—your basic spooky mansion built over a portal to Hell, for example. And in that form, once killed, a demon is really and truly dead.)

“Why would he reveal himself?” I asked.

“Sorry, ” Larson said drolly, “I didn’t think to ask before I killed him. Perhaps he was new to the form, and the excitement of his first kill was more than he could bear and his true revelation appeared unintentionally. Or perhaps he controlled the mastiff, and hadn’t yet learned to speak to it from his human guise. The next time we’re in such a situation, I’ll remember to make that query so we can satisfy your curiosity.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

“But we won’t have a situation like this again, will we?”

My wounded pride was fast recovering, especially now that he was reminding me of why I was here in the first place. “No,” I said, “we won’t. In the future I’ll keep you better informed, and you’ll keep me better informed. Won’t you?”

He lifted his eyebrows as he looked at me over the curve of his nose. “You’re referring to Mr. Lohmann, I presume?”

“Edward Lohmann? Retired Hunter? Living in San Diablo? Yeah,” I said snippily. “I’m referring to him.”

“Go home, Kate,” he said, which really wasn’t the response I was looking for. “I assure you I withheld no useful information from you.”

“Larson—”

He held up a hand and I shut up, but continued to glare at him, feeling a bit like a petulant child. “I’ll tell you everything I know about Eddie Lohmann tomorrow. Right now, it’s late. I have a trial commencing at nine, and I’d like to conduct a bit of research before I turn in. Besides, you have a family to attend to in the morning. I presume you’d like to sleep.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. He was right, but I wasn’t going to say it out loud.

“Trust me, Kate,” he said. “Edward Lohmann is at least forty years your senior, feeble, and of no use to anyone, much less himself. I’m happy to give you the details tomorrow, but right now I think we should leave.”

I nodded, albeit somewhat grudgingly.

“Good. And I suppose I don’t need to say that you shouldn’t have come tonight. That your skills are not up to snuff and that you could have come to harm.”

“No,” I said. “You don’t need to say that.”

Despite the shadows, I’m pretty sure I saw him smile.

I cocked my head toward the demon carcass. “What shall we do with that?”

He waved a hand. “I’ll take care of it. Go. Go home, Kate.”

I swallowed, wanting to argue, but somehow not finding the words. I left him to deal with the body and headed back through the dark to the van. I drove home on autopilot, not even thinking about where I was going, and when I pulled into my garage twenty minutes later, his words still echoed in my head.

He was right, of course. My skills sucked (although I think I’ve been doing pretty darn well). But I’d had no other choice. Knowing the dog was out there, I couldn’t have not come.

I parked the van and reached over to grab my purse, pausing in mid-reach as I realized I’d forgotten to pick up milk to replace the gallon I’d dumped down the drain. Damn. I was just about to start the van up again and head down to the 7-Eleven when there was a tap at the passenger window. I actually yelped, wondering what I was going to tell Stuart.

Turns out it wasn’t a problem. Laura, not Stuart, was standing next to the van. I turned automatically to look behind me, and for the first time noticed her car parked across the street. How long had she been waiting there?

I clicked the lock and waited for her to climb in, concerned by the expression on her face. Not anger or fear. Betrayal, maybe? “Laura? What is it?”

She lifted her eyes to meet mine, and my heart skipped a beat.

“That boy,” she whispered, and I realized she’d been following me. “Oh, God, Kate. Judge Larson killed that boy.”

***

As soon as I had Laura seated on the sofa in Stuart’s study, I poured us each a glass of red wine, then shut the door, taking one last listen to the house before I did so. All quiet. Good.

I turned back to her and passed her the glass. She downed half of it then closed her eyes. For a moment I thought she’d fallen asleep on me (it was almost two), but then she lifted her head and drew in a breath. “What’s going on, Kate?”

“It’s kind of complicated.” I squinted at her. “Why were you there?”

“Kate! I saw a boy murdered. What in hell is going on?”

“Right,” I said. “You’re right” I ran my fingers through my hair, not sure where to begin. “Why don’t you tell me what you saw?”

She shook her head just slightly. “Oh, no. I want the whole story. I can’t just sit back and—”

“You’ll get it,” I said. “I promise.” I meant it, too. Now that my initial shock had worn off, I realized I wanted to tell her. More than that, I think I needed to tell her. I needed a confidante, a friend. Larson couldn’t really fill that role, and for a lot of reasons, I couldn’t turn to Stuart. I didn’t want him to look at me and see a woman who wrestled demons; I just wanted him to see his wife.

Laura didn’t look convinced. I took a seat next to her and held her hand. “I promise,” I repeated, in the same calm and reassuring voice I’d used when I’d had the sex talk with Allie. “I just need to know where to begin. Why were you even there?”

“I followed you,” she said after a brief hesitation.

“I guessed as much,” I said. “But why?”

She turned away, as if suddenly fascinated by the collection of windup toys Stuart kept on the end table. “I don’t know, exactly. You’ve been acting off, I guess. That fighting thing with the judge. And thinking more and more about Eric. And …” She trailed off with a shrug. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” I thought it probably mattered a lot, but I didn’t interrupt. “But then I was coming over here earlier, and I saw you backing out—”

“Wait.” I held up a hand, interrupting. “You were coming here? In the middle of the night? Why?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I was on my way to 7-Eleven to get some ice cream.” She avoided my eyes, and her cheeks seemed to flame even more. “I decided to swing by and see if your light was on, and right as I pulled up, you pulled out. I thought you might be going to the 7-Eleven yourself, so I followed, and then when you kept going, so did I. Mindy and Paul were already asleep, so I figured why not.”

I stifled a wince. If I hadn’t been so lost in thoughts about Eddie Lohmann, I surely would have noticed I had a tail. As it was, Laura’s were probably the footsteps I’d heard—then forgotten about the second I heard the screams.

“Okay,” I said. “I understand how you got to the alley, but I still don’t understand why you followed in the first place.”

She answered, but her voice was so low I couldn’t hear her.

“Come on, Laura. You know you can tell me anything. Just spit it out.”

“I-thought-you-were-having-an-affair,” she said, so fast her words almost sounded foreign.

“An affair?” I turned the word over in my head. “What is it with you? That’s the second time you’ve said that, and no. What started this?”

She picked at a threadbare spot on her jeans. “Late nights out of the house. Change in behavior. You know.”

“You saw me doing the fighting thing once. I left the house late at night once.” My voice was getting shrill, but I couldn’t seem to bring it down a notch. “That’s hardly a pattern. Why did ‘affair’ suddenly pop into your brain? It’s not as if—”

And that’s when I realized. I sat back. “Oh, no, don’t tell me. Is Paul… ?” I trailed off. I couldn’t bear to ask the question.

“I think so,” she whispered. She drew in a breath, then rubbed the back of her hand under her eyes. After a second she flashed me a shaky smile. “Of course, I haven’t managed to catch the bastard yet. He’s too clever a businessman for that. But a woman knows these things.”

“You could be wrong,” I said. “You were wrong about me.”

“Yes, but I’m not sleeping with you.” She laughed then, the sound harsh. “Of course, I’m not sleeping with Paul, either. And as for you, you might not be having an affair, but you are up to something. What?”

“Laura, come on.” I shifted on the couch, crossing one leg under me so that I was facing her straight on. “I said I’d tell you, and I will. But if you need to talk …”

“No.” She shook her head as if she needed to reinforce the idea. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve already talked about it to myself ad nauseum. All I want now is something that will take my mind off of it. Honestly, I think the story behind a federal judge murdering a boy in an alley will do the trick. Add in the fact that my best friend was right there wrestling some freak-of-nature dog, and I’m perfectly willing to believe I won’t give a shit about Paul or his little whore for at least twelve more hours.”

“Actually,” I said, “the judge didn’t murder a boy. It’s something completely different. In fact, I think my story may well earn you a full twenty-four hours of non-Paul thoughts. Maybe even more.”

“At last,” she said, “some good news. Bring it on.” And for the first time that night, Laura actually smiled.

***

By the time I finished telling her my story, Laura was no longer smiling. In fact, she looked a little shell-shocked. Also, though, she looked intrigued. “You’re kidding me, right?”

I shook my head. “Sorry.”

She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, then let it out slowly.

“Laura?”

“I’m okay. I just …” She shook her head. “So that shimmer I saw above the boy? That was the demon leaving?”

I nodded.

“Wow.” She licked her lips. “When that dog—that thing—died…I guess I knew then that something pretty freaky was going on.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d lived with this knowledge almost my whole life, and I’d never told anyone before. To me, this was just the status quo, and while I tried to see this new reality through Laura’s eyes, I was pretty sure I was failing miserably.

She pulled her feet up onto the couch and hugged her knees. “So Judge Larson is a Demon Hunter, too?”

“Not exactly. He’s like a mentor. He does the research while I do the dirty work.” I grimaced, thinking of the bugs in the cathedral basement. So long as Larson kept his day job, my definition of “dirty work” was expanding.

Her brows lifted. “He looked pretty down and dirty in the alley.”

She had a point. “Some alimentatores have the street skills to go along with the book skills. I guess Larson’s of that ilk.”

“You guess? Haven’t you worked with him before?”

I shook my head. “I only met him after the demon came through my window.” I made an apology face. “I lied about meeting one of Eric’s friends. As far as I know, Eric never laid eyes on Larson.”

She didn’t seem too perturbed by the lie. “Okay, so the guy that Larson killed was a demon living in the body of a dead person.”

“Right.” I’d given her the brief rundown of how it works, and now she was giving it back to me just like a prize pupil.

“And you were fighting with what?”

“Mythology calls them hellhounds. Huge mastiffs that do a demon’s bidding. Nasty creatures. Smell bad, too.”

“When you stabbed it …” She trailed off with a shiver.

“Laura?”

“I’m fine.” She finished off her wine. I filled her glass back up. “It’s all a little much.”

“For me, too,” I said. “I thought the most I’d have to deal with this year was boyfriends and potty training.”

“God, I don’t know which is worse. Demons, or trying to get a toddler out of diapers without losing your sanity.” She half-laughed, but it died quickly enough. “That dog…um, where exactly did it go when it…when it …” She waved her hand. “You know. When it went away.”

I knew what she meant. The dog had disappeared in a swirl of flame. No ashes. No charred bones. Just gone. “I’m not sure. Hell, I assume. Thankfully, I have no personal knowledge.”

Her laugh sounded a little nervous. “Yeah. That’s good.”

“Laura.” I took a sip of my wine before taking a deep breath. “Are we okay? I mean, Stuart doesn’t know because…well, because it’s a rule that I’m not supposed to tell. But obviously, I’m not strictly adhering to the rules here. I just don’t want him to see me as some sort of ninja mom, you know? And I don’t want you to see me that way, either. You’re my best friend. Without you I’d have no one to talk to during the days except a two-year-old, and all my cultural references would be from Disney or Nickelodeon.”

“Nice to know where I rate,” she said, but she was smiling.

“You know what I mean.”

“We’re fine,” she said. She took my hand and squeezed. “This is going to take some getting used to, but you’re still the same Kate. Although …”

“What?” I asked, instantly alarmed.

Her smile was devious. “You’re no longer a stay-at-home mom. Kate Connor, you have a day job.” She frowned. “Or a night job. I’m not really sure about that.”

“Either,” I said. “Demons come out during the day, too. They just like the night better. Besides, I’m filling the days with research.”

“Right. To figure out what Gildamish is looking for.”

“Goramesh.”

“Yeah, him. Do you have any leads?”

“Nothing concrete. We know the other locations Goramesh ravaged looking for whatever. And we think that bones may be involved. We just don’t know exactly what ‘whatever’ is.”

“I could help.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What? How? For that matter, why?”

“I want to,” she said. “I need a day job, too. Otherwise, what else am I going to do all day except sit around thinking up creative ways to castrate Paul?”

She had a point “I don’t know what you could do,” I said. “I could use the research help, sure, but if you go with me to the archives, I’m afraid …” I shrugged, not wanting to voice my fear.

“What?”

I paused, then rushed on. “I’m afraid he’ll realize you’re helping me. And that he’ll try to hurt you.”

She nodded slowly. “I can still help,” she said. “From home, even. No one has to know I’m on the case. I can be like that ten-year-old kid who stays at the computer and sends Kim Possible on all her missions.”

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry about the fact that she’d just compared my life to that of a Disney Channel cartoon character. “Uh—”

“I’m serious. I can make phone calls. I can go to the library. Better yet, I can do Internet research. Find out about the cathedrals he wrecked. Maybe get a clue.”

I had to admit, it wasn’t a bad idea. But I still hated dragging her in. “I don’t know,” I hedged. “I’d hate for anything to happen.”

“So would I,” she said. “But from what you’re telling me, if this Goramesh guy has his way, my kid could be a demon-sized Happy Meal. No, thank you. I want to help, Kate. Let me help you stop him. I can do most everything from home, and there’s nothing suspicious about going to the library.”

I’ll admit I wasn’t hard to convince. I told myself it would be good for her, keeping her mind off Paul. In truth, I think I was more selfish than that. I wasn’t inclined to examine my motives, though. Not when her proposal was dead-on perfect. “You’re sure you’re up for it?”

She waved a hand. “Hell, yes. I spend hours and hours on eBay. My Internet skills are sharp.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Kidding,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ve helped Paul do research on locations and stuff. I know my way around Google and Dogpile and Vivisimo and a dozen others. Come on. At the very least I can punch in the towns and stuff where the attacks occurred. Larnaca, you said?”

I nodded. “I don’t know the town in Mexico or Tuscany, but I can find out.”

“So I can help?”

Since she’d lost me after Google, I decided she was qualified. “Okay,” I said. “I think.” I frowned. “Let me think about it overnight. It’s late and my head is mush.” But I knew the answer would be yes. I think she knew so, too.

I walked with her to the door and gave her a hug. “You’re okay?” I was talking about Paul, but the question pretty much covered all bases.

“Yeah. Thanks. It’s rough, but we’ll get through it. I mostly feel bad for Mindy. If he is screwing around…Well, I’ll worry about that when it happens. You need to get some sleep.”

She was right. I was scheduled to fight with Cutter the next morning, and I had to get Timmy over to the day care before then. He wasn’t supposed to start until Wednesday, but I was hoping that if I begged, they’d let him start tomorrow. I was optimistic. Groveling, I’ve discovered, can be a very effective tool. And I intended to do as much groveling as was necessary.

I opened the door for her, but she paused at the threshold. “So there are demons out there, huh?”

I stood behind her, looking out over my front yard and the oh-so-familiar street trying to see the world through her new perspective. “I’ll drive with you,” I said.

“Oh, no. It’s okay. You don’t have to do that. Really.”

There was no way I was letting her go that distance alone. Not tonight when I knew she’d see a demon around every corner.

“Actually, I really do,” I said. She turned to me, and I shrugged. “As it turns out I need to borrow some milk.”

Chapter 13

As bizarre as Monday had been, it was almost disconcerting to wake up so normally on Tuesday morning. Normal, that is, except for the fact that I’d had only three hours of sleep, and my entire body felt like it had been pounded by a football team—and not in a good way.

The alarm clock chirped promptly at six o’clock. I rolled over, muttering rude things about its parentage, and slapped the snooze button. There. Guess I told it.

Beside me, Stuart muttered something that sounded like “jump through the hobbits,” but which I mentally translated as “just a few more minutes.” I muttered an agreement, tugged the covers up under my chin, and spooned against him. Nanoseconds later the alarm chirped again. (The digital readout assured me that seven full minutes had elapsed. I was not convinced.)

I slapped the alarm senseless again, then rolled over to shake Stuart’s shoulder. “Up,” I said. “Go. Earn money.” This is my contribution to making sure the family bank account stays liquid.

He groaned again, then rolled over so that he was facing me. Slowly he opened his eyes. Even more slowly he smiled. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Since I am particularly ungorgeous in the morning, these kinds of endearments simply embarrass me. I rolled away with a mumbled “Stuart …”

He slid closer, then wrapped his arm around my hips, pulling himself closer until he was nuzzling my neck. Even half-comatose, I know better than to shun a nuzzle. “You’re perky this morning,” I said.

“Why not?’ He tugged me back around so that he was leaning over me, one finger tracing the neckline of the plain white T-shirt I’d slept in. “I survived a car crash, locked in some campaign support, and woke up next to a beautiful woman.”

He nibbled at my neck again and I laughed. “You’re such a politician.”

“Public servant,” he shot back. He grinned, then, his mouth lifting with his own private joke.

“What?” I said, amused.

“Nothing.” His smile broadened. “Let’s just say I had a shot of confidence last night.”

“The party? It did go pretty well, all things considered.”

“The party,” he confirmed, “and …”

“What?”

He shifted, raising one shoulder in a slight shrug as he trailed his fingertip up and down my arm. “Nothing important. Let’s just say I found a new perspective on things. I’m thinking positively, and I’m positive that this election is all locked up.” He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re looking at the next county attorney, sweetheart. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, I never doubted you for a minute. I mean, why would the voters want anyone else? You’re the perfect candidate.”

“A man for the people,” he said. His eyes roamed over me, his expression shifting from amused to heated. “A man for one woman …”

He kissed me then, slow and long, and I tried to get my head around the fact that my rush-out-the-door-to-work husband wanted morning sex. (He also had morning breath, which is unusual for Stuart, but I chalked it up to too much party food.) Any potential for an amorous morning adventure, however, fizzled when Timmy’s cries of “Momma, Momma, Momma. Where you at, Momma?” blared from the baby monitor perched on the dresser.

“He’ll be fine for a few minutes,” Stuart murmured, the invitation clear in his voice.

“MOMMA!”

“He sounds pretty determined,” I said. And (true confessions moment here) I was secretly glad. Not only was my entire body sore and achy, but my mind was already spinning with all the stuff I had to do, all the little details that had to be handled in order to keep my dual life running (somewhat) smoothly. “I should probably get him.”

Stuart muttered something incoherent, but rolled back so that I could sit up. I swung my legs over the side of the bed as I reached for a pair of sweats, then dragged myself down the hall to my howling offspring.

It took me a good twenty minutes to get the munchkin up and dressed and myself decked out in jeans and a San Diablo Junior High PTA T-shirt. By the time I got to the kitchen, Stuart was already dressed, his hair damp from the shower, the scent of aftershave clinging to him in a way I found both familiar and slightly erotic. I pushed away a twang of regret for not taking him up on his suggestion of a morning tryst.

Allie barreled into the room, as much as one can barrel in spiked-heel slides and skin-tight jeans. I glanced pointedly at her shoes, then up at her face. “Oh, Mom,” she said. “Jenny Marston wears heels to school.”

There were a lot of things about Jenny Marston I didn’t want Allie emulating. Now I had shoes to add to the list. I pointed toward the stairs. “Go,” I said. “Change.”

She exhaled so loudly that Timmy looked up, pointed, and starting puffing up his cheeks and blowing air out with a whoosh, whoosh.

“Allie,” I said, injecting a warning note into my voice.

“Mind your mother,” Stuart added, from somewhere behind the morning paper.

“Fine. Whatever,” she said, then huffed back upstairs.

I looked at Timmy. “Shoes, at least, are a problem we’ll never have with you,” I said.

“Not until he wants some cool celebrity sneaker, anyway,” Stuart said.

I grimaced, imagining a future where I’d gone undefeated against demons, but had been laid flat by my own children’s insidious shoe demands. Not a pretty picture.

After two more cups of coffee Stuart kissed me and Timmy, called a good-bye up the stairs to Allie, then headed into the garage. A few moments later I heard the garage door begin its slow, creaky climb. I yelled at Allie to hurry or else she’d miss her car pool. She clattered back down the stairs and screeched to a halt in front of the refrigerator, this time in neon-pink high-top sneakers and a matching T-shirt. As my daughter would say, whatever.

“Lunch or money?” she said.

Since I’d gone on a wild-demon chase last night instead of staying home to care for my family like I should have done (guilt, guilt, guilt), I hadn’t fixed her a lunch. I found my purse, rummaged until I came up with a twenty, and handed it to her. Her eyes widened, but she was smart enough not to say anything.

She planted a quick kiss on my cheek, then raced out the front door, just as Emily’s mom tooted her horn. As the door banged shut, I remembered what I’d forgotten, but by the time I reached the end of the sidewalk, the car was already gone. Well, damn.

I’d completely forgotten to tell Allie that we had our first class with Cutter Wednesday afternoon, and to not sign up for any extracurriculars. Now I was going to have to call the school and leave a message for her. The process had been a huge hassle in junior high, and I didn’t anticipate it getting any easier now. Allie’s voice seemed to whisper in my ear—Mo-om…just get me a cell phone!

Fine, I said to the voice. I’ll get one today.

I’m not normally in the habit of succumbing to the will of voices in my head, but the cell phone thing had been one of Allie’s most persistent battles, with her adamant that she needed one, and me just as adamant that she didn’t. Now that I knew there were demons roaming the town, though, my perspective had shifted one hundred and eighty degrees. Anything to keep my baby safer, and if that meant slapping a cell phone into her hot little hand so she could dial 911 at the drop of a hat, well, so be it.

“Allie go to work?” Timmy asked as I came back inside and took a seat at the table next to him. He held a spoon in one chubby fist, and was sticking it repeatedly into a cup of peach yogurt.

“Allie went to school,” I said. “Daddy went to work.”

“Mommy go to work?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” I took the spoon (amazed that this didn’t prompt a huge tantrum) and aimed a bite of yogurt toward his mouth. “Does Timmy want to go to school like Allie?”

“No,” he said, giving me the puppy-dog eyes and shaking his head hard enough that there was no way the yogurt was going to make it inside. “No school.” A little-boy-lost whine had crept into his voice, and my heart twisted in my chest. Stay firm, I told myself. It’s only temporary. Thousands of kids are in day care every day without detriment to the kid or the parent.

Still …

I kept a perky smile plastered on my face. “No school?” I asked, feigning amazement. “But school is great! You’ll get to play with messy things like paint, and you’ll make all sorts of friends. And songs,” I said, pulling out all the stops. “I bet they sing ‘Happy and You Know It’ at school all the time.”

“No, Momma,” he said. He shook his head once more. “You go to school.”

“Wish that I could, kiddo.” I fed him the last spoonful of yogurt, then got a paper towel to wipe the bulk of his breakfast off his chin, the table, and the floor. “Would you give it a shot?” I asked. “For Mommy? School sounds pretty exciting to me. Lots of fun, and you get to play games.”

Since I had the spoon, he stabbed his finger into the yogurt, then proceeded to draw a line of goop on the tabletop. Come on, Tim, I mentally urged. Say yes and make Mommy feel less guilty.

“Buddy?” I asked. “What do you say?”

“Okay, Mommy.” He sounded much perkier than he had only moments before, and I wondered if in his little two-year-old brain, he was already off on some other topic. I wasn’t about to ask, though. His blessing (such that it was) assuaged my guilt, and I headed into the living room to pack up our things.

Tim was his typical cheery self the entire ride to the day care center. I plastered on a happy face, told him this was his school, then proceeded to list off all the wonderful and exciting things he’d do that day. He eyed me warily, my only clue that he might be less than keen on this plan the thumb that went automatically into his mouth.

I got out and walked around the car to let him out. He was sitting there, quietly sucking away, when I slid the door open. “You’re going to have so much fun at school,” I said. “Aren’t you, buddy?”

The thumb emerged, followed by a brief nod and an “Okay, Mommy.” I called that a victory, then proceeded to unstrap him from the car seat. I helped him down, then held his hand as we walked inside. So far, all was well.

I found Nadine behind a reception counter. I’d called her from the road and begged to start Timmy today instead of tomorrow. She promised to arrange it all, and sure enough, as soon as I arrived, she passed me a variety of papers to sign and asked for the balance due on the month’s tuition. Timmy behaved throughout this entire process. But the moment I handed over the check, he started to howl. It may have taken him a while to figure out exactly what was going on here, but now that he’d clued in, he was having none of it.

“No,” he howled. “No school. No, no school. Go home. Go. Home” Big tears rolled down his cheeks, and I tried to get a grip, reminding myself that this was for his own good—without day care, demons might take over the town, and then where would we be?

I felt my cheeks flame, embarrassment battling with an almost physical need to pick up my child and cuddle him. Nadine, of course, had seen this before, and she passed Tim a toy truck from her desk, at the same time offering me a reassuring smile. “He’ll be in the Explorers classroom with Miss Sally. They’re on the playground right now. I bet that will help Tim get over his first-day jitters.”

As it turned out, she was right. After a few more minutes of clinging and shouting “No, Momma, no!” at the top of his lungs, Tim discovered the sandbox and soon settled in to shovel a beach worth’s of sand next to a little boy in Bob the Builder overalls.

Nadine tapped my arm. “We should head back inside while he’s occupied.” I nodded, but didn’t move. My heart was all twisted in my chest, and my stomach hurt. How could I leave? What kind of a mother was I?

A mother who needs to stop a High Demon from raising an army and killing off the population of San Diablo, I answered myself.

At the moment, though, as I left my baby in the care of strangers, that really didn’t seem good enough.

***

I worked off my guilt sparring with Cutter. We started with a few basic stretches, but quickly moved on to the full meal deal, focusing on jabs and crosses, parrying kicks and quartering, and my favorite—spinning back kicks.

This time Cutter was ready for me, and I had to work my tail off just to keep from getting pummeled. I still fully intended to nail him. I just needed to find the right opportunity.

“You’re good,” I said, parrying an expertly executed cross-behind side kick. “I came to the right place.”

“I’m motivated,” he said. “Can’t get shown up by a skirt twice.”

“A skirt? Who are you, Phillip Marlowe?”

“Think of me as your worst nightmare, sweetheart,” he said, in a full-on Humphrey Bogart voice. I laughed, and he used my distraction to lash out and send me sprawling. “Concentration, Connor. Gotta work on concentration.”

I glared at him from my ignominious position on the mat. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. I reached a hand up, and he took it, more than happy to help me to my feet. Sucker. I yanked him down, leaping up as he took my place on the floor.

“Not bad,” he said from his new perspective.

“I’ve still got a few tricks.”

He climbed to his feet and looked me up and down. “Yeah, I think you do.”

I tried to stand there under his scrutiny without wincing. Not easy. I’m pretty sure every inch of my body was bruised (all the more reason to avoid romantic encounters with my husband, at least during the daylight hours) and I hated feeling on display. “We’ve still got a good forty-five minutes,” I said. “You aren’t quitting on me yet, are you?”

His grin was slow and confident “You’re not getting off that easy, Connor.” He held his arm out, wrist bent as he waggled his fingers, Matrix style. “You ready?”

“Always,” I said.

We covered the basic territory for the rest of the hour, giving me the chance to practice a variety of moves, both offensive and defensive. By the time we finished, I was wishing I’d let Stuart talk me into putting a hot tub in our backyard. But sore as I was, I felt pretty damn cocky. Even after all these years I still had some pretty good moves.

Breathless, I dug a towel out of my duffel bag and draped it around my neck.

“You done good,” Cutter said. “I guess I’ll see you and your kid tomorrow.” He took a gulp of Gatorade and wiped his mouth. “It’ll be a trip showing the class what you’ve got.”

I shook my head. “Tomorrow, you’re going to find a significantly less skilled Kate. Blow my cover, and I promise you’ll pay for it the next morning.”

“I consider myself warned.” He stared at me for a moment and in his eyes I saw a hint of the naval officer he used to be. “You ever going to tell me your story?” he asked.

“Don’t hold your breath,” I said. And when he smiled, I knew that Cutter wouldn’t hold my secrets against me. I also knew that he’d keep trying to figure me out.

***

The idea of sitting in the cathedral basement with hundreds of pages still to review lacked appeal, but I knew I had to do it. At the same time, I was curious about Eddie, even though Larson had assured me the retired Hunter wouldn’t be an asset. In the end, procrastination and curiosity won out over bugs and responsibility, and I called Larson’s chambers from the car to let him know I was coming. Since his clerk told me he’d be on the bench for at least another hour, I decided to use that time to run errands, pretending all the while that my life was just as normal and mundane as it had always been. I hit the dry cleaners, bank, and post office, then decided to go ahead and buy Allie’s cell phone before heading toward the government complex.

By the time I parked, I felt good. Centered. My Hunter life had snuck back up on me, true, but that didn’t mean my family wouldn’t have cash, stamps, or freshly pressed clothes.

I’ve been to the complex dozens of times to meet Stuart for lunch, but he worked in the county attorney’s office, and Judge Larson was in the courthouse. I got a bit turned around, and ended up in Stuart’s part of the complex.

I was just about to pop my head into an office and ask directions when I heard Stuart’s voice. I froze.

“I have the proposed zoning changes on my desk,” he was saying, his voice growing louder as he approached the corner. I darted into the first office I saw, my heart pounding wildly. I had no reason to be down here. What would I tell Stuart if I saw him? I hadn’t even told him about Timmy’s day care yet. I could hardly explain a lunchtime encounter with Judge Larson.

I kept my ear pressed to the closed door, listening as footsteps approached, then receded. Only when I could hear nothing did I let myself breathe again.

“Excuse me?” a voice behind me asked. “May I help you?”

I spun around, feeling incredibly foolish, even more so when I saw the woman behind the reception desk staring at me, concern all over her face.

“Are you okay?” From her tone, I think she thought I was running from a deranged killer. Either that, or I was the deranged killer and I was running from the cops.

“Sorry,” I said. “My boss. I’m not supposed to be taking a break. I didn’t want him to see me.”

Considering I was hardly dressed for the office, I’m surprised this approach worked. The girl didn’t question me, though (perhaps she simply wanted me gone), and I slipped back out the door and into the hall. It was only after I’d gone five paces that I realized I still had no idea where to find Larson.

After a few more false starts, I found someone to ask, and arrived at Larson’s courtroom just as he was finishing up a bunch of pretrial rigmarole. I went and sat on the wooden seats in the galley, watching him rule on the various motions and objections. Hard to believe the same man was my alimentatore. That just last night he’d destroyed a demon.

The last pair of attorneys finished battling it out (metaphorically speaking), and the bailiff did the “all rise” thing. I caught Larson’s eye as he stood to leave, and he nodded at me, the movement almost imperceptible. As soon as he’d disappeared into his chamber, I approached the bailiff. Less than a minute later I was escorted back into the hallway.

Compared to the pristine, awe-inspiring federal courtroom, the backroom area was downright bland. Larson’s office kicked it up a notch—a huge mahogany desk, matching credenza, framed gold photos, and a Waterford dish filled with hard candy—but even that room was so piled with papers and briefs that he had to clear a chair off just so I had someplace to sit. At least now I knew why he had no time to schlep through buggy boxes with me.

“You want to know more about Eddie,” he said, a small smile playing around his mouth.

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

“One of your finest qualities,” he said. “I told you he was infirm, but the more I think about it, the more I think you may as well talk to him. It certainly can’t hurt, and you being a Hunter might bring him out of his funk.” He spread his hands. “Perhaps Eddie will have insight, perhaps he won’t. But it can’t hurt to try, right?”

“Sure,” I said. From the way he described the old man, I wasn’t going to get my hopes up.

Larson moved around his desk to lean against it in front of me, his forehead creased. “By the way, how is Stuart?”

“He’s fine. Wasn’t crazy about being nursemaided to death, but he’ll survive. Once I washed away all the dried blood, there really wasn’t much under there except a few nicks and scratches.”

“When he drove up, you were on the verge of telling me what you’d discovered in the archives.”

I stifled a snort of derisive laughter. “You mean what I didn’t find. There are eighty million boxes down there, all crammed full of paper and uncataloged gifts. There’s a tiny bit of organization, but it’s going to take me a while to get my bearings.” I gave him the rundown of what I’d done so far, such that it was. I almost told him I was going to let Laura help me out, too, but in the end I held my tongue. I’d broken rules by dragging her in, and I didn’t really want to admit my guilt. If Laura discovered something amazing, then I’d tell him. In the meantime, I figured ignorance was bliss.

Larson rubbed his chin, obviously processing the information. “I see your problem. The IRS lists provide some help, but the playing field is still large.”

“And teeming with bugs,” I added.

“I can’t do anything about the vermin, but I’ve been doing some research on my end, and I think I may be able to narrow your search.”

“Great,” I said. “How?”

“Apparently, the monk whose cell was the most destroyed was Brother Michael.”

“Should that mean something to me?”

“No, but Brother Michael is the monk who committed suicide.”

“That is interesting,” I said. “I still can’t figure out why a monk would commit suicide.” I was talking more to myself than Larson, and I answered myself, too. “He wouldn’t. Not unless he’d lost his faith or believed it was for the greater glory of God. Or if the death was indirect and he wasn’t really looking to kill himself. Like someone running into a burning building to save a baby, even though he knows he probably won’t get out.” I met Larson’s eyes. “Or someone running who leaps from a building to escape demons, perhaps?”

“Most likely,” he agreed.

“Or maybe it was more proactive,” I said. “What if the thing Goramesh was looking for wasn’t in his cell? And what if the monk was afraid he’d reveal the location if he were tortured?”

“And so he killed himself rather than reveal it?” Larson frowned thoughtfully. “Possible. Definitely possible.”

“Yeah,” I said, warming to the idea. “The demon tortured him, and Brother Michael broke, revealing San Diablo. But rather than spill the rest of it, he threw himself from the window.”

“Very good,” Larson said, nodding slowly. “Yes, yes, I believe you’re on to something.”

I sighed, proud and frustrated all at the same time. “Not enough. We already knew it was in San Diablo, and we’re not any closer to knowing what it is.”

“Patience, Kate. When you next review the archives, keep an eye out for donations from Italy. Or anything that could have a connection to Brother Michael.”

“Right.” I said, making a mental list. Benedictine, Florence, monasteries. I’d try to find out the monk’s family name, and Laura could try to track down relatives in California, or see if Brother Michael had any connection to Larnaca, or that cathedral in Mexico. You never knew. “At least we have a little bit more of a plan.” I still didn’t relish the detective end, but at least I could see some tiny bit of progress.

He glanced at his watch. “We should wrap this up. I have a status conference in a criminal case schedule in fifteen minutes.”

“Sure,” I said. “No problem. But you haven’t told me where Eddie is yet.”

“Of course, of course,” he said. “He’s currently living out his days at the Coastal Mists Nursing Home.” Something flashed across his face. Worry, perhaps? “I hope he’ll be of some help, but we shouldn’t get our hopes up. My understanding is that on a bad day he makes no sense, and on a good day he rattles on about decapitating demons in his youth. The staff thinks he’s crazy.” Larson met my eyes. “I’m more inclined to think he has Alzheimer’s and is reliving his glory days.”

I didn’t say anything, but I felt oddly defeated. Larson had already told me Eddie was feeble, so nothing had changed in that regard, but now another worry nagged at me—would that be me one day? Alone at the end of my days, senile and yammering on about my escapades with Eric?

No. I had a family. I had kids. I had a husband who loved me. Unlike Eddie Lohmann, I wasn’t alone. I closed my eyes then and said a silent prayer for Eddie. I’d never met the man, but still we shared a bond.

I’d pay him a visit. It was, after all, the least I could do.

Chapter 14

I stopped by Laura’s before heading to Coastal Mists and found her perched at her kitchen table, her laptop open, her fingers tapping at her keyboard. I moved to stand behind her and found myself looking down at the Web site for the Larnaca tourist bureau.

I’m trying to impress you with my resourcefulness,” she said. “How am I doing so far?”

“Not bad.”

“Good. Because the only location you told me about was Larnaca, so after this, I’m stumped. Although I did do some research on the cathedral earlier this morning.”

I’d begun to read over her shoulder (the site raved about Larnaca’s easygoing pace coupled with its fascinating links to the ancient past), but at that I looked up. “St. Mary’s Cathedral?”

“Yeah. Since you said that Goramesh is looking here now, I figured I could start by researching the cathedral.”

“Pretty interesting history, don’t you think?” I asked.

“Did you read about the saints’ ashes used in the mortar?”

I could practically see her face fall. “You already knew about that? I thought I’d be telling you something new.”

“Sorry. Old news. That’s why Eric and I used to think this town had so few demons.” I snorted. “So much for that theory.”

“Well, demon-free or not, the cathedral sure has a lot of tragedy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Five of the original missionaries were murdered. Martyred I guess is the word. They were burned on individual pyres. Just horrific stuff.”

“Wow,” I said. “I had no idea.”

“Really?” She brightened considerably. “You really didn’t know?”

“I really didn’t. Tell me.”

“Well, the yuck part was that they were burned, but the fascinating part is that the cathedral still has their remains. The church kept the ashes in bags, saving them in case any of the martyrs were sainted.”

“I’ve seen them,” I said, remembering the coffee-sized bags in the display case. “So, were any of them sainted?”

She shook her head. “No, but one of them was beatified. That’s the first step, right?”

I nodded. “I doubt any of that’s helpful to us, though. The martyrs are part of the cathedral’s formal collection, so they’ve been on the Web site forever. Goramesh wouldn’t have to sneak around to find them.”

“Oh.” She leaned back, her enthusiasm fading. “At least it makes a good story.”

“Come on, Laura. I haven’t even asked you to help yet, and already you’re doing great.” I said all this in the same voice I use to tell Allie that her math homework was going really, really well. As uneasy as I’d been about Laura helping me originally, now I was keen on the idea. I didn’t want her to get discouraged and distracted, moving on to other more consuming things such as closet reorganizing or dust-bunny wrangling.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So tell me about this,” I said, focusing again on the Web site about Larnaca and sounding more chipper than I felt.

“I just pulled it up,” she said. “I haven’t even read it yet myself.”

“Look,” I said, noticing a paragraph in the middle of the page. “It says that Larnaca is where Lazarus lived.”

“Rising-from-the-dead Lazarus?”

“I think so.” I leaned over her and pointed to a link labeled Places to See. “Click there.”

She did, and a list of tourist attractions came up.

“There,” I said. “Lazarus came to Larnaca after he was resurrected, and a church was built on the spot where his remains were said to be found.”

“A church,” Laura repeated. “Do you think that’s where the shrine was? The one that was spray-painted?”

“Could be, I guess.”

“But what’s the connection to Mexico or Italy? Or to San Diablo, for that matter?”

“I don’t know.” I chewed on the side of my lip, then paced her kitchen as an idea started to form. “Both the demons that attacked me talked about an army rising. So maybe the desecration of the shrine and the various cathedrals is symbolic. Jesus and Lazarus rose through the power of God, and the demons are going to rise through the power of Satan?” It sounded like a B-movie plot, but it was the only idea I had.

“Maybe,” Laura said. She sounded as dubious as me.

“This is all so frustrating,” I said. “And what does any of it have to do with bones?”

“Could be symbolic, too. You know, like ‘Dem bones gonna rise again.’” Laura’s voice was singsong. I just stared at her. She exhaled. “The song,” she said. “You know.”

I didn’t know, and told her as much.

“Didn’t you go to church camp?”

Obviously Laura hadn’t completely assimilated my description of my childhood. “I lived at the Vatican, Laura,” I said. “There wasn’t a lot of singing around the campfire going on.”

“Right. Sure. Of course.” She laughed nervously. This was going to take a while for her to get her head around. “So, I guess you probably didn’t sit around with the other Hunters telling ghost stories, huh?”

“Sure we did,” I said. “Only they weren’t stories. They were object lessons in how to survive.” I could still vividly remember how Eric and Katrina and Devin and I would huddle in the alcove between the boys’ and girls’ dorms. We’d share our own escapades along with any other stories we’d picked up from older, more experienced Hunters. Like Allie now did at her slumber parties, we’d stay up into the wee hours talking. But we weren’t doing it for fun. It was work. Survival. Knowledge, after all, is power.

“Your childhood sucked,” she said.

“Pretty much.” But even though I said the words with feeling, a part of me knew that—given the choice—I wouldn’t have lived my life any other way.

“I can see why you retired early,” she said. “Probably extended your life expectancy by decades.”

I didn’t answer. Thoughts of Eric spilled into my head. Retiring hadn’t saved him. Death had wanted him, and it had taken him. And even with all of Eric’s fighting skills, when it was his time, he’d still lost the battle.

“You okay?”

I shook my head, dispelling my thoughts. “What?”

“I asked if you were okay?”

“Fine,” I said. I moved to the table and grabbed my purse. “I’ve got some more information you can plug into Google,” I said. “Want to come with me to see Eddie Lohmann? I’ll give you the rundown on the way.”

Her brows rose. “Come with you? Real sidekick stuff? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I said, giving her a stern glare. I’m pretty sure, though, that my smile destroyed the effect.

As soon as we were on the road, I relayed my conversation with Larson, giving her all the key words to plug into her next search, and telling her in particular about Brother Michael. I also told her what Larson had said about Eddie’s condition.

“That’s a shame,” she said. “I was hoping you’d have some help.”

“I have you,” I said.

“I was thinking more along the lines of help that wouldn’t squeal like a girl and run the other way at the sight of a spider, much less a demon.” Her smile, however, told me how pleased she was by the comment. “So where’s the turnoff?”

We spent the next ten minutes trying to find the poorly marked driveway for Coastal Mists Nursing Home and Eddie Lohmann. I pushed thoughts of Laura and the cathedral and Lazarus out of my head, my attention focused solely on my newly founded Adopt a Geriatric Hunter program.

“So what exactly are we doing here?” Laura asked as I pulled into one of the many empty parking spaces. I had the feeling the residents of Coastal Mists weren’t inundated with visitors.

“I’m not entirely sure.” If he had all his marbles, I wanted to run the situation by Eddie and get his opinion. But the Goramesh problem notwithstanding, I just wanted to meet Eddie. I didn’t know the man, and yet I already felt a connection to him. Melancholy mixed with nostalgia, I’m sure. There were no other Hunters in my life. Eddie was a Hunter. Ergo, I’d latched on.

Pretty transparent pop psychology, but sometimes the most obvious answer really is the truth.

The entire front of the building was landscaped, with native plants lining the walkway, giving the place the external appearance of a fine hotel. The moment we stepped inside, the illusion faded, replaced by a hollow, antiseptic scent, as if the home’s administrators were trying just a little too hard to hide the fact that there was dying going on here.

I realized I’d stopped in the foyer and was hugging myself. Beside me, Laura didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. Mentally, I chastised myself. I’d seen all sorts of death and fought all sorts of demons. If the scent of a nursing home didn’t bother Laura, I sure as heck wasn’t going to let it bother me.

The hallway opened up into a large foyer, the focal point of which was a round nursing station that apparently doubled as a reception desk. A woman in an old-fashioned nursing uniform, complete with starched white hat, greeted us with a thin smile. “Can I help you?” she asked abruptly, even before we’d completely approached the desk.

Her tone caught me by surprise, and I started. I caught Laura’s gaze, and her eyes widened a bit, letting me know that it wasn’t just my imagination. I chalked it up to PMS and plowed on. “We’re here to see Eddie Lohmann. Can you tell me what room he’s in?”

She stared at me for so long I began to wonder if there was something gross on my face. I was just about to ask again (I am nothing if not optimistic) when she peered at me over the rim of her half-glasses and sniffed.

“Your name, please?” She shoved a registry in my direction.

“Kate Connor,” I said. “And this is Laura Dupont.” I started to sign in.

“Relatives?”

“By marriage,” I said, not missing a beat as I scrawled my name and Laura’s in the appropriate column.

I glanced at Laura long enough to see her brows rise almost imperceptibly. Then I pushed the registry back toward Nurse Ratched. Her lips pursed as she read our names, then she lifted her chin and surveyed me once again through narrowed eyes. I was beginning to feel downright paranoid, and I can’t say I particularly enjoyed the sensation.

“By marriage,” she repeated.

“He’s related to my husband,” I said, the lie coming naturally. “Why? Is there a problem?”

“Visiting hours for nonrelatives end in five minutes. If you’re family—”

“We are,” I said firmly.

I expected her to argue, but instead she raised a hand and a twenty-something girl in a candy-striper uniform came trotting over, her name tag introducing her as Jenny. “See these ladies to the media room. They’re visiting Mr. Lohmann.” To us, she said, “I’m surprised we haven’t seen you here before.”

“A long story,” I said. “We just found out that Eddie was here.”

“Hmmm. Well, I hope you have better luck with him than we do.” And with that cryptic remark, she returned her attention to the papers on her desk, leaving Laura and me to follow our candy-striper down a long, dim hallway.

Most of the doors were open, and as I peered into the rooms, I could see twin beds and various other bits of furniture and personal belongings. The rooms reminded me of the tiny monk cells that had doubled as dorm rooms in my youth, and I wondered if in some way Eddie hadn’t come full circle.

I noticed that most of the rooms were empty, and when I asked our guide, she explained that most of the residents were in the television parlor, which happened to be where we were going. “I’m so glad you’re here to visit him,” Jenny said. “He never gets visitors and it’s such a shame.”

“How long has he been here?”

“About three months. At first he was really disoriented, but I think he’s starting to get used to the place. A little clearer, you know?”

“That’s great,” I said, but my mind was elsewhere. Weird that the Vatican had just learned he was here. At the very least, I was surprised the diocese didn’t send a volunteer around to chat with him and a priest to give Communion.

I didn’t have time to ponder those things, however, because we’d arrived. The hallway opened out into a second foyer that I presumed had been a secondary entrance at one time but now obviously served as the famous media room. Two threadbare couches sat in front of a small television currently displaying Jerry Springer in grainy black-and-white. What was this? The Dark Ages?

The residents sprawled on the two couches, and the old man at the end kept shouting “You tell ‘em, Jerry!” at the television. The other two didn’t even flinch, and I took a guess that this was considered normal behavior in these parts. In addition, the room sported two card tables (surrounded by four old men playing cards, one of whom was trailing an IV rack) and a single rocking chair. A blue-haired lady with a hump in her back stood by the rocker, methodically whapping the end of her cane against the thigh of the old man seated there as she mumbled incoherently. (As I circled around, I realized the cause of the mumbling—she’d removed her teeth. The old man just ignored her, eyes glued to the television.)

I leaned closer to Jenny. “Which one is Eddie?”

“DEMONS!”

I jumped, then identified the howler as the same old man who’d been egging Jerry on. Now he was shaking his fist at the television screen. I looked in that direction and had to admit his assessment had some merit. The kid Jerry was interviewing had so many pins and tattoos that he looked like something out of a Hellraiser movie.

“THEY’RE EVERYWHERE. IN OUR TELEVISIONS. UNDER OUR BEDS. IN MY RICE KRISPIES. SNAP CRACKLE, THEY SAY. SNAP CRACKLE!” He whipped out a spritzer bottle and took aim, spraying fine mist toward the television, but mostly only dampening Jenny, who was slowly moving toward him.

Laura took a step backward. I grabbed her arm. She’d volunteered, after all. And I wasn’t too keen on facing Eddie by myself. (And, yeah, for a second I considered backing out, too. But I’d come to see Eddie, and see him, I would.)

“Hush, now, Mr. Lohmann. We can hear you without shouting.” Jenny crouched in front of him as I inched sideways, wanting to get a look at his face.

The man was eighty-five if he was a day, with a grizzled face that seemed as gray as the unkempt bush of hair on his head. His lips had disappeared with age, and the untrimmed gray mustache he sported seemed to float unanchored on his face. His skin was timeworn and leathery, and now that I saw his face, I knew I would have recognized Eddie Lohmann without Jenny’s help. This man had fought battles. Fought and won. Now, I wondered if he was fighting his first losing battle.

His chin lifted suddenly, and he peered at me from under droopy lids. I could see enough of his eyes, though, to see the intelligence under there. Eddie Lohmann might be strange, but I’d lay odds he wasn’t senile. Not yet.

“Who’s that one?” he asked, talking to Jenny, but nodding to me.

“She’s here to visit you,” Jenny said. “Can’t you be nicer?”

His nose twitched. “Is she a demon?”

The other residents looked up from their various activities and peered at me. I stood up straighter and fought the urge to adjust my blouse.

Jenny sighed, then rolled her eyes toward me, which pretty much clued me in to what she thought of the whole demon thing. I took heart that his rantings went unheeded. Still, I didn’t like the idea that Eddie was spouting off to the residents and staff.

Jenny was still focused on Eddie, her manner calm and patient “She’s not a demon. There aren’t any demons, remember? We use holy water in the mop bucket. They can’t walk on our floors.” This time she gave a wink in my direction.

“Damn dastardly demons,” Eddie mumbled. He looked up at me, his eyes eagle sharp as he crooked a bony finger. “You there. Come here.”

Behind me, I heard Laura take a few steps backward, her desire to get out of there so thick I could almost feel it. I moved forward slowly, then speeded up the moment one of the other men (who’d stayed quiet during Eddie’s entire tirade) shouted at me to quit blocking the television before he took a cane to me. Nice man. Not exactly the grandfatherly type.

I stopped in front of Eddie and let him take a look at me. He fumbled a pair of half-glasses out of a front shirt pocket and put them on. As Jenny backed off, I stood like a statue, waiting for some signal from him.

“I don’t know you,” he finally said. He pointed a bony finger. “Get thee hence, Satan’s harlot!”

I bristled and stifled the urge to defend my reputation. I shot a glance at Laura, and she shrugged. Eddie had returned his attention to the television. I waited for a commercial, then tried again.

“Mr. Lohmann?”

He looked up at me, no recognition at all in his eyes. “Are you a new one they’re trying?” His eyes narrowed as he smacked his lips. “You won’t get anything from me.”

“My name’s Kate,” I said, trying for soft and reassuring. I gestured across the room to where Laura had faded into a corner. “That’s Laura. We came to visit with you.”

He kept his attention on me, not even bothering to look Laura’s direction. “Are you one of them?” He seemed grandfatherly, and yet there was an icy edge in his eyes, and I’d noticed that his muscles had tightened as I approached, as if he still had the power to defend himself should I attack.

He crooked his finger again, urging me even closer. I bent down, not at all surprised when his nostrils flared. “My breath okay?” I asked.

He snorted. “Could be faking,” he said. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his bottle, and sprayed me straight in the face. I sputtered and wiped my eyes, probably rubbing mascara everywhere.

He sat back, obviously satisfied. “You’ll do,” he said. “Unless you’re working for them.” He leaned forward, peering at me.

“I’m not,” I said, fighting another wave of indignation.

He stared at me for so long, I feared he’d forgotten again and we’d have to start all over. Finally he spoke. “What do you want?”

I glanced around at the other residents. This wasn’t exactly the best place. “I was hoping to talk to you. Do you think we could go somewhere?”

He waved at the television, his expression turning surly. “Jerry Springer. Five minutes.”

I started to argue, realized that would do no good whatsoever, then perched myself on the arm of the couch right next to him. For the next five minutes I watched the wrap-up and Jerry’s final words (we all need to try to really listen to one another, in case you were wondering). True to his word, as soon as the program ended, Eddie hoisted himself up with the help of an ornately carved cane, then started shuffling toward the back of the room. I followed, silently urging Laura along, and ignoring Eddie’s instruction to “Get a move on there, girls.”

Since we were moving at glacial speed, it took another five minutes to make it to Eddie’s room. Once we got there, I closed the door and Eddie sank down into a dingy gray recliner that I have a feeling started out some other color.

“Have we met?” he asked, his eyes unfocused. “Where’d you come from?”

“We just met in there,” I said patiently. “I work for Forza.” I’m not sure what kind of reaction I expected, but I didn’t get anything. Not a blink, not a twitch, not even a nervous tic. He just stared at me, then calmly turned toward Laura.

“Her?”

“A friend. Not a Hunter. But she knows.”

His fingers inched toward the spritzer now peeking out of his breast pocket, but then he paused. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “You vouch for her?”

“With my life,” I said.

The fingers moved away, and he clasped his hands in his lap. “She can stay.”

I wasn’t sure what to say then. I’d come to meet this retired Hunter, but what did I really want from him? Now that I’d met him, my mind was blank and I stood there, feeling a bit like the star of one of those naked dreams— standing unclothed onstage while everyone waited for me to sing an aria or perform magnificent acrobatic feats.

“Did you come to kill them?” he asked. “I would. But the old body just doesn’t work right anymore.”

“Kill them,” I repeated. “Kill who?”

“Demons,” he said as the door opened to reveal a nurse decked out in teddy-bear scrubs. “There are demons everywhere.”

“Now, Mr. Lohmann,” she said, “don’t go starting up with that again.” She was balancing a tray of lunch dishes, and as I watched, she moved expertly to the table and slid the tray on. “He’s a Demon Hunter, you know,” she said to me, her voice both conversational and condescending.

“Oh,” I said stupidly. “How nice.”

The nurse looked up from her tray and winked at me. “Well, we think so. Such an interesting career. And the stories he tells. I mean, really. He’s certainly had some adventures.”

She crossed the room to Eddie and turned the light on beside his chair. In the harsh illumination he seemed smaller somehow, his features shriveled, as if the light had somehow stolen his energy. “Have you seen any demons today, Eddie?”

“They’re everywhere,” he said, but his voice lacked the conviction it had earlier with me.

“Well, then, I’d better refill your holy water,” she said. “We wouldn’t want any getting in here when you aren’t looking.”

As I watched, she grabbed his little bottle, winked at me, then headed into the bathroom. I heard the water running, then she returned and tucked the bottle back into his pocket. “There you go. That should keep those nasty demons away.”

“Good Melinda,” he said. “You’re the only one here who’s good to me.”

“Do you do that for him every day?” I asked.

“Oh, sure,” she said. “Otherwise, the demons might get him.”

“She understands,” Eddie says. “Melinda believes me.”

“Right now, though, it’s time for your medicine.” She turned to me. “Are you going to visit much longer? I can wait if you want. The meds make him pretty loopy.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We were just leaving.” Not entirely true, but I did need to get moving.

She shook a handful of multicolored pills out of a tiny paper cup, then handed them to Eddie, who took them without question. He popped the pills dry with one hand, holding out his other arm for the injection that Melinda was administering. As soon as she withdrew the needle, his head lolled back. Almost instantly I could see the tension drain from his body.

“Eddie?”

He looked up at me, but the Eddie Lohmann I’d met in the television room was gone.

“I-don’t-know-you,” he said, his words slurring together in one big jumble of sound. “Do-I-know-you?”

“We just met,” I said gently. “But we’ll come back later.” It didn’t matter what I said. He was already drifting off to sleep.

Laura and I followed Melinda out of the room. “What’s with the medicine cabinet?” I asked.

Melinda’s cheeks flamed. “Oh, golly,” she said. “You heard him. It’s demon this and vampire that all the time if we don’t load him up with drugs. He went too long today, actually, because he spit out his pills. That’s why Dr. Parker ordered the injection.” She leaned closer. ‘It’s kinda creepy. I think he really believes all of that.”

“No way,” I said, trying hard to keep my face straight.

“No, truly,” she said. “I don’t think he’s like dangerous or anything, but—” She cut herself off, her forehead crinkling.

“But what?’

“Actually, maybe he is. Once he totally jumped another resident. And the poor guy had just had a massive coronary the night before. It was a scene. There’s Eddie leaping on Sam, and he was going at him with this tongue depressor and trying to shove it into his eye. Took two orderlies and Mrs. Tabor to get him off.”

“Wow,” I said. “You saw all that?”

“Yeah. Gave me the willies.”

“How’s Sam?” Laura asked.

“Great,” she said. “Can you believe? Two days after a heart attack and he discharged himself. Said he was going to get an apartment in Sun City.”

I fought a grimace. Unless I missed my guess, Sam was the codger who’d flown through my window and was now cooling his heels in the county dump. “Sam discharged himself?” I asked. “He could do that?”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “The residents here are all voluntary. It’s not like they’re committed or anything. Most just don’t have anyplace else to go or their families can’t take care of them. Special needs and all. I mean, like Eddie. What if you took him home and he decided you were a demon or something?” She cocked her head as she looked at me. “You said you’re family, right?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“Hard to see a family member spiral down like that,” she said. “I really sympathize.” She shook her head. “Demons,” she said with a snort. “As if.”

***

I dropped Laura back at her house before heading on to the cathedral. We didn’t talk. I think both of us were thinking about Eddie, stuck in that nursing home, keeping a watchful eye out for demons in his Rice Krispies.

The thing was, I believed him. (Well, not about the cereal.) Especially after the Sam story, I’d be stupid not to. But what could I do? If any of the old people I’d seen had been inhabited by Goramesh’s minions, then we probably didn’t have much to worry about in the fate-of-the-world department—none of them had seemed particularly interested in a Hunter’s presence on the premises. If anything, they’d seemed more interested in five-card draw and Jerry Springer. Not my choice of programming, but hardly demonic.

I was still buried deep in my Eddie thoughts as I pulled open the heavy wooden doors leading into the cathedral. I’d expected silence, but a creaking sound echoed through the room, and as I listened, I recognized it as the sound of a door swinging on rusty hinges. I couldn’t see anyone, but I assumed Father Ben was coming out of the sacristy, and I increased my pace to catch up to him. I wanted to get his thoughts on narrowing my search of the records. (Anything to shorten my time in the basement archives!) But as my silent companion stepped out from behind the partition, I stopped cold. Not Father Ben—Stuart.

I froze, guilt swelling. He had to be here looking for me. And when he found me without Timmy…well, I was going to have to come clean or come up with a fancy fabrication.

Not inclined to do either, I dropped to one knee, my head down as I genuflected. Then I moved into a pew, toed down the kneeler and put my head in my hands, the very image of a pious woman deep in prayer. With any luck, he wouldn’t notice me.

His footsteps increased, his tempo hurried, and he headed down the steps off the sanctuary and then down the aisle. After a moment I heard the heavy clunk of the door falling shut behind him.

I stayed in that position. At first my mind was blank, but then I think I sank into prayer, thanking God for not letting Stuart notice me, for keeping my secret safe until I was ready to share it with my family, for keeping me alive despite my—

A hand closed on my shoulder and I screamed, my voice filling the cathedral with as much power as the Sunday morning cantor’s did.

“Oh, Kate, I’m so sorry!”

I relaxed, my hand reflexively patting my chest. Father Ben. “Father. Sorry. You scared me.”

“Please, I should be apologizing. But I wanted to let you know that we’ll be closing the cathedral early today and tomorrow, so that the workers can sand the floors. I thought you might want to know so that your time in the archives isn’t cut short.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I do appreciate that.” I stood, and he followed suit. “I saw that Stuart was down there,” I said, hoping my voice sounded casual. “Was he looking for me?”

“I don’t think so. My understanding is he’s working on some project of his own.”

“Oh.” Not the answer I’d expected. And I couldn’t imagine what interest my less-than-devout husband could possibly have in musty old church records. “Do you know what?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. He made arrangements with the bishop.”

I blinked, getting more and more curious, but I just waved the comment away. “No big deal,” I said. “I’ll ask him tonight.”

We were at the door to the sacristy now, and I tugged it open.

“Since the construction will cut your time short today and tomorrow, would you like for me to arrange access for you Friday evening after the fair?”

“The fair?” I repeated, suddenly feeling like we weren’t talking the same language.

“Didn’t I see that you were signed up to help with the parish fair on Friday?”

“Oh, right. Of course.” Oops. I’d completely forgotten. “Yes, if you could keep the archives open late, I’d very much appreciate it.” I smiled, hoping I looked charming and helpful as I made a mental note to myself: figure out what I signed up to do at the fair.

I kept Father Ben detained for a few more minutes as I drilled him about the organization of all the donations. The answer, unfortunately, was that there really was no organization. What I saw was what I got. Which meant I was back to where I’d started. This time, at least I could try to find some regional connection.

I settled myself at the table, opened the first box (gingerly, in case of more bugs), and dug back into my project. An hour later all I had to show for my efforts was a backache. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. I did learn some things. I found out for example, that Cecil Curtis was Clark Curtis’s father, which meant I was reading documents about Stuart’s boss’s family. (Which did make the job slightly more interesting. Basic human nosiness, I guess.) As I’d discovered yesterday, he’d left all of his land (and we’re talking a lot of land) and worldly possessions to the Church, specifically excluding his “spouse or issue,” a little fact that I imagine pissed off Clark (not to mention his mom and siblings).

I learned that Thomas Petrie had won a church-sponsored scholarship and had gone to St. Thomas Aquinas College. He ended up being famous for his series of books that revolved around a mystery-solving priest, and after he started to hit the New York Times list regularly, he made frequent contributions to the Church. Since the donations weren’t monetary (one year he gave a wooden Madonna-and-child statute), I assumed he was donating things that he’d acquired researching each of his various books.

I skimmed through the other benefactors, too, but didn’t find much of interest. Mike Florence caught my eye simply because of the Italian town, but from what I could tell, he’d donated nothing more interesting than a six-inch-square gold box with a beautiful carved crucifix affixed to the lid. The receipt accompanied the donation, though, and unless Goramesh was on the hunt for a box sold at Macy’s in the 1950s, then I doubted I was on the right track. (I’ll admit I was a little curious to see the thing, but it was in a container at the bottom of the stack and all the way at the back. That’s what we in the archive-reviewing biz call “geographically undesirable.”)

With a sigh of resignation, I pushed aside the last itemized list. My options now were to review every single piece of paper in each donor’s file, or start in on the cool stuff in the boxes. Since I doubted I’d recognize what I was looking for if I saw it, the smart thing would be to review letters and correspondence. But I only had a half-hour left in the basement, my eyes hurt, and I was bored.

Besides, something in my gut told me we were running out of time, and at the moment all I could do was put my faith in God (and Larson and Laura). I was in a cathedral after all. If divine inspiration was going to hit, surely I was in the right place.

I pulled over the first box, but didn’t haul it up to the table. It weighed a ton. Instead, I kept it by my feet, then toed off the lid, keeping a safe distance in case a flock of beasties came zipping out

None did, and I peered down, dismayed to see that the box was filled with decaying leather-bound Bibles. Thousands of pages, any of which could have a note inscribed on them. And each Bible began with page after page of family histories scrawled in terrible handwriting that I was going to have to decipher.

Oh, joy.

I pulled the first Bible, fighting a sneeze as I reminded myself why I’d never started a family Bible for my own family—they get old and rotten and decrepit, and then what do you do? If you’re the Oliveras family, apparently you donate it to the Church so a slob like me can wade through the pages later. And why not? It’s not like you can dump it in the trash can. There’s no Thou Shalt Not, but it still seems to me that tossing a Bible would score you some serious demerits on your Permanent Record.

I managed to decipher the handwriting on the family-tree portions (nothing interesting), then paged slowly through the book (no handwritten phrases or underlined verses). I paid particular attention to John 11:17, the chapter and verse about Lazarus, but there didn’t appear to be any notes in the margin, any tipped-in sheets of paper, any messages scrawled with invisible ink. I even inspected every centimeter of the leather binding, searching for treasure maps hidden in the spine. Nothing. As far as I could tell, this was a family Bible and nothing more.

When I put the Bible aside, it was almost four o’clock. The cathedral was closing, and I needed to get Timmy. Of course, as soon as I stepped into the real world, all my real world problems lined up behind me. While I’d been in the basement, Eddie and Stuart had been forgotten. Now, though, they were front and center again.

Stuart, I assumed, had a reason for going to the cathedral, and had I not done my impression of the world’s most pious Catholic, perhaps he would have noticed me and explained. Since it was stupid to speculate, I forced myself off the subject. Surely he’d tell me tonight. And if he didn’t…well, then I’d just have to ask.

Eddie was a harder subject. And as I turned into the parking lot at Timmy’s school, I still didn’t know what to do about him. More. I didn’t know why I’d suddenly become obsessed with the idea of doing anything at all.

At the moment though, Eddie was the least of my problems. Just beyond those doors was a two-year-old who (I hoped) hadn’t been scarred for life by his first experience in non-parental child care.

I parked the car and got out, realizing only then how much my stomach was churning. I’d kept my cell phone on all day with no frantic calls from Nadine or Miss Sally. So I knew (hoped) that no horrible accident had befallen my child.

But it wasn’t horrible accidents I was worried about. I was terrified of the expression I’d see in his eyes when I picked him up. An expression that said “Where have you been, Mommy, and why did you leave me with strangers?” As a Demon Hunter, I had a great answer to that. As a mom, I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“He did great,” Nadine said as I passed the reception desk on my way to the Explorers classroom. I almost stopped and cross-examined her (What is “great”? Are you just saying that to make me feel better? Will my son ever forgive me for dumping him off on you people?), but I fought the urge and soldiered on.

One nice thing KidSpace does is put windows in the doors to all the classrooms. From a mommy perspective, this is a good thing, and I took the opportunity to peer in at my little munchkin. There he was, my little man, playing on the floor with a plastic dump truck, right alongside another little boy, this one pushing a dinosaur in a wheelbarrow.

He was smiling. He was happy. And from my perspective, this was a minor miracle. I’d made a good decision. My sweet little boy wasn’t traumatized. He didn’t need therapy. He wouldn’t run to Oprah in twenty years and rat me out. If anything, he seemed to be having a great time.

Life was good.

I opened the door, held out my arms to him…then watched with desperation as Timmy burst into tears.

“Mommamommamomma!” The truck was forgotten as he raced to me. I caught him on the fly and scooped him up, hugging him and patting his back. So much for my rampant lauding of my parental decisions; this was one stressed-out little boy.

“He really did fine today,” Miss Sally said as I rubbed circles between his shoulders and murmured nice-sounding words. “This is very normal.”

I believed her (well, I sort of believed her), but that didn’t lessen the guilt. I shifted Timmy so that I could see his face. “Hey, little man. You ready to go home?”

He nodded, thumb now permanently entrenched in his mouth.

“Did you have fun today?”

Another reluctant nod, but at least it eased my guilt.

“Before you go, though, I need you to sign this form.” Miss Sally pushed a clipboard toward me. I shifted Timmy’s weight on my hip and squinted at the preprinted page. “Accident Report.”

“What happened? Is he hurt?” I looked down at Timmy. “Are you hurt?”

“No, Mommy,” he said. “No biting Cody. No. Biting.”

My cheeks warmed. “He bit someone?”

“Just a little bite,” Miss Sally assured me. “The tooth impression has already faded, and he and Cody have been playing together all afternoon.”

“He bit hard enough to leave a mark?” I could hear my voice rise, but I was having trouble getting my head around this. My son was a biter? My little boy was a problem child? “But Nadine said he did great.”

“Oh, he did. Truly. This isn’t that unusual for new students. And it won’t be a problem unless it happens again. Or unless Cody’s parents complain.” She held up a hand. “But they won’t. Cody was a biter, too.”

There it was. That label. Biter. I had a biter.

After a few more minutes of guilt on my part and reassurance on Sally’s part, I started to believe that the day really hadn’t been a total disaster. In addition to taking a taste of his schoolmate, Timmy had made friends, sang songs, and spent a full hour playing with finger paints. What more could a toddler want?

In the end we trotted down the hall hand-in-hand, and as we reached the door, he lifted his little face, and those big brown eyes sucked me in. “I love you, Mommy,” he said, and I melted on the spot. He might be a biter, but he was my baby. “Home, Mommy? We go home?”

“Soon, sport,” I said. “We have one more quick errand.” I hadn’t even realized I’d made up my mind until I said those words, but something about seeing Timmy in the care of others had fueled my decision. I couldn’t leave Eddie all alone. In his condition he might accidentally blow the lid off Forza, and that was something I simply couldn’t let happen.

Plus, I feared that Eddie was right—there were demons walking the halls of Coastal Mists. And any one of those dark creatures would be more than interested to know all the delicious little Forza facts that were locked in Eddie’s head. Facts that might get Eddie—or me or my family killed. Besides, Hunters protected other Hunters. I’d always lived by that code, and even now, retired, I couldn’t back away from it.

So Timmy and I were going back to get the man. What I’d do with him once I had him…well, that was anybody’s guess.

Chapter 15

“He’s who?”
Stuart’s voice, though whispered, seemed to fill the kitchen. I made a frantic pressing motion, as if I were snuffing flames, hoping Eddie hadn’t heard.

No such luck.

“I’m your grandfather, sonny,” Eddie called from the living room. (At least we knew his hearing worked well.) “Mind your manners there, boy.”

As Stuart’s eyes widened, I closed my own, counted to ten, then opened them again with the secret wish that everything would be calm and wonderful, all my problems would be solved, and my family (real and fake) would be living in peaceful harmony.

No go.

“Kate …” Stuart’s voice was calm, but no-nonsense. I sighed, resigned to telling him some version of the truth.

“He was in a nursing home,” I said. (Truth.) “And they were keeping him all drugged up.” (Also truth.) “Plus, I think he has Alzheimer’s.” (Sorta truth. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with Eddie. All I knew from my brief time with him was that truth and fiction were mixed up in his head, and either one might come spewing out without any warning at all.)

“I sympathize,” Stuart said. “But why is he now in our living room? Both my grandfathers have been dead for years. And the man dropping potato chip crumbs onto our living room carpet is very much not dead. Yet.”

“Right,” I said. “He’s not. Dead, I mean.”

(Pregnant pause.)

“Kate …”

Another sigh from me. I really should have planned this one better. When I’d returned to Coastal Mists, Eddie had been due for another dose of meds. He’d been coherent (more or less) and when I’d explained that I was taking him home with me, I’d expected a bit of a paperwork nightmare. Instead, the whole process had been smooth as silk, as if I were immune to the red tape that normally tied itself around hospitals and the like.

I helped him pack (though since I had Tim with me, the bulk of my help consisted of rescuing his belongings from the fingers of my toddler). Then we started schlepping toward the front desk.

Melinda stopped us on the way out. “Mr. Lohmann,” she’d gushed. “You’re leaving us?”

He squinted at her, then pointed a wizened finger at me. “She’s training the little one to hunt demons,” he’d said. “I’m helping.”

To which I’d naturally rolled my eyes and—because I’m an idiot—said, “He’s coming to live with us.”

“Your son must be very excited,” Melinda said to Eddie.

“My who?”

Melinda looked at me, clearly confused, which made sense considering I’d earlier given her the long song and dance about how he was related to my husband. In retrospect, I probably should have just let it pass, but since Stuart does have a father, and since he is very much alive and coherent, and since I had no idea if Desmond Connor was a close personal friend of the director of Coastal Mists, I announced that Eddie was my first husband’s grandfather. No relation to Stuart whatsoever. “Of course I have to take him home with me “ I said. “My daughter needs to know her great-grandpa, and I won’t be able to sleep knowing I didn’t do everything in my power to take care of Eric’s grandfather.”

Melinda oohed and aahed about how sweet I was, and while I hung my head and tried to look modest and unmartyrlike, Eddie crouched down to Timmy’s level. “You can call me Gramps,” he said. At which point Tim reached out and yanked Eddie’s eyebrow.

“Caterpillar,” he said. “Fuzzy caterpillar.”

Not being entirely stupid, I figured that was our cue to leave, and we gathered Eddie’s things, signed the necessary papers, and headed out the door.

To my relief, Nurse Ratched was nowhere to be seen. I had mental images of her chasing after us, not letting us leave, and hordes of demons descending on us, intent on slaughtering us first, then burying us in the basement. I told myself I was being paranoid, but I knew I really wasn’t. I had no doubt that my geriatric demon had been a Coastal Mists resident, and I fully intended to let Larson in on the problem, so he could relay it up the Forza chain of command. It wasn’t my problem, though. My problem was about five-eight, a hundred seventy pounds, with a stubbly gray beard and eyebrows that vaguely resembled caterpillars.

I got both my problems safely into the car. (For those of you keeping track, Eddie was problem number one. Timmy, as a toddler, automatically qualifies as a problem in any situation that involves moving from point A to point B.)

I’d come up with the Eddie-as-grandfather story solely to ease our departure from Coastal Mists, and, frankly, it hadn’t occurred to me that Eddie would adopt the story as his own, much less believe it. For that matter, I didn’t know if he really did believe it. All I knew was that as soon as I got him to the house, he made himself at home (witness the potato chips), tucked Timmy on his lap (who immediately continued his rapt inspection of the eyebrow insects), and told Allie that she looked just like her mother, and was I training her well?

To Allie’s credit she registered less shock at encountering the old man in the living room than I would have expected, and I deflected his questions by sending her upstairs to do homework before dinner. Eddie and I needed to have a talk, that much was for sure.

Unfortunately, Stuart got home before we could have the talk. (In case you’re wondering, springing elderly inlaws on unsuspecting spouses—particularly where you’re proposing a live-in arrangement of some unknown duration—is not the key to a laid-back evening.)

As usual, Stuart entered through the kitchen, his tie askew and his briefcase weighing heavy in his hand. I could see in his face that all he wanted to do was drop his stuff in his study and change into jeans and a T-shirt. Too bad for him, I wasn’t about to let him pass.

I cornered him near the refrigerator. He shot me a “later, honey” look and pushed past. I counted to five. Sure enough, as soon as he rounded the corner and saw Eddie on the couch with Tim, my husband backtracked. “Okay,” he said. “Who is he?”

And that of course, was when I started to regale him with the long-lost-grandfather-in-law story. Never once did I expect Eddie to announce that he was Stuart’s grandfather, or for me to gently correct him with, “No, Gramps, Eric’s your grandson, remember? Stuart’s my second husband.”

All of which would have been fine (well, relatively speaking) if Allie hadn’t overheard the whole thing. “Daddy’s grandpa?” Her tentative whisper sounded from behind me, and I drew in a breath. As I turned around, she moved toward him, then took his gnarled hand in her own. “You’re my daddy’s grandfather?”

Tears filled my eyes, and as I looked up at Stuart, I saw my own pain reflected there. His parents had been nothing but sweet to Allie, and I know she loved them dearly, but this was blood. A bond with the past that she’d never known existed (in part, of course, because it didn’t exist).

I had to tell her the truth, though. Eric and I had both been orphans. We didn’t know who our parents were, much less our grandparents. But as I started to take a step toward her, I hesitated. Allie’s eyes were bright, her cheeks pink, and when Eddie (who must have been quite the charmer in his day) told her she had her father’s eyes, I swear, she melted a little.

This was a lie, yes. But was it really so bad? Allie craved a heritage, after all, and that wasn’t something I ever thought I could give her. Somehow, though, I’d managed. I’d brought home a family history. So what if it was an illusion?

Besides, how did I know that Eddie wasn’t really Eric’s grandfather? Stranger things had happened. I know. They happened to me all the time.

***

With Allie and Eddie ensconced in the living room, Stuart decided it was time to recommence his interrogation of me. “Once again,” he said, “how long is Gramps going to be our houseguest? And why can’t he stay at a hotel?”

“Long story,” I said, then added a shhhh. “Do you want Allie to hear?” This is what’s known as a diversionary tactic.

“Don’t change the subject on me,” he said. As a lawyer, Stuart’s pretty adept at picking up on the nuances of diversion. Too bad for me.

I made a show of sighing. “I tried to call you,” I said. “Just after lunchtime. Your secretary said you’d stepped out.” This was where I expected him to take the opening and explain to me why he’d gone to the cathedral.

“Did you try my cell phone?”

“Urn, no,” I said. That wasn’t the comment I’d expected, although his answer did remind me that I had a nicely wrapped phone in the trunk with Allie’s name on it. First things first, though, and I came up with a reasonable-sounding fib. “My phone was dead.” I knew Stuart would understand. I didn’t bother to memorize numbers—I just kept them programmed in my phone. If mine had no juice, there was no way I could call Stuart or anyone else. I figure I’m doing good on any given day to keep track of all my kids’ various appointments. Adding the memorization of phone numbers would be cruel and unusual.

“Late lunch,” he said. “I met with some members of the zoning commission about a project, and some of them seemed amenable to talking politics—”

“And so you did,” I said. I lifted myself up on my toes and kissed his cheek. “Darling Stuart. Always campaigning.” My voice might be cheery, but my insides were churning. Not only had my husband not volunteered his business at the church, he’d flat out lied to me about where he’d been.

I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew that I sure as hell didn’t like it.

***

I spent the next two hours feeding my expanded-by-one family and pondering my own hypocrisy. By the time the meat loaf was gone and the string beans devoured (or, in Timmy’s case, mushed into tiny pieces and methodically dropped on the floor), I’d decided that while I had a Get Out of Jail Free card for my lying, my husband did not.

This conclusion, of course, only made me more frustrated.

Stuart wasn’t volunteering any information, and my very subtle hints to extract some (“Why don’t you join us for Mass on Sunday, sweetie? You really should go to the cathedral every week”) had failed miserably. I should have just asked him outright, but something in the pit of my stomach told me I wouldn’t like the answer.

Eddie ate nothing but mashed potatoes, while Allie snarfed down her food and then spent the rest of the meal staring at her newly acquired relative. At one point Eddie leaned over and pinched her upper arm. As Allie squealed, Eddie grunted with satisfaction. “This one can whack a demon. Mark my words. She’s a spitfire.” He smacked his lips, his eyes focused somewhere over my shoulder. “I knew a spitfire once. Reminds me of our Allie. Long brown hair. Lethal hands. And legs that could drive a man to—”

“Eddie.”

He snorted, but shut up. Allie, of course, looked both pleased and curious.

Great.

“Demons?” Stuart said. “What are you talking about?”

“Eddie used to be a cop,” I said, lying now coming almost naturally. “He and his friends called the bad guys demons.”

“Demons are the bad guys,” Eddie said. “And believe you me, I’ve known some bad ones in my time, that’s for sure.”

I opened my mouth to get a word in, but Eddie rambled on.

“Vile things. And the stench? Hoo-boy …” He made a waving motion as if to dispel the odor.

Stuart turned to me and mouthed (not very subtly, either) How long?

I punted, focusing on Eddie. “You’re not on the force anymore, Gramps,” I said. “And Allie certainly isn’t.”

Eddie peered at me, his eyes narrow, a smear of mashed potatoes beside his mouth. “Who are you? Where am I? WHERE’S MY HOLY WATER?”

Allie’s eyes widened, and I aimed a gentle smile in her direction. “Gramps is getting old, sweetie. Sometimes he loses touch.”

“A cop, huh?” Stuart said, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Allie looked from Eddie to me and back again, worry etched on her face. Finally she drew in a breath. “I could be a cop,” she said, in a small voice. “That’s cool. And tomorrow Cutter’s going to show me how to toss guys over my shoulder.” She was gathering steam, her initial trepidation fading. “Right, Mom?”

“Absolutely,” I said. Then, in case that just spurred Eddie on, I added, “Self-defense class,” for clarification.

Eddie reached over and patted Allie’s hand. “You’ll knock ‘em dead, little girl.” And when he flashed a tobacco-stained grin, I couldn’t help but cringe. If I had my way, Allie wouldn’t ever knock anything dead. And nothing dead would ever knock her, either.

But Eddie’s comment had been good, nonetheless, because I could see the discomfort drain away from Allie. She even scooted her chair a little closer. “Did you ever toss anyone over your shoulder, Gramps?”

He waved his hand (which, unfortunately, held a forkful of potatoes). “All the time,” he said. “Every single day.”

I almost called a stop to the conversation, but in the end I decided it was harmless enough. I concentrated on feeding Timmy, half-listening to Eddie and Allie’s fast-track bonding experience. They were in their own little world, Stuart and Timmy and me all but forgotten as Eddie offered Allie all sorts of tips for tossing those pesky bad guys over her shoulder.

Stuart shot me a you-got-us-into-this look, but I just smiled and pretended like this was the most normal thing in the world. After dinner, while Eddie supervised Allie’s clearing of the table, Stuart took my elbow and steered me into his study.

“You still haven’t answered me. Why?” he asked. “And how long?”

I couldn’t tell him the real truth—I think he knows something about Goramesh, and I can’t risk the demons deciding to kill him off—and so I told another one. “Because I had to. They were keeping him all drugged up. I couldn’t let him go on living like that.” As for the other question—how long?—for that, I had no answer.

Stuart studied my face for a while, then he reached out and pressed a palm to each of my cheeks, gently turning my face up until I was looking into his eyes. “It means that much to you?”

I nodded, blinking a bit, as tears stung my eyes.

“Okay, then. We’ll try and find someplace better suited. In the meantime he can stay here.” He turned, glancing toward the general direction of the kitchen. I knew he was thinking of Allie, and my heart melted just a little. I might not know what Stuart had been doing in the cathedral earlier, but I did know that he loved his family.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “We’re a team. I trust your decisions. I just wish I’d known before I came home and found him sprawled on the couch.”

“Right,” I said. “Sure. Sorry.” At this point you might think I’d tell him about Timmy. The whole “we’re a team” speech and all. But did I? No, I didn’t. Enrolling his son in day care was going to elicit a much more vigorous response than dragging home old Demon Hunters. And, quite honestly, I wasn’t up for it. Not right then. But I resolved to tell him tomorrow. Or, at the very least, the day after. And maybe by the time I finally got around to confessing, the Goramesh problem would be solved and KidSpace and I could go our separate ways. I could dream, couldn’t I?

We headed back toward the kitchen, with me hurrying more than Stuart. I didn’t really expect Eddie to say anything too revealing, and even if he did, I knew Allie wouldn’t believe him, but I wanted to be around just in case. Stuart pulled the door open, then flashed me a grin. “I’m glad you signed Allie up for the self-defense classes,” he said. “I like knowing she’ll be able to protect herself against the demons.”

I froze, my mouth hanging open.

But Stuart just winked at me, then shook his head. “Demons,” he muttered, his voice tainted with mirth. I’ll say this much for the guy—he’s got one hell of an imagination.”

***

“So he really said Eddie could stay?” Laura asked. She was leaning up against the bathroom counter while I sat on the closed toilet seat, my fingers deep in the pile of suds on Timmy’s head.

“Bubbles, Momma. Want more bubbles.”

“Hold on a sec, sport,” I said to Timmy. To Laura, I said, “That’s what he said. For now at least.”

“And day care? He was cool with that?”

I concentrated on forming a mohawk out of Timmy’s lathered hair. Laura, no dummy, leaned back and let out a low whistle. “You’re living dangerously.”

I shot her a quick glance over my shoulder. “On more than one count.”

“Yeah. No kidding. Seen any demons lately?”

“I’m a little curious about Nurse Ratched at the home, but if you mean did any sail through my windows today, then no.”

“What are you going to do? Go back and clean out the demons?”

I shook my head, my attention focused on Tim, who was singing “rubber ducky, you’re the one” at the top of his lungs. “No,” I said. “I got into this for one reason only. I’ll do what I can to stop Goramesh, and I’ll tell Larson so he can pass it up the food chain, but after that, I’m out of the demon biz.” I got out a washcloth and lathered my boy up. “They’ll find another Hunter,” I said. “They have to. I already have this life, and I’m not giving it up.”

I heard Laura moving behind me, adjusting things on the bathroom counter. “Did you find anything in the archives today?”

I gave her the CliffsNotes version, finishing with, “Not much to work with, huh?”

“Not from the demon end, but it rates high on the gossip meter.”

By this time I was toweling Timmy off, and I scooped his damp little body up and headed for his room. “Clark Curtis, you mean?” I plunked Timmy on the changing table, then crouched down to fish a diaper out of the bottom drawer.

“Yup. Wild, huh? There were all these rumors a while back that he was going to quit and run for state senate. But then he never did and he just kept running in the local elections.”

I shrugged. “That’s wild?” I’d expected something juicy. Gossip, in my opinion, needs a little more oomph.

“Sure. His father said over and over again how Clark was going to inherit his entire fortune, and then he goes and leaves everything to the Church? That’s the stuff of soap operas.”

“True,” I said. I’d had a similar thought myself. “But he seems perfectly content now,” I added. After all, he was doing the political thing and seemed to be making a success of it.

“Hmmm.” Laura leaned back against the counter, and I went back to my kid’s bottom. The rest of the house was pretty quiet. Stuart was in his study, and Allie and Mindy were camped out at the kitchen table doing homework. My family wasn’t my worry, though. I had things to do tomorrow, and I couldn’t do them with an eighty-five-year-old shadow.

“Laura,” I began, a wheedling tone to my voice.

“Oh, boy,” she said. “Here it comes.”

“Remember how you’d agreed to watch Timmy for two days? And remember how I took him to KidSpace today, so you only had to watch him for one?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted one eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could call in that marker.”

“I’m guessing we’re not talking a two-year-old.”

“About forty times that,” I said.

“Eddie.”

“Eddie,” I confirmed, trying to coax Timmy’s kicking feet into a pair of pajama bottoms. “I can’t leave him alone here.”

Laura took pity on me and dangled a toy over Tim’s head. He quit kicking and grabbed for it. “So you want what?”

“You were going to spend tomorrow bouncing around on the Internet, right? Can you do that from here? Set up my laptop at the kitchen table?”

“I could do that here,” she said. “What exactly do I get out of the deal again?”

I ensnared Timmy in a Bob the Builder pajama top and got it pulled over his head before he had time to howl. “My love and admiration,” I said to Laura. “Plus a lifetime of free desserts.”

“Sold,” she said. “But if he sprays me with holy water, you’re going to hear about it.”

I lifted Timmy to the ground, then patted his rump. He headed for the living room and story time on the couch. Laura and I followed. “Poor guy, believing he had holy water, and all along the nurses were just giving him tap water.” Her brow furrowed. “Do you think the nurses were just appeasing an old man? Or do you think they’re demons, too?”

Her words hit me with the force of a slap, and I stifled an urge to thwap the heel of my hand against my forehead. I grabbed her arm and tugged her back toward Timmy’s room, all the while hollering down the stairs for Allie to entertain her brother until I got there.

In the room, I pulled the door shut. I was almost bouncing with excitement, and I saw my own energy reflected in Laura’s face. “What?” she said. “What have you thought of?”

“The nurses aren’t demons,” I said. “They’re pets. Or some of them are.”

“Pets,” she repeated. “As in Fluffy and Fido?”

“Sort of,” I said. “But not really.”

“Kate. I’m going to grow old here …”

“Right. Sorry.” I ran my hands through my hair and started pacing Timmy’s room. “I should have realized this before. We don’t just need to be looking for Goramesh’s mysterious thing. We need to look for whoever’s going to be trying to get it for him.”

Laura blinked, and I realized I was going way too fast for her.

“Okay,” I said, “here’s the deal. Demons use humans. They can inhabit us when we die or they can possess us when we live or they can even move in and share space with us while we’re alive.”

“Eww!”

“I know. Time-sharing with a demon. Very yuck.” I waved my hand, pushing all those little educational tidbits away. “That’s not the point. The point is that demons don’t always take over humans. Sometimes they’ll just recruit people to do their dirty work.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Lots of reasons. Maybe they want a relic from a church to use in some gross demonic ritual.”

“So they’ll send a human to steal it?”

“Exactly,” I said. “And I’m betting that the people at the nursing home—most of them, at least—are just human. Most probably don’t even know there’s anything weird going on. But the others—”

“Like Nurse Ratched.”

I nodded. “—the others are the demons’ minions.”

She looked positively grossed out “Why?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? The lure of power? Immortality? Demons lie. The bait could be anything. The point is they do things for the demons. Things the demons can’t or won’t do.”

“But—” I saw it in her face the moment she made the connection. “Oh! So you’re saying Goramesh must have someone who’s going to schlep into the cathedral and get whatever this thing is that we’re looking for.”

“Exactly.”

“Any ideas?”

“Nope.” I frowned. “Well, not a legitimate one anyway.”

“I’ll settle for illegitimate,” she said.

At the moment, frankly, so would I. With nothing concrete to go on, though, conjecture seemed good enough. I hated to even voice the suspicion. I drew a breath. “I was just thinking about Clark. If he was expecting to inherit everything, but his father gave everything to the Church instead …” I trailed off, certain Laura would get my drift.

She didn’t disappoint. “And you know what they say about politicians—they’d sell their soul for a vote.” As soon as the words passed her lips, she gasped, then squeezed her eyes shut, obviously mortified. “Oh, shit, Kate. I didn’t mean—”

I shook my head, holding up a hand to ward off her words. The make-it-all-better mom in me wanted to pat her on the shoulder and tell her it was okay. I didn’t, though. Instead, I just stood there, her comment about politicians setting my thoughts to humming.

Stuart. The car accident he’d survived. His sudden and absolute certainty he’d win the election. And the mysterious trip to the cathedral archives.

I fought a shiver and closed my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. My husband couldn’t be in league with a demon.

Could he?

Chapter 16

“It’s possible, Kate,” Larson said. “I hate to say it, but it is very possible.”

I’d arrived at Larson’s office a few minutes before eight, wanting to catch him before he took the bench. I’d called and canceled with Cutter, telling him I’d see him this evening with the girls. Now, though, I was almost sorry I’d come. Although Larson was saying words I’d expected, they were still words I didn’t want to hear.

“But Stuart? He’s hardly even religious. He only goes to Mass when I prod him.”

“Is that supposed to be an argument against consorting with demons?” he asked. I frowned, but Larson continued. “You’re the one who pointed out his quick recovery from the car accident.”

“No. No way.” I shook my head so hard I almost wrenched my neck. “I was just tilting at windmills, wasn’t thinking clearly.” I rubbed my head, trying to ward off a massive migraine. “And besides, I saw him in the church after the accident. He didn’t die. He was barely even injured.”

“Perhaps the injury was minor, but the impact more than you realize. A man can change his thinking when faced with his own mortality.”

“A deal with the Devil? Stuart? I don’t think so.”

“Your husband is an ambitious man, Kate. If he thinks that Goramesh can help him …” He trailed off, leaving me to draw my own conclusions.

I didn’t like the conclusions that were slipping into my head despite all my efforts to keep them out.

“Watch him, Kate. But if the time comes, you must stop him. It’s imperative we discover what Goramesh is searching for, and that we get it safely to the Vatican. If Stuart were to get to it first—”

“You’re talking as if we’re sure he’s involved.” My heart seemed to tighten in my chest.

“Until we know for sure that he isn’t, we have to assume as much.”

The bailiff poked his head in then, checking to make sure Larson was ready to take the bench. He left to go work, and I left to…what? Sulk? Worry?

No, as much as I wanted to do all of that, I had those damn responsibilities.

I got in my car and headed for the cathedral.

My cell phone rang as I was parking the car, and when I checked the caller ID, I saw that the call was coming from my house. Had Allie missed her ride? Had Eddie come out of his funk? Had Stuart come home? Was he looking for me? Did he know I was on to him? For that matter, was there anything to be on to, or was I just being paranoid, and Larson along with me?

I waited another ring and then pushed the talk button. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.” Laura’s voice. (She would have been my next guess.)

“Do you have news?”

“You-know-who is driving me nuts,” she said, her voice just a hair above a whisper.

I cringed. “Sorry about that. What’s he doing?”

“Hovering,” she said. “He’s watching television right now. He just keeps circling me and looking over my shoulder, and then he’ll mumble something about demons and go change the channel. It’s freaky, Kate.”

“Sorry,” I said again, uselessly. “Do you want me to come home?’

“No, no. I’ll be fine. Did you talk to him before you left this morning?”

“He was still asleep. How’s he look?”

“Better, actually. He’s driving me nuts, but he’s not spouting off as much. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think he’s clearer.”

“Good.” Better than good, actually. I needed Eddie not to be nuts. Especially if Larson’s (okay, my) suspicions about Stuart were true, I couldn’t afford to have Eddie revealing secrets. (That train of thought prompted another round of guilt. How could I think that about Stuart? My husband. Timmy’s father. The man I’d vowed to love, honor, and cherish. He wasn’t that ambitious. Was he? Was he?)

I drew in a breath and tried to get off that line of thinking. “Was that why you called? To report about Eddie?”

“Nope. Two things. Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Oh, please. The good news.”

“I found out that Brother Michael used to live at a monastery just outside of Mexico City. And guess what?”

“It’s the one that was recently ravaged by demons?” This was good news.

“Yup.” I could hear the excitement in her voice. “So that’s a connection, right?”

“It’s great,” I said. I kept my voice enthusiastic, but in reality, I wasn’t sure where to go from there. We already knew there was a connection. This confirmed it, but didn’t really add anything new. I wasn’t about to burst Laura’s bubble, though. “So what’s the bad news?”

“You’re hosting a playdate. Here. At three—”

“Shit.” I’d totally forgotten. I always check my calendar. Always, always, always. Except today.

Damn, what was I thinking? (Actually, I knew the answer to that one. I was thinking about demons, and the possibility that my husband, who I thought I knew so well, had hooked up with one. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose I had an excuse for forgetting a four-child playdate at which I was supposed to provide snacks, but that didn’t make me feel a whole lot better.)

“Did I screw up? Should I have canceled for you?”

“No, no. It’s my fault. I should have canceled days ago. I just forgot all about it.” I wondered vaguely what else I’d forgotten about, but decided it didn’t matter. Obviously, all my various obligations would eventually come and knock on my door.

We chatted a few more minutes, and I decided I’d hit the archives for a couple of hours, then the grocery store (cupcakes, Teddy Grahams, fruit, and juice boxes). After that, I’d pick up Timmy and head home. Laura promised to hang around, just in case Eddie decided to slip back into demon paranoia and scare all the kids (or the parents) to death.

As soon as I hit the button to end the call, it rang again. I clicked back on, expecting Laura. “Did you forget something?”

“Nope,” Allie said. “This is so amazingly cool, Mom!”

I chuckled. When I’d given her the cell phone, I’d told her it was for emergencies only. But I should have known she couldn’t resist one or two calls.

“I’m glad you approve,” I said. “But what’s the emergency?”

“Huh?”

“Are you supposed to be using the phone without danger to life or limb?”

“Oops.”

I should have said something then, but I was too busy trying not to laugh.

“Well, I do sort of have an emergency.”

Considering the way my week was going, you’d think I would have tensed at that statement. But I knew my kid well. This emergency was no emergency. This emergency was an excuse to tread the wireless airwaves. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. What’s the emergency?”

“Can me and Mindy go to the mall after school? Please, oh please, oh please?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, Mom. Please!”

“Alison Crowe, do you even remember our deal?”

(Long silence.)

“Allie …”

“Um, what deal is that?”

Would it not have been so painful, I would have beat my head against the steering wheel. “Our deal that self-defense class comes first, and anything else you may have planned gets bumped.”

“Oh. That deal.”

“Mmmm.”

“We could go after …” That in a small, tentative voice.

I felt myself caving and struggled to remain strong. “What’s so important at the mall tonight?”

(Another long silence. This time, I had a feeling I knew why. Boys.)

“Allie …?”

“Stan’s gonna be working tonight. We just want to say hi. Maybe have a Coke during his break.”

“We?”

“Mindy and me.”

I shook my head wearily. Only fourteen, and already my daughter was tag-teaming boys. Oh, well. At least she wasn’t sneaking off by herself. (For that matter, at least she wasn’t pregnant. That was a boy-girl-adolescent reality I really didn’t want to contemplate.)

“Is this the theater concession guy?” If so, I was going to have to say no. He might be a perfectly nice guy, but he had smelly breath, and that made him off limits until I was absolutely sure that it was just halitosis and not rampant demon stench.

“Oh, Mom. That’s Billy, and he’s so not the bomb.”

I presumed that meant he wasn’t her type. “So who is the guy?”

“He works at The Gap, and he’s so hot. Please, Mom. Please? He asked me specifically if I was going to be there. He likes me, Mom.”

“Is he a freshman, too?”

Another one of those pauses.

“Allie, believe it or not I have things to do today. Is he in your class?”

“I think he’s a senior,” she said.

“You think?”

“Well, I’ve only met him after school, but he hangs with the seniors, and if he likes me, then I can hang with them, too, and oh, Mom, you’re not going to say no, are you?”

She was talking so fast, I had to slow her words down in my head and replay them. I didn’t like the sound of this, but neither did I see an easy out. Parenting is a bit like walking a tightrope. Too little control and you fall right off. Too much, and you overcompensate and can’t move at all.

“Fine,” I finally said. “You can go. But I’m coming, too.”

I expected to hear a Mo-om, followed by another protest. Instead, she just sighed, then said, “Okay. Whatever. Thanks.”

I smiled, victorious. “Love you, sweetie. And shouldn’t you be in class?”

“First period’s study hall,” she said.

“Then go study something. And don’t make any more phone calls unless there’s blood or serious bodily injury.”

“Whatever, Mom,” she said, then hung up.

I glanced at the phone, the full import of what I’d just done settling in. I’d just agreed to spend an evening at the mall.

I think demons would be easier.

***

Since I didn’t have much time in the archives (what with the forgotten playdate), I decided to take a different approach. I figured it was a (relatively) safe bet that Goramesh wasn’t looking for papers. And, frankly, I was bored reading them.

Instead, I went through boxes one by one, pulling off each lid, and then moving to the next box if that one held only paper. I probably should have done this from the get-go, but I’d assumed that anything Goramesh might want would have been pulled for the archivist, and my best bet was to scour the paperwork looking for a clue. I hadn’t changed my mind about that, but the thought of reviewing more musty paper really didn’t appeal to me. I justified my diversion by telling myself that I might get lucky.

As it turned out, I did find some cool things, but nothing that jumped out as demon-worthy. I even found the carton with the little gold box that Mike Florence had donated to the Church. When I’d originally read the description on the IRS list, I’d been keen to look at it, but now that I held it, I wasn’t as impressed. When I opened it, I was even less excited. All I found was something that looked like ash. Some, weird kind of urn, maybe?

I continued with this extremely scintillating task for another hour. (This weekend I was begging access from Father Ben, and I was going to make Larson come down here with me. Fair is fair.) Then, discouraged, I gathered my things. I paused for a minute in front of the archive cases, thinking how much easier it would be if everything in the basement archive was nice and clean and in lighted glass cases. But it wasn’t. Oh, well. At least I had it better than those martyrs, now hanging out in their cloth pouches.

Thinking about the martyrs steeled me. I wasn’t about to end up defeated. Goramesh was not going to win. I was going to stop him. Somehow, I was going to bring this to a close.

Reinvigorated, I headed to the rectory and tracked down Father Ben. I was hoping he’d tell me that Clark had been skulking around the archives as well. But no, apparently the only ones interested in the basement lately were me and Stuart.

This didn’t bode well. Not for my plans to defeat Goramesh.

And, more important it didn’t look good for my marriage.

***

As a Demon Hunter, I’ve been exposed to some pretty exhausting situations. Days without sleep while I staked out a demon nest. Chasing vamps down winding alleys in Budapest. All the usual stuff. But I’m here to tell you that none of that compares with the exhaustion and chaos of a playdate for four rambunctious two-year-olds.

An hour in, and the kids finally settled down (“settling down” being defined as “corralled in the den with enough toys to fill a Wal-Mart”) and the other moms and I gathered around the kitchen table with coffee and the last few cupcakes that hadn’t been poked and prodded by sticky toddler fingers.

I’d just taken my first sip of coffee and was reveling in the normalcy of it all when Timmy’s familiar howl echoed from the den. I was on my feet in seconds, my first thought of demons dispelled the moment I entered the room.

There stood my little boy, arms akimbo, head tossed back, mouth wide open. And right beside him, little Danielle Cartright clutched Boo Bear and was grinning like a fiend.

(I’m not big on criticizing kids, but Danielle is a pain in the patoot, and I feel sorry for whatever man she grows up and marries. I blame her mom, of course, and I do feel sorry for her dad. At the moment, though, I just felt sorry for Timmy.)

“Danielle,” I said, since her mother was noticeably silent, “why don’t you give Timmy back his bear, please.”

“NO!” Not only did she scream the response, she ran to the far side of the room, climbed into a chair, and sat on the bear. What a little charmer.

Her mother, Marissa, came up behind me. “She’s in a grabby stage,” she said, as if this would entirely solve the problem and dry my kid’s tears.

“Maybe you could ungrab her,” I said, trying very hard not to scream myself. Of course, I did have to scream a little, because Timmy’s howls had increased to an eardrum-bursting decibel level, and he’d raced my way. I scooped him up, but even Mommy’s presence couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

“He really shouldn’t be so attached to a toy,” Marissa said.

I bristled, muscles tensing as I imagined her fresh linen suit with a big old footprint about chest level. A hand closed over my shoulder, and I heard a soft, “Hey, Timmy. Calm down, okay?”

Laura. She and Eddie had been on the computer in Stuart’s study, and she must have heard the commotion. Me being no dummy, I knew that the “calm down” comment was meant as much for me as it was for Timmy.

“We’re calm,” I said, aiming a get-the-bear-back-or-die-you-bitch smile toward Marissa.

“Let me see if I can convince Danielle that she should give the bear back,” Marissa said, apparently sensing danger.

“Great idea,” I said.

I then watched in fascinated horror as she spent fifteen minutes trying to negotiate with her two-year-old. The end result? No bear.

The play date was officially over by now, and the other moms (probably smelling blood) said their good-byes and rushed their offspring out. Marissa didn’t seem to clue in on either the inconvenience or my irritation. She was, however, still crouched in front of her kid trying gamely to recover Boo Bear. By this time Timmy had cried himself out, and I settled him on the sofa, promising that Boo Bear was just visiting Danielle and would return to him soon.

I wanted to shove Marissa out of the way and tear the bear from Danielle’s hot little hands, but I knew that wasn’t the Emily Post-approved solution. And so I waited, my fury with Marissa building as she wheedled and needled and generally trained her daughter to grow up to be a selfish little twit (poor kid). Finally, after a period of time resembling the length of your average ice age, Marissa promised the girl ice cream and a new toy and a pony ride at the zoo. After which, Danielle climbed out of her chair and, just as pretty as you please, marched over to Timmy and shoved Boo Bear in his face.

“Thank you,” Timmy said (and he said it without prompting, not that she deserved to be thanked).

I played polite hostess all the way to the door, but the second I closed and locked it, I turned to Laura. “That woman is a—”

“You can’t kill her.”

“If she were a demon, I could.” And boy, did I wish she were.

“She’s not a demon.”

I glanced back to where Timmy was sitting, curled on the couch, thumb in his mouth, a forlorn expression drawn across his face. My heart twisted in my chest. “She is to me,” I said. “She sure as hell is to me.”

***

The girls may have gone upstairs together, but only Allie came down dressed to work out. Mindy was still in her school clothes, and both Laura and I examined her quizzically. “Going for the realistic approach?” I asked. “You’re more likely to get mugged in your street clothes, but I think you’ll learn better in shorts and a T-shirt.”

Mindy became suddenly fascinated with my carpeting. “I’m not sure I want to go.”

“Not go?” Laura said. “What do you mean you’re not going to go?”

Mindy shrugged, her eyes wide, obviously not understanding her mother’s sudden fascination with the wonderful world of kickboxing.

Allie had sidled over toward me, and I raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “She’s scared of looking stupid in front of Cutter,” Allie whispered. “She thinks he’s cute.”

“Mindy Jo Dupont,” Laura prompted. “Kate put a lot of effort into getting you signed up for this class. Now, why don’t you want to go?”

“I just have so much homework.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “You know.”

“What I know, young lady, is that there are all kinds of creeps and weirdos out there in the world.” Laura spoke with a force I barely recognized, but I knew its source well enough. I’d tainted her safe little world. And that was something I could never change back.

“You’re going to class and you’re going to learn how to defend yourself.” She turned around to look at me, her face glowing from her maternal power trip. “In fact, if there’s room in the class, I think I’ll join you.”

Mindy and Allie didn’t even attempt to hide their amazement. For my part, I wasn’t so much amazed as surprised. I’d been firmly of the belief that neither hell nor high water would get Laura to anything remotely resembling an exercise class.

Apparently I’d been wrong about the hell part of the equation.

“I’m impressed,” I whispered to her later as the girls clambered into the van. “You. Exercising. In public.”

She made a face. “You laugh, but I know the score. It’s always the comic relief who gets nailed. I’ve seen enough movies to know that.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “And this is one sidekick who isn’t going down without a fight.”

***

“Good going there, girlie!” From the sidelines, Eddie cheered Allie on. Beside him, Timmy was turning somersaults on a mat Cutter had spread out for him.

After warming up, Cutter had moved on to the nitty-gritty, showing the class how to break free if someone grabs your wrist. Allie managed the maneuver (pulling your arm up and away so that you take advantage of the attacker’s thumb, the weakest link) and I was applauding wildly as well.

“Now let’s try your mom,” Cutter said.

I shook my head. He was baiting me, but I wasn’t about to fall for it. As much as I wanted to hit someone (thank you, Marissa), as far as Allie was concerned, I was a novice here, too.

Cutter caught me from behind and I pushed off, using a stance and a move that—had I done it right—would have tossed him over my shoulder and landed him on the mat. Not so today.

“Come on, Mom! You nailed him last time.”

“Beginner’s luck,” I said as Cutter wrestled me down to the mat

“Beginner’s luck, my ass,” Cutter said. “I’m going to figure this out you know.”

He spoke in a whisper, and I answered the same way. “Not unless I want you to, you won’t.”

From his grimace, I knew he believed me. “Focus on the girls and Laura,” I said. “I can take care of myself.”

To his credit he did (with Eddie shouting encouragement from the sidelines, including the occasional, “Oh, yeah, that one’ll make one hell of a Hunter”). Fortunately, Allie was too busy sweating to concentrate on Eddie’s bizarre comments. Either that, or she’d learned to take him in stride.

By the end of the hour I thought the girls had a pretty good start. At the very least they’d each gotten the yell down. (Which, actually, is a key component of any self-defense move. The yell strengthens your abs and puts more force behind the kick. It’s all about the abs, you know.)

After the lesson the girls were bouncy and glowing (girls glow, boys sweat), chattering on about how cool Cutter was, and how cool they were, and how they’d beat the crap out of anyone who messed with them. Another mom might think this was a bad thing. I was all for it.

Because the glow really was sweat, we had to head home before going to the mall so the girls could shower and primp. Usually the dressing to meet a boy process takes upward of two hours, but since we were working under a deadline here (the mall closes at nine on weekdays), the girls allotted themselves an unheard-of thirty minutes.

Laura and Mindy crossed the yard to their house, and while Timmy watched a Blue’s Clues video, I waited with Eddie in the kitchen for Allie to come back downstairs. Eddie’s outbursts had slowed down, and he seemed less fuzzy. I’d been wanting to ask him questions—What exactly was going on at Coastal Mists? Did he have any expertise on Goramesh? Did he have any clue as to what Goramesh was looking for?—but this was the first time we’d really had any privacy.

I puttered around making tea, trying to figure out the best way to start the conversation.

“Earl Grey,” Eddie said. “None of that sissy herbal tea for me.”

“No problem.”

“Don’t know why anyone drinks that stuff,” he said, muttering to the tabletop. “Damn pansy-ass drink.” He looked up at me. “What are you drinking?”

“Nothing pansy-assed, that’s for sure.”

“Hmmph.” His eyes narrowed, the bushy eyebrows drawing down to form a V over his nose. “No pansy drink, but you got a pansy-ass life.”

I started. “Excuse me?”

“You told me you were a Hunter. You’re no Hunter. Family. House. All the trappings.” He spoke as if that were a bad thing. “I thought it all might be a facade—that you might be training the girl—but no, you’re out of the game.”

“I’m retired, thank you very much.”

He snorted. “Like I said. Pansy-ass.”

“Watch it, Lohmann,” I said. “I can drive you back to Coastal Mists just as fast as I got you out of there.”

He snorted. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said, but there wasn’t a lot of force behind my words.

“So why’s a retired Hunter looking for me?” He waggled his eyebrows shamelessly. “A little noogie?”

I laughed, my irritation with him fading. “You’re a lot of things, Eddie, but boring, you’re not.”

He adjusted his glasses on his nose, then leaned back in his chair. “Story time, girlie. What are you doing back in the game?”

As openings went, I couldn’t really expect much better, and I gave him the rundown, starting with Wal-Mart and moving more or less chronologically to the present. “Any ideas?” I asked after I finished. Above us, the shower had stopped. I’d talked fast, but not that fast. Any minute Allie might magically appear beside us. I hoped he had some answers. Even more, I hoped they were quick.

“Ideas …” He trailed off, smacking his lips. “Nope. Not a single idea.”

I deflated a bit. I’d been hoping so hard. But at least that answer was quick. “That’s okay. It was worth a shot.”

He snorted again. “Got ants in your pants, girl? I’m not finished. I said I don’t have an idea, but I don’t need one, either. Nope. I don’t need ideas because I already know exactly what that damn demon wants.”

He shut up, then, and took a sip of his tea.

I wanted to smack the china cup right out of his hand. “What?” I hissed, frantic for answers. “If you know, for God’s sake, tell me!”

“The Lazarus Bones,” he said, as if that were the only possible answer.

I just looked at him and blinked. What the hell were the Lazarus Bones?

***

Naturally, I didn’t have time to ask before Laura and Mindy reappeared. I considered steering Eddie into Stuart’s study, closing the door, and demanding answers. But that would have left me open to severe bodily harm by the girls, who were desperate to get to the mall before they missed Stan’s break.

Fine. Whatever.

I left a note for Stuart (who was working late on what I no longer necessarily assumed was legal or political stuff), and then we all piled into the van. Because Allie insisted, I parked near the food court and we headed there first. Since I’d had nothing to eat all day except for one overly iced cupcake, the food court sounded pretty darn appealing.

Not that I was going to be allowed food. I soon learned that Timmy, Eddie, Laura, and I were supposed to sit at a faraway table, trying our best not to look toward the girls’ table in case Stan realized we were checking him out. “Look casual,” Allie said. “Just some shoppers who aren’t in the least bit related to us.”

“Right,” Mindy added. “We don’t want him to know we came with our moms.”

“Perish the thought,” Laura said dryly.

“Exactly,” Mindy answered, completely serious.

And so we waited. And waited. And waited some more. I wanted to get up to get some French fries, but I was under strict instructions from my daughter to stay where I could keep her and Mindy in view for when Stan came by. I might lack a coolness factor of my own, but she still wanted to show the boy off to me.

I was both bemused and flattered. Mostly, though, I was hungry.

My curiosity, however, was even stronger than my hunger, and since Mindy and Allie were a good five tables away, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some answers from Eddie. So far, of course, he hadn’t said another word. (Correction, he’d said plenty of words, commenting randomly about anything and everything as we drove from my house to the mall. He had not, however, said another word about the Lazarus Bones.)

Now Eddie was just sitting there, his cane leaning against his thigh, his spritzer bottle of holy water on the table in front of him. Since I wasn’t into this coy bullshit, I asked him point blank. “What are the Lazarus Bones?”

Laura looked at me with curiosity, but she didn’t interrupt.

“The bones of Lazarus,” Eddie said. His face was deadly serious, but I thought I saw a twinkle in his eyes. He might be amused, but I wasn’t. I’d long passed the point of finding humor in the situation; I just wanted it over. And fast. And without anyone else (well, anyone human) getting hurt.

“That much I garnered,” I said. “Why does Goramesh want them?”

“He told you that,” Eddie said. He rested his palm on the top of his cane as he leaned forward. “The real question is for you, girl. Why are you looking for it?”

I leaned back, surprised by the question. “Well, to find it before Goramesh does, obviously. And then we’ll get it to the Vatican. It’ll be safe there.”

He nodded, his head bobbing and bobbing until I wasn’t quite sure he was going to stop. Then he smacked his lips. “Seems to me it’s pretty safe where it is.”

“Maybe now, but not for long. Look what Goramesh did to the monastery and that Mexican cathedral.”

“Eh.” This was accompanied by a very Gallic lifting of the shoulders.

“Eh, nothing,” I said. “This is my town. That’s my church. I’m not going to stand back and let it—”

“He can’t,” Eddie said.

“What?”

“If he could, he already would have.”

“Goramesh can’t attack the cathedral,” Laura said. Her voice held a bit of awe, and she was looking at Eddie with new respect. “That makes sense,” she said, this time to me. “The saints in the mortar. That’s got to be bad news for demons.”

She definitely had a point. “But that doesn’t mean Goramesh won’t find this thing, the Lazarus Bones.” It felt strange giving a name to the item. Before it had just been it or the bones. “He has human minions. We’re sure of it.” I didn’t tell him I feared that my husband might be a minion.

“If it’s been hidden, it will stay hidden,” he said stubbornly. “Don’t go messing with things you know nothing about.”

I decided to switch gears. “At least tell me why a High Demon wants the bones.”

“I already told you,” Eddie said. “What? You need to clean your ears out?”

“Right, right The army rising up. What’s that got to do with Lazarus? Other than that he rose from the dead?”

Eddie reached into his mouth and removed his teeth, then sat them on the table next to the holy water spritzer. “Damn things cut into my gums,” he said, his voice now lispish and soft.

“Eddie,” I pressed. “Tell me.”

“I’m telling,” he said. “Don’t get your knickers in a snit.”

I held out my hands, twirling one in a come on already motion.

“Raising the dead,” he said. “The Lazarus Bones can raise the dead.”

The answer made sense, and I probably should have guessed it, but to hear it spoken out loud …

I drew in a sharp breath.

“That’s not all,” Eddie said. “The bones regenerate the flesh, too.”

“My master’s army …” I trailed off, thinking of the first demon.

“You mean, like dead dead?” This from Laura. “Six feet under for God knows how long? Bugs and creepy crawlies? Formaldehyde?”

“Yup,” Eddie said. “Fixes ‘em right up. Soul’s long gone, so the bodies won’t put up a fight. And once the body rejuvenates, who’s going to know?”

“Holy shit,” Laura said, which summed up my sentiments nicely.

“But…but …” I floundered for something to say. This was bad. (How’s that for an understatement?) If Goramesh got his hands on the bones, he could become corporeal. His demonic minions could become corporeal. And suddenly they’d be able to do that without waiting for humans to die. Without fighting exiting souls. They just slip inside.

Not good. Not good at all.

“But …” I tried again. “But how can you be so sure? Larson never mentioned any Lazarus Bones. And neither did Father Corletti. And I sure as hell have never heard of them.”

“No reason you would’ve,” Eddie said. Something shifted in his features, a sadness that washed through him and added another ten years to his face. “I’m the only one alive who knows.”

Laura leaned in. “How can that be?”

Eddie looked over at the girls (I admit, I’d pretty much forgotten about Stan). “The boy’s still a no-show,” he said. “Looks like I’ve got time to fill you in.

“Back in the fifties,” Eddie began, “Forza sent me to help pack up relics in a cathedral in New Mexico before the government started atomic testing. Just in case. Typical duty.” He nodded at me. “You know.”

“Sure.” Hunters often do that kind of work. Because demons like to get their hands on relics to use in twisted demonic ceremonies, the Church will send a Hunter whenever a collection is being moved off site.

“I was working out of a cathedral in Mexico when I got assigned to that job. The rest of the team came to Mexico for briefing. Me, a priest, an art historian, and an archivist. We left Mexico for the States, and we were at the New Mexico site for over a month. First week we struck pay dirt. Hidden behind a loose stone in the cathedral sacristy we found a wooden crate and a papyrus note. Took forever for Zachary to translate it, but he did.”

“The Lazarus Bones,” I said.

He nodded. “Actual bones of Lazarus. I did my research later, found out how Lazarus was buried at Larnaca, then moved to Constantinople. After that, folks lost track. Somehow, the bones made it to the New World.”

Laura’s eyes were wide. “What happened?”

“Betrayal,” Eddie said. He closed his eyes and I saw his chest rise and fall as he composed himself. “I still don’t know who or why. All I know is we were attacked. The papyrus was destroyed. Our historian and archivist were killed. Damn bloody battle. Damn bloody demons—”

“But you and the priest? You survived.”

“And we had the crate.” He shook his head, as if warding off memories. “We were injured, close to dying, but I knew where we had to go. Far away, and someplace secure. Someplace they couldn’t get in.”

“San Diablo,” I said. “The sainted mortar.”

He nodded. “I couldn’t make it, though. Father Michael took it the rest of the way.”

“Brother Michael,” I whispered. “He revealed San Diablo, but he died rather than tell them exactly where the urn is.”

“So where is it?” Laura asked, voicing the question of the hour. “Let’s just go get it and get Larson and get it out of this town.”

“I don’t know,” Eddie said. “I never saw or spoke to Michael again. He made it here. But that’s all I know.”

I frowned, wanting to argue with him, to tell him he had to know because I had no clues.

“Leave it be, Kate. It’s not meant to be disturbed. And you have other responsibilities.” As he spoke, he nodded toward the far side of the food court, and I realized that the elusive Stan had finally joined Allie and Mindy.

I twisted around, wanting to get a good look at this mysterious hunk. And when I did, my breath caught in my throat and fear licked over me like a flame.

There, at the table with my daughter and her best friend, sat my Richie Cunningham demon. Todd Stanton Greer, recently deceased, and looking none the worse for wear.

Chapter 17

Shit, shit, SHIT!

I leaped to my feet, ready to pummel the fiend, then immediately sat down again. It was a long way across the food court, and if Greer saw me coming, he might just kill my daughter. I needed a better plan, and I needed one that didn’t involve Greer recognizing me.

Shit.

I shifted my chair, putting my back toward the demon. My insides were trembling, and I’m sure I was sweating.

“Kate?” Laura looked at me, concern in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“That’s him. That’s the demon who attacked me by my trash cans,” I said, my voice a low whisper.

Laura took another look, and I sneaked a peek, too— just as Stan sprayed a burst of Binaca into his mouth. “Holy shit,” Laura said.

“No kidding.”

“Holey sheet!” Timmy banged a little fist down onto the table. “You got holey sheets, Momma?”

“Something like that, kid,” I said, then to Laura and Eddie, “I need to get him away from her. But I can’t let him see me. Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

“Dammit,” Timmy mimicked, but this time I barely even noticed.

“Should I go?” Laura said. “Maybe tell her there’s a fifteen-minute-only sale at the Gap? That Tim’s sick and we have to go home? What? What should I do?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I glanced at Eddie, but he’d been completely silent during the whole exchange. For all I knew, he’d drifted back into his own little world. I stifled a sigh and focused on Laura again. “What’s he doing now?”

She shifted slightly, peering over my shoulder for a better view. “Still talking to Allie,” she said. “But Mindy’s on her way over here.”

That did it. I plunked Timmy onto the ground and started to rise to my feet. No way was my little girl spending any time alone with that thing.

A gentle tug at my arm stopped me.

Eddie.

“Wait,” he said, and then fell silent again.

“Wait? Wait for what?” I started to rise again, getting to my feet at the same time Mindy arrived.

“I think he really likes her,” she said happily. “Isn’t he a cutie?”

I withheld comment.

“Why aren’t you over there, too?” Laura asked.

Mindy shrugged. “You know. I was getting a vibe. And three’s a crowd.”

My blood was boiling and I was sure I must be turning beet red. A vibe? What kind of vibe?

Mindy continued to chatter on. “So, like, can I wait for you guys in the bookstore?”

Laura caught my eye and I nodded. “Sure,” she said.

“Watch Timmy,” I said as soon as Mindy was out of earshot.

I turned on my heel and found myself face-to-face with Eddie. “I’m going to get her.” I said, even though he’d obviously already clued in to that fact.

He jabbed his cane down on my foot, hard enough to bruise. “Think, girl.”

“Ow.” I stifled the urge to kick back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Handling this.” He nodded toward the table. “Now sit down. And when the girl comes, get her out of here fast.”

“What are you going to—”

“Sit.”

I sat. And although I needed to keep my face hidden from the demon, I had to see what was going on. I put my purse on the table, shifted my chair around, then propped my chin in my palms, so that my fingers covered most of my face.

Across the table Timmy mimicked me, but I was essentially oblivious. Right now Timmy had Laura to watch him, but my little girl only had one partly senile old man to protect her from the bad guys.

I started to rise, but this time it was Laura who pushed me back down. “If the demon starts to walk away with Allie, then go. Otherwise, let the old man do his thing.”

She was right. I knew she was right. (They both were.) And so I gave in to that helpless feeling, watching as someone else held my baby’s fate in his hands.

“What’s he doing?” I asked. Eddie had completely passed their table, heading instead for a cookie stand. He talked to the vendor, gave him some money, and received two cups of soda in return.

I gaped at him, my blood pressure rising. What the hell was he doing?

Eddie hooked his cane over his arm and shuffled toward Allie’s table. She looked up at him with a smile. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it was obvious from her hand gestures that she was introducing Eddie as her great-grandfather.

How nice. How charming. Now hurry up and deal with the demon!

Apparently, Eddie wasn’t receiving my mental commands. He stood there a bit longer, slightly swaying, then held up the sodas as if showing them off. Then he put one in front the demon, and one in front of Allie, patted Allie on the shoulder, then turned back to demon boy. From his stance and expression, I was pretty sure he was making “nice to meet you” small talk.

And then Eddie took a step backward, left the kids’ table, and started walking toward me.

I got to my feet.

Laura grabbed my arm and tugged me back down. “Wait,” she said. “Just wait.”

I gritted my teeth and stifled the urge to slug her.

So far, though, the kids were staying put, so at least I could keep an eye on Allie.

Eddie returned then, and I glared up at him. “Well? What was that all about?”

He shot me a hard look, and I had a glimpse of the steel underneath the feeble exterior. “Just wait,” he said. “And watch.”

I did, trepidation building as the kids talked and sipped their sodas. Allie was leaning forward, her body language practically screaming that she liked this guy. I fidgeted in my seat. If something didn’t happen soon, I’d be experiencing massive coronary failure (which, I supposed, would at least shift Allie’s attention away from the demon).

Still nothing.

And nothing.

The two of them just kept on chatting and sipping soda. I fisted my hands at my side. What were they talking about? It’s not like they had anything in common. Stan was a vile, hell-bound demon, and my daughter was a high school freshman who went to mass semiregularly (and would, I decided, be going a lot more often).

“That’s it,” I said. I pushed out of my seat and stood up. At the same time I saw Stan’s head snap up and his eyes fix on me. There was blood in Stan’s eyes, and he was out of his seat, too. Allie followed suit, and I could hear her, “Are you okay?” even from all this distance.

He wasn’t okay, of course. He was a demon.

He took a step toward my daughter, and I knew Greer wouldn’t hesitate to attack in public. And he’d do it out of spite for me.

I lunged forward.

“Kate!” Laura cried, but I didn’t hear her. Her words were drowned out completely by the anguished, guttural howl from the demon.

He dropped to his knees, his hands raised and his head thrown back. A rumble—like indigestion on steroids— spilled from his open mouth, and he cursed, Latin invectives spewing forth like fiery bits of vitriol.

Beside him, Allie backed away, her hand to her mouth. He turned and looked at her, his face contorted.

“Holy water in the pop,” Eddie said beside me. “Gets ‘em every time.”

A nice trick, but I didn’t have time to think about it. That was one pissed-off demon, and who knew what he’d do. “Allie!” I screamed. “Get over here now.”

“Little bitch!” he howled, his words directed more to me than to Allie. “What have you done to me? What. Have. You. Done.”

Allie didn’t wait around to hear his question, though. She was already in my arms by the time his last word was out.

With my daughter’s head pressed against my chest, I watched with mixed fascination and horror (and, yes, a definite sense of relief and victory) as Stan stumbled to his feet. For a moment I feared he’d come after us, but he lurched toward the exit. I considered following, but I knew it wasn’t necessary. Todd Stanton Greer would be dead (again) within hours. The demon gone. And the boy finally buried.

In my arms Allie trembled. “What a total freakazoid,” she said. “What was his damage, anyway?”

“I don’t know, baby,” I said, stroking her hair. “But it’s over now.”

She sighed. “He seemed so nice.”

“Sometimes you just can’t tell about people,” I said. I took her hand as we walked away. It wasn’t a particularly good answer, but right then, it was the only one I had.

***

I couldn’t sleep.

Too much going on in my world. Too many pieces hanging loose in my life. And so I ended up tossing and turning in an empty bed. Stuart was once again working late in his study, and my paranoia had reached epidemic proportions.

I curled up, hugging my pillow and trying not to think about what I would do if the man I’d chosen to spend the rest of my life with was consorting with demons. I couldn’t believe I’d been so wrong about the character of the man I loved, but all the evidence pointed to Stuart’s turning bad.

I shivered, not wanting to think about that. Instead, I concentrated on other things, like trying to figure out where Brother Michael could have hidden the Lazarus Bones. I had no ideas, but that got me thinking about the bones and bodies rising from the dead and demons taking over San Diablo and the world and the whole thing going to hell (literally) in a handbasket.

Not fun thoughts.

But also not something I intended to let happen.

Unfortunately, I still didn’t know where to begin.

At some point I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, the bed shifted as Stuart sat down on his side.

I rolled over, then propped myself up on one elbow. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey yourself.”

“What have you been working on?”

“Land deal,” he said. “The usual.”

“Oh.” I pushed myself up and plumped my pillow against the headboard, then leaned back. “Want to talk about it?”

“It’s dull, Kate. And it’s late.”

“Oh.” I pressed my lips together and tried to decide where to go from here. I ended up choosing the direct approach. I didn’t have a lot to lose, after all. “Is something on your mind?” I asked. “Something going on you’re not telling me about?”

“Why on earth would you say that?” he asked, his tone sounding genuinely perplexed. I would’ve been fooled, too, except that he adjusted the covers instead of looking at me.

“Usually you talk about your work. Hell, usually you bore me with your work.” I didn’t say that usually I tuned him out. That was a little too much honesty. “But you’ve been days without saying a word. I’m afraid something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Except that I’m tired. Can we go to sleep?”

“Sure. Of course. You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know, Kate.” Exasperation. He flicked out the lights, and I slid down under the covers. I tensed, expecting his touch and hoping I wouldn’t flinch. But the touch never came, and after a moment I rolled on my side, facing away from him.

“What about Clark?” I said.

For a moment Stuart didn’t answer. “What do you mean?”

“We haven’t talked a lot about him. What’s he up to? What’s he planning to do after you take over his seat?”

He actually chuckled at that “At least you said ‘when’ and not ‘if’.”

“Well, you’re going to win, aren’t you?”

“Undoubtedly,” he said, but the way he said it gave me a chill.

“Clark?” I prompted.

“Official retirement. His uncle died and left him a ton of money. He bought a place in Aspen. He’s pretty much set for life.”

“Great,” I said, but I frowned into my pillow. If there really was a rich uncle, that gave Clark much less incentive to try and seek revenge on the Church for diverting his father’s dollars. Since I didn’t have any other suspects at the moment, that left my husband in the driver’s seat. Not particularly scientific, I’ll admit. My head knew that there could be dozens of demonic minions in San Diablo, each one willing to do what it took to retrieve the Lazarus Bones. My heart however, had latched on to Stuart And because of that my heart was breaking.

“Are you going to tell me what’s really on your mind?” Stuart asked.

The question surprised me so much that I rolled over and faced him. His eyes were bright and clear, and the smile was the one I recognized so well. The man I knew and loved. Was I wrong? Please, please, let me be wrong.

He stroked my cheek. “Come on, Kate. Tell me.”

“Okay,” I said. “Truth time.” Another breath, then, “I’m spending a lot more time at the church doing this archive volunteer project.” I paused, in case the mention of the church spurred true confessions on his part.

Silence.

I cleared my throat. “Um, anyway, it’s taking up a lot of time, so I, um, I put Timmy in a day care.” I realized I’d scooted away, and had curled up into a ball. Not too surprising, really. On this particular point I was expecting my husband’s wrath. (And, frankly, I deserved it. If Stuart ever made that kind of parenting decision without my input, he’d never hear the end of it.)

“Day care,” he said. “Where?”

I blinked, surprised by bis calm tone. “KidSpace,” I said. “Over by the mall.”

“You checked them out?”

“Of course. And the teacher’s really great.”

“And this helps you out?”

“Sure. I mean, it’s only temporary.” I propped myself up again and studied his face. “Stuart I’m really sorry. I know I should have run this by you, but it’s hard to get day care space, and they had the opening, and I needed the extra time, and so I just—”

He pressed a finger to my lips. “Don’t worry about it sweetheart.”

It took me a full two seconds to process his words, and even then I didn’t believe my ears. “What?”

“I said don’t worry about it. You’re a great mom. I trust your judgment.”

“Oh.” I frowned, unsatisfied despite the praise. “So it’s okay?”

“It’s fine. But it’s after one. I need to get some sleep.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek before rolling back to his side of the bed. I laid there, staring at his back, his white T-shirt phosphorescing in the moonlight.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

There’s no way in hell (bad choice of words) that my Stuart would step calmly out of the decision-making process where Timmy is concerned. This man sharing my bed was not the Stuart I knew.

Tears stung my eyes and I hugged my pillow even tighter, one thought circulating through my head—my husband, the man I loved, really was working for a demon.

***

Stuart was gone when I woke up, and I have to admit I was glad.

I’d slept poorly, my dreams filled with demonic images of my husband and my head filled with thoughts of the Lazarus Bones. I know my subconscious had been busily trying to work it out, but at the moment I wished my brain had just kicked back and rested. I was exhausted and grumpy, and in no mood to take any flak from anybody, human or demon.

Laura, trusty sidekick that she is, agreed to watch my two wards so that I could head to Larson’s office and catch him before he took the bench at nine. Timmy was wrist deep in oatmeal when she arrived, Allie had already rushed outside to catch her ride, and Eddie was still asleep (I think yesterday’s excitement wore him out, although from the way he’d preened after his brilliant maneuver, I’d have to say the exhaustion was worth it).

I abandoned her with a promise to return at ten to rescue her from my brood. I figured I could take Tim to day care, and then schlep Eddie to the cathedral with me. With any luck, he’d spot something I missed.

I’d told Larson I had news, and he was waiting for me when I arrived, a pot of coffee brewing on a book-covered credenza in his office.

“The Lazarus Bones,” I said, then leaned back in his leather chair and took a sip of coffee. I’d come bearing the answer to our big question, and I couldn’t help but feel a little smug.

“The Lazarus Bones,” he repeated. “You mean the bones of Lazarus, raised from the dead by Jesus? The bones that are thought to have the power to regenerate the dead?”

I gaped at him. “You know about the bones?”

“It’s folklore. A fairy tale. Fabrication and conjecture.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Eddie’s seen them. Eddie was betrayed for them.”

The doubt that lined Larson’s face faded and was replaced by a curious interest “Really? All right then, enlighten me.”

I did, setting out the story just the way Eddie had laid it out for me.

“Interesting.” Larson was behind his desk, and now he steepled his fingers, his mouth turning down into a thoughtful frown.

“Eddie wasn’t that senile after all,” I said. “Eccentric, maybe, but definitely not senile.”

“But we still don’t know where the Lazarus Bones are? He hasn’t been able to tell you that?”

I fidgeted in my seat. “We know they’re in the cathedral somewhere.”

“But we don’t know where.” He slammed his fist against his desk and stood. “Dammit, Kate, we need to find them. We need to find them before he does.”

I licked my lips, wanting to say something, but not certain what his reaction would be.

He eyed me, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What?”

“I was thinking about something Eddie said. The bones are safe now. I mean, they must be since no one can find them. Maybe we should just leave them there.”

“Safe,” he said. “Safe?” He started to pace his office, and I watched him, wide-eyed. He was wigging out. “How can they be safe if Goramesh is intent on finding them? Do you really believe the demon will stop because the task isn’t simple? Kate, I need you to think.

“I am thinking!” I shouted the words, but my anger was mostly at myself. He was right, damn him. “But I don’t know where the bones are, so what am I supposed to do? All I know is that Brother Michael took them to San Diablo, and then spent the rest of his life in some monastery in Italy. And then suddenly some demons track him down, and rather than reveal the whole secret, he tosses himself out of a window. The secret died with him, Larson. And that’s just the way it is.” I was on my feet by now, but I stopped cold, rewinding my own words in my head. That’s just the way it is.

Or was it?

“Mike Florence,” I whispered.

Larson shook his head, his expression suggesting he feared I’d lost it.

“Mike—Michael—Florence” I said. “Florence, Italy.” I ran my fingers through my hair. How could I have been so blind? “Of course. He made a donation. The bones are in the archives, just sitting there, uncataloged in a tiny gold box.”

“A gold box?”

“Right,” I said. “About so big.” I demonstrated with my hands. The box wasn’t worth anything, so whoever had pulled out the valuable relics must not have realized the importance of the contents. I frowned, my euphoria fading. “But that can’t be right,” I said. “Bones couldn’t fit in that.”

“Not intact,” Larson said. “But bones are brittle.”

I cocked my head. “Crushed?”

“The dust would still hold the properties, would it not?”

“You’re the expert,” I said.

“Go. Get the box. Bring it back to me and I’ll arrange transport with the Vatican.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was already up and had my purse over my shoulder. “Come with me,” I said. “We’ll take it to the airport together. I’ll make sure you get settled on the plane.”

“I can’t. This trial.” He rubbed his temple, then looked at his watch. “I can recess after an hour, come up with some excuse. I can meet you then.”

I wanted to argue, to point out that his responsibilities to his job shouldn’t be more important than mine to my family. But there wasn’t time, and it wasn’t an argument I could win. “Meet me at my house,” I said. “I have to relieve Laura, and maybe Eddie can confirm we’ve got the right thing. I’d hate to go running to the Vatican with dear Uncle Edgar’s ashes.”

“Good point.” He hesitated just a moment, and then nodded. “Your house. One hour. Now go.”

***

Exactly one hour later Larson, Eddie, and I were huddled around my dining room table. Rather than take Timmy to day care, I’d begged Laura to watch him at her house. I didn’t know how long this would take, or what was involved. If I ended up escorting Larson to the Los Angeles Airport, I’d miss the pickup time for Timmy’s day care.

The box sat next to the salt and pepper shakers, and neither Eddie nor Larson had made a move to touch it.

“How do we know?” I asked. “I mean, how can we be sure?”

Both Larson and I turned to Eddie. “Any idea?” Larson asked.

“Well, now,” Eddie drawled, “I’ve got lots of ideas.”

“About the box, Eddie,” I said, gently prodding him. I doubted Larson was in the mood to put up with Eddie’s incessant rambling. I know I wasn’t.

“Charlie only read some of the text to Michael and me,” Eddie said. “Makes sense. Long document that was.” He blinked, his eyes owlish behind the half-glasses he’d shoved too far up his nose. “What year was that again? Not the sixties…none of those flower children. The fifties, maybe?”

“Eddie”

He waved a hand at me. “Sorry. Right. You’re right Now, then.” He blinked, then peered toward Larson. “What were we talking about?”

Larson pressed both hands to the tabletop and got nose-to-nose with Eddie. “How do we test the dust?”

“Right. I remember. Sure. Holy water.”

I met Larson’s eyes, but he looked just as bewildered as me. “Holy water? How?”

“Sprinkle a bit on and you’ll see the Lord’s flame. Don’t recall the exact translation, but the text said something about hubris, and the flame was a warning of how not to use the bones. A reminder, of sorts.”

“A reminder?” I asked.

“Matthew 25:41,” Eddie said.

I shook my head. My memory of Scripture has never been very good.

“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.’” Larson looked from Eddie to me. “Apropos, don’t you think?”

I nodded, but couldn’t speak, the reality of what the bones represented finally settling in. I wanted to test them, and then I wanted to get them out of my house—out of San Diablo altogether. Eddie’s spritzer bottle was next to the salt. I passed it to Larson. “Here,” I said. “You can have the honors.”

He brushed my hand away, nodding instead toward Eddie. “After so many years, I think Mr. Lohmann deserves the full impact of this moment.”

“Damn straight, I do.” Eddie drew in a breath, his scrawny shoulders rising with his chest, and then he edged the box toward him. He managed to pry the lid off with little difficulty, then he pointed the nozzle at the dust. “Anyone want to sound a drumroll?”

“I may not be your alimentatore,” Larson said, “but I’m only going to say this once. Cut the crap and get on with it.”

Eddie flashed a grin in my direction, his dentures blindingly white. “Ever notice just how touchy some mentors are?”

“The test, Eddie,” I said.

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it.” He tapped a bit of the dust onto a napkin, then squeezed the trigger. A fine mist erupted, then drifted down to blanket the dust.

I jumped back, anticipating the flames. But they never came. Instead, we were looking at a pile of slightly soggy dust on a slightly soggy napkin.

Beside me, Larson made a low noise in his throat. “You’re sure that was holy water? You told me the staff was filling his vial with tap water.”

“I’m sure,” I said, wishing I weren’t. “Father Ben replenishes the holy water every morning, and I filled Eddie’s bottle for him personally.”

“Well,” Eddie said. “That settles it. I guess we need to keep looking.”

“Yes,” Larson said, his voice tight. “It appears that we do.”

***

Larson left, leaving Eddie and me sitting at the table, alone in a morose silence.

“I really thought we had it,” I said. “I thought we’d figured it out and we were done.”

“From my way of looking at things,” Eddie said, “we’ll never really be done.”

“You maybe, but I’ll be finished as soon as the Lazarus Bones are safely back in the Vatican.”

“That so?” He chewed on the end of a pen.

I waited for him to say something more, and when he didn’t I squirmed in my chair. “I have to think about my family, Eddie. Allie, Timmy, even Stuart.” At the mention of Stuart I looked away. I hadn’t shared my suspicions with Eddie, and I didn’t intend to. Not until I was absolutely certain.

“Well, we all got to do what we got to do, but this town has more problems than just Goramesh. Maybe he started it and maybe he didn’t, but none of the bad stuff’s going away just because the bones do.”

“There are other Hunters,” I said, but I knew there weren’t many. Father Corletti had already been over that with me. “I’m retired. Just like you. You don’t really want back in the game, do you?”

He snorted. “I never left the game.”

“What?” I blinked at him. “I thought you were retired.”

His laugh was harsh and not the least bit feeble. Whatever drugs had been dragging him down had worked their way out of his system.

“I’ve been a lot of places I haven’t wanted to be over the last fifty-some odd years. You ever go fifteen years without a real shower? Not fun, missy, but that’s what I did, and I did it for Forza. And food? Some of the worst food you can imagine. Not even food, just sludge. Sludge with—”

“Wait.” I held up a hand before Eddie got on one of his rolls. “Back up. What’s the deal?”

“I already told you the deal, girl,” he said, speaking around the pen. “I was betrayed. I didn’t retire. I left. Didn’t have a choice. Fought some demons in Sri Lanka and a nest of vampires in Nepal. Spent some time in a monastery in South America, and hid out a few years in Borneo.”

“Hid out? Since the fifties?”

“They were looking for me. Always looking.”

“Who? Why?”

“Demons, of course,” he said. “They were looking for the Lazarus Bones, and that means they were looking for me.”

“So you’ve been hiding out all that time? Why come back to San Diablo? You knew the bones were here. Didn’t you think the demons would figure it out?”

At that, Eddie actually laughed so hard he started choking, turning first beet red, and then an unattractive shade of blue. I leaped to my feet and pounded him on the back, until he held up a hand, signaling that he was okay. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. I got him a glass of water, and he tried again. “I didn’t come here, girl. They brought me here.”

“What?”

“About three months ago.”

“That’s when Brother Michael committed suicide,” I said.

“Yup.”

“Well, where were you before that?”

“Six months before that, I was in Algiers, working as a bartender, and taking care of a few of the more preternatural, evil-type clients. Trained some Hunters, too. Under the table, of course. That’s the way it’s got to be done, you ask me. Forza’s moving too slow, and the danger is too strong. Got to get in there and fight. Got to get in there and—”

“Eddie!”

His entire body seemed to slump. “They found me there. The demons. Dragged me back to some dump in Inglewood. Pumped me full of drugs. Asked questions. Tried to get answers. I wouldn’t tell ‘em. I wouldn’t tell ‘em a thing.”

I wanted to cry, but my eyes were surprisingly clear. Fresh anger lashed through my body. I wanted to make it up to this old man who’d given up the better part of his life to protect a secret. I wanted, more than ever, to destroy Goramesh.

“Demons brought you here?” I asked.

“They let up on the drugs when they did, too. Maybe they thought I truly couldn’t remember with my head so scrambled. I don’t know. And I never knew what prompted them to move me to San Diablo.” He looked at me. “Not until you told me your story, anyway.”

“As soon as they learned from Brother Michael that the bones were here, they brought you, too?”

“Fat lot of good it did them,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk. “I haven’t said a word. Never told a soul, actually. And there’s not a drug on the planet can make old Eddie talk if he doesn’t want to.”

My breath hitched. “You talked to me,” I said, my voice little more than a whisper. “Why? Why did you trust me?”

“Am I wrong to trust you?

“No.” I shook my head fervently. “No way.” He aimed his toothless grin my way. “In that case, my reasons don’t much make a difference, do they?”

Chapter 18

In a mere twenty-four hours I went from testing fine white powder with holy water for end-of-the-world potential to serving funnel cakes on the softball field beside St. Mary’s Cathedral.

Such is the variety that keeps my life so spicy.

I still didn’t know where the Lazarus Bones were any more than I knew (definitively) who was supposed to schlep them out of the cathedral and into Goramesh’s hot little demon hands. To say I was frustrated would be an understatement, and if my smile was a little less chipper than it should be for a parish fair, well, you can just chalk it up to the demons.

“Mo-om!” Allie came up, Timmy perched on her hip. “Do I really have to cart him around? I’m not going to meet anyone cool if I’ve got my brother attached to me.”

“It’s a church fair, sweetheart, not The Dating Game.”

She made a face. “I told you,” she said. “I don’t always think about boys.”

“Just on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays?”

“Right,” she said, her grin impish. “And on alternating Tuesdays.”

“Well, it’s Friday,” I said. “Who’s today’s lucky object of your lust?”

“Nobody,” she said with a heavy sigh. “All the good ones are weird.”

I knew she was thinking about Stan, and my gut twisted. I’d seen a small item in that morning’s paper. Todd Greer—who’d so miraculously survived an attack by a vicious dog just a few days ago—had raced out of the mall and run in front of a bus. He’d been killed instantly. Even though I knew he wasn’t human, I’d still felt a twinge of sadness. Residual, I suppose, for the boy he used to be.

I smiled at my daughter, the girl I wanted so badly to keep safe. I suppose I should have assured her that there were plenty of nonweird men out there, but I kept my mouth shut. She’d learn soon enough.

“Why don’t you see if Laura will watch Tim?” I suggested after serving a funnel cake to a man in a UCLA T-shirt.”

“I looked for her. I can’t find her anywhere.” She aimed the puppy-dog pout my way. “Gramps said he’d watch Tim.”

“Leave the baby with Gramps, and you’ll find yourself cell phone-less.” I could play dirty when I had to.

An anguished moan, followed by “whatever.”

“Why don’t you wait for Stuart? He promised to be here by six-thirty.”

“It’s only six, mom. That’s another half hour.”

“Oh, the torment,” I said.

“When do you get off?”

“Now, actually, but I have some things I have to do.” Like sneak down into the archives and hope that inspiration hit.

“Mo-ther. You’re ruining my social life.”

“I know. I’m evil.” I stepped back to let Tracy Baker take over as the funnel-cake queen, then I slid out of the booth and came around to face my daughter. “Your best bet is Laura. I’m sure she’s around here with Mindy, isn’t she?”

From Allie’s sigh, you’d think I’d just told her she had three weeks to live. “I don’t know. I’ll go look for them. Again.”

She trudged off, Timmy happily batting at her dangly earrings.

***

Allie may not have found Laura, but I had no problems locating her. Although Laura isn’t Catholic, the parish fair is big in the community, and she and I go every year. Usually we scope out the various booths and buy handmade knick-knacks and stupid gifts. This year we were on a quest.

“I can help, you know,” she said as we headed for the cathedral.

“No, thanks. If Goramesh is paying attention, he probably already knows you’re helping me. But just in case he doesn’t, I’d like to keep the illusion going.”

“Then what can I do?”

A little finger of guilt wiggled its way up my neck. “Can you relieve Allie? Her brother is cramping her style.”

“For Allie, anything.”

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Just one more dessert on the evergrowing tally.” We were right outside the doors now, and she paused, shaking her head slightly as she hugged herself, looking at the building before us. “Sad and inspiring all at the same time, don’t you think?”

I wasn’t thinking about anything except the zillions of boxes still waiting for my review. After having come so close only to be sadly disappointed, I can’t say I was too psyched for the experience.

“Kate?”

“Sorry. What?”

“I was just thinking about the cathedral. The bones of saints mixed into the mortar. And those five martyrs in the basement I mean, on the one hand it’s inspiring, but it’s also kind of creepy and weird.”

I tugged open the door. “I’m not interested in creepy, weird, inspirational, or devotional. All I want are answers, and instead of spending the next two hours having fun buying beaded scarves and tacky earrings with you, I’m going to be huddled down here with vermin-infested boxes. So forgive me if I’m not soaking in the historical wonder of it all.”

Her lips twitched, but she nodded gravely. “Right,” she said. “Go work.”

She headed back toward the playing field, and I paused just past the foyer to dab my finger in the holy water and genuflect. I’ve never been particularly good at genuflecting (I’m sorry, but the motion is just not natural) and this time I fell on my butt, knocked completely asunder by the thought that had slammed into my head.

Laura said there’d been five martyrs, but there were six bags of remains. An extra one was in the display case, hiding in plain sight.

A thrill whipped through my body like electricity.

I knew where the Lazarus Bones were.

I ran back outside, pulling my phone out of my purse, then turning in a circle as I waited for the signal bar to show up. As soon as it did, I punched in Larson’s number. “I know where the Bones are,” I said, skipping polite preambles.

“Are you certain?” His voice was tense.

“Positive. I think. Where are you?”

“About a mile from the cathedral. Go in, retrieve the bones, and meet me in the parking lot.”

“I can wait.” I said. “I’d rather we bring them out together.”

“No time,” he said, his voice urgent. “Goramesh has ears everywhere. You shouldn’t even have called me. But since you’ve spoken of this aloud, you must get the bones now.”

My cheeks burned from the dressing down, and I opened my mouth to defend myself, but nothing came out. Was he right? Had I just put myself—and the bones—in danger?

“I’ll be there when you come out, and together we’ll take them to the airport. Now go.”

I went. I raced down the aisle and took the four steps up to the sanctuary in one leap. I yanked open the door to the sacristy and pounded down the stairs.

And then I stopped short, letting out a little squeak of surprise as I saw the man sitting there.

Stuart.

Oh, dear God, was he waiting for me?

He was seated at one of the long wooden tables, an oversize book with yellowed pages and tiny handwriting open in front of him. He looked up at me, and I could see the surprise on his face. For my part, I felt only fear, betrayal, and an odd sense of hope. Was he still my Stuart? Or was he here to hurt me?

He glanced down at his watch, then frowned before meeting my eyes again. “Am I late? I didn’t think you were expecting me until six-thirty.”

“What?” The comment was so unexpected, I couldn’t quite process it.

“Isn’t that why you’re here? Looking for me?”

“I—Not exactly.”

For a moment confusion colored his face, but then it cleared. “You snuck down here to do a little more work on your project.”

“Something like that,” I said, still rooted to the spot. “Why are you here?”

He closed the book with a thump and a cloud of dust. “Doesn’t matter. Just a project I’m working on.”

I let my head fall back, exasperated despite the surreal circumstances. “What’s going on, Stuart? Just tell me. Tell me the truth, okay?” I took the chair opposite him and reached across the table to take his hand. “Please. However bad it is, I can take it.”

“Bad? Kate, what’s wrong with you lately?”

I leaned back, my eyes wide, and pulled my hands safely back to my side of the table. “Me?”

“You’re distracted, you bring old men home without asking me, you enroll Tim in a day care without asking me.”

“I thought you were okay with that.”

“With your judgment, sure. But you didn’t even discuss it with me.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, hon. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is definitely up. Is it the old man?” He drew in a breath. “Is it Eric?” he asked, pain filling his voice.

“It’s not Eric,” I said. I ran my teeth over my lower lip. “It’s you.”

“Me?”

“I saw you here the other day. But when I asked, you lied to me, Stuart. What’s going on? You never lie to me.”

His mouth turned up for just a second, flashing an ironic smile. “Looks like we both lose on that count, doesn’t it.”

But I wasn’t going to get drawn into a game of who lied to whom. I just wanted to know. “Why, Stuart? Why are you so sure you’ll win the election?”

He actually laughed at that. “Oh, good God, Kate. Do you think I’m taking bribes or something?”

“I—” I closed my mouth, not at all sure what to say.

“I was just excited. And, yes, I do think I have an excellent shot. Jeremy Thomas is taking a job in Washington, and Frank Caldwell is shifting his support to me. I didn’t want to tell you until Caldwell made the announcement, just in case something changed. But it’s solid.”

I couldn’t hide my smile. “That’s fabulous!” Jeremy Thomas was a prosecuting attorney who also happened to be Stuart’s biggest rival for the county attorney seat. Frank Caldwell is the San Diablo county district attorney. His endorsement was worth its weight in gold.

“Pretty sweet, huh?”

“Very,” I said. A weight seemed to lift off my heart, but then I looked around at where we were, and felt the familiar squeeze again. “But what are you doing down here?”

“A land buy,” he said. “And Clark swore he’d have my neck if I told anyone, including you. If this leaks, we’re going to be in a bad position.”

I just stared at him. “Land. You’re down here to buy land?”

He opened the book and I realized then what it was. Church property records. “I’ve been trying to track down the title on some church property the county’s going to make an offer on. There are political ramifications, so we’re keeping it quiet.”

“And that’s all? That’s all you’ve been up to?”

“Yeah. What did you think? I was having an affair under the cathedral altar?”

I shook my head. “No. Nothing like that.”

He stood up, holding his yellow legal pad like a shield. I expected him to ask me what I’d been up to, but he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Maybe I was wishing so hard for him to stay silent, that he heard my plea. Instead, he simply said that he needed to go. “I know I said I’d meet you and the kids at six-thirty, but I think I found the missing link just now, and I’d really like to—”

“Go,” I said. “Head back to the office and say hi to Clark for me.”

He came around the table and kissed me on the cheek. I was so full of guilt I was afraid it was seeping out my pores. Hopefully, he couldn’t taste it.

He started toward the door, but I reached out and caught his hand. “We okay?”

His smile lit me all the way to my toes. “The best,” he said. Damn, but I hoped he was right.

I watched him go, then took three deep breaths, forcing myself not to cry. I didn’t have time for that. I needed to get the bones.

I moved to the glass display case, the fear that I was wrong slowing my step. But the moment I looked into the glass, I knew I was right. Five martyrs, but there were six bags of remains.

I opened each, one by one. Dark ash, bits of hair, chips of bone. Each bag. And then I opened the last. “Reginald Talley,” the label read, but I was certain I wouldn’t find Reginald inside. I pulled apart the drawstring and peered in. Pure white. Bone, crushed to the finest of powder.

Lazarus.

Brother Michael had ground up the bones. The gold box filled with dust hadn’t simply been a decoy, it had been a clue. Part of a whole series of clues meant for Eddie. The first clue was the name: Michael Florence. The priest’s name, and then the Italian town to make sure Eddie understood that the box was left there by his friend. And Michael had deliberately put dust in the gold box. The dust was the second clue, telling Eddie that the bones had been crushed and ensuring that Eddie knew to look for the powdered remains.

My head told me I didn’t need to test the dust, but having been burned once, I wasn’t listening to my head. I pulled out the vial of holy water and set it on the table. Then I reached into my back pocket and pulled out one of the napkins from the funnel cake stand. I spread it out and shook out a tiny bit of powder. Then I opened the vial and turned it on its side until a single drop emerged, clinging tenaciously to the rim of the vial.

I held my breath as the drop fell, and then, when a flame of pure blue fire erupted, I dropped the vial and fell to my knees.

This was it. The real deal.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I stayed on my knees until the flame fizzled out. I’d witnessed something amazing just then, the power of God, and I trembled, sure I could still feel His presence in the room with me. He’d guided me here, and now He would guide me out in safety.

After all, it had been easy so far. No human minions threatening my safety. No demon pet rushing to take me down.

Nothing that I’d feared had come to pass, and although I was happy not to have to fight my way out of the cathedral, the situation was a little disconcerting. My instincts weren’t bad. Not at all. And I’d been so certain Goramesh would have sent a human.

If not Stuart, then who?

And that’s when I knew—the truth so horrible it made me retch.

It had been me all along. I was the mortal pet.

Me.

Chapter 19

I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself, something dark and cold filling my stomach.

Goramesh had almost succeeded. Because of me! I held the Lazarus Bones in my hand, and I’d been about to take them upstairs and hand them over to—

Oh, shit.

I’d been right that very first day, and I should have trusted my instincts. Larson really was a demon! He’d lied when he said Goramesh wasn’t corporeal.

Goramesh had a body, all right. Larson was Goramesh.

I sank to the dusty wooden floor, hugging my knees in front of me. Terror and relief enveloped me, and I couldn’t do anything more than rock back and forth. I’d almost missed the truth. I’d almost destroyed everything.

Slowly the terror faded, replaced by a cold, hard anger. He wanted the Lazarus Bones? Then he could damn well come down here himself and get them.

I crumpled up the napkin and shoved it in my back pocket along with my vial of holy water, then I retied the drawstring on the sack. I returned it to the case, took a deep breath for courage, then headed up the stairs.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but I did know that Larson wasn’t getting those bones. As soon as I got outside the cathedral and got a cell phone signal, I’d call Father Corletti. If he didn’t have Hunters to spare, that was fine. Send the Swiss Guard. But I wasn’t going to back down until those bones were safely out of San Diablo and en route to the Vatican. Eddie could help me guard them in the meantime. Father Ben, too, for that matter; if I had to, I’d even enlist his help.

I burst out of the cathedral at a dead run and ran straight into Laura. “Where’s Larson?”

She pulled herself up short, clearly surprised by the tone in my voice.

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“By the ice-cream stand, I assume,” Laura said. “What’s wrong? The kids will survive a night of really bad food.”

The kids? That didn’t make any sense. The kids? And then—

I grabbed her by the shoulder. “Where are my kids?”

“They’re with Larson.” Her brow furrowed. “Paul came by just like he promised he would, but when he told me couldn’t stay, I was so furious I almost lost it. I didn’t, though, because I was watching the kids, but I think Paul knew I was fuming.”

I made a circle motion with my hand, encouraging her to get to the point.

“That’s when Larson volunteered to take them to get ice cream.” She licked her lips, clearly worried. “He said you okayed it. You didn’t?”

“Oh, no. No, I definitely did not.” I turned in a circle, then raced toward the ice-cream stand, the Lazarus Bones all but forgotten.

Laura raced after me. “What’s going on?” I heard her heavy breathing beside me as we skidded to a stop in front of the booth.

“It’s Larson,” I said. “He’s Goramesh.”

She paled, and I caught her just as her knees gave way. “Oh, God, the kids. Mindy.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “If anything happens to them. To her—“

“It won’t,” I said, my voice like steel.

“What are you going to do?”

“Beat the shit out of him,” I said. At the moment that was the only plan I had. Frankly, I thought it was a good one.

“Mommy, Mommy, Mom.”

We both turned at the sound of the voice. “Mindy,” Laura breathed, the relief in her voice so tangible I could almost touch it.

My relief was tainted by fear for my own kids, who were conspicuously not with Mindy.

“What happened?” I said.

Her face was pressed to Laura’s chest, her arms tight around her mom. But I could see part of her tear-stained face. “He shoved me away,” Mindy said. “And Allie had to stay with him, he said, or else he’d hurt Timmy.”

I closed my eyes, too scared to even pray.

My cell phone rang.

I answered it before the echo of the first ring died out.

“Bring me the bones, Kate,” Larson said.

“Screw you.” I said the words, but my bravado was false.

“Darling Kate,” he said. “Let me put this in words you’ll understand—bring me the Lazarus Bones, or your children are dead.”

“Bastard,” I whispered, but he’d already hung up.

I lashed out, wanting to hit something and finding only Laura. I fell against her, sobbing, as she patted my back and made soothing noises that I know she didn’t really believe.

All along, Larson had been playing a role designed to fool me. But I wasn’t fooled anymore. Larson was Goramesh—a High Demon. The Decimator. And I was truly afraid.

Enough.

I pushed back and wiped my eyes.

“Kate?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Instead, I turned away and started back toward the cathedral. Tears spilled down my cheeks, but I knew what I had to do.

These were my kids, after all.

***

I clutched the cloth bag tight as I raced back up the basement stairs, my mind churning. I should have known. Should have seen the clues. They were all there. His hesitancy to enter the cathedral. His constantly chewing mint-flavored gum. His strength when we fought in the courtyard. His ability to recognize another demon—and to throw a knife so straight and true.

It had been the holy water that had won me over.

But now, as I passed the receptacles, I realized how even that illusion had been easy for him. A demon can enter holy ground even though it pains him. The pillars of holy water are a long way from the sanctuary and its sainted, impenetrable mortar. Goramesh would have simply knocked over the bowls and refilled them with tap water. I recalled the puddle on the floor before our meeting and knew I was right.

There were other clues, too. I didn’t want to research, but he’d convinced me. And I’d agreed to up the ante if there was any sign of demons infiltrating San Diablo. That night Todd Greer paid a little visit. I’d called that a sign. It was a sign, all right—I’d just read it wrong. Larson had ordered the hellhound to kill Todd Greer so a demon could move in and convince me to do Larson’s research. And then Larson killed the demon in the alley to reinforce his position as one of the good guys.

What a crock.

And then there was Eddie. Larson had been the one who’d “discovered” Eddie’s presence here. And no wonder. He’d brought Eddie here himself. I had to meet Eddie, because Eddie was the only one who knew what Goramesh wanted. I’d even bet that Larson ordered the drugs decreased so that Eddie would be able to think more clearly—all the better for him to tell me the truth once he decided he trusted me.

And why not trust me?

I was another Hunter, and even I didn’t know that I was bait.

Larson had even fueled my fears about Stuart, probably hoping that pointing me in that direction would keep my mind away from considering him too closely. It had worked, too.

With a foul-mouthed curse, I burst through the cathedral doors. The clues were academic now. All that mattered was getting my kids back.

The descending sun cast long shadows on the ground, giving the world a surreal quality that matched my mood. I shaded my eyes with my hand and scanned the grounds, but I didn’t see any sign of Laura or Eddie.

I flipped open my cell phone and started to dial Laura’s number, but the squeal of rubber against asphalt caught my attention. I leaped backward, realizing that Larson’s Lexus was barreling toward me across the nearly empty parking lot.

It fishtailed, then careened to a halt in front of me. My muscles tensed, ready to pummel him. Between the tinted windows and the distortion from the fading light, I couldn’t see Larson, but I was ready for him. I raced to the driver’s-side door and yanked it open. “Get out of there, you son of a bitch!”

“Mom!”

Not Larson. Allie.

She fumbled for the door and fell out of the car into my arms. I collapsed to the asphalt, holding her against me, crying in earnest now. “Baby, baby, oh baby,” I murmured as she cried. I lifted her chin up, then pushed her away so I could get a good look at her. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

She could barely talk through her tears, but she managed a weak “Timmy.” Ice flowed in my veins as she struggled to say, “I couldn’t get him away. Oh, Mommy, he’s still got Timmy.”

“Was he hurt? Was he okay when you left?” I wanted to lash out, to run, to fight, to do something to make it all better. Adrenaline surged through my body, and I felt a numbing coldness settle over me. A cold practicality. No emotions, Kate. Just get in, do the job, and get Timmy back safe.

“He—he was fine. But I’m scared. Oh, Mom, I’m so scared for him.”

I gritted my teeth. “Where did he take you?”

“The cemetery,” she said, her voice shaky but stronger. “He told us that you’d had to leave and he was taking us for ice cream and then home, but then he went the other way, and when he got to the cemetery, he called you, and I got so scared.”

“I know, sweetheart. But you’re doing great.”

“He made us get out of the car, but he left the keys. And I got away, just like Cutter showed us.”

My stomach churned. She’d been lucky on that count, surprise acting in her favor. Larson could have easily caught her and snapped her neck. I tugged her toward me and hugged her close one more time, just to feel her whole and unmolested against me. “You did good, baby,” I said. I pulled her up as I climbed to my feet. The car was still idling beside us, and I looked at it grimly.

“Go find Laura and Gramps and tell them what’s going on. Stay with them, okay? Don’t leave them no matter what.”

She nodded, her chin trembling.

I slid behind the wheel. “Where in the cemetery?”

“The big statue,” she said. “The big angel.”

I nodded. I knew the place. It was one of the older corners of the cemetery, far away from the road. “Go,” I said. “Find Laura. It’ll be okay. I promise, I’ll get your brother back.”

She leaned into the car and kissed me. “I love you, Mom,” she said, then ran off across the parking lot toward the fair.

I sighed. I love you, too, baby. And then I gunned it.

***

I didn’t bother using the paved roads through the graveyard. Irreverent, I know, but I just aimed the Lexus toward the southeast corner and floored it. Most of the graves were marked with simple plaques, and I swerved around the interspersed headstones and tombs erected in an earlier age.

The angel loomed in front of me, and I swerved to a stop, the back of the car slipping on damp turf.

Larson sat calmly at the angel’s feet, my son propped on his knee. “A charming boy,” Larson said. “I’m glad you came. I wouldn’t have enjoyed killing him.” He flashed me a menacing grin. “That was a lie. I think I’d enjoy it very much.”

I stood ramrod straight, my hands fisted at my sides. “Give me my son.”

“Give me the bones.”

I hesitated.

“I’ll do it, Kate. You should know by now that I won’t even think twice. But there’s something I want more than the pleasure of drawing his blood. Give me the bones and I’ll give you the boy.”

I held out the bag.

“Smart girl.” He turned slightly, then called out, “Doug. The bag, please.”

A withered old man stepped out from behind the angel. He plodded toward me, then took the bag. I tensed, recognizing his face. The last time I’d seen Doug he’d been playing chess in the Coastal Mists Nursing Home.

I looked up at Larson. “Bastard.”

“Nonsense. Doug has gone on to the next plane. Why shouldn’t we utilize his body? It would only go to waste. So much waste there at the home,” he said, his voice almost wistful. Then he looked me in the eye, his gaze full of malice. “Don’t worry. The waste will be much less from now on. Much, much less.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“But you can’t. Poor Kate, you can’t even help yourself.”

“Give me my son.”

“But of course.” He stood, then put Timmy on the ground. “I can be generous, too,” he said as my baby ran toward me.

“You’re going to die, Goramesh,” I said. “I’m going to send you back to Hell.”

“Big talk,” he said. “And why would you do that, anyway, after all you’ve done to help me? Without you, Eddie would never have revealed the truth. Without you, I could never have breached the cathedral sacristy.”

I didn’t say a word, just hugged my baby tight.

“Will you stay, then? Stay and witness the rising of my army? I promise your end will come swiftly.”

“I’ll stay,” I said. “I’ll stay and stop you.”

“You’re out of practice, Kate. Have you forgotten that I’ve sparred with you? I know you. And I will not be defeated.”

“When did Larson die? How did you even get here?”

He laughed then, with such mirth it actually startled me out of my red hot fury. “Dead? Whoever said Larson was dead?”

“But …oh, God.”

“He has nothing to do with it. Larson is in here, with me. He has been most cooperative. He will be rewarded.”

“Why?”

“Cancer,” he said, his voice now pitched slightly higher. “Why succumb when Goramesh could offer me so much more than death. And then, when I learned about the Lazarus Bones from my Hunter in Italy, well, then I had something to bargain with. Goramesh wanted the bones. I wanted to live.”

“You’re going to die tonight.”

“No, Kate. It’s you who will die. This part of me is sorry about that. I do like you. Once upon a time, I even liked working for Forza. But it was never about the work. Not for me.”

“Black arts,” I said, remembering. “You were studying the black arts. And Father Corletti never realized—”

“Don’t blame the priest,” he said. “I can be most persuasive when I want. Now, of course, I’m both persuasive and powerful.” He drew in a breath, his chest expanding. His skin seemed to ripple, like the surface of a pond, and beneath the ripples I saw the true demon, red and black and teeming with worms, its glowing eyes burning with hate.

I blinked, and the vision faded, the acrid smell of sulphur the only clue that it had been real.

Timmy smelled it, too, and started squirming in my arms as he whimpered. “Hush, baby,” I said. “It’s almost over.”

“Indeed,” Goramesh said. “Stay, Kate. Stay and watch.”

Since I had no intention of leaving without first laying waste to Goramesh, I stayed rooted to the spot, Timmy tight in my arms.

Goramesh moved away from the angel to stand on a relatively fresh grave. He spread his arms and looked down at the earth, then began to spew out Latin and Greek, his words coming too fast and furious for me to understand.

I didn’t need to understand the words, though, to figure out what was going on. That was clear enough. And when he tugged open the bag and reached in for a handful of powder, I tensed. I was too far away to do anything yet, but I put my hand in my back pocket anyway, just so the holy water would be at the ready.

He sprinkled the powder over his body, the incantation coming faster and faster. He reached the end, spreading his arms and shouting “Resurge, mortue!” That one, I knew. He was commanding the dead to rise.

I held my breath, waiting. The graves didn’t tremble. The dead didn’t rise.

I’d known they wouldn’t, and I couldn’t help but smile as I pushed Timmy gently behind me, the vial now in my hand.

“It’s over, Goramesh,” I said. “You’re history.”

“Little fool,” he spat. “What have you done?”

I didn’t answer. I knew he’d realize soon enough exactly what I’d done.

“Bitch!” he howled, his face contorting in pain. I grinned. And so it began.

As I watched, his skin began to blister and his hair fell in clumps to the ground. He screamed, the sound coming straight from the bowels of Hell.

“What have you done? What have you done to me?”

“Not me,” I said. “The Blessed Mary Martinez, one of San Diablo’s five martyrs. May she soon reach sainthood.”

His skin bubbled and popped, and I gagged against the smell of sulphur. Mary wasn’t a saint yet, but she’d been beatified. I knew that her remains wouldn’t kill him, but he was in pain, and I hoped that gave me all the advantage I needed.

I opened the vial and lunged.

“Get her!” he cried, and Doug barreled into me. I fell to the ground with an oof, and the holy water vial went flying, shattering against a gravestone, but doing no harm to Doug or Larson. As Doug grappled for me, I lashed out with my legs, trying to pry the spry octogenarian off of me.

He clung fast, though, and I knew that Goramesh would recover soon and come help. Two against one—especially when a High Demon was part of the equation—was not good odds.

As Timmy’s screams rang in my ears, I twisted sideways, managing to get on top of Doug. He grappled for me, his clammy fingers brushing my neck. I dodged away, scrambling to grasp a nearby twig.

My fingers closed around it just as his hands closed around my neck. But it was too late. I knew I’d won, and I drove the twig home.

Doug sagged, and that was the end of that.

I leaped off of him, ready to tackle Goramesh, my fury fueling my confidence. My victory was short-lived. When I turned, I’d expected to see the demon. Instead, I saw my baby, Larson’s arm tight around his neck. The dust had finished its work, and now he was oozy and gross, but no longer distracted by the pain of burning flesh.

“You fool!” he shouted. “You think you can best me? You think you can trick me? This boy is going to die here, Kate. Bring me the bones and maybe I’ll bring him back for you.”

He shifted and I lunged, the reaction purely instinct. “No!” I cried, my voice thick with fear.

I’d barely closed the distance between us when Larson erupted with a guttural howl. Almost simultaneously I realized what had happened.

Timmy had bitten him.

Larson jerked his arm up, releasing his hold on Tim as he struck out with his other hand, sending my baby flying. Timmy crashed to the ground, his little body going limp. I launched myself, tackling Larson with my full weight and sending us both sprawling. He managed to roll on top of me, and as he climbed to his feet, he grabbed my hair, smashing my metal hairclip against my skull as he yanked me to my feet. I winced, but my own pain evaporated when I realized Timmy still hadn’t moved. I drew in a strangled breath, fearing the worst. Larson took advantage, shoving me backward so that the small of my back slammed against the base of the angel statue. I screamed, jerking my leg up and trying to knee him as I twisted. I needed to get free, but his fingers had locked on my forearms like clamps.

He was strong. So strong. And try as I might, I couldn’t break free.

“He’s dead, Kate,” he hissed, his breath foul against my face.

“No.” I couldn’t believe that. Wouldn’t believe it.

He moved even closer. “Give me the bones, and I’ll bring him back for you.” His voice was calm, almost soothing. “You can have your baby back, Katie. You can have him alive again. Just bring me the bones.”

I was light-headed, unable to draw breath. He held on to my arms, but he might as well have been crushing my windpipe. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. Was my baby truly dead? And if so, did I have the strength to use the bones to bring him back? More important, did I have the strength not to?

I closed my eyes briefly, seeking strength. “Never,” I whispered. “I’ll never bring you the bones.”

His nostrils flared and rage filled his eyes. “Bitch! I’ll snap your neck and leave you here!” He leaned in closer, his mouth pressed against my ear. “And know this as life leaves you—I will raise the boy. And he will become one of mine. It’s over, Kate. And my victory will be even sweeter than I’d imagined.”

I struggled as my fear ratcheted up, but he held on, his grip unyielding. Terror clutched me just as tight, and I choked back a sob as fear and regret mixed together. I’d sworn I wouldn’t lose, but now I feared I’d made a promise I just couldn’t keep.

I sucked in air, trying to fill my lungs as my heart thrummed in my chest. Through the roaring in my ears, I heard the high-pitched wails of sirens.

Sirens?

Would Laura have called the police? Would Eddie have let her?

Goramesh heard them, too. “Time to end this, Hunter,” he said. “Wouldn’t want the police to discover my little secret, would we?”

He let go of my arm, then started to twist me around. I knew well enough what he was doing; he planned to break my neck.

“NO!” I screamed. I didn’t have any weapon, nothing with which I could take him out. So I did the only thing I could. I lashed upward, knocking his arm away from my neck. It worked. And in that split second I yanked the hair clip out of my hair, then thrust it forward.

It hit home, slipping through the demon’s eye like a hot knife through butter. He trembled, the air rippling over him and me, and then a sonic burst, like a jet breaking the sound barrier. The body fell, and I was thrown free, landing on my rump on top of the nearest grave, right next to Timmy.

The sirens were closer now, and I rolled over, breathing hard, terrified of finding the worst. I rolled my baby over and patted his little cheek. His eyelids fluttered. “Momma?” he said. I couldn’t answer. I could only hold him and cry.

It was over.

I was tired. So tired.

But I’d won. Goramesh was gone. Larson was dead.

And as my boy curled up next to me, I hugged him tight and closed my eyes.

***

As it turns out, Allie had called the cops. She hadn’t been able to find Eddie and Laura right away, so she’d dialed 911 (using the cell phone for exactly the purpose I’d told her she could) and then called Stuart. By then, Laura and Eddie had found her, and they raced to the graveyard in Laura’s car, arriving just seconds after the police, with Stuart not far behind.

The paramedics took Timmy to the emergency room right away, where he received a clean bill of health. He had bad dreams the first few nights, but the hospital counselor says those will fade in time. Already, he’s sleeping through the night again, so I think my baby’s going to be just fine.

I spent the next few days nursing my wounds and talking with the police. I’d killed Larson and Doug, no doubt about that, but I was cleared quickly enough. Allie and Laura’s statements confirmed my story that Larson had kidnapped my kids and then he and Doug had tried to kill me. And when the police examined Larson’s car and found hair and other trace evidence in the trunk tying him to the disappearance of another Coastal Mists resident, that pretty much sealed Larson’s fate as a criminal.

After that, life returned pretty much to normal. There were a few changes, of course. Eddie was a permanent fixture at my house now, his bond with Allie having strengthened to the point of unbreakable. One day I’d tell her the truth. But not now. Not yet.

Laura and the girls are still taking self-defense classes with me. Laura swears it’s only to work off the calories from the desserts I keep feeding her as payment for services rendered, but I have a secret belief that she actually enjoys the exercise. Either that, or she likes watching Cutter move.

On the home front, Stuart is currently the most pampered husband on the planet. Guilt will do that. And when the guilt stems from having held the particularly vile belief that your husband is in cahoots with demons…well, the groveling and pampering can go on pretty much indefinitely.

As for me, I was still keeping secrets from my family, but what else could I do? I knew Goramesh would be back. His disappearance was only temporary, and that was a reality I had to learn to live with. There were still other demons in San Diablo, too. They’d infiltrated the nursing home, for one thing, and as much as I itched to tell Father Corletti to send another Hunter, I knew I wouldn’t make that call.

The truth? I’d taken on a responsibility when I’d become a Hunter so many years ago, and I couldn’t walk away from it now. Not when so many of the creatures were out walking the streets.

San Diablo needed a Hunter, and I was here. Out of practice, true, but I had Cutter and Eddie to help me. Besides, a hidden little part of me really does love the work.

And, when you get right down to it, what family doesn’t have one or two little secrets …?

About the Author

I hope you enjoyed Carpe Demon! If you think your friends or other readers would enjoy the book, I’d be honored if you’d rate or “like” the book or leave a review at your favorite retailers. And, of course, I’m always thrilled if you want to spread the word through Twitter, Facebook or other social media outlets.

Questions about the book, or me, or the meaning of the universe? I’d love to hear from you. You can reach me via email at juliekenner@gmail.com or on Twitter (I’m @juliekenner) or through Facebook at www.facebook.com/JulieKennerBooks or www.facebook.com/JKennerBooks

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Thanks again, and happy reading!

J.K.

A New York Times , USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author, Julie Kenner (aka J. Kenner) writes a range of stories including romance (erotic, sexy, funny & sweet), young adult novels, chick lit suspense and paranormal mommy lit. Her foray into the latter, Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom, was selected as a Booksense Summer Paperback Pick for 2005, was a Target Breakout Book, was a Barnes & Noble Number One SFF/Fantasy bestseller for seven weeks, and is in development as a feature film with 1492 Pictures.

As J. Kenner, she also writes erotic romance (including the bestselling Stark Trilogy) as well as dark and sexy paranormal romances, including the Shadow Keeper series previously published as J.K. Beck.

Girl’s Guide to Witchcraft

Book One of the Jane Madison Novels

Mindy Klasky

Dedication

To Mark, Because

Chapter 1

They don’t teach witchcraft in library school.

Vermin—check. Mold and mildew—check. Difficult patrons—check. But there was no course in witchcraft, no syllabus for sorcery. If only I’d been properly prepared for my first real job.

I was probably responsible for what happened. After all, I was the one who recited the Scottish Play as I pulled a gigantissimo non-fat half-caf half-decaf light hazelnut heavy vanilla wet cappuccino with whole milk foam and a dusting of cinnamon. “Double, double, toil, and trouble,” I said as I plunged the steel nozzle into the carafe of milk.

“What’s that from, Jane?” asked my customer, a middle-aged woman who frequented the library on Monday afternoons. Her name was Marguerite, and she was researching something about colonial gardens. She’d had me track down endless pamphlets about propagating flowering trees.

“Macbeth,” I said.

See. It was my fault. Everyone knows that it’s bad luck to say the name of Shakespeare’s Scottish Play. At least for actors it is. Still, I should never have risked the curse. I probably deserved everything else that happened that day and in the weeks that followed. Every last thing, even the—Well. No need to get ahead of myself.

I rang up Marguerite’s coffee and crossed back to my desk. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t necessary to walk by the online catalog. I didn’t need to straighten the pens; I didn’t have to set out more scratch paper. I wasn’t required to organize the newspapers.

But all that busy work gave me an opportunity to walk by Jason Templeton’s table.

Jason was my Imaginary Boyfriend. Oh, he was real enough. He just didn’t know that he was my boyfriend. Yet.

Jason was an assistant professor at Mid-Atlantic University. He looked exactly like that movie star in last summer’s blockbuster—you know, the one who suavely seduced two different women while he double-crossed the Mafia and stole the Hope Diamond? Except his hair was caramel-colored. And curly. And he was on the skinny side. And I’ve never seen him in a tuxedo—he’s more of a J. Crew sort of guy.

Okay, maybe he didn’t look exactly like a movie star, but when someone is your Imaginary Boyfriend, you give your fantasy a little breathing room….

In fact, since fantasy was my only romantic outlet these days, I gave my dreams a lot of breathing room. After all, they were the magical cure. My dreaming about Jason was helping me to move on, to get over the near-legendary Jilting of Jane Madison.

I knew I should be over Scott Randall by now. Any man who would choose climbing the law firm ladder at his firm’s London office over being my beloved husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse….

Well, he wasn’t worth having. Especially when he’d hooked up with some British slut his first week on the new job. And when he had the nerve to write to me—write to me!—and ask for my engagement ring to give to her….

But Scott Randall was the only man I’d ever loved.

Really.

And how sad was that? I was twenty-nine years old, and I’d only loved one man. He’d been my high school sweetheart. I’d never even dated seriously in college; Scott and I had made our long-distance thing work. College, then grad school for me (a worthless English masters focusing on Shakespeare, then practical library science!) and law school for him. We’d lived together in D.C. before he took off for London.

He’d dumped me almost nine months ago, and it still felt like a part of me was dying every time I looked at my bare left hand.

So, Jason Templeton was actually a great development for me. Even if I wasn’t ready to confess my attraction to him. Even if I hadn’t quite brought myself to take a risk, to move him from the “imaginary” category to “real flesh and blood.”

At least I had convinced myself that—however unconsciously—Jason came to the Peabridge Free Library to see me. Well, to see me, and to study the relationships between husbands and wives in Georgetown during the two decades immediately following the signing of the Declaration of Independence. My best friend, Melissa, said that boded well—he had a romantic soul and a scholar’s mind.

I was certain that one day, he would look up from the letters of George Chesterton. He’d reach for the sharpened pencil that I’d have standing ready (no ink permitted around the original letters), and I’d say something witty and sly, and he’d smile his gorgeous, distracted smile, and then we’d go out for lunch, and our scholarly discussion would turn to personal histories, and we’d take a long weekend drive to North Carolina to visit George Chesterton’s ancestral home, and we’d stay in a bed and breakfast with a king size sleigh bed and lace curtains and homemade scones, and….

I hurried over to my desk and opened the top drawer. There, nestled safe among Post-it notes and highlighters was my personal copy of Gentlemen Farmers. Jason’s first book. University Press of Virginia had brought it out the year before, and it received great critical acclaim. Okay, it got one column inch in the alumni magazine, but they really seemed to like it.

At Melissa’s urging, I had ordered a copy of my own; it had finally arrived in yesterday’s mail. She was the one who made me realize that a scholar needed recognition. He needed support. He needed a loving helpmate.

Before I could carry the book over to get Jason’s autograph, the phone rang. I glanced at the Caller ID and saw that it was Gran. I could let the call go, but then my grandmother would leave her one message: “Jane Madison’s grandmother.” Answering machines had been around for decades, but Gran refused to believe that they could be trusted with substantive messages. She was eighty-one years old; who was I to try to change her?

“Library, this is Jane,” I said, trying to sound crisp and professional.

“Make me a promise, dear.”

Oh no. We were back in “promise” mode. Gran went through these phases. She would read articles or watch television or listen to the radio, and she’d dwell on all the ways that people could die. As she was fond of saying, I was the only family that she had, and she wasn’t going to lose me without putting up a fight. (Not until I blessed her hearth with a great-grandchild, in any case.)

In the past month alone, I had sworn that I would not go hang-gliding, rappel down the outside of the Empire State Building, or practice free-diving in the Caribbean. Those promises were a small price to pay, I suppose, for Gran having raised me.

Every once in a while, though, I wondered if my actual parents would have been so insanely concerned about my safety. I mean, what were the chances that I’d ever engage in such risky behavior, promise to Gran or not? But I suspected that the car crash that took my parents’ lives started Gran on her quest for “promises.”

“Jane,” Gran said. “Are you listening to me?” I’d waited too long to reply.

“Of course. I was just helping a patron at the circulation desk.” I glanced across the room at Jason, smile at the ready, but he didn’t look up from his notes.

“Make me a promise.”

“Anything, Gran.”

“This is serious!”

“Of course it is. You have my best interest at heart. You always have my best interest at heart. I’m the only granddaughter you’re ever going to have.”

“Don’t get smart with me, little miss librarian.”

I glanced at the clock in the lower right corner of my computer screen. “Gran, I’ve got a meeting with Evelyn in five minutes. I’m going to have to run.”

“Promise me you won’t lick any toads.”

“What!” I was so surprised that I shouted. Jason did glance up then, and I managed a harried smile, pointing at the phone and shrugging elaborately. Great. Now he’d think I was a crazed mime.

“Promise me you won’t lick any toads. I read an article about South American toads—they have poison on their skin, and it makes people hallucinate, and those poor people get into car crashes, and they don’t even remember to try to get out of the wreck, and they die terrible, fiery deaths.”

“Why would I lick a toad, Gran?” I tried to stop the chain reaction at the first link.

“I remember that poster you had on your bedroom wall. ‘You have to kiss a lot of toads to find a prince.’”

“That was in fifth grade, Gran. And it was frogs. You know, from fairy tales.”

“We form our basic personalities very early,” she insisted, and I could picture her shaking her head. “People don’t change. You’ll always be that fifth grader.”

Great. Ten years old forever. I was doomed to spend the rest of my life with braces, stick-on tattoos, and bangs. And I’d always be chosen last for the softball team.

I sighed. Maybe Gran wasn’t so far from the truth. I did still have freckles, sprayed across my nose. And my hair still had too much red in the curls that hung half-way down my back. And my glasses continued to slip down my nose when I least expected them to, making me blink my hazel eyes like a dazed chipmunk. “Gran,” I said. “I don’t even remember the last time I saw a toad.”

“All the more reason for me to worry.”

What did that mean? “Fine, Gran. I promise. No toad licking for me.”

“Thank you, dear.” I could hear the relief in her voice. “You’ll see. You’ll be grateful when the decision is staring you in the face, and you’ll know what to do because you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I’m sure I will, Gran.” My acquiescence drifted into silence as I watched Jason stack up his notes. I knew his routine better than I knew my own; he was preparing to leave so that he could deliver his noon lecture. He was shutting down his laptop, stowing away his books, capping his pen, clasping his satchel…. And then he was gone. No autograph for Gentleman Farmers today. No blazing Templeton smile. No anything. “Oh, Gran….” I sighed.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

She might have been an eighty-one-year-old woman. She might have believed that my fate depended on my ability to withstand the siren call of toads. She might have worried about the most absurd disasters ever to preoccupy a human mind.

But she loved me. She loved me despite my unsightly freckles and unruly curls and smudged eyeglasses. And it seemed like I was never going to find another person who would—never find a man who would.

I shook my head. “Nothing, Gran. I just wish….” I closed my eyes. “I wish I had a magic wand. I wish that I could change things.”

“Things?”

I came to my senses just in time. The last detail I needed to share with Gran was the existence of my Imaginary Boyfriend. She was still waiting for me to get over Scott, a man she’d never truly liked. If she heard about Jason, she’d immediately start planning our wedding, my baby shower, our child’s first birthday party, all before I could complete my confession. I forced myself to laugh. “Oh, Gran, you know. Just things. Make the day sunny. Find the perfect shoes to go with my new skirt. Finish shelving our new books.”

“Jane, you know there aren’t any shortcuts. No magic wands in the real world.”

“Of course not,” I sighed, glancing at my clock. 10:30 sharp. “Sorry, Gran. I really do have to run to that meeting.”

As I hung up the phone, I wondered what other promises I’d make before the month was over. I shook my head and crossed the floor to Evelyn’s office. She sat behind her desk; it was half-buried beneath the piles of important papers that had cascaded across its faux-leather surface. I glanced at the prints on the walls—the regimented gardens at Mount Vernon and the colonnaded porch of Monticello—and I wondered once again how my disorganized boss could have chosen to work in a library collection based on order, harmony, and the rational strength of the human mind.

“Jane,” Evelyn said as I stopped in her doorway. “Good news and bad news.” She waved me toward a chair.

I always felt vaguely guilty when I sat across from her desk, as if I were reporting to the principal of my elementary school. It didn’t help that Evelyn looked exactly like the Mother Superior in The Sound of Music. You know, the one who looks like John Wayne in a nun’s habit? Poor thing.

I smiled as I sat down. “The board decided that we should hire three new reference librarians, and I’ll be in charge of the department?”

She shook her head ruefully. “I’m afraid not.”

Unease curled through my gut. This looked serious. “I’ll take the good news first, then.”

She blinked at me, and I realized that she was a bad-news-first person. She’d be the one to eat her pickled beets before anything else on her plate, holding her nose if she had to. I never understood that—what would happen if you filled up on pickled beets? Or got sick on them? Or had to leave before dessert? What if you didn’t have any room left for chocolate cheesecake parfait?

“The good news, then,” she said. “The board has authorized a special fund for a new project.”

I smiled in anticipation, but Evelyn looked away. All righty, then. The good news wasn’t actually all that good. I braced myself mentally and asked, “What sort of project?”

“You know that we’ve been trying to increase walk-in traffic. We want to be more a part of the neighborhood.”

I nodded, but I bit my tongue. It wasn’t like we had a treasure trove of novels and picture books. The Peabridge and its grounds might occupy a city block in Georgetown, in Washington D.C.’s most historic neighborhood. It might be nestled amid Federalist townhouses and cobbled streets, still looking like the colonial mansion it once had been. It might have grounds that were the envy of city gardeners up and down the East Coast.

But the Peabridge contained the world’s leading collection of books, manuscripts, incunabulae, and ephemera about life in eighteenth-century America. Not precisely after-school fare, and hardly a draw for a Mommy and Me book club.

Evelyn went on. “The board decided that we should expand our base by taking a page from Disney’s book. You know how they set up Epcot– each European country in its own special ‘land.’” I nodded warily. I couldn’t see any good place that this idea was heading. “Well, we’ll do the same thing here. We’ll turn the Peabridge into colonial America.”

“Turn it into….” I trailed off, bracing myself for the hit.

“Yes!” Evelyn exclaimed, with the enthusiasm of a parent explaining the joys of drilling and filling cavities. “We’ll wear costumes!”

“You have got to be kidding,” I said before I could stop myself. I felt guilty, though, when Evelyn’s face dropped. “Costumes?” I glanced toward Jason’s now-empty table. What sort of Imaginary Boyfriend would be attracted to a woman in hoops, a bodice, and a mob cap?

“The coffee bar just isn’t enough, Jane. We still don’t have the foot traffic that the board wants. Dr. Bishop has already made arrangements with the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation; they have some extra stock just sitting in a warehouse. The costumes will arrive by next Monday. You’ll see. This will be so much fun!”

Fun. Evelyn might look forward to new clothes. She could set aside that boxy pink and brown suit that was designed for a woman two decades younger. Me, though? I’d feel like I was dressing up for Halloween, every day of my working life. Where was that magic wand when I needed it?

I settled on a logical argument: “Evelyn, we’re supposed to support serious scholarship!”

“And we do. We will. But there’s nothing that says we have to be sticks in the mud while we’re doing it. After all, we don’t want anyone to think of us as ‘Marian the Librarian,’ do we? We don’t want to be boring and fussy and….” She trailed off, searching for a suitably terrible word.

I swallowed hard and realized that the worst bit of news remained untold. After all, the costumes had been the good news. I braved her gaze. “And the bad news?”

Evelyn answered in the grave tone of a physician diagnosing a fatal disease. “The board discussed salaries.”

No one became a librarian because they wanted to be rich. And absolutely no one took a job at a small private library—a library that had to dress its librarians in eighteenth-century embroidered silk just to get patrons through the door!—because they thought they’d retire early. I’d originally come to the Peabridge on an internship while I was studying to get my masters’ degree, and I’d stayed because I liked the people—Evelyn, the rest of the staff. The patrons. I wasn’t expecting to become a millionaire.

Still, I wasn’t prepared for Evelyn’s next words. “We’re going to have to cut your pay by twenty-five percent.” She rushed on. “I argued against it. I really did. But you know that there are still board members who don’t think that we need a reference librarian at all, that we only need an archivist.”

I couldn’t say anything.

I’d already reduced my vacation budget to a one-week car trip to the beach. I brought my lunch every day (or snuck a gigantissimo latte from the bar). Breakfast was a Pop-tart when I bothered at all.

Well, at least I wouldn’t need to waste money on a professional work wardrobe any more. But twenty-five percent? Not possible. Not even in my worst nightmares.

“Rent,” I croaked. “If you take a quarter of my pay, I can’t pay my rent. I’ll be out on the street, Evelyn. I’ll be living beneath Key Bridge, pushing a shopping cart to the library’s front door every morning.”

“Now, Jane,” Evelyn said, moderating her tone as if she were talking a jumper down from the top of the Washington Monument. “I told the board that twenty-five percent was too much, that we couldn’t do that to the staff. We especially couldn’t do that to you—I know that you’re already relatively underpaid, even in our field.”

Well, it was nice to hear her say that, at least. In fact, she actually looked pleased as she prepared to make her grand announcement. “Jane, I came up with something better. I’m offering you a home. Free of charge, for as long as you work at the Peabridge.”

“A home?” I blinked and wondered if I’d slipped into some alternate universe. I resisted the urge to glance around for hidden cameras, for some signal that this was a wacky new reality show.

“It’s perfect!” Evelyn raised her chins from her chocolate-colored blouse and gave me a broad smile. “You’ll continue to work for us, we’ll make the salary cut, but you’ll live in the guest house, in the garden out back!”

The guest house. What guest house? The Peabridge gardens were extensive, but there was no guest house. There was a gazebo, and a pagoda, and an obelisk, and…. Then it hit me, like an icepick to my belly.

“Do you mean the old caretaker’s shed?”

“Shed?” Evelyn’s laugh was a bit forced. “You’ve obviously never been in there. It’s practically a mansion!”

Sure. In someone’s sick nightmare. Every time I walked by the ramshackle building, it gave me the creeps: The hair on the back of my neck literally stood on end, and the walls seemed to create their own clammy drafts. “Evelyn, I can’t live in a dusty tool shed.”

“It’s not a tool shed! It used to be home for a gardening professional, for a trained specialist in colonial horticulture! It has a kitchen. And a separate bedroom.”

“And a toilet? Is there even running water out there? Electricity?”

“Of course! Do you think that we’re barbarians?”

I stared down at my black slacks and my favorite silk blouse, cut to show off my, alas, minimal décolletage. The outfit was my “Monday best,” chosen to lure Jason’s attention right at the start of the week. This would be the last time I’d wear it to work. Starting next week, I’d be dressed like Martha Washington.

Barbarians? No, but I thought the Peabridge board was entirely out of line with reality.

What else was I going to do, though? Move back in with Gran? Park myself on the floor of Melissa’s one-room apartment? How was I ever going to move Jason from the Imaginary Boyfriend category to the Real, if I lived in a cardboard box under Key Bridge? If I was arrested for defaulting on my student loans?

“Rent free?” I asked.

“Rent free.”

“Utilities included?”

“Utilities included.”

I was tired of fighting with my landlord to fix the leaky ceiling in my current apartment. Thieves had broken in twice in the past year (not that I had anything worth stealing). My commute by public transportation was nearly an hour, each morning and each afternoon.

A one-minute commute.

I could sleep until 8:00 and still make it to work on time. I could dash home during the day and whip up a quick lunch. I could offer to help Jason with a research project, stay up late working beside him at my kitchen table, then suavely offer him a nightcap.

I could have it all—a real boyfriend, a successful library job, a home of my own, Scott Randall and missing magic wand be damned. I held out my hand, smothering my flash of embarrassment when I saw my chewed fingernails. Hmmm… Another goal, breaking that lifetime habit. “Done,” I said.

Evelyn’s fingers were cool on mine, and her smile was encouraging. “Done.” She smiled.

There. My job was secure. I had a new home. I was going to be spared wear and tear on my admittedly-limited wardrobe.

Then why did it seem as if I was about to tumble headlong over a precipice?

Chapter 2

“This might be the craziest thing you’ve ever done,” Melissa said on Sunday as we clambered out of Gran’s black Lincoln Town Car.

She would know. We’d been inseparable since the second week of third grade, when we went stomping through puddles during one waterlogged recess. We were wearing identical peacock-blue knee socks that day, and our feet and legs were stained for weeks. It’s amazing how closely bonded two girls can become when they’re laughed at by every child in their P.E. class. The experience wouldn’t have been so scarring if Mrs. Robinson hadn’t chosen that week to introduce our science class to the fauna of the Galapagos Islands. Especially the blue-footed booby.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I was already wrapping a bandana around my hair, trying to lasso my curls. As I often did, I wished that I’d been blessed with Melissa’s perfect hair. She wore it shoulder-length, so that the honey waves framed her gamine face. Everything about her was petite; she was only five foot two. But she packed more energy into her overalls than I’d ever imagined having.

Case in point: she was already emptying the trunk, fishing out dozens of bags filled with the finest cleaning supplies that Target had to offer. If a chemical shined, sparkled, or wiped, we had purchased it, relying on a grandmaternal grant for funding. I collected my share of the loot.

Even in the full light of a spring Sunday morning, I felt the chill of the cottage’s strange power as we approached the front door. A cool finger walked down my spine, making me unable to resist the urge to look behind me, to be certain that nothing was looming over my shoulder. “There!” I said. “Don’t you feel it?”

“You still think the place is haunted?”

“Not haunted,” I said, feeling slightly foolish. “It’s just that there’s a power here. A…presence.”

Melissa whistled the theme from Twilight Zone before lowering her voice to a Rod Serling rumble. “Jane Madison thought that she was moving into an ordinary cottage in an ordinary Georgetown garden.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Of course it was cold, even clammy, next to the building. I was standing in the shade. How silly could I be?

I dug the keys out of my pocket and selected the new one that Evelyn had given me. She had been as good as her word; a locksmith had come out during the week and installed a solid deadbolt on the door. I hadn’t had the nerve to try it alone. Now, the brass key glinted, bright as gold as I slipped it home and turned.

I took a deep breath before pushing the door open. “Ready?” I asked Melissa.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She stepped forward, Gran’s mop and broom looking like pikes in her hands.

The door opened without squeaking. The locksmith must have seen to the hinges. The rest of the cottage, though, looked as if it hadn’t been touched by human hands in more than a century.

Billowing white sheets clumped over furniture in the parlor, disguising shapes that might have been couches or chairs or massively mutated ottomans. Dust was thick on the floor, and the front windows were so fly-specked that they looked like some rotten form of stained glass. A braided-rag rug was rolled up against the far wall, and the hardwood floor looked dull and diseased. By craning my neck, I could just make out the appliances in the kitchen, and I thought they might once have been white.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Melissa said, even her spirit daunted.

“Might as well tackle the worst bits first,” I said grimly. “Do you want the kitchen or the bathroom?”

“I spend enough time in a kitchen at work. I’ll take the bathroom. Besides, it’s smaller.” She grinned.

We split up the cleaning supplies and activated our divide-and-conquer strategy. I asked myself how bad one kitchen could be, when it hadn’t even been used for decades?

The answer was, bad.

I started by sweeping, figuring that it made sense to get rid of the dry dirt before I tackled the wet. I disturbed enough spiders to repopulate every farm this side of Charlotte’s Web. I discovered that my new home had mice—or at least it had hosted them in the past, back when there was some semblance of food around. I learned that contact paper detached from shelves when the glue was old enough. And it left behind a gold-colored dust that made me sneeze if I peered at it too closely.

Even as I swept though—and scrubbed and scoured and mopped—I couldn’t help but be pleased. This was my home that we were cleaning. This was my pied-a-terre, my escape from the hustle and bustle of the workaday world. With every squeeze of a spray-bottle, I was beating back the cottage’s chilly atmosphere. I was subduing that Twilight Zone specter, pushing away my whispering fears.

Some time well after noon, I glanced out the kitchen window (newly glinting from a liberal application of Windex). I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The cottage lined up at the end of a garden path. While the yellow cowslips and deep pink candytuft had died back at the peak of the summer’s heat, I could still make out the bright white stars of foamflower stalks.

Endless volumes of colonial horticulture had not been wasted on this librarian.

And Gran’s housekeeping lessons weren’t wasted either. When Melissa and I folded back the dust-covers on the furniture in the living room, we were pleasantly surprised to find a pair of deep, overstuffed couches covered with hunter green fabric that looked untouched by time. In the bedroom, we discovered a four-poster with an actual feather mattress. My own clean sheets fit it perfectly.

We rolled out the rug in the living room and admired its tight braided pattern. Gran’s vacuum cleaner worked like a charm, sucking up the last stray evidence of the cottage’s abandonment. After I coiled up the vacuum’s power cord, we collapsed on the couches and surveyed our handiwork. “I don’t believe it,” I said.

“Still feel your Ghost of Christmas Past haunting the place?”

“Any ghost who was living here has been asphyxiated by ammonia.” I brandished the nearest spray bottle. “Fairies, begone, and be all ways away.”

“Titania. Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

It was an old game that we played. Smiling to acknowledge Melissa’s Shakespeare skills, I glanced over her shoulder. “What’s that door?” I asked, gesturing toward the hallway.

Melissa followed my gaze and shrugged. “The basement? I tried it and it’s locked.”

Just as well, I thought. There was no telling what creepy-crawlies lurked down there. I sighed and pulled myself to my feet. “So, are we going to reward ourselves with burgers?”

“And fries. Your treat.”

Neither of us could bring ourselves to shower in the sparkling new bathroom; we wanted the fruit of our labors to remain unblemished for just a while longer. I did take a moment to splash some water on my face at the kitchen sink, and I removed my grimy bandana, allowing my hair to sproing out around my ears. Taken together, Melissa and I looked like refugees from a stowaway’s convention, but that was going to have to do.

Besides, Five Guys Burgers and Fries did not exactly require the height of fashion to set foot inside its doors. The counter was already three deep when we got there, and we took a moment to stare up at the menu, red letters stamped on a broad white board. Simple: hamburgers, fries, toppings (extra charge for cheese and bacon.) Cold soda. Peanuts to munch on while we waited. The smell of hot grease made me salivate like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

It was a sign of how long I’d known Melissa that I could order for her without confirming what she wanted. I stepped up to the counter and asked for one good burger (cheese, bacon, grilled onions and mushrooms, lettuce, tomato) and one pitifully flawed burger (mustard, ketchup, nothing else at all in the world, poor bare thing), along with a large order of fries for us to split. Before I could finish giving Melissa grief over her denuded choice of lunch, we found ourselves at a Formica-covered table.

The first bite was heaven. Hot beef and melted cheese and crispy bacon, with juice running down my fingers and a tiny rivulet snaking beside my lips…. I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to moan out loud.

“Hey,” Melissa said. “Isn’t that your Jason?”

I whirled around without thinking.

So much for cool. So much for suave. So much for calm and self-possessed and witty and urbane. If my whiplash motion had not drawn his eyes to me, my explosion of coughing would have. Five Guys burgers made a perfect meal, but they were lousy down the windpipe.

When I was finally able to breathe again, I saw the true extent of the disaster. My Imaginary Boyfriend was not merely sitting in the same dive-y restaurant that I shared with Melissa. He hadn’t just seen me choke on a bite of hamburger the size of a pack of cards. He wasn’t only privy to my dirt-streaked arms and my stained t-shirt.

He was eating with another woman.

A woman who, even seated, clearly had the body of a classically-trained ballerina. She was tall and thin—willowy is the phrase that you read in books. She had soft brown hair with chunks of buttery blonde that I could tell weren’t highlights—that was her own naturally perfect coloring. Her eyes were pale blue, framed by the longest, darkest lashes that Lady Maybelline had ever touched.

Who was I kidding? Maybelline? That woman didn’t buy her cosmetics at a drugstore. Even Sephora was too downscale for her. She probably had colors mixed by hand at some boutique in New York. But the most astonishing thing about her mascara? It was totally, completely waterproof.

The woman was crying.

And that made me even more jealous of her. Not only was she sitting across the table from my Imaginary Boyfriend. Not only did she have a body to die for and a face to match. Not only did she have more elegance in her elongated pinky than I had in my entire body. But she could cry without her nose turning red and her face going blotchy. I hated her.

“Don’t look!” I hissed to Melissa. Well, as much as anyone could hiss a command that had no S’s in it. I made a big show of eating a French fry. One little French fry. One that wouldn’t put too many inches on my hips. “What are they doing?”

“How can I know, if you won’t let me look?”

“Melissa,” I warned, swallowing some Diet Coke as I tried to wash away the scratchy feeling left over from choking.

She gave in with a grin. “He’s offering her his napkin. She’s wiping her nose. No. She’s dabbing at her nose. My God, she looks like a princess.”

“I don’t need to hear that!” I stuffed three emergency fries into my mouth, and the salty, steamy potato almost drowned out the report.

“Hurry up,” Melissa said with a sudden urgency. “Finish that bite. They’re coming this way.”

I gulped and swallowed and even found a second to take a sip of soda. By the time Jason stopped by our table, I’d pasted a smile on my lips, but it felt fake to me. An Imaginary Smile for an Imaginary Boyfriend.

“Jane,” he said, and my heart leaped somewhere up to the vicinity of my larynx.

“Jason,” I managed before prompting, “Um, I think you’ve met my friend, Melissa. Melissa White.” I needed to find out the name of the woman who was with him.

He nodded. Almost as an afterthought, he turned toward the spectral creature who drifted behind him. “Jane, Melissa, this is Ekaterina Ivanova.”

Ekaterina Ivanova? Just like some Russian princess. Like Anastasia’s long-lost grand-daughter. I waited for her to extend her hand, but she didn’t. It was just as well. My own chewed nails and greasy fingertips would have defiled her forever. She inclined her head toward us, and I felt as if the very Queen of the Wilis had deigned to acknowledge our existence. She said, “Jason, I need to leave,” and her voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

He shrugged and smiled at me, and I told myself that there were volumes behind that grin. He would rather sit with Melissa and me. He would prefer to help himself to some of our fries. He wanted to joke and relax with real women, rather than his ice statue of a companion.

Melissa came unstuck first. “It was nice meeting you,” she said to Ekaterina. “Good to see you again, Jason.”

I muttered something, and then they were gone. “Who do you think she is?” I asked, before the door had closed behind them.

“I don’t know, but she definitely wasn’t happy.”

“She must be Russian. Did you hear that accent? Didn’t she sound Russian to you?”

“I could barely hear her speak.”

“She’s Russian, though.” I heard the words tumbling out of my mouth, faster and faster, as if I needed to reassure myself. “She must be one of his grad students. A lot of Russians study American history. You know, there’s a whole tradition of foreign students specializing in the colonies. Alexis de Tocqueville wasn’t the first, and he certainly won’t be the last.”

“De Tocqueville was French.” Melissa took advantage of my distraction to snatch the last of the fries from the greasy paper sack.

“You know what I mean.”

“We’re in Georgetown, Jane. The man is a professor at Mid-Atlantic. Probably half the people he knows are academics.”

“Did you see her mascara?”

“Yep.” Melissa downed the last bite of her burger before she nodded. “It probably cost more than a month of your pay at the Peabridge.”

“Who bothers with mascara on the weekends, anyway?”

“On the weekends?” Melissa batted her eyelashes at me. I could not think of a time when I’d seen her wearing mascara. Or lipstick. Or blush, foundation, or eyeliner. She always said they just melted down her face while she worked at the bakery.

I sighed and set aside the vision of the Ice Queen. She probably specialized in early women’s suffrage movements. She looked the type.

“Are you through?” I asked Melissa, already collecting our spent napkins and plastic cups of ketchup.

She nodded and tossed her pristine napkin onto the tray. I tried not to compare it to my stained one. Well, how was a girl supposed to stay neat while eating a burger? Didn’t it show a healthy appetite to let the juices run down your wrists?

We walked back to the cottage, and I was pleased to see that our hard labor had withstood the test of time. If anything, the surfaces glinted more in the afternoon light. “OK,” I said after taking a deep breath. “Time to do the actual moving in.”

“It should only take two trips.”

Melissa was much better at spatial relationships than I. That must have been a skill that she developed during all those years of choosing the right mixing bowl, of finding the correct Tupperware for leftovers. Back at my old apartment, she made us slide the Lincoln’s front seats up as far as they would go before she wedged in all of my possessions—first onto the car’s huge back seat, then into the trunk. There wasn’t all that much, actually. After all, I’d been a starving grad student for years, and my library job hadn’t paid a fortune, even before my salary was gutted by the board. Before the London Disaster, I’d spent most of my time hanging out at Scott’s apartment, watching his TV, eating off his plates, using his household appliances.

Mostly, I had clothes. Black clothes. Clothes that I could mix and match in an instant, with a generous apportionment of handmade jewelry to accessorize. My collection ran to necklaces and earrings, although I’d invested heavily in brooches when they were popular a couple of years back. Most of my holdings were cheap, scavenged at yard sales and art fairs, but a few were true treasures, garnered in museum shops and tiny galleries around town. What could I say? A girl has her weaknesses.

In the end, though, we had to run a third trip back to my old place. Neither Melissa nor I trusted Stupid Fish on a car seat with any other belongings.

Stupid Fish was the world’s oldest neon tetra. He’d been a college graduation gift from Scott. He’d lasted through English grad school, library school, even through London. When I found out about Scott and the British slut, I almost flushed Stupid Fish. But it was hardly the tetra’s fault that he’d been purchased by a jerk.

And so he lived on. Stupid Fish the Superannuated Tetra. Stupid Fish, who had a ten-gallon tank all to himself, because I wasn’t about to compound my mistakes by getting him any little fishy companions. Not at this late date.

We moved the tank by emptying out half the water. Melissa carried it to the car (she’d always been stronger than I). She’d even thought to bring a cookie sheet to cover the tank and keep the water from sloshing out as we drove across town for the last time. After she carried it into the house and set it on the counter in the kitchen, I added some spring water and watched Stupid Fish swim around. As ready as I was to be out of the fish business, I was pleased to see that he made the move without obvious trauma.

Before long, Melissa decided to head home. She lived above Cake Walk, the bakery that she owned, down by the canal that ran through Georgetown. Mornings started at an ungodly hour for her. I thanked her a million times for helping me with the move, and she shrugged it off, like best friends do.

She walked down the garden path, and I was alone in my new home.

I strolled from room to room, a little amazed by the amount of space that was mine. It was the height of luxury to have separate rooms—I had lived in studio apartments for all the years since I’d flown Gran’s nest. I made a cup of tea and sipped it while curled up on my hunter green sofa.

I realized that I was exhausted. After all, I’d been up since dawn, packing up my old place, readying this one. It was time to go to bed, so that I could make it to work on time the next morning. Monday was a prime Jason day, and I wanted to be rested.

I changed into my preferred sleepwear, a pair of men’s flannel pajamas cut off at the knees, so faded that I could barely make out their black watch plaid. Making one more tour of my home, I turned off all the lights before climbing into the feather bed and putting my glasses on the nightstand. I lay back on my pillow and closed my eyes, but before I could drift off to sleep, I remembered the chilly feeling that I’d encountered walking around the cottage in the past.

That was not the right thing to think of.

I told myself to relax. I told myself to give in to the bone-deep exhaustion in my arms and legs. I told myself to go through the multiplication table, to bore my brain to sleep.

Around six times seven is forty-two, I gave up. I put on my glasses and found the fuzzy bunny slippers that Gran had given me for my last birthday. I smiled at their floppy ears the way I always did. I walked into the bathroom, grateful that Melissa had latched the decorative shutters over the single window, keeping night-time spooks from peering in at me. I filled my toothbrush cup with water and made myself swallow slowly, all the time looking in the mirror and telling myself how foolish I was being.

When I set the cup back on the counter, I saw that one of the tiles was cobalt blue, darker than all the others, as if it had been replaced some time in the past. I touched it, and to my surprise, it pivoted easily to reveal a cubbyhole. As I peered closer, I saw that there was a brass cup hook planted in the top of the space. And dangling from the hook was a key.

It wasn’t a large key, no longer than the one that worked my new deadbolt. But it was the strangest key I’d ever seen. It was forged out of black iron. Instead of little jagged zigzags of teeth, it had a sturdy black rectangle with an intricate shape cut out of the middle. I slipped it from the hook, and it was heavier in my palm than it should have been.

I could hear my blood pounding in my ears. Stop it, I said. There is nothing spooky or mysterious about this key. It must fit some door around the house. A lot of homes had hiding places, built before people trusted banks, before they poured their life savings into stocks and bonds.

Nevertheless, I turned on every light as I walked out to the living room. The cottage must have blazed in the middle of the Peabridge gardens like a centenarian’s birthday cake. I didn’t waste my time in the kitchen. Surely, I would have found a secret door when I cleaned that morning. The bedroom walls were bare, too, and there was nothing suspicious in my tiny closet. The bathroom, the hallway, the living room—all straightforward lath-and-plaster walls.

And then I saw it.

The basement door. The basement, which I was going to let live in peace, with its spiders and its mice and whatever else had scurried down there for shelter.

But there was the door, right off the living room. It had an iron lock. An iron lock that matched the key in my now-trembling hand. The clammy feeling washed over me again, nearly knocking me over with its force.

I found my purse on the coffee table and dug out my cell phone. I punched in a 9 and a 1. The phone whined in my hand, as if I’d brought it too close to a computer screen. The noise grated on my nerves, making me even more aware of the potential danger that lurked below. My left thumb hovered over the 1 again as I set the key in the lock. Filling my lungs and biting down on my lip, I turned the key and opened the door.

Chapter 3

I fumbled for the light switch in the place I expected it to be, at the top of the stairs, but there wasn’t one. Gripping my cell phone closer and feeling more than a little foolish, I swept my fingers in front of my face, swiping blindly into the darkness, hoping to find a cord or chain for an overhead light. Nothing.

The phone glowed green, shedding just enough light from its picture panel that I could make out the stairs beneath my feet. When I moved to the next step, though, weird shadows ganged up on me, and I had to stifle a shout.

Light. I needed more light.

Swearing under my breath, I retreated to the kitchen. After I set the phone down on the counter, it only took a moment to pull my box of thunderstorm supplies from beneath the sink. During the spring and summer, Washington saw its share of major thunderstorms, and my old apartment had lost power at least once a month. I’d become an expert at arranging candles to maximize the reflection of light off a book (candles lasted longer than flashlight batteries), and I had invested in pure beeswax to reduce unsightly drips and splatters. I dug out a fat taper from beneath the cans of tuna (emergency dinner) and the water spray-bottle (emergency air conditioner.) I found the Zippo lighter at the bottom of the box and returned to the basement stairs.

I was so nervous that it took me three tries to get the Zippo to catch. When I finally had the candle burning, I tossed the extinguished lighter over to the braided rug. Raising the flame in front of my face, I sheltered it from drafts with my 9-1-1-poised cell. I could hear the phone’s angry static, resonating down the basement stairs.

In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought to myself. That, unfortunately, made me think of the Merchant of Venice’s pound of flesh, which of course turned my mind to blood, to my own blood pouring down the stairs. Then, all I could imagine was the fairy tale Bluebeard: the domineering pirate who gives his lady-love free reign throughout his castle, but demands only that she avoid the tower room, the one filled with blood.

I shook my head and raised the candle higher. Even though my voice quavered, I counted out loud as I moved down the steps. “One. Two. Three.”

I wouldn’t have started counting, if I’d known there were thirteen steps. Like I needed any more harbingers of bad luck.

The air in the basement was cold, and I thought about running back to my bedroom for a sweater. I was honest enough, though, to admit that I’d never make it back downstairs if I gave myself that chance to escape. Instead, I held the candle out toward the walls and looked around.

And then I laughed aloud.

I was staring at books. Rows and rows of books. They filled their mahogany shelves. They leaned against each other like plastic drink stirrers in a trendy martini bar. They were tossed onto the floor as if some temperamental undergrad had grown tired of studying for finals. I finally dared to take a deep breath, and I was comforted by the rich, familiar scent of leather.

Pleased at the treasure trove despite my now-laughable fears, I took another step into the basement room. My slippered feet settled onto something soft and yielding, and I looked down at the most luxurious rug I’d ever seen in my life. I didn’t know anything about carpets, but this one glinted in the candlelight with a soft sheen that whispered silk. The pattern was a riot of crimson and indigo; intricate twists and turns were woven into the design to tease my eyes into thinking that I could make out meaningful shapes.

A wooden reading stand occupied the center of the room. It was made out of the same dark wood as the bookshelves, finished with the same soft gleam. The surface was slanted toward me, and I was reminded of those high end architect’s desks that seem like they’d be the ultimate in elegance and sophistication, but which I’d always feared would lead to a strained neck, a backache, and a checkbook full of buyer’s remorse.

A single book rested on the stand. Its leather cover was stained and weathered, as if it had been caught in more than one rainstorm. Its pages rippled between the covers, sheets heavier than ordinary paper. Parchment, then. I looked for a title on the spine, but there was none.

My search took me to the side of the stand, and I discovered a statue crouching beside the high table. It looked like one of those Egyptian cats with its tail curled around its front paws, a guardian from a mummy’s tomb, but it was huge. The thing came up to my waist, and as I took a step back, the cat’s eyes seemed to stare out at me, somber and unblinking. They were made of glass or plastic or something, and they glittered as they reflected my candle. I resisted the urge to put my hand on its head.

I was afraid that it might be warm to the touch.

Instead, I looked around the rest of the room. In addition to a couple of thousand haphazardly strewn books, there was a large hump-backed chest in the far corner. It looked like a steamer trunk, with peeling leather and a broken padlock that made me think of the Titanic.

And there, against the far wall, was an armoire. One door stood open, revealing a tangle of clothes—velvet and satin and a twisting length of feather boa. Both the trunk and the armoire were made of the same mahogany wood as the shelves and book stand. They were all bare of any decoration, any initials, any design that might hint at who had owned them or left them there.

Next to the armoire was a huge couch—ancient black leather as cracked and battered as if the furniture had come through a storm. A half-dozen pamphlets were strewn across its cushions, and I wondered who had last read them. Who had—apparently—expected to return in short order.

My cell phone chose that moment to beep its displeasure at having been kept on alert for so long. I bit off a shriek at the mechanical sound, combining the beginning of a scream with the middle of a gasp, and I ended up sounding like a hiccuping cow. Angry with myself, and more than a little embarrassed, I snapped the phone closed. As an eerie, static-free silence filled the room, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder, to make sure there was still a clear path to the top of the stairs.

Skirting the statue of the cat, I moved around to the front of the tall, tilted book stand. My hand reached out toward the book. No, I didn’t reach for it. I’m not stupid enough to reach out for an unknown book in an unknown library, with a creepy, glass-eyed cat statue staring at me like I might be the Invading Mouse Queen from Hell.

But my hand just didn’t recognize the danger it was in. We were in. We, my hand and I.

It reached out, and it turned back the cover, and it flipped past the first creamy, empty page. It brushed against the words spelled out on the title page, words that were dark and strong and printed in that pointy, ornate, gothic font that people use for tattoos that say DEATH or FEAR or some other life-non-affirming thing.

Compendium Magicarum

I had to squint to make out the second word. Magicarum? Magic?

The clammy sensation that I’d always associated with the cottage chose that moment to trace my spine again, making my skin dance along my vertebrae. If anyone ever asks you, you should know that your hair really can stand on end. At least the short hairs at the base of your neck. And there’s no amount of rapid breathing that will make them lie down again. Not while you’re afraid. Not while you think that something might jump out at you from the shadows.

I made myself laugh, even if the sound came out pretty shaky. Pretending to be defiant, I turned the page, expecting to see more information—the name of the author, or a statement of who had printed the book, something about its provenance.

The next page, though, was filled with script. Carefully scribed Ye Olde English letters marched along, row after row. They made me think of monks sitting at long tables, holding quill pens and shivering as they reproduced countless bibles.

No monk, though, would have written the words that were etched across the top of the page: On Awakyning and Bynding a Familiarus

A familiarus. A familiar, surely.

I had read about the Salem witch trials. I knew about those poor old women who were accused of speaking to the devil through black cats. (Yes. Black cats. Like the statue beside the book stand. That chill rippled down my spine again.)

I told myself that I couldn’t run upstairs now. It wouldn’t do any good. Not now. Not since I knew about these things in my basement.

I put the cell phone down beside the book. As I brushed my hair back from my face, my fingers felt clammy on my forehead. I cleared my throat and touched my voicebox, as if the chill would slow my beating heart. I spread my hand across my chest, willing myself to calm down.

When that mental command did no good, I resorted to one of the things I did best—laughing at myself. Purposely making my voice creak like an old soothsayer’s, I ran my fingers beneath the words and read aloud:

Awaken now, hunter, dark as the night.
Bring me your power, your strong second sight.
Hear that I call you and, willing, assist;
Lend me your magic and all that you wist.

There was a flash of darkness.

Okay, I knew that didn’t make any sense. I knew that a “flash” was supposed to be light, that I was supposed to use the word to describe stars and glinting and color.

But this was an explosion of darkness.

My candle flame disappeared. The light from the stairs disappeared. The sight of my fingertips, pressed against the jet black word “wist” on the parchment page, the book itself, the table, the room—all of it just disappeared.

And then, it jumped back into existence, except that everything was more than it had been before. Everything was sharper, clearer. I felt like someone in the projection booth of my life had just responded to an audience member’s drunken roar: “Focus!”

This time, I didn’t try to swallow my scream, but I still didn’t manage a full Friday-the-Thirteenth Chainsaw Massacre shriek. More a startled exclamation: “What the hell?”

And those three words changed everything. One moment, I was alone in my basement, surrounded by an impossible collection of books, holding a wavering beeswax candle and trembling in my bunny slippers. The next, I had company.

The statue beside me awakened.

At first, it moved like any other waist-high cat you might choose to imagine. It uncurled its tail from around its paws and stood up from its seated position. It shook its head back and forth. It stretched its front paws forward, digging its claws into the crimson and indigo Turkish carpet and extracting them one by one. It opened its mouth in a gaping yawn, showing me the ridged roof of its palate and its hand-long fangs, sharper than the knives I’d thrown into the kitchen drawers upstairs.

Before I could speak or move or even think of retrieving my cell phone, the cat tucked its head toward its chest and bunched all four feet together. It arched its back like a Halloween symbol, a rigid curve of spiky fur.

But when it came out of the arch, it was no longer a cat.

I found myself looking into a man’s eyes. In the candlelight, I couldn’t decipher their color—they might have been green or amber or hazel. They were slightly almond-shaped, complementing strong, angular cheekbones that I would have given my own eyeteeth to possess. His hair was jet black and very short, standing on end as if it had been gelled. He wore the most close-fitting black t-shirt I’d ever seen and a pair of black jeans that were stretched so tight across his crotch that I glanced away immediately. His shoes were sleek leather, vaguely European.

He surveyed me from head to toe, taking a long moment to linger over my bunny slippers. He took his time licking his lips before he settled his right hand on his hip and shook his head. When he spoke, he sounded positively disdainful. “Girlfriend,” he said. “We have got to get you some better shoes.”

Chapter 4

A half dozen responses crashed through my mind. “What do you know about shoes?” I started to ask. That got pushed aside by “What just happened?” And “Did I really see what I think I saw?” And “What are you doing in my basement?” And “How did you get in here?” And “Are you really a familiar?” Spluttering, I settled for: “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Neko, darling.”

“Neko? Just Neko? How about a last name?” Or was that his last name? I realized I was gaping, and it wasn’t any more attractive here in my basement than it was when Melissa and I went out to Le Bar, and I couldn’t think of a reply when the guy making martinis flirted with me. Like that happened on a regular basis.

“Just Neko,” he said. He looked around the room and clicked his tongue in patent disapproval. “Oh, my! You have let things slip, haven’t you?”

My cheeks flushed, even though I didn’t have any reason to be ashamed of the basement. Once a librarian, always a librarian, I guess. The cascading books did make me feel vaguely uneasy. Like I’d been caught red-handed ducking out of work early, leaving part of my job undone.

Wait.

A statue of a cat had just transformed into a living, breathing man before my very eyes, and I was worried about shelving books according to the Dewey Decimal System? I shook my head. “Just a second,” I said. “Before you start to criticize me, let’s get a couple of things straight. First, I take it you’re a familiar?”

“And I take it you’re a witch.”

“No, I’m a librarian.”

“Who just happens to work spells. No need to be coy with me, girlfriend.”

“I didn’t work a spell! I just read some words in that book!”

Neko stalked around the book stand, viewing the volume from all angles. He wrinkled his nose, as if he could smell something unpleasant steaming up from the pages. He cocked his head when he’d completed his circuit. “And you just happened to have a beeswax taper in your hand when you read it? And sheer coincidence made you offer up the powers of your mind, your voice, and your heart? Then trace the letters with your finger? You don’t read everything out loud, do you? Not very good librarian behavior, that.”

I looked at the candle, almost surprised to find that I still held it. “This is all some joke, right? Did Melissa put you up to this?”

“Who is Melissa?”

He truly sounded puzzled. So puzzled that I didn’t even bother asking about Evelyn. Or Gran. No one else would have had the time to pull together this prank. Even if they’d known I was moving into the cottage. Even if they’d known how to transform a cat into a man.

But if it wasn’t a prank….

I suddenly felt weak in my knees. Was he a madman? Was he dangerous? He didn’t seem likely to harm me, but what could I truly know? I didn’t think that I was actually going to faint—I’d never fainted—but sitting down suddenly seemed like a really good idea. And a shot of vodka was an even better one. My voice shook as I asked, “Can you come upstairs?”

“Can a drag queen sing?”

Well, could a drag queen sing? I have to admit I wasn’t an expert on the subject. I mean, I’d seen “To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar”—it was a campy staple at grad school. I was a big fan of Bugs Bunny, and it seemed like he spent half his time in a dress and lipstick.

But Neko was asking a rhetorical question. I didn’t need to give an actual reply. Instead, I turned around and walked upstairs, clutching the railing and trying not to feel too paranoid about the flamboyantly-gay, black-clad, feline familiar stalking behind me.

In the kitchen, I finally blew out my candle and dropped it onto the tile counter. I opened up the freezer and fished out the bottle of Stoli that I’d stashed there after the last run from my old apartment. “Drink?” I asked, as I tried to remember where I’d put the glasses.

Neko made a small moue of distaste. Apparently Stoli wasn’t his alcohol of preference. Tough luck for him. I found the tumblers on my third try—second cabinet to the left of the sink.

“Do you have anything to eat?” he asked. “It’s been a while since my last meal.”

The clear bottle rattled against the glass as I poured. “Not much. I haven’t been to the grocery store yet.”

The grocery store. Here I was, standing in my kitchen in the middle of the night, discussing my larder with an apparition that I’d summoned to life through the power of an ancient spellbook.

Yeah. Right.

I downed a large swallow of vodka and poured another. The Russian heat burned down my throat, and I resisted the urge to shake my head and gasp.

Anxious for something to keep my hands busy, anything, I picked up the candle. I tested the wick to make sure that it was cool, and I tossed it back into the emergency supplies box. It landed against one of the cans of tuna. Hmmm… tuna? “I’ve got this.”

“That will have to do,” Neko said, but he smiled as he craned his neck, examining the cartoon fish on the squat can’s label.

I dug out my can opener, secretly pleased that I remembered which drawer held the tool. As I cranked the handle, Neko leaned closer. He wove his head back and forth as I worked the opener, and I thought that I heard a gurgle deep in his throat. Or was that a purr?

I pressed the detached lid back into the can and started to drain the packing water into the sink. “No!” Neko cried, and I jumped back. “What are you doing?”

“Um, draining the tuna?”

“That’s the best part!”

I looked at him as if he were truly crazy, but he was dancing back and forth beside me. I wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten, how long he’d been frozen as a statue in my basement. Could it be decades? Centuries? How much did he know about canned tuna, anyway? And packing water? What exactly was going on here?

I put the can down on the counter and reached for a fork. Before I could hand him the utensil, Neko pounced on the food. I looked away, disgusted by his slurping directly from the can. Before I could say anything, there was a pounding knock at the door.

Neko glanced up. “You’d better get that.”

“Who could it be?” I shot a look at my watch. “It’s three twenty in the morning.”

“It’ll be the warder.”

“The warder?” I couldn’t tell if my voice broke because of the strange word, or because Neko had already emptied the contents of the can. “Be careful!” I said, as he started to lick the lid. “You’ll cut yourself!”

“Warder,” Neko repeated, reluctantly setting the container on the counter. It was clean enough that I could set it out for recycling. The knocking resumed. “They don’t like to be kept waiting. If you’re lucky, you’ll get one of the luscious ones.”

I glanced down at my flannel pj’s and my bunny-shod feet. No time to dress for this meeting, “luscious warder” or not. I settled for kicking off my slippers and grabbing my Polarfleece blanket from the back of the nearest green couch. I draped the throw around my shoulders and pulled it close at my neck. I was sure that some glamorous movie star could have pulled off the look, but I felt like a barefoot little girl playing dress up.

The pounding resumed, and I hollered, “I’m coming!”

I crossed to the door and waited for Neko to come stand beside me. After all, he seemed to have some idea who was out there. The amazing cat-man, though, only hovered in the kitchen doorway. He scratched at his jaw and said, “He’ll only get angrier if you make him wait.”

Clutching my blanket close, I threw the deadbolt and opened the door.

The man who swept in looked like he had escaped from a movie set. He was tall—he had a good foot on me. His dark hair swooped to silver on his temples, and he wore it a little long. He was clean-shaven, not even wearing the sideburns that Ashton Kutcher had made all the rage. His eyes were probably brown, but it was hard to tell because his pupils were enlarged from the night-time dark. He wore a well-tailored suit of charcoal grey, cut to accentuate his height, and his white dress shirt was open at the neck. The tendons on either side of his throat strained like metal cables.

He filled his lungs, and Neko took a mincing step back into the kitchen. The newcomer whirled toward me. If he’d been wearing a cape, it would have swirled out behind him. “What the devil do you think you’re doing? Awakening a familiar on the night of a full moon?”

“What the devil?” I actually laughed out loud. It wasn’t that the words were actually so funny. It was just that I’d never heard anyone use them before. Not in real life, in real anger. They sounded too high-flown, too Mr. Rochester or Heathcliff or someone like that.

My amusement probably wasn’t the response he expected. I think that I was supposed to fall to my knees, cowering in terror. This guy was accustomed to people—to witches?—being afraid of him. “What the devil?” I repeated, and I closed the door behind him.

“What is your name?” he demanded.

“You’re the one pushing your way into my house,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that my feet were getting cold on the hardwood floor. “Don’t you think you should tell me yours first?”

He glanced at Neko, who gave a slight shrug. Even if my, um, familiar wanted to provide this stranger with information, he couldn’t. The warder eyed me evenly and said, “I am David Montrose.”

“Jane Madison,” I said, extending my hand. As soon as I said it, I wished that I hadn’t given him my last name. If we’d been in a bar, I would have just said, “Jane.” He shook my hand, but he seemed a bit surprised. Seizing the moment, I pushed my glasses back up on the bridge of my nose. “What are you doing here at three thirty in the morning?”

“I’m one of Hecate’s Warders.” The words meant nothing to me. “I was summoned by your unlicensed working tonight.”

“My unlicensed working…. You mean reading from that book downstairs?”

“The spellbook?” He said, and even if he meant it to be a statement, it actually came out like a question. “The Compendium?” He must have heard his tentative tone, because he cleared his throat and said, “You worked a spell without first registering with the coven.” There. Now he sounded like the big bad wolf, and I had no doubt that he could huff, or puff, or blow my house down, or whatever else warders did when bad witches forgot to register and awakened familiars on the night of a full moon.

“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what this is all about.” I looked over at Neko, who obligingly nodded his head in agreement.

“She really doesn’t,” he said to Montrose. “The poor thing doesn’t know much of anything at all. Just look at those glasses—can you believe how wrong they are for her face?”

“Thanks.” I scowled at him, but he only turned his palms toward me—a universal gesture for “what else do you want from me?”

“You expect me to believe that?” Montrose’s words remained aggressive, but his tone wavered again. I thought he was beginning to realize that I wasn’t some dark, mysterious pirate sailing the witchcraft seas. I was a totally lost amateur, hoping that my Sunfish sailboat didn’t drift too far past the pier.

“I don’t expect you to believe anything!” I said. “Look. I’ll tell you what happened, but I’m not going to get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Montrose opened his mouth, clearly planning to quote section and verse from some volume on witchcraft infractions, but I went on before he could interrupt. “Go on. Go sit in the kitchen. I’m putting on some real clothes, and I’ll meet you in there.”

Montrose stared at me in obvious surprise. I don’t think that anyone had ever told him where he should go and when he should do it. I confirmed my suspicion when I caught Neko staring at me, a look of theatrical horror widening his eyes.

“Neko?” I asked. “Do you know how to put on the tea kettle?” He nodded, apparently unable to find his voice. “Good. The tea is in the pantry. Top right shelf.” I turned toward my room, pleased at having taken control of the situation. Then, I remembered. “No. Not right. Left.” Back to my room. “Wait! Second shelf from the top.”

“I’ll find the tea,” Neko said, as if he were more afraid to deal with a crazed homeowner who had lost her teabags than he was to confront Hecate’s Warder. Whatever the hell that meant.

Back in my bedroom, I shut my door carefully, making sure that the latch snicked all the way closed. When I was reasonably certain that the cavalry wasn’t going to come barging in, I tore off my flannel pajamas. My shorts and t-shirt from earlier in the day were crumpled on the floor, but there was no way I was going to confront Montrose—or anyone else—in those stinky things. I flung open my closet door and reached for the first hanger.

A black silk blouse. French cuffs. No way that I was going to find cufflinks at this late hour.

Next up was a knit dress, more or less unwrinkled after its transport on the back seat of Gran’s car. I slipped it off its hanger and shook it out, cringing at the loud noise when it snapped in mid-air. I fumbled for a bra, swore when the straps twisted into a knot, and bit the inside of my cheek when the hooks tangled on the wrong eyelets.

This was ridiculous. I’d been dressing myself for how many years? I just needed to slow down. Take my time. Forget that I’d turned a giant cat statue into a man and summoned some sort of cosmic cop to my doorstep. Easy.

I tugged the dress over my head and decided that I wasn’t going to fight pantyhose and shoes, cold toes or not. With any luck, Montrose would be out of the house before he noticed the oversight.

Fat chance. When I walked into the kitchen, Neko immediately stared at my feet. “Would you like me to get your slippers?” he asked, glancing at the bunny ears that were just visible behind the couch.

“No. Thank you.” I made my reply frosty. At least, he had managed to find the teabags. And the sugar.

“You don’t have any cream,” he said, and he made it sound like a mortal sin.

“I drink mine black.” I hoped to convey the fact that I wasn’t running an all-night diner. Neko looked wounded. Montrose was not amused.

The water was just coming to a boil, so I used the routine of making tea to cover my apprehension. I rescued three mugs from the shelf above the sink and found a teaspoon and saucer to hold our used teabags. I poured boiling water into the mugs. I gestured to the tin table in the kitchen and waved the men to their seats.

Only when oolong steam was rising to moisten my cheeks did I meet Montrose’s eyes. His fingers closed tightly over the handle of his mug, and I could hear the tension as he forced his voice to be civil. “Thank you, Miss Madison,” he said.

“My pleasure.” His “Miss Madison” made me more formal than usual. Off my game again, I sipped from my mug and burned my tongue. I put the tea on the table and took a deep breath. “All right, then. You’re a Warder. What is that? Some sort of cop?”

He started to protest, but he settled for a tight-jawed nod. “I enforce the Covenants.”

“The Covenants?” I wished that Melissa were with me; she could whistle her Twilight Zone theme. “Let me guess. The witches form a Coven? And their laws are the Covenants?” Another nod. “You do realize that I’m not a witch, right?”

“You worked a spell.” He kept his voice perfectly steady, and even I couldn’t argue with his logic. “You have the power. You found the key, and you opened the book. You read from the page.”

“Anyone could have done that.”

“If you didn’t have the power, the key would have stayed hidden.”

Oh.

I tried again. “Even if I do have some power, I’m not a witch.” I counted off my explanations on my fingers. “One: I don’t wear a pointy hat. Two: I use a broom only for sweeping. Three: I’ve never even owned a cauldron.” Ha ha ha.

Montrose was not amused. “You lit the pure beeswax taper, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I didn’t—”

“And you touched your brow, your throat, and your heart?”

“Yes, but I—”

“And you traced the words in the spellbook with your finger?”

“Yes, but—”

“And you read the spell aloud?”

“Yes—”

“And yet you still say you didn’t work a spell. You awakened a familiar.” He shook his head and pointed to Neko. “That familiar. On the night of the full moon.”

Neko froze, halfway through testing his tea with the tip of his tongue. He cast a fearful look at Montrose. I was already beginning to feel protective of the black-clad guy. After all, he hadn’t asked to be awakened by me.

I said, “So what’s the deal with the full moon? I mean, how does it change things?”

Montrose sighed. “Any familiar awakened on the night of a full moon has freedom to roam.” I stared at him. He said, “Neko can go anywhere. He doesn’t have to stay in the same room as your Compendium. He isn’t bound to you the way that a normal familiar is bound.”

So much for feeling protective. I turned on Neko. “Were you going to say anything to me about this?”

“Probably not.” He shrugged and pursed his lips into an air kiss. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

I turned back to Montrose, feeling more than a little betrayed. “Look,” I said. “Why don’t we cut to the chase? Just for the sake of argument, I’ll say that I worked a spell. You’re the police, and I broke the rules. Do I pay a fine? Have to show up at witch court?”

“You have to stop using your powers. Until you’ve trained with someone who knows the consequences of working magic.”

“Well, that’s easy enough.” My relief actually felt something like a laugh. “I can promise you that I’m not going to work any more magic. Ever. This is all too weird. It’s not like I planned any of this, you know.”

“No spells, then.”

I nodded, relieved at how easy this was going to be. “No spells.” As soon as it was daylight, I would toss out every one of my beeswax tapers. I’d risk being without power in a dozen thunderstorms before I’d relive a night as strange as this one. And I’d figure out how to get rid of my…familiar in the full light of day.

“I’ll be monitoring you,” Montrose warned.

“You go ahead and do whatever you have to do.” I tried to keep my words defiant.

Actually, I had about a million questions. How could he monitor me? How had he found me in the first place? How had he known that I’d transformed Neko? And how could he honestly expect me to believe that witchcraft existed in the middle of Washington, D.C., in the twenty-first century?

Before I could even decide whether to ask my questions, my jaws tensed with a gigantic yawn that I barely managed to catch against the back of my throat. I cheated a glance at my wrist and saw that it was almost four o’clock. That thought made me even more exhausted, and the next yawn escaped. I remembered to cover my mouth, though. Gran would have been proud.

Montrose must have thought that I was sending him a message. He set his mug down on the table with a decisive gesture and rose to his feet. “Of course, you’re responsible for whatever your familiar does—for all actions that he takes.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to sound as if I negotiated magical responsibilities every day of my life. “I won’t be working any magic, so he’ll have nothing to do.” I glared at Neko, who managed a perfectly arched “who, me?” eyebrow.

“And one more thing, Miss Madison,” Montrose said. I cocked my head to one side, still surprised by how odd my name sounded with his formal diction. “That.” He pointed to the counter.

“The aquarium?”

“The fish.”

“What about Stupid Fish?”

“Keep an eye on it.” Montrose looked at Neko, who became completely obsessed with picking a bit of lint from his spotless sleeve. “You never know what bad things might happen when you’re not paying attention.”

Bad things. I glanced at the basement door and thought of the dozens of books down there, the countless spells that might result in any number of disasters. I shuddered and shook my head. “I’ll pay attention,” I vowed, silently promising never to set foot in the basement again.

“Just make sure that you do,” Montrose said, and then he disappeared into the night.

Chapter 5

“Oh my god!” Melissa said. “What did you do?” She held up a finger before I could answer, turning to the counter behind her and picking up the pot of Toffee Kiss coffee. She filled a large paper cup and slipped on a finger-preserving corrugated sleeve before handing it to a ginger-haired man who looked like he was only just waking up, despite the fact that it was after six in the evening. He paid her with exact change and took the cup. No words were exchanged. Ah, the joys of being a regular. And Cake Walk had more coffee regulars than the Peabridge Library could ever hope to attract.

When I had Melissa’s undivided attention again, I shrugged. “Montrose left. I locked the door after him and went back to sleep.”

“I don’t believe that you’re being so blasé about all this! I would have totally freaked! I mean, you worked a spell from an ancient magic book!”

“What am I supposed to do? Run out into the street screaming, ‘I’m a witch! I’m a witch!’? It’s not like I can call the cops and report myself. They’d lock me up for observation. I’d wonder if I hadn’t imagined everything, if not for Neko.”

“He’s still there, then?”

“Asleep on the couch. At least he was this morning—curled up in a sunbeam. He barely stirred when I left for work.”

“I can’t believe you just left him there!”

“What else was I going to do? Sit and stare at him all day? I needed to get to work. The last thing I’d need now is to be fired. I’d lose my paycheck and my house.”

“But Montrose said that with the full moon—”

“I know!” I’d been worried about my familiar’s dire potential all day. Melissa looked startled by my sharp tone, and I forced myself to repeat a bit less forcefully, “I know. But I couldn’t figure out anything else to do with him. And, I have to say, he just doesn’t seem dangerous.”

Melissa snorted. “And what about Stupid Fish?”

“What else could I do? I hauled the aquarium into my room. It’s sitting on the floor.”

“Poor thing!”

“He’s a fish,” I said dryly. “I’ll get some sort of table for him tonight. I guess I should consider myself lucky that the bedroom door locks. Otherwise, there’s no telling what Neko might do for a snack.”

“Why didn’t you just whip up another spell? Conjure up a table to put the aquarium on.”

“It’s not like I’m a sudden expert on this stuff! And I’m not getting anywhere near that book again.” I remembered that strange flash of darkness, the sudden power that had risen from nowhere. “I mean, I have no idea how I did what I did, but I’m not going to play around with it. Even if I hadn’t promised Montrose—”

My words were interrupted by a pair of women who walked through the door. “What’s left?” one of them asked, already reaching into her purse.

“One Lemon Grenade.” Melissa pointed toward the pastry, sitting lonely beneath a glass dome. “Two Ginger-Butterscotch Dreams.” The giant cookies leaned against each other on a hand-thrown pottery plate. “One Fusion Swirl.” Raspberry jam glistened in a caramel blondie. “And half a dozen Bunny Bites.”

The miniature carrot cakes were my favorite. They were a lot of work, especially when Melissa took the time to pipe miniature orange carrots on top of the cream cheese frosting. I had the women pegged as Dream girls, though, and I wasn’t disappointed. They paid up, promised to be back the next day, and headed out the door.

Melissa passed me one of the Bites. The frosting melted over my tongue, and I closed my eyes in near-ecstasy.

So what if I was a witch? So what if I had managed to work a spell? So what if the books in my basement might contain secrets to the entire universe, if I only took the time to investigate them, to explore them, and put them in order?

I chewed and swallowed, reminding myself that I didn’t need to do anything with the witchcraft collection. I wasn’t going to let it interfere with my life ever again. It was a one-time mistake, like the Brazilian wax that Scott had coaxed me into trying, or having my eyebrows threaded. I wasn’t going to go there. Not ever again. Anything else would be just too strange. And there was no time like the present to get life back to normal (whatever that meant, with a familiar napping on my couch.)

I took a deep breath and forced a bright smile as I very purposefully changed the topic of conversation. “So?” I said. “Enough about the Wicked Ways of Witchcraft. Tell me about your date!”

Melissa was determined to find The Man by the time that she turned thirty. Although she hadn’t met him yet, she knew that the Man was educated. He was sensitive and caring and not intimidated by her running her own business. He was independent enough to give her breathing room, but reliable enough that he’d show up when he said he would. He had to be physically stronger than she was, and taller, and he had to have all his own teeth and hair. Too preppy was out, too grungy, too punk. Basically, she was looking for an impossible fiction, created by magazines and beach reading and endless, repetitious conversations with girlfriends.

But Melissa structured her search. She auditioned one new candidate every two weeks, rotating her stock from various resources: Dedicated Metropolitan Singles (an organization devoted to conducting volunteer activities with teams comprised of equal numbers of men and women); Washington Today personal ads (the magazine was read by lawyers, lobbyists, and other upwardly trending intellectuals); FranticDate.com (not really the name of the website, but I could never remember what it was actually called); and Independents—recommendations from friends, relatives, and anyone else who thought they should have a say in her love life.

“This one was a Dedicated, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, popping a Bunny Bite into her own mouth. The guy must have been a disaster. Melissa never ate her own wares. “Dedicated to his mother.”

“We’re talking a Norman Bates type thing?”

“Just about. He phoned Mumsy when he picked me up, ostensibly to make sure that she’d gotten home from her card game all right. And then, he called her during dinner. And she phoned him while he was walking me home.”

“But what was he like? I mean, couldn’t you work with him on the phone thing?”

“Oh, the calls were only the beginning.” She checked her watch to make sure that it was 6:30 before she walked around the counter. When she reached the door, she flipped the hand-lettered “Walk on In” sign to “Walk on By” and turned off the outside light. She flipped another switch, and the four two-tops at the front of the shop disappeared in shadows.

I picked up a towel, well-accustomed to the routine. I didn’t pay for my Bunny Bites, but I washed plates, coffee carafes, and whatever else was left around at the end of the day. As Melissa filled the sink with hot, soapy water, she shook her head. “I tried to compliment him on his tie, and he told me that his mother had brought it back from Singapore. I asked him what had made him sign up with Dedicated Metro, and he said that his mother’s garden club was a sponsor.”

“Sounds like a real winner.” I shook my head and started drying the Dreams plate.

“I’m telling you, I was through all Five Conversational Topics, and we hadn’t even finished our appetizers.”

Despite all her practice, Melissa got nervous about dates. She was always afraid that she would say the wrong thing, or—worse—say nothing. So before each and every encounter, she drew up a list of Five Conversational Topics. She wrote them down on a piece of paper and committed them to memory. She tried to use them sparingly, exploiting the complete depths of each subject before going on to the next. Typically, they were masterpieces of open-ended questioning, and I’d never known her to go through all five. Two, usually. Three, if she was with a guy who was really hard to draw out. Four, if he was the shyest man in the world—most of her Four nights had been FranticDate guys.

But Five? And with the appetizer plates still on the table?

“What did you do?”

“I yielded to the inevitable.”

“And that was?”

She shrugged and pulled the plug in the sink. We watched the water swirl away, and the slurping sound at the end seemed a comment on our love lives. “I asked him what his mother thought made an ideal woman.”

“You didn’t!”

“Oh yes, I did.” Her jaw was grim as she dried her hands on a towel.

“But what if he’d realized you were being sarcastic?”

“What was the worst that would happen? He’d refuse to see me again?”

“And what did he say? What was his mother’s ideal?”

Melissa shook her head. “A woman who could cook and clean and manage a household’s finances, all the while popping out babies as if the Pill had never been invented.” She put coffee into the brewing baskets, getting ready for the next morning’s rush. “That last bit was my editorial. He didn’t actually mention the Pill.”

“What did you talk about after that?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I was fascinated by this tale of dating disaster. It was like a giant bruise, and I couldn’t keep from poking it.

“I decided not to waste any more topics. Five’s my limit.” She shrugged. “Even dessert was the pits—molten chocolate cakes. I make better stuff in my sleep.”

I started to challenge that harsh judgment. After all, molten chocolate cakes were molten chocolate cakes. They couldn’t be all bad, even if the date had been a complete disaster. Loyalty made me shake my head, though, and I clicked my tongue in disapproval. “Another wasted night.”

Melissa turned to the calendar that hung over the phone. She burrowed around in the mug of pens on the counter until she found her red felt-tip. Red for date nights. It was supposed to be a sign of romance, but it had become more like blood. She drew a giant X across the previous day and then switched to a black ballpoint to cross off the current square.

I sympathized with her. I really did. But a little voice nagged at the back of my mind: Twenty-six first dates in a year? That could drive anyone crazy. And what would happen if she actually did like one of these guys? Would she have to fit a second date in before the next competitor’s slot? Or would she skip one of the first dates? And if skipping became the answer, then what would she do about her rotation of sources—push it back as well to keep the sequence between Frantic Dating, Dedicated Metro, etc.?

I was much better off, really. I’d already decided which man to target—Jason. I could invest all of my thoughts and energy into figuring him out. In fact, I’d sketched out a perfect conversation just that morning, ready to ferret out specific information on Ekaterina Ivanova.

I’d waited until I was shelving books near him. When he looked up, I said, “Things are really busy around here. Lots of new users. I guess grad students must be getting really busy, with the end of the term so close.”

OK, so it wasn’t my most graceful conversational gambit. It sounded a bit like one of those games where you have to get your team-mate to say a key word—Password, or Taboo, or one of those things. Still, I had his attention.

“Nice dress,” he said, and I almost melted in front of his grin. “Is the library having a costume party?”

I tugged at my lace cuffs and cursed Evelyn under my breath. “This is something new we’re trying. To make the collection come alive.”

Before he could reply, someone rang the bell at the coffee counter. It was probably just as well. I’d seen the look in his eyes. There was confusion there. Confusion, and just a spark of pity. Great foundation for a romance.

But better than a mama’s boy who needed to be surgically separated from his cell phone. “I’m sorry,” I said to Melissa. “Better luck next time.”

She sighed. “Yep. I’ll have to start reviewing the next candidates.” She had a stack of responses to her most recent Washington Today ad. She brushed her hands, as if she were shaking off excess flour. “Enough about that, though. Are we still on for yoga tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I hated going to yoga with Melissa. She was a lot more flexible than I was, and she was somehow able to listen to the instructor at the same time that she levered her body into impossible twists and turns.

“You know you’ll feel better after you go to class.”

“I’m worried about leaving Neko.”

“You went to the library all day today. You came over here. What could he get into tomorrow that he couldn’t do today.” I shook my head, still looking for a way out. “Come on,” she urged. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

We’d settled disputes with the game since we were in elementary school. “All right,” I said, reluctantly. We counted together, touching our right fists to our left palms. “One. Two. Three.” I went for rock, but she chose paper.

“Paper covers rock,” she said, laughing. “Yoga it is.”

“Best two out of three!”

“Don’t be a bad sport. I’ll meet you at the studio tomorrow.”

I gathered up my purse and followed Melissa to Cake Walk’s back door. “I should have gone for scissors.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t be late.”

I stepped into the alley, but then I turned back to look at her. She was framed in the doorway, her overalls dusted with flour and her hair ruffled from a full day’s work. “Do you think I’m crazy?” I asked. “About this whole witch thing?”

She shook her head, and her smile was the same one I’d known since third grade. “You might be crazy, but this ‘witch thing’ doesn’t prove it. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but we’ll figure it out. You might want to pick up some more tuna on the way home, though. Spare Stupid Fish for another day.”

It was strange, I know. I should have been panicked about having Neko in the house—I mean, it’s not every day that a girl conjures up a half-man, half-cat with a better fashion sense than she can ever dream of having.

But Neko just wasn’t frightening. I should have been worried about his magical powers, about what he could do to me, to the house, to all of Georgetown and the world, but I couldn’t be. Not when he got so aghast at the notion of my re-using a tea-bag. Not when he was horrified that I would wear flats with an above-the-knee dress. Not when he had actually hissed in dismay at my Peabridge costume.

Strange things were happening, but they weren’t frightening. Not terrifying, anyway. And besides, I was never going to work another spell, so none of it really mattered. Only a fool would play with magic, I had told myself all afternoon. Only a naive idiot.

“No more magic,” I said to myself as I walked down the cobble-stoned Georgetown street. If only I had listened to those words of witch-free wisdom.

Chapter 6

I sat across from Gran and waited for her to finish pouring me a steaming cup of tea. I’d skipped out on the library for the afternoon, telling Evelyn that I needed to return Gran’s car to her after moving in. I just hadn’t mentioned that I was handing off the keys in the middle of the Four Seasons’ lounge.

It wasn’t my fault. Gran had suggested that we meet for an afternoon snack, her treat. I couldn’t very well refuse—the woman was my only living relative. Besides, I’d heard great things about the hotel’s precious sandwiches and delectable sweets; I wasn’t going to pass those up. After Gran had invited me, I’d taken a moment to phone Melissa, offering to do some advance work for Cake Walk. Who knew—maybe the Four Seasons served some treasure that Melissa just needed to perfect and make her own, with a jazzy name and a reasonable price. I was willing to take a hit for the team.

So far, my little afternoon escapade had not been disappointing. Our waiter had presented us with a compartmentalized box, filled with glass stoppered bottles of tea leaves. Gran and I had inhaled our way through the choices, from pear oolong to lavender Earl Grey to apricot pekoe. I had finally chosen the oolong, reveling in the dark amber brew that now perfumed the air like some rare elixir. Gran offered me sugar, which I declined, but I accepted a drop of cream.

Okay. So I’d lied to Neko on the night of his transformation. I did like cream in my tea. But just a bit, and I never kept the stuff in the house. I didn’t use much of it on my own, and it always went bad before the carton was empty. Nothing stinks up a refrigerator as much as spoiled milk products.

Besides, even if I’d had cream on hand the other night, I wouldn’t have shared it with the cat-man. I didn’t want to do anything to bring out the feline side of his personality. That just creeped me out. The night before, I’d come home from meeting with Melissa to find two voles and a mouse stretched out on my front porch, their tiny corpses lined up like a magical offering.

Neko. I’d already decided not to mention him to Gran. Not Neko, not Montrose, nothing at all about that strange night. She’d only worry about me, and since I wasn’t going to be working any more spells, there was no reason to put her through that.

A waiter swooped by our table and set down a tiered tray. I could make out some cucumber sandwiches (crusts neatly trimmed from impossibly thin slices of white bread.) There were also tiny bites of curried chicken salad on glazed walnut bread, and a dollop of egg salad with feathery dill on pumpernickel. I would leave the egg for Gran; it was her favorite, but I could never get past the smell. I helped myself to smoked salmon on lemon brioche.

“I really appreciate your getting away from the library,” Gran said. “I just wish you hadn’t changed out of your new outfit. I wanted to see it. I’m sure it’s darling.”

I took my time chewing a pale orange bite. After I swallowed, I looked down at my neat A-line skirt. An A-line skirt that I’d never wear to work again. An A-line skirt that Jason Templeton would never have the opportunity to admire—even from a distance, much less from the up close and personal view of the sometimes tricky side zipper. “I can’t wear those things in public, Gran. The skirt has honest-to-God hoops, and the quilted petticoat looks like something out of a museum.”

“The stays must make you stand up straight, though. You’ve always needed a reminder about your posture.”

Thanks, Gran. I love you too.

I settled for, “Before I forget—here are your keys. I left the car with the valet.”

Gran set them on the table between us. For just a moment, it seemed that she put them there to keep them available, like an escape hatch. In case one of us needed to flee the scene. How strange was that? I chased the thought away by asking about her board meeting. She had just come from her monthly session with the concert opera guild board of directors.

“It was fine, dear.”

“Fine?” Something was definitely wrong. Gran could talk about the opera board for hours—long, detailed stories about the volunteers who performed above all expectations, or the prima donna sopranos who arrived at the theater, expecting special treatment that wasn’t to be found anywhere outside of New York’s Metropolitan Opera.

“Yes, dear, fine.” She glanced around distractedly, as if she were trying to find a waiter. A buffer. “Do you need more tea?”

I looked down at my still-full cup. “Um, not yet, Gran.” Now I was beginning to get worried.

“Jane, will you make me a promise?”

Whew. So that was it. Just another one of Gran’s promise binges. She had me going there for a moment. “About what?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you yet.”

“What?” I started to ask, but then I remembered my manners. “Pardon me?” I heard the sharpness, barely hidden under my voice.

“I’m going to ask you to do something, and you aren’t going to be very happy about it. Promise me, though, that you’ll do it. It’s very important to me. More important than anything I’ve ever asked of you before.”

Wait a minute. This was more than the usual Gran request. This time, she wanted to bind me before I even knew what was at stake. What was going on?

Suddenly, all the bits slipped into place. Gran’s nervousness. Her luring me with afternoon tea. The “fine” concert opera guild board meeting.

Uncle George.

Uncle George wasn’t my real uncle. He was a friend of Gran’s, her oldest friend. For decades, he’d taken her out on dates—the only grown-up evenings she’d had the entire time that I was growing up. Uncle George and my grandfather had known each other in elementary school, and George had stepped in to help out around the house when my grandfather died, decades ago.

Truth be told, I’d never liked the man all that much. He pulled quarters out of my ears for way too many years. I mean, it was one thing to be amazed and giggly when I was five years old. But when I was fifteen? And he had jowls—honest to goodness jowls just like a bull mastiff. They wobbled beside his mouth when he talked.

But he made Gran happy. In fact, he was the one who had gotten her interested in concert opera. She said that he made even the longest board meetings bearable; he was the president.

And now, it seemed that he was finally ready to move their relationship “to the next level.” Uncle George was going to ask Gran to marry him. It made sense—I had finally secured a real house through the Peabridge, and even though Scott was out of my life forever, it was pretty clear that I wouldn’t need to move back home with Gran.

I wondered if she would wear a white dress. I mean, I didn’t have any trouble with that—I’m hardly a conservative person. Something tea-length, maybe? With a small bouquet of sweetheart roses? We could even have the wedding in the Peabridge gardens, use my cottage’s kitchen to serve up punch and wedding cake. I was sure Evelyn wouldn’t mind. She’d welcome the opportunity for publicity.

“Jane?” Gran asked. “Do you promise?”

I smiled, now that I knew we were on safe territory. Before I could say anything, though, the waiter materialized again. He swept away the sandwich tray and set in place another tiered wonder—this one packed with little bites of dessert. Even in the midst of my reluctance to promise—for form’s sake, mind you—my mouth watered at the sight of the coconut-dusted scones, the bite-sized lemon meringues pies, and the cherry-crowned pistachio financiers.

Gran smiled at the treats, as if she were a child on Christmas morning. I almost thought that she was going to clap her hands. “Look, Jane! All of my favorites!”

“Gran—”

“Here. Let me serve you.” She spent a century selecting treasures, maneuvering them onto my plate with hands that showed every single year of their age. Okay. So, she was still nervous. What was going on here?

She bit into a tiny raspberry tart, and I watched her jaws move as she polished off the treat. “What?” she asked me, when she realized I was staring. “You can’t be full already?”

“Gran, why did you bring me here? What did you want to ask me?”

She set down her plate and met my eyes for the first time since we’d been seated. “Promise—”

“Gran, I promise. You know I’ll help you plan your marriage to Uncle George. I think it’s wonderful that you’ve finally decided to get married.”

“Get married!” Gran was loud enough that several other tea-patrons turned to stare. “What are you talking about? Who said anything about marriage?”

“Well, why else would you bring me here? Why would you be going on and on about this great promise I’m supposed to make, about your incredible secret?”

Gran laughed. It was the deep laugh that I’d heard since my earliest childhood—the one that carried her through my toddler tantrums, my grammar school superiority, my high school rebellion. The sound carried relief, but also a hint of desperation.

The more she laughed, the more disgruntled I became. Okay, so she probably wasn’t going to get married. She and Uncle George didn’t need to change their relationship now, after years of their friendship working just fine. But the idea wasn’t that outrageous. She didn’t have to act as if I were some clown, sent solely to entertain her. I plopped a cocoa-covered miniature truffle into my mouth and let the bittersweet chocolate melt its comfort over my tongue.

“Jane,” she said, when she could finally draw a breath. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you.”

“You did, though,” I said, and even I could hear the sulkiness in my voice. I sat up straighter and pushed my shoulders back. “What’s going on, Gran?”

“Promise—”

“Fine! I promise! I’ll do whatever you’re going to ask me to do.

She nodded her head, finally satisfied with my pledge. “There’s someone who wants to meet you.”

“You want to set me up on a blind date?”

Gran’s smile was small, almost wistful. “Not at all, dear.” She took the napkin from her lap and folded it into a precise rectangle. She set it beside her plate, as if she were through with tea. “The person who wants to meet you is a woman. Her name is Clara. Clara Smythe.”

Smythe was Gran’s last name. And Clara had been Gran’s sister. Great-Aunt Clara had died decades ago, in a car crash, just a month before my mother was born. That was why Gran had named my mother Clara, and it was a terrible irony that my mother had also died in a car….

“Clara?” I made it a question.

Gran nodded. “Clara. Your mother.”

The room had suddenly become too warm. I wondered why they couldn’t control the temperature better in a public space. I felt as if a giant fan had sucked all the air out of the room. I stared at Gran, unable to process her words. I realized that I was tapping my butter knife against the table, and I set it beside my saucer, lining it up precisely with the edge of the table.

“My mother.” My voice didn’t sound like it belonged to me. It was a little voice. A child’s voice. A voice that was swirled in a cotton candy of hope, spoiled with the sour dust of fear. “She’s dead.”

Gran shook her head. “She isn’t, dear. She never was. That was a story that we told you, that she decided I must tell you, when she left.”

“When she left….” I knew that I should say something more, that I should be thinking faster than I was. But my brain seemed stuck in neutral. I could hear my thoughts revving, faster and faster as they chased each other.

My mother was alive. My mother had left me. My mother had let me think that she was dead for all these years. Gran had let me think that my mother was dead for all these years.

As I tried to think of something to say, something to ask, something to jolt me back onto the ordinary path of being, the waiter appeared from nowhere. “And how are we doing here?”

I looked up into his false smile, and I could not think of the right response, the polite words that everyone knew.

“We’re fine,” Gran said.

“More tea?”

“No, thank you.”

The waiter nodded professionally and transported over to the next table. I looked into Gran’s face. “What happened?”

“Your mother was very young, dear. She had no idea how much responsibility a newborn would be. She tried—she really did. But she just couldn’t do the job.”

Job. I’d been a job. For one insane moment, I pictured my mother punching a time clock, her hair wrapped up in a bandana, her face weary from long hours on the graveyard shift.

“So she just abandoned me?”

“Jane, dear, she left you with me! That’s hardly ‘abandonment.’ She knew that I could take care of you, that I could give you everything you needed.”

“Except the truth!” I heard how loud I’d become, how melodramatic, but I couldn’t stop myself. “I should have known the truth! You should have told me that my own mother thought that I was too much trouble—”

Gran cut me off, a clear sign of just how upset she was. “She was sick, dear. She was lost.” For one horrible moment, I thought that Gran was going to cry. I had never seen her cry, not ever. She swallowed hard and touched the corners of her mouth with her napkin, and when she spoke again, her voice was even. Quiet, but even. “Your mother had a drug problem. She stayed away from the stuff while she was pregnant—that’s how much she loved you. But after you were born…. And when your father left….”

“So he left too? He wasn’t in the car crash?”

“There wasn’t any car crash, Jane.” Gran shook her head. “There was never any car crash. No one died. I’ve sent your mother letters through the years, told her how you’re doing. She’s asked to meet you now. She’s ready.”

She was ready? Well that didn’t mean that I was.

I’d gotten used to having no mother a long time ago. All those Mother’s Day art projects in school, all those parent-teacher conferences where I had to explain to the other kids why my grandmother was there instead of my mother and father. I’d filled out endless forms, striking out “parent” and writing in “guardian.”

But now, to find out that it was all a lie…. And my own grandmother was the biggest liar of all….

I stood up very carefully, grateful that I had stuck to pear oolong and forgone the champagne that had been an option on the menu. “The valet will get your car for you, Gran.”

“Where are you going, dear?”

“Home.” Away from here. To a cottage filled with witches’ books. To my gay feline familiar. To the colonial dresses that had become my new uniform. To the sudden wreck of my life.

“At least let me drive you there.” Gran reached for her handbag.

“I’d rather walk,” I said. “I need some fresh air.”

I heard Gran call the waiter. I heard her start to negotiate paying for our treats. I heard her call out, “Jane, you promised!” She was torn, frantic.

I only started to cry after I left the hotel, pounding the heels of my black suede pumps against the sidewalk.

Chapter 7

The yoga instructor spoke in a voice that she meant to be soothing: “Remember, Downward-Facing Dog is your friend. Ease into the stretch. Push your heels toward the floor. This pose is restful. Soothing. Relaxing.”

Relaxing, my ass. My arms trembled, and my hamstrings felt like they were roasting in one of Melissa’s ovens. I glanced over at my supposed best friend who was gazing at a point on her yoga mat, blissed out in the perfection of her pose.

The yoga instructor said, “All right, now. Hop your legs up to your hands. Hop!”

Yeah, right. Somewhere on her mantle, Gran has a trophy that I won for “Best Hopper,” when I was in pre-school. My life as a bunny was long over. I straggled my right foot forward and tried to look jaunty as I dragged my left one into alignment.

“Let’s move into Warrior I,” the instructor said, as if she honestly believed I had all the position names memorized. I sneaked a look at Melissa to figure out what we were supposed to do, and I spread my legs into the expected triangle. As the instructor recited the rest of the exercise, I let my mind drift.

My mother was still alive. My mother. The woman that I thought had loved me. She was alive and well and could have come back to me at any moment, at any point in the twenty-five years that had passed since she walked away.

And now she wanted to see me.

I kept replaying my conversation with Gran in my head. I heard the words, over and over, like an old vinyl album skipping and repeating.

What had Gran been thinking? Had she realized how shocked I would be? She must have—that was why she’d staged the afternoon tea. She had wanted me in a public place, a place where I couldn’t throw a tantrum, where I couldn’t say words that I might later regret.

Even as I tried to build the case against her in my mind, I knew that I wasn’t being fair. She was my Gran. She loved me. She had taken me to the Four Seasons because she wanted her revelation to be special, to be happy.

My mother was still alive. My mother.

“Jane,” the yoga instructor said. “Raise your right arm. Look out over your fingertips. Flex your legs more; activate your right leg.”

I gritted my teeth and squatted lower, but the motion proved too much for my poor, out-of-shape body. I staggered sideways, narrowly missing the woman on the next mat. I caught Melissa’s quick smile, but she smoothed it away when I glared at her.

The instructor’s voice remained calm. She spoke to the entire class, but I knew her words were meant for me. “If you ever find an asana too challenging, remember that you can assume the Child’s Pose.”

Sounded like a good idea to me. I folded myself onto my mat, sitting on my heels and stretching my arms in front of me. I tucked my head down and tried to focus on my breathing.

Child’s pose. I was a child. My mother’s child. My mother was still alive.

Enough! Yoga was definitely not for me today. (Was it ever?) As the instructor started to move the class into a series of sun salutations, I rose up out of Child’s Pose. I collected my mat, not even bothering to roll it into a tight cylinder.

Both the instructor and Melissa looked at me questioningly. “Cramp in my foot,” I said.

The instructor started to offer me a bottle of the overpriced water that she sold from a mini fridge at the back of the studio, but I shook my head and mouthed to Melissa, “I’ll wait in the hall.” She looked torn, but I shook my head. “Stay,” I enunciated silently.

I limped out to the hallway, exaggerating my supposed foot-cramp like a teenager trying to get out of gym class. I dropped the act as soon as I closed the studio door, and I slumped against the wall to wait for the dogs and warriors and children to finish up their class.

I thought about lighting up a cigarette.

I don’t actually smoke. I never have; I can’t stand the smell of cigarettes in my hair. But there have been times when I wanted a cigarette as a prop, as an image. I wanted to lean against the wall like a weary ballerina, staring down the hallway as I struggled to bear the burden of my recent knowledge. I would look wan and brave, with wisps of my hair just curling beside my high-cheekboned face. My collarbones would jut out like wings as my delicate wrist rose, as my lips pursed one last weary time to take a deep, mentholated drag, and the cigarette tip glowed vermilion in the darkening hallway….

Yeah, right. I’d probably cough like a patient on a consumption ward, and my eyes would tear up, and my mascara would run.

By the time Melissa joined me, I’d had time to select another vice.

“Mojito therapy,” I said.

“What?” Her face was flushed with her yogic success. She went on as if I hadn’t actually spoken. “I went from Bow to Camel today! I could feel the energy flowing through me, down my arms and legs, all at the same time!”

I tried to remember which was Bow and which was Camel—I think that Melissa had just accomplished the backbends that the springy, popular girls had always shown off in third grade gym class. I fought the urge to ask what Mary Lou Retton was doing these days, and I repeated, “Mojito therapy. Now.”

Melissa finally heard the dire note behind my words. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Your foot wasn’t really cramping, was it?”

I shook my head. “I’ll tell you all about it when we’ve got drinks in our hands. You’ve got limes? And mint?”

“Of course.” Melissa shrugged and tossed her yoga mat over her shoulder. She’d rolled hers into a perfect cylinder and sheathed it in its nylon bag. I felt like a naughty preschooler beside her, too slovenly even to have picked up my toys. “Oh,” Melissa said. “I brought one of these for you.”

She passed me a fluorescent pink flyer. I recognized the logo for the yoga studio centered at the top of the sheet. In delicate script, the page announced a special weekend series on “hot yoga.” Participants were expected to bring their own towels (three, recommended) and water supply. I looked at Melissa for a long time before I crumpled the paper and crammed it into my bag. “You have got to be kidding.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“No way.” She must have heard the vehemence in my tone, because she didn’t even try to argue. Instead, she struck off down the street, leading the way to the canal towpath that formed the shortcut to Cake Walk.

Melissa nearly outpaced me as we headed back to the bakery. Opening up her back door, she slung her yoga mat into the corner and dug in a drawer until she came up with kitchen shears. She waved me toward a tangle of potted herbs in the tiny side yard, and I found the mint without any problem. Ah, sweet therapy. If the mojitos didn’t work their magic, we might have to move up to the big guns: Deep dish pizza, with pepperoni and black olives. That would still leave Ben and Jerry in reserve with their pints of last-ditch salvation.

Breathing deeply of the fresh-cut mint, I returned to the bakery. Melissa was setting a gigantic net bag of limes on the counter. “You’ve got sugar?”

“Yep.” I felt proud of myself. I was just like a regular homeowner.

“And rum?” She glanced dubiously at her cooking supplies; she kept rum for the Devil’s Nips that she made when she was feeling particularly devious. I swallowed hard; I could taste those liquored-up chocolate truffles now.

“I’ve got half a bottle at home. That should be enough.”

“Should be?” She arched a bemused eyebrow. I wish that I could arch an eyebrow. I wasn’t certain I could harness “bemused” for any amount of money. “Sounds like some serious therapy you’re contemplating.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

She nodded and wrapped the mint in a paper towel, adding it to the limes in a totebag. She glanced around the kitchen and started to turn off the light, but then she shook her head and turned back to the industrial-size refrigerator.

She pulled out one of her heavy pottery serving plates and set it on the counter. When I glimpsed the treasures beneath the plastic wrap, I felt a warm flush of joy. Melissa did understand how serious this was.

“Almond Lust!”

“Only the best for you,” she said. I loved the shortbread concoction, and my mouth watered at the thought of the rich chewy caramel and dark Valrhona chocolate that cradled sliced almonds. I started to lift the corner of the plastic wrap, but Melissa playfully slapped my hand away. “Patience!”

“But there are three bars!”

“One for each of us, and one for Neko, right?”

Neko. Well, that was one thing to be said for my grandmother’s informational bomb. It had driven all thoughts of the strange cat-man out of my head. Thoughts of my, um, familiar came spiraling back, and I wondered how I could have forgotten about my life as a witch so quickly.

“Right,” I said. Suddenly those mojitos sounded medically necessary.

It didn’t take us long to walk to the Peabridge. I was glad that the Library was closed when we passed by—there was no need for anyone there to see me in workout clothes, carrying my bedraggled yoga mat and the makings of tropical drinks. I started to dig in my bag for my keys, but the door swung open before I could find them.

“Good evening,” Neko said, and he bowed to Melissa and me. My ingrained manners took over enough for me to introduce them. Melissa shot me a sharp look as I turned toward the kitchen.

I knew that expression. She was sizing up Neko for a spot on the First Date roster. Oh girlfriend, I almost said out loud. You are going to be so disappointed. There was more to Neko than the tautly-muscled torso carved beneath his black t-shirt, more than the exotic slant of his eyes beneath the oh-so-touchable buzz of his hair. So much more, but we women weren’t going to see any of it. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

I glanced toward my bedroom door, but it looked untouched. It seemed like a second safe day for Stupid Fish. At least, I could hope so.

As Melissa and Neko traded pleasantries, I marched into the kitchen and got straight to work. I opened the left cabinet and reached for the rum on the top shelf. Not there. I checked the middle shelf. No luck. I glanced at the bottom shelf, but I knew I wouldn’t have put the alcohol there.

I tried the second cabinet without any greater success before I remembered that I had put all the liquor beneath the sink. After all, I didn’t have that many cleaning bottles left by the time Melissa and I had made the cottage live-able, and I didn’t want visitors to see my alcoholic stash and conclude I was a lush.

Okay. I didn’t want Jason to see my liquor and think that I was just a hard-drinking party girl. Our first date was already scripted in my mind—I was going to brew him a nice hot cup of tea, one evening when we had worked late at the library on some difficult research project. I’d save the hard stuff for our second date. Or for Bloody Marys the morning after.

I pushed aside a woefully depleted fifth of gin and reached past sculpted bottles of Kahlua and Bailey’s. The rum was at the back of the collection, and I was pleased to discover there was even more of it than I’d remembered. “There,” I said. “Now, if I can just figure out where I put my pitcher….”

“The one with the fish on it?” Neko asked, popping back from his chat with Melissa. He produced the oversized item from a cabinet as if he’d lived here all his life. Which, come to think of it, he might have. I had a lot of questions for the guy. Questions that I’d be ready to ask, just as soon as the drinks were mixed.

“Thanks,” I said. Melissa started to help with the mojito preparation, but I waved her over to the tin kitchen table. “Both of you, sit down. I’ll do this.”

“I can’t wait any more, though,” Melissa said. “Tell me what we’re treating with the mojitos!”

“Treating?” Neko purred, and I could see interest waft over him like the scent of salmon. He’d ignored my instructions to sit down. Instead, he had taken over preparing the limes. After watching me roll one across the counter, hard, to release the juice inside, he repeated the process with the rest of the fruit. He moved his fingers like a pastry chef kneading dough. A distant look came into his eyes, as if the motion provided him with a distinctly sexual frisson of pleasure. As if he were a cat.

I shook my head and began to bruise the mint. I spoke as I worked, telling Melissa and Neko about my meeting with Gran. Both reacted appropriately, gasping in surprise at her revelation, (or, in Neko’s case, hissing.)

Years of practice let me eyeball the correct amount of mint, along with sugar, the juice from Neko’s limes, and sparkling water. I poured in a healthy amount of rum, then added more when Neko cast a critical eye. I started to dig for a wooden spoon in the container on the counter, but Neko placed a utensil in my hand. I stirred absently, looking from one friend to the other, as I concluded my tale of woe: “And so, I left. I needed time to think. That’s why I couldn’t finish yoga class.”

“Mmm,” Neko said. “Cat Pose. It’s perfect for tightening your abs.” As if to illustrate, he flexed his taut belly.

“I’ll drink to that,” Melissa said, eyeing him appreciatively. I poured us each a tall glass. The mojito was icy cold as I swallowed, but the rum warmed my woefully untaut belly. Already, I could feel myself relaxing, opening up. The mint was sweet-sharp against the back of my throat.

“Mmm,” Neko said. “You put in extra lime. I like them like that.”

I swallowed another healthy dose before I asked, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” His eyes were sly as he met mine over his glass.

“Know about mojitos. I mean, you’ve been in my basement for a while, right? Frozen as a statue?”

He licked his lips and glanced over at Melissa, as if he were wondering what he could say in front of her. Fine time for him to decide to be circumspect. “Go ahead,” I said. “She’s my best friend. She already knows about you. At least as much as I do.”

Melissa nodded and drank from her own glass. She must have been thirsty after yoga class; her drink was already half-gone. I re-filled it and topped off mine. Hmmm. I must have been thirsty as well.

Neko shrugged and said, “It’s part of the Covenant. The power of witchcraft.” He spread his hands a precise distance apart in the air, and I couldn’t help but picture him as an interior designer, describing the parameters of my living room just before he told me I had no fashion sense and everything I owned must go. “The Covenant is always there, for those of us who are sensitive to it. When I was put into stasis by …” he hesitated only slightly, but I caught the ripple, “… the person who owned the books downstairs, I was current on everything known to every member of our coven. As soon as you awakened me, the Covenant was re-energized. It flowed through me, and it filled in all the gaps in my knowledge.”

“So the witches know about mojitos?” I asked, and the question seemed silly enough that a bubble of laughter rose inside me.

“At least one of them does. Or one of their familiars. It only takes one for all of us to have the information.” Neko reached out for the fish pitcher and stirred it carefully before refilling my glass. Melissa accepted more as well. “Different witches specialize in different things. We familiars transmit the specialized information that we learn. It’s our job to explore as much as we can.”

I remembered what Montrose had said. Neko had been awakened on the night of the full moon. He was free to go anywhere he wanted. Any time he wanted. He could explore a hell of a lot.

Melissa interrupted before I could say anything. “So how does this all work? How do you help Jane with her spells?”

Neko raised a single eyebrow—he could challenge Melissa in the “bemused” department. “I help her channel her power. Whatever she needs. I can’t work the magic on my own; the power has to come from her. I’m sort of like a magnifying glass. Or Batman’s Lucius Fox. Or James Bond’s Q. Or—”

“We get it,” I said, washing down my annoyance with another healthy swallow of mojito. Like I was going to be some sort of suave super-hero, saving the nation’s capital from threatening villains. Yeah, right. Me, and my well-chewed fingernails. My freckles. My unruly hair and glasses.

“So can I go downstairs and look at the books?” Melissa was really into all this. She jumped up from her kitchen chair, but she had to steady herself with a hand thrust out against the table edge. Maybe I had been a bit too generous with the rum.

“Sit down!” Neko cried. “Here.” He topped off her glass again and saw to mine before he said, “I’ll bring one up. Won’t be a minute.”

I started to protest, but the mojito therapy was working its own magic, mellowing me out so that I didn’t really care to argue. Neko was out of the room before I could explain what a bad idea it was for him to bring anything magical upstairs. Well, I wasn’t going to read any spell from the Compendium again. And I certainly wasn’t going to light any beeswax tapers. I’d promised Montrose. And my life was complicated enough without adding to the witchcraft quotient.

Neko trotted back into the kitchen, and for a moment, I thought he was empty-handed. He certainly hadn’t lugged the Compendium with him. Instead, he set a small book on the kitchen table. It was no larger than a paperback volume of poetry. It was clearly old, though; the cover was bound in leather. Gold letters were stamped on its surface.

“A Girl’s First Grimoire,” Melissa read, and she burst out laughing. “What is that, like Pat the Bunny for the witchy set?”

Neko struck a pose. “You are too funny, girlfriend.”

Melissa turned to me. “So what do you do? Just read from the page?”

I looked at Neko, but he merely gave an elaborate shrug. His job might be to help me work magic, but he wasn’t about to answer all my questions. I could practically hear him whistling his innocence. “I’m still not totally sure,” I said. “Montrose said that the candles I used were important—they were pure beeswax. Also, I touched my forehead, and my throat, and my chest before I read. And I ran my fingers under the words.”

“Ran your fingers….” Melissa sounded amazed. Frankly, so was I. I mean, I must really have some sort of power, right? If my touching a page could make something come to magical life? Melissa shoved the grimoire toward me. “Read from this one!”

“I can’t! I promised—”

“Come on! It’ll be like a Ouija board! You remember when we used that at my ten-year-old birthday party.”

“I remember that you moved the pointer. You made the board say that John Goodnight would be the first boy I ever kissed.”

“John Goodnight,” Neko crooned, and I swore as my cheeks flushed. There was something provocative about the way he said the name, and I suddenly wanted to show him that he was wrong, that I wasn’t the goody two-shoes girl that he seemed to think I was.

I stepped up to the table. I would show Neko. I could read from a silly leather-bound book. I wouldn’t light a candle this time, wouldn’t touch my rapid pulse-points. I wouldn’t run my fingers beneath the words, and I definitely wouldn’t speak them aloud.

Neko smiled and opened the book, apparently to a random page. I squinted at the letters, but they seemed to shift in front of my eyes. I started to put my fingertips beneath them, but I pulled back as if the parchment burned when I remembered my promise to Montrose. Neko handed me the wooden stirrer from the mojito pitcher, giving it one quick wipe against a towel.

Feeling more than a little silly, I teased out the words on the page, saying them to myself:

Glamour, glamour, magic bind
Vision twist and veil unwind
Wrap my face in power hidden
Spark a love from man unbidden
Tie him to me ever more
Lock him up with grimoire’s lore.

And then there was that flash of darkness, more astonishing than the first time, because I had specifically worked to avoid the spell. I bit off a shriek and caught my breath against my teeth before I whirled around to face Neko.

“It couldn’t work!”

“It did.” He smiled and looked pointedly at my hand. I wasn’t holding the wooden spoon that I expected, the ancient utensil that had been nibbled by the garbage disposal in my old apartment. No, I was holding a smooth piece of wood. A dowel, really.

A wand.

“What the hell is this?” I asked him, and Melissa jumped at the anger in my voice.

“What?” Neko asked, trying to look innocent. “It’s just a little something I picked up while I was out and about this afternoon.” But even he could not carry off the happy-go-lucky charade as a loud knock sounded at my cottage door.

Chapter 8

This time, David Montrose was dressed in casual clothes. In fact, he looked like he had just stepped out of a Land’s End catalog spread. His dark brown hair was ruffled, just enough out of place to prove that he was not overly vain. His slacks were a charcoal grey, the perfect contrast to his light blue button-down shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, displaying the corded muscles of his forearms. As before, though, his eyes were dark. His pupils were expanded by the night-time, or by the wild ride he’d taken to appear on my doorstep. “Miss Madison,” he said, and the formality of his words contrasted with his easy-going appearance.

I looked down to see that I’d brought my glass to the door. My empty glass. Where was a good slug of rum when you needed one? “Would you like a mojito?” I asked, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Montrose strode past me into the living room. “I thought we’d reached an agreement.”

“We did! I didn’t work a spell.” I thought of the flash of darkness. “Well, I didn’t mean to.” I remembered the electric tingle that had rippled down my arms. “Um, I’m not even sure that it worked.” Montrose just stared at me. That blue shirt really did contrast with his eyes, really made his face stand out. “I don’t even know what it was supposed to do!” I found myself saying, and I felt like I was going to my first confession, blurting out all sorts of sins that I hadn’t even committed, just so that Father Brennan would smile kindly and grant me absolution.

“And that is precisely why you should have some guidance. Some training.” He sighed and gestured toward the basement door. “You might think that this is all Bewitched and Charmed, but I can assure you that it is not. There are consequences for your behavior.”

“My behavior! What about Neko! He’s the one who made this happen. He’s the one who gave me the stick—”

“Neko.” Montrose raised his eyes to the kitchen doorway, where my familiar stood next to my best friend. The cat-man managed to look unabashed, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, as if nothing out of the ordinary could ever happen when he was around.

Melissa seemed a bit more shocked—and intrigued. Again, I knew that expression. Now that she’d recognized the impossibility of snaring Neko, she was measuring David Montrose against her entire pool of First Dates. She was calculating his net worth, determining where he would stand in her ongoing home run derby. She didn’t understand, though. She apparently didn’t remember that Montrose was a warder, that he was a cosmic policeman. That he was here to monitor me and what I did.

In a flash, she ducked back into the kitchen, and before I could say anything else, she returned with a pottery plate in hand. “Lust?” she asked, and she managed to look bashful as she peered up at Montrose through glistening eyelashes.

He actually blushed, which made Neko gasp with delight. “Who is this?” Montrose turned to ask me, indicating Melissa with a cautious nod of his head.

“My best friend. Melissa White.” I sent her a glare and a vehement shake of the head behind Montrose’s back. “She’s a baker,” I added, as if that could erase Melissa’s come-hither glance. “Almond lust is her specialty. Look, I had a really crappy day, and she brought the bars over, and we decided to make some drinks, and she asked about the library downstairs, and Neko brought up one of the books.”

I realized that I was rambling, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. Montrose nodded, as if he accepted my explanation of what had happened, but then he turned to glare at Neko. The cat-man was suddenly fascinated by his empty glass. “Whoops!” he said. “Time for a refill!” He dashed back into the kitchen, leaving Melissa alone in the doorway.

I crossed over and took the pottery plate from her, placing it on the coffee table and waving everyone toward the hunter green couches. It was obvious that Montrose wasn’t leaving any time soon, and I decided I’d rather sit on an overstuffed cushion than stand to face an angry warder, especially on a mojito-filled belly, without any dinner to speak of.

Montrose followed my lead, sitting beside me with a casual sense of command. Melissa was forced to settle on the other couch with Neko, who joined us with a full glass. Montrose waited for both of them to grow still before he turned to me.

“This has got to stop,” he said. There was no room for argument, not even the protest that threatened to laugh past the lime taste at the back of my throat. “You don’t understand. Witchcraft is powerful. The surges that you released from the house tonight could be felt for miles.”

“Felt?” My stomach did a flip-flop.

“By warders. And other witches.” Montrose waved toward the door, toward the darkened colonial gardens that surrounded my home. “And by the creatures that seek them out.”

I rubbed away goosebumps from my arms as I raised my chin defiantly. “Now you’re just trying to frighten me.”

“I hope that’s what I’m doing.” Montrose reached for my glass and set it on the table. One part of my mind noticed that his hand was warmer than I expected it to be. His fingers were smoother, too, not the rough flesh that I anticipated, given his gruff tone. Another part of me noted that he took care to place the glass on a slate coaster, protecting my coffee table from the evils of water rings.

“Listen,” he said. “We can end all this right now. The Covenants grant priority to any witch who actually possesses the materials—books, runes, crystals. You don’t have to take advantage of that presumption, though. If you’d like, you can give back everything in your basement.”

“Give it back?” Even saying the words felt wrong.

“The Coven would gladly accept the return. As it is, they will likely contest your ownership, but things move slowly in Hecate’s Court.”

Hecate’s Court. He made it sound like traffic or small-claims court. I laughed uneasily, overwhelmed by the strangeness of all this.

“Jane,” he said. “This is serious.”

Jane. He’d called me by name.

And all of a sudden, I was looking at Mr. David Montrose, Hecate’s Warder, a little differently. He wasn’t a bully, who’d come into my home to make me feel bad for fiddling with another person’s property. Instead, he was a protector. He was a teacher. He was one of the good guys.

Neko snorted, and the moment was ruined. Montrose turned to glare at my familiar. “Laugh all you want,” he said to Neko, “But will you report to Hecate’s Court when the dispute over ownership begins?”

Neko squirmed for a moment before looking away. I glanced back at Montrose, only to find that I couldn’t break his gaze. His eyes were brown, the color of dark chocolate. They were flecked with green, though, specks of color that gave them depth. All of a sudden, I was aware of the small creases around those eyes, the lines beside his mouth. He had a shallow cleft in his chin—just a hint of a flaw to balance a face that might have been too pretty otherwise. I could tell that he had shaved that morning, but chestnut whiskers pricked his skin.

And for just a moment, I imagined kissing him. I envisioned the feel of those whiskers against my cheek, and then the soft touch of his lips. I thought about his hands, those marvelously warm, smooth hands, moving down my arms, then one palm cupping the back of my head as he pulled me closer. I imagined my own fingers grabbing at his hair, closing around his curls.

“So,” Montrose said, and the spell was broken. I was back in my living room, sitting rigidly on my couch. I stared at the mojito glass on the table, wondering just how drunk I must be. After all, I didn’t know the first thing about Montrose. I certainly didn’t know him like I did Jason Templeton—how could I even think of letting the warder supplant my Imaginary Boyfriend?

Wait. No one was supplanting anyone. Montrose was here as a warder. He was here to teach me about my magic, to make sure that I didn’t break any bizarre astral laws, to help me keep the strange possessions that appeared to be mine. I might think that I was attracted to him, but that was probably just my old habit of developing crushes on men in power. I’d had my first crush on my fourth grade social studies teacher, Mr. Solomon. And a monstrous one on my freshman literature professor. And a killer infatuation with my first boss for a summer job, at the Springfield Public Library.

Whew. That was a close call. My entire career as a witch might be ruined, if I let myself have a crush on my warder.

My warder? My career as a witch? What was I thinking?

Apparently, I had made a decision. I was going to learn about this witchcraft stuff. I was going to find out what powers I had, and I was going to explore how to use them.

“So, what now?” I asked. I watched Melissa lean closer; I recognized the expression on her face as one of confusion. She couldn’t know all the thoughts that had just careered through my head. Besides, I probably looked pretty dazed myself.

Neko, though, was bouncing up and down on the couch. He looked like a little boy who had just been told that he was going to celebrate his birthday, the Fourth of July, and Christmas, all in one day. “Yes!” he exclaimed. “We are going to have so much fun!”

“What?” Melissa asked. “What’s going on?”

David looked at her, then at me. “Are you going to tell her, or shall I?”

I swallowed, surprised to find my throat so dry. “I’m going to learn about this.” I ran the next sentence through my head before I said it aloud. “I’m going to learn how to be a witch.”

David nodded, and I watched Melissa swallow a dozen questions. “First things first,” he said. “No more alcohol.”

“For tonight?”

“For good.”

Melissa laughed and said, “Well that’s not going to happen.”

I glared at her. After all, I wasn’t exactly a lush. I always knew exactly how much I was drinking, and I made a decision for every separate glass. I looked over Melissa’s shoulder into the kitchen. Toward the empty bottle of rum. Toward the wand, sitting on the counter. Well, I usually make a decision. When my familiar isn’t pouring with a heavy hand.

“It will,” David said evenly. “If she wants to learn more.”

All of a sudden, it seemed important for me to stake a claim here. I mean, I’d spent eight years with Scott, with him telling me what to do and when to do it. I wasn’t about to let some new man, some stranger, take charge of my life, without putting up a fight. Even if he did know more about witchcraft than I did.

“I won’t drink when I’m working with you. I won’t drink when I’m being a witch.”

Neko’s guffaw sounded like it was from a sitcom laugh track. “As if you’re the one setting the rules!”

I scowled at him and turned to David. “I’m serious,” I said. “It’s not like Melissa and I get drunk every night. But I can’t let this witchcraft thing take over my entire life.”

“This witchcraft thing,” David repeated, and he shook his head. “You don’t understand—”

“And I’m not going to, if you set rules that change who I am.” I was arguing with him like a Shakespeare comic heroine, hoping to match my Beatrice wit to his Benedick scorn. “I won’t let you lock me up in a convent.”

A convent? Where did that come from. No one had said anything about a convent, about sex, about any other restrictions. We were talking about a few drinks. My face reddened as I continued to stare at David.

I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was my struggle to cool my burning cheeks. Maybe it was my sudden determination. Maybe it was just that the hour was getting late, and David was ready to go back home, or wherever it was that he stayed when he wasn’t waiting for me to work some errant spell. But he nodded and said, “Very well.”

“Very well?” Neko squeaked, which was a good thing, because I wasn’t certain what David had just agreed to.

“Very well. You may have a drink, or two. But not when you’re working magic. And not when we work together.”

I extended my hand, as if we had just negotiated some major business deal. My lips curled into a wide smile, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the mojitos talking, but I think that it was something more. I think that I was proud of myself, proud that I’d said what I wanted and stuck to my guns until I got it.

David took my hand and pumped it three times in a classic business handshake. I couldn’t help but look down at our fingers, and when I tried to glance back at his face, I couldn’t meet his eyes. “We’ll start tomorrow, then,” he said. “After dinner.”

“After dinner.” I sounded as if I accepted invitations for witchcraft training all the time.

David nodded and stood up. He had almost opened the front door—his hand was on the latch—but then he turned back. He moved quickly, like a shepherd dog closing in on a rambling, errant sheep. I watched in surprise as he lifted one of Melissa’s confections from the pottery plate on the coffee table. He took a bite, and his teeth flashed white against the shortbread and chocolate.

“Mmmm,” he said, chewing carefully and swallowing. “Lust, indeed.” I glanced at Melissa and saw her jaw drop, but it was my face that flamed with embarrassment. David’s eyes met mine. “Until tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow,” I echoed, and I closed the door after him. I took a moment to compose myself before collapsing into Melissa and Neko’s arms. Surrounded by their excited squeals, I wondered why they were cheering. Was it for me, because I was a witch? Or for me, a friend who had outwitted a demanding guest? Or for me, a completely exhausted and more than a little intoxicated homeowner and librarian and friend?

What did it matter? They were my friends, and they were happy for me. Almost happy enough not to complain that we were out of mojitos.

Chapter 9

Someone had emptied an ashtray into my mouth. Probably the same someone who had pounded my forehead with a ball-peen hammer. The same someone who had placed ten-thousand-kilowatt lightbulbs outside my bedroom window.

I moaned and rolled over, pulling my pillow on top of my head. My comforter slipped onto the floor (who had tangled it into such a massive knot while I slept?) and the chilly air immediately raised gooseflesh on my arms and legs. I swore and reached down for the quilt. My hand closed on empty air. I stretched farther, but found nothing. Resigning myself to do battle with the evil someone who had sabotaged my sleep—if only to regain my comforter—I sat up in bed.

8:45, the clock screamed in angry red numbers.

8:45.

I needed to be at work in fifteen minutes.

I swore again and threw myself into the hallway. One glance into the living room brought back all my memories of the night before. Had we really mixed another pitcher of drinks? Had we substituted vodka for rum? And frozen orange juice concentrate for lime juice? Screwdrivers, with mint, washing down two remaining Lust bars and not much else for supper? My belly trembled at the thought.

No time to rue the damage.

I splashed icy water on my face and began to attack my furry mouth with a generous swoop of Colgate. I made a face as I scraped the bristles across my tongue.

“I wondered when you were going to wake up,” Neko said, and I swallowed half of my toothpaste in surprise.

“Eye i’nt oo ake ee?”

“What? Sweetheart, are you still drunk from last night? I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

I spat into the sink and whirled to shake my toothbrush in his general direction. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed your beauty sleep. After all, you’re going to be working with David Montrose from here on out, and I’d hardly be a good familiar if I didn’t make sure that you presented at your very best.” He smiled slyly and gave me an appraising look. I could only imagine the glamour that he beheld, with my hair standing out at all angles and toothpaste foaming at the corners of my mouth.

“I have to be at work in fifteen minutes!”

He glanced at his sleek wristwatch. “Ten, now.”

“Arrrr!” I grabbed for a hand towel and wiped my face dry. My hairbrush caught in my tangles and I forced it through the knots as I pushed past Neko into my room. I slammed the door and offered up a silent thank you to Evelyn’s foresight in establishing our latest get-out-the-patrons effort. At least I wouldn’t have to figure out what to wear. My colonial costume beckoned from my closet. Fashion Central, here I come.

I tugged open a dresser drawer and fumbled around for underwear. One clean pair remaining. I cast a dagger glance toward the hallway.

“Neko!”

“Yes?” He was clearly standing just the other side of the door. I jumped at the sound of his voice so near and cast a reflexive eye toward Stupid Fish. The tetra was swimming in his tank, oblivious as ever. I sprinkled in a pinch of fish food and reminded myself that I needed to change his water. I glanced at the clock. Five minutes to nine. No fresh water today.

“Neko, you’re supposed to help me, right?” The question came out through clenched teeth as I pulled my panties into place and struggled with the hooks on my bra. Honestly, my clothes fit me better last fall. Last fall, when I was still engaged to Scott. Last fall, before I’d taken solace with my best friends, Ben and Jerry. And about a million pitchers of mojitos. And another one, last night, of minty screwdrivers. Don’t think about it, I told myself, swallowing hard.

“Yes?” He made his answer sound like a question, and I could picture his head turned to the side as he measured out what I was asking.

“What about with things other than spells? I mean, if I don’t have time to study the books downstairs and do things around the house, could you help me with chores?” Chores? I sounded like Gran. I tugged my hoops over my head and jerked them into place around my hips.

“What did you have in mind?”

The quilted petticoat settled into place with a few brisk tugs. I jerked on my jacket, momentarily flustered by its fitted back and shortened flare around my hips. The cotton chintz was smooth under my fingers, but I didn’t waste time admiring the floral design. “Laundry!” I called out to Neko as I grabbed my neckerchief.

“Laundry?” His skeptical tone made it sound like a foreign word.

“You know, washing machine, dryer? Little fabric softener sheets that smell like mountain meadows?” I whirled back to my bureau. My dress might be colonial, but I was still wearing contemporary shoes and pantyhose. I could see the run in the first pair before I even pulled them out of the drawer. I couldn’t risk Jason glimpsing any slovenly behavior on my part. After all, he might drop by the library any time.

“You want me to do laundry?” Neko sounded scandalized.

“I want you to help me so that I have time to study the books downstairs.” I tried to sound reasonable. “Time to be the best witch that I can be.” That sounded like an army slogan. Was there an army of witches? The uniform had to be better than the one I was wearing now.

The second pair of hose looked fine until I worked my fingers down to the right toes. There were three little scabs of nail polish, each blocking a run. As I tried to maneuver my toes around the polish, I managed to tear open the entire leg.

“Where?” The cat-man was no fool. He was wary of accepting this new responsibility. I didn’t blame him.

“Up by Dupont Circle. There’s a aundromat on P Street. You can take a cab there and back. My treat.” Third time was the charm—my last pair of pantyhose actually made it onto both feet. I tugged at the waistband, trying to stretch the hose higher, and I sighed when I realized that I might need to graduate to the dread “Q” size. I grabbed my mob cap and plopped it onto my unruly hair before I opened my bedroom door.

“You’ll throw in coffee?” Neko bargained. “I have to have something to sustain me while I wait for the clothes.”

I lugged my hamper into the hallway before closing my door and locking it behind me. I turned back in time to catch Neko’s blatant disappointment that Stupid Fish would be beyond his reach. “Fine. One venti coffee. Or latte. Or steamed milk. Whatever you want.” I dug in my purse for a crumpled five dollar bill. “Here. And there are quarters in the pottery bowl, for the washing machine.” I gestured to the kitchen counter. I was about to open the front door when a thought occurred to me. “You have done laundry before, haven’t you?”

“I’ll check with the Coven,” he said.

“Neko—”

“They knew how to make a mojito, didn’t they?”

Well, I couldn’t argue with that.

The Presbyterian church in the next block began to toll the hour, and I rushed around to the front of the Peabridge. I was digging around in my purse as I climbed the three stone steps. I had to have a lipstick in there somewhere. It was too late to do full makeup, but Gran always said that lipstick made a woman look put together.

Gran. I hadn’t spoken to her since leaving the Four Seasons. Her name had come up on caller ID both at home and at the office, and I’d heard four of her messages: “Jane Madison’s grandmother,” but I hadn’t called her back yet. I still wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I didn’t know what I wanted to do about Clara. I had enough going on in my crazy, mixed-up life, without that problem to solve.

My fingers closed on a tube of Cover Girl. I squinted at the bottom of the barrel. Pick-me-up Pink. Was that an offer to put out? Or a plea for someone to brighten this already hideous day?

“Good morning, Jane!” I looked up to find myself face to face with Harold Weems, our all-purpose janitor, maintenance man, security guard, and—apparently—greeter. Usually, Harold was too shy to mumble a hello. This morning, though, he was holding the door open for me. I was more than a little surprised as he looked me over, studying my outfit from head to toe. After all, we’d both been dressed to the colonial nines for a week now.

He sported stockings and emerald breeches, with an embroidered waistcoat and a close-fitting frock coat. A tricorn hat, currently tucked under his arm, completed the ensemble. He nodded earnestly as I approached and said, “That skirt is a lovely shade of brown.”

I glanced down at my costume, incredulous. When I looked up at Harold, I was surprised to see him blushing. I said, “Um, thank you?”

He blinked and swallowed hard. His face was usually pale, but now it flushed nearly crimson. The strands of his hair were stringy across his scalp, and for just a moment I worried that he might suffer a heart attack right there on the Peabridge steps. He blurted out, “I really wanted to say that you look nice today, but I know that I’m not supposed to say that. You know, with harassment laws and everything.”

I glanced over my shoulder, just to make sure that he hadn’t been put up to this by someone else. Was he making some sort of joke? Could he have seen me tearing around the corner from the cottage, frantic about being late, yet again? But no, he was smiling shyly when I looked back at him. “Thank you, Harold,” I said again, palming the Pick-me-up to apply as soon as I got inside.

“Are those new glasses you’re wearing?”

I pushed my old tortoiseshell frames higher on the bridge of my nose. “Um, no. They’re the same ones I’ve always had.”

“Maybe you got your hair cut?”

This was getting creepy. “Nope. Same old me. And, as always, I’m going to be late, so I really need to get inside.”

“Oh. Sure.” Harold stepped back as I walked past him, but I heard him catch his breath. Almost like he was excited to see me.

I flipped on the power button to the espresso machine as I crossed to my desk. Once there, I palmed on my computer and waited for it to run through its start up routine. On my chair, I found a pink “While You Were Out” note, meticulously completed. Jane Madison’s grandmother had phoned at 8:57 that morning, asking me to return her call. The message had been taken by HW. I glanced back at Harold and caught him staring at me across the library lobby. He started and shook his head, as if he were just waking up after some strange dream, but then he waggled his fingers at me with a goofy grin across his lips.

It wouldn’t have surprised me if he spouted verses about my beauty, caught up in some Forest of Arden fantasy where I was Rosalind. Or maybe I had just read As You Like It once too often. Utterly puzzled, I waved back. I waited until he headed downstairs to his maintenance closet before I returned to my desk.

Seven reference questions, a dozen brewed lattes, and three explanations of my costume later, I still hadn’t called Gran back. I knew that I needed to talk to her. I needed to come to grips with Clara.

Clara. I couldn’t call her “my mother.” I couldn’t think about her as my mother, because my mother was a beautiful woman with flowing red hair and porcelain skin. She was surrounded by banks of clouds, and she sighed softly whenever she thought of losing me, of being torn from me in the terrible car crash that had taken her life.

“My mother” was not a selfish woman who had ignored me for twenty-five years, only to come back and ruin my life just as I was finally getting things under control.

Yeah, right. Totally under control. Every girl who agrees to private tutoring in witchcraft has her life under control.

Private tutoring. Starting with dinner tonight. I fumbled in my desk and dug out a container of Advil, swallowing two and wishing my hangover headache would go away.

The more I tried to avoid thinking about Gran and Clara, the more I worried about David, Neko, and the collection of books on witchcraft in my basement. As much as I couldn’t believe that I had let Neko fool me into working another spell, I was more amazed that I had agreed to have dinner with David. Maybe he had a point there, about not mixing alcohol and spellcraft.

Friends don’t let friends work magic drunk.

What was the spell that Neko made me read? “Wrap my face in power hidden; Spark a love from man unbidden.”

Love from man unbidden? I glanced back at the front door, to the site of Harold’s bizarre morning greeting. Harold, who had never shared two words with me.

No.

It couldn’t be.

I could not have cast a love spell on poor, helpless Harold Weems.

My heart clenched tight inside my chest, and I sucked in my breath. I needed to get away from my desk. I needed to get out of the library. Now.

I glanced at the clock on my computer and saw that it was not even 10:30. I couldn’t go home yet. I couldn’t even really take a break.

I did the next best thing. After collecting my purse from its locked desk drawer, I gesticulated wildly to get Evelyn’s attention. When she nodded across the lobby, I half-walked, half-ran to the restroom at the back of the Peabridge. I slammed closed the door to one of the stalls and thumbed on my cell phone.

Melissa took four rings to answer, and then her voice was as heavy as her Mocha Mud Bars. I suspected that things were busy at Cake Walk that morning, and if she felt anywhere near as terrible as I did after our night of mojito therapy…. I got right to the point: “The spell worked.”

“What?”

I hissed into the phone, even though I knew that the other stalls were empty. “The spell. The one I did last night. It worked.”

“What are you talking about?”

I told her all about Harold, about his questions. When she told me that I must be imagining things, I thought about my first coffee patron of the day, Mr. Zimmer. The sour octogenarian had been coming to the Peabridge for decades. He never ordered coffee; he disapproved of our launching the espresso bar in the lobby. But he had asked for one that morning, and he had left me a two-dollar tip. By the time I finished recounting the details, my voice had squealed into Mickey Mouse’s supersonic range. I raised my free hand to my mouth and started tearing at a ragged cuticle with teeth that were close to chattering.

“Okay,” Melissa said, and I could hear her cash register chiming in the background. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to wring that man’s neck when I get back home.”

“That man Neko? Or that man David?”

As soon as she said David’s name, I thought of the strange moment that had passed between us, the instant where I had thought of him as a very kissable best friend. A best friend who was taking me to dinner that night. “Neko,” I said immediately.

“Sounds like a plan. As for your so-called problem, I don’t think you need to worry. Let the men bask in the glory of your smile. Let them be the ones to drag around after you for a change. You deserve it, after everything you’ve gone through in the past year.”

“It’s just so strange. I’ve never been the pretty girl at the party before.”

“You’re always the pretty girl, Jane. Sometimes, you just forget to use all your assets. Look, I’ve got to go; I have a batch of cupcakes coming out of the oven in about two minutes, and three regulars just walked in.”

I let her go, even though I wanted to pump her for more information about my so-called assets. Emerging from the stall, I took a moment to stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. My skirt was a lovely shade of brown. Yeah. Right. The costume made me look like Old Mother Hubbard. At least I didn’t have a poor dog waiting for me at home. Just a cat-man, who I was going to skin at the first available opportunity. A love spell! What was he thinking?

I sighed and dug around in my purse. Maybe I could do something to repair the damage of a short night of sleep and too many mint-tinged drinks.

In the bottom of the bag, I found a banana clip that I hadn’t used for months. I rubbed purse-dust from it and twisted my hair off my neck. It took me three tries to get the clip in at the right angle, but when I covered it all with the mob cap, I was actually surprised at the difference it made. I’d gone from looking like someone’s overworked scullery maid, to looking—just a hint of a shadow of a suggestion—like a long-necked country-fresh milkmaid.

Encouraged by the transformation, I scrambled some more in my purse and found an ancient eyeliner. The green-blue tinge made my eyes look deeper; I added a bit more at the outer corners to give the appearance of a wide-awake librarian. A daub of Pick-me-up Pink completed the transformation, at least as much as I was able to do in the confines of the Peabridge restroom. I took a steadying breath and headed back to my desk.

Where I found my Imaginary Boyfriend sitting in a chair. My Imaginary Boyfriend. And me, with a beauty enhancing spell firmly in place. My heart started pounding so hard that I could barely breathe.

He stood as I approached, grinning and extending his hand for a friendly, professional handshake. A handshake that might have lingered for a moment longer than strictly necessary. I thought. I hoped. “Evelyn said that you’d be back in a moment,” he said.

“Evelyn was right,” I answered sunnily, but I fought the urge to wrinkle up my nose. What a stupid thing to say.

Jason smiled again, though, easy and confident as ever. “You know what?” he asked, and continued before I could say anything. “Those costumes are starting to grow on me. At first, I thought they looked silly, but the more I see of them, the more I think they’re a good idea.” I caught his eyes straying to the lace that edged my bodice.

My bodice. My Imaginary Boyfriend was staring at my bodice.

Maybe I wasn’t going to murder Neko tonight, after all. Maybe I was going to buy him a nice salmon steak instead, a reward for a well-worked spell.

Jason cleared his throat, and I remembered that I was a librarian first and foremost, long before I was a witch. “I’m looking for some information,” he said, “and I know it should be easy to find, but I’m just having no luck. I need to know how far Chesterton could ride in an average day on horseback, and then how fast he could make it back to North Carolina when he first heard that George Junior had typhus.”

“Not a problem,” I said. “Have you looked in Graumman’s study on colonial transportation?”

“Graumman?”

I smiled and led my Imaginary Boyfriend into the stacks.

The day flew by. After I helped Jason, there were three more patrons who had obscure questions, interesting research problems that kept me busy for the better part of the afternoon. Twice, I came back to my desk to find Harold standing too close. I received another call from Gran, but I really was too busy to answer, and I let it go to voicemail.

I didn’t have time to take a break for lunch, and my feet ached as I finally headed down the garden path to my cottage at the end of the day. My heart was soaring, though. Jason thought that I looked good in my costume. Even Harold’s bizarre attention had made me feel special.

The front door was unlocked when I got home. I could see my laundry piled on one of the couches, panties tucked in discreetly beside jeans, some knit tops, a couple of pullovers and pajamas. My towels were fluffy and still warm. I ran a hand over the stack and excavated a couple of items, holding them up to make sure that nothing had been shrunk to Barbie size.

Perfect. Neko had managed the laundry, without even a hint of the disaster that I now realized I’d been expecting.

“Jane?” I heard his voice call from the kitchen. “Is that you? We were just waiting for you to get home.”

“We?” I said, crossing to the kitchen door. Had David arrived already?

No. Neko was seated at the table with a stranger, a stunning specimen of a human male. The visitor had the body of a diver, a well-muscled torso and chiseled arms that spoke of endless hours in a gym. His chestnut hair had perfect blond highlights, and his eyes glinted with a sea-blue that had to come from contact lenses. He stood as I entered, and his capped teeth nearly blinded me when he smiled. He was gorgeous. He was the cover of Men’s Health, and he was sitting here in my kitchen.

“Neko was telling me all about your cottage. I hope you don’t mind that I came by for a cup of tea.”

And with those two sentences, spoken with a delicate dollop of affectation, this Adonis let me know that he would never be attracted to me, or anyone else of my gender, witchcraft or no witchcraft. I shook his hand gamely and learned that his name was Roger and that he worked in the spa next door to the laundromat, and that he had helped Neko when the washing machine overflowed, and how had anyone thought that dish soap would be a good substitute for laundry detergent?

Neko looked at me from his seat in the kitchen, and I could read the expression in his eyes without any magic at all. He wanted me to like his new friend. He wanted me to be pleased with the toy that he had brought home. And he wanted me to overlook his purposeful misuse of dish soap, consider it a minor amusement in the free-range life of my familiar. I was beginning to understand why most witches kept their assistants under lock and key. “Well, thank you Roger,” I said. “Thanks for helping poor Neko out.”

Neko’s grin was bright enough to light up the entire house. “He did more than that! When we got back here, the phone was ringing. I was still fighting to get the key out of the lock, but Roger got to it in time.”

With a flash of premonition that had nothing to do with my roaming familiar or the magical books gathering dust in my basement, I knew that all the wonder of my day was about to come crashing down around my shoulders. “Who was it?” I asked.

“Your grandmother,” Roger said, confirming my suspicion. “She seemed really surprised that a man answered here, but she left a message. She said that you and Clara are supposed to meet at Cake Walk on Saturday morning at eleven. Your calendar was sitting there on the counter, so I could see you didn’t have anything else planned. It’s all set up, and she says she won’t take no for an answer.”

Chapter 10

“I’m sorry I’m late!” I was apologizing before the hostess had finished ushering me to our table. David Montrose stood as I arrived, and he placed his hands on the back of my chair in that strange gesture that conveys that a man is ready to assist a woman, but also feels possessive.

Not that I was complaining. He was back to his dark suit look, with a blindingly white shirt, and a conservative silver-on-black tie. I glanced down at my own outfit and was grateful that Neko had talked me into the microfiber one-piece dress. And the chunky green glass necklace that played off my hair. And the narrow-heeled slingbacks that were killing my feet.

“Actually,” David said, “you’re right on time.” He glanced at his watch. I had left mine behind, in deference to this dinner that was more than a regular everyday meal. But less than a date. A lesson? A new beginning?

I surreptitiously took a deep breath and ordered my flip-flopping belly to settle down. Fortunately, the waiter chose that moment to scuttle up to the table. “Would Madame like a cocktail?”

I cast a quick glance at David and hated myself for doing so. Would I like a drink? Of course. Make mine a double. But I had made a promise. If we were working tonight…. David nodded and took the lead. “I’ll have a martini,” he said.

“Vodka gimlet,” I countered, and the waiter nodded before scurrying off toward the kitchen. “So,” I forced myself to say, confronting the alcoholic bull by the horns. “We’re not actually working tonight.”

“Not in the sense that you mean. We’re getting to know each other better. You’re learning to trust me. To trust yourself and what you can be.”

His smile was disarming. I looked around the restaurant and wondered how much time he had spent selecting the place. When Neko had told me that I was meeting David at La Chaumiere, I was excited, pleased enough that I momentarily forgave Roger for being my social secretary.

La Chaumiere was a Georgetown staple; it had been around for more than thirty years. It was known for its fine French food and its fabulous service, but it was supposed to be relaxed, comfortable, almost like a country inn. I could imagine a warm hearth in the front room and lavish guest beds above, complete with fluffy down comforters and 400-count cotton sheets.

Sheets. I blushed. This was a restaurant in the middle of Washington, D.C. I’d better get my mind out of the bedroom and back to work.

Because whatever David Montrose said, this dinner was a sort of work for me. If I was going to believe him, if I was going to accept the strange new job I’d undertaken, then I’d better accept that everything about David was business. He was my mentor, my teacher. My warder.

The waiter came back with our drinks, along with menus. “To new beginnings,” David said, lifting his glass. I touched mine to his and repeated the toast, feeling the words thrum down my spine like musical notes.

New beginnings, I reminded myself. Like a new school year, the start of junior high. Like that terrible, awkward time, when you looked up in seventh-grade history class and realized that you were the only girl in the room, and that odd-shaped white thing on your desk must be one of those athletic cups that you’d heard about, and that if you wanted it off your desk you were going to have to be the one to touch it, and that all the boys were going to laugh at you, and then all the boys were laughing at you, and it was only the second day of class, and the teacher wasn’t even there yet, and, and, and….

Oh. Maybe that was only my experience with new beginnings.

I dove for my menu and started studying it as if it were the most fascinating thing written since George Chesterton’s private diaries. Not that I had personally found those diaries so fascinating, but Jason had, and so I’d honed my passion for them. Passion….

Another sip of the gimlet. A grown-up’s mojito, if you really think about it. I resisted the urge to drain the glass. I could handle this. I was an adult.

I looked at the first courses and saw that they had onion soup. French onion soup, by definition. One of my favorites. I considered ordering it, but then I heard Melissa whispering in the back of my head. Certain foods were not first date foods. French onion soup. Spaghetti. Pizza. Anything that had a tendency to become long and stringy and drippy and embarrassing.

As I heard her admonitions, I wondered what Freud would say about them. It certainly sounded as if she were warning me off from more than luscious food-stuffs, trying to keep me from another whole range of messy activity. Spare me from the embarrassment, she would certainly say.

But who was I, to argue with D.C.’s queen of First Dates? I sighed and decided to pass on the soup. Mesclun salad for me, with a classic vinaigrette. And while the pork loin sounded divine, it was served on a bed of tagliatelle. Tagliatelle. Worse, actually, than spaghetti, because the long flat noodles could hold more buttery sauce, could splatter more mess on an unsuspecting diner. Dover sole, then. With rice.

The waiter came back to take our order, and he attempted to complicate things. They had three specials for the night, and each sounded better than the last. But the tuna scaloppini was served with spinach (a definite no-no; it would get caught in my teeth.) The trout was a no-man’s-land of potential bones, evil slivers just waiting to stick in my throat and embarrass me into requiring Heimlich assistance at the table. And the roast lamb was served with cherry tomatoes (did I even need to think about where the seeds might fly?)

I smiled at the waiter and ordered with Melissa-bred confidence. Mesclun and sole.

“Very good, madame? And for you, monsieur?”

“Onion soup, to start, and the pork with tagliatelle. And,” David turned to me, “if it’s all right with you, we’ll have a chocolate soufflé for dessert?”

Chocolate soufflé. An item I’d never ordered in a restaurant, because I was too afraid of the “leave a minimum of forty-five minutes of preparation time” note on the menu. I ran through a list of Melissa’s potential objections—it wasn’t stringy, saucy, or explosive—and said, “That sounds lovely.”

“And wine?”

Without hesitating, David recited a bin number. The waiter nodded his approval and sidled off to the kitchen.

Leaving David and me at our table.

Alone.

Where were Melissa’s Five Conversational Topics when I needed them? I started to raise my fingernails to my teeth, just for a quick gut-settling gnaw, but then I remembered where I was. I folded my hands in my lap instead, even managing to resist the urge to drain my gimlet.

David smiled easily and passed me the bread basket. Selecting a slice of baguette was practically therapeutic as he said, “So? How was your day at work?”

For just a moment, I thought that he was asking me about the library, that he was expressing an interest in colonial education, millinery of the eighteenth century, or crop rotation for gentleman farmers.

Then, I realized his true intent. “It worked,” I said. I glanced around at the tables closest to us. No one seemed to be listening, but I still leaned closer to David and whispered, “The spell worked.”

He nodded in silent encouragement, and I told him all about Harold’s unexpected attention, about the almost-laughable interest that he’d shown in my skirt. While that didn’t surprise David, my mentioning Jason did. And old Mr. Zimmer. And the three other men who had paid me a surfeit of attention that afternoon.

The waiter interrupted to bring out a bottle of wine. David engaged in the entire tasting game, but he down-played each step. He looked at the cork, swirled the straw-colored liquid in his glass a few times and took a single, abstemious swallow. He nodded to the waiter, who filled my glass, completed David’s, then disappeared.

I took a sip and smiled approvingly at the full taste of the pinot gris. Much cleaner than the oaky chardonnays that I’d had before. Simpler. More straightforward.

Then we were back to my day as a witch. I gathered from the questions that David asked that it was unusual for a spell to have the strength of the one that I had cast. I shouldn’t have been able to bring all of those men into my snare. I shouldn’t have enchanted each and every one of them.

Somewhere during the telling, the waiter brought our appetizers. I only wasted a moment looking at David’s soup with longing. Fortunately, the bright greens in my salad satisfied my taste buds. And I didn’t have worry about the gruyere strands that tested David’s cheese-sawing abilities. Not that the challenging soup made him look silly. It actually made him seem more…human. Less threatening. Just a regular guy eating a regular meal.

“So,” I said, as we waited for our main courses.

“So.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Warding? All my life.” I waited for him to elaborate. That took three bites of baguette, a sip of water, and another of wine. But at last, he said, “It’s not going to be easy for you to accept all this information at once. I’ll give you answers, but—for a while at least—you’re going to have to accept these things on faith.”

“Try me.”

He took a deep breath but was interrupted by the appearance of our entrees. The waiter put my plate down on the table and spun it a quarter turn, counter-clockwise, so that the fish was best displayed against its lemon and caper sauce. David’s pork was beautiful on its bed of treacherous, sauce-laden pasta.

“Bon appetit,” David said, and he picked up his knife and fork. The knife and fork that he was using European-style, I noticed. He took a bite (sparing his suit from unsightly splashes of tomato and olive sauce) and chewed carefully before meeting my eyes. “Warding is…a family occupation. My father was a warder before me, and his father before him. I’m the oldest of three boys, and so I became a warder. My middle brother is a stockbroker, and my youngest is an experimental film maker, living in Toronto.”

Well. That made the Montrose family seem downright ordinary.

“There are about two dozen of us warders here in D.C. One for each witch in the metropolitan area.” And that made it all sound like a census survey. “We warders begin our training when we’re children. For simplification sake, you can think of us as students at a boarding school. We go to work with other warders, to learn from them.”

“Like an apprentice.” That was a system familiar to me. In colonial America, there were still apprentices and journeymen and masters, all learning their trades.

“Exactly.”

“But what do you do when you’re not watching me? I mean, what did you do before I worked that first spell?”

A dark memory flickered across David’s face, and he took a sip of wine before answering. “I warded another witch until last year.”

“What happened last year?” I asked softly, imagining some terrible magical battle, a beautiful young witch fighting desperately for her life. I pictured David struggling to rescue her from an evil sorcerer, grimacing in pain as he absorbed one magical assault after another.

“I was fired.”

“What?” I was so surprised that I practically shouted the question.

“I was fired. My witch decided that I was too conservative. Too restrictive.”

“Fancy that,” I said before I could stop myself, and I was rewarded with a glare. I hurriedly asked another question, before he could match words to his expression. “So you were just sitting there…where? Waiting? Collecting astral unemployment?”

David grimaced at the word “astral”. “Let’s just say I was on assignment.”

“On assignment?”

“A detail.”

“Doing what?” His evasiveness triggered every librarian instinct in my blood. I wanted to get to the bottom of this.

“I was working for the Court of Hecate, all right?” I was reviewing valuable documents, storing them in proper places so that future generations can access the wisdom contained therein.”

I stared at him in surprise. “You were a file clerk!”

“I—”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” I cut him off, even though I wanted to laugh. My proud, domineering warder had been filing papers for the past year, alphabetizing page after page. Or scroll after scroll. Whatever.

As if he could read my mind, he said, “There was more to it than that. I provided physical protection for the Court’s meeting places. I searched for lost and stolen artifacts. And I remained on call to any witch in the Coven who needed my assistance.”

“Did you train them, then, the other witches? Like you’ll train me? “

“No. Most of you are trained by your Caller.”

You. I was a witch. The words still sounded impossible inside my own skull. I swallowed hard and forced out a whisper. “What’s a Caller?”

“An older witch. One who senses strength in a new generation. One who calls you to your new powers.”

“So it’s not hereditary?” My thoughts flashed to the topic I’d been avoiding all night, to Clara, who I was now supposed to meet on Saturday at Cake Walk, curse Roger and his willingness to poke his nose into my bare-paged calendar.

“Usually, it is. Hereditary in the mother’s line. But it doesn’t always pass, not even from a strong witch to a first daughter. A Caller senses the seeds of power and encourages it in a young girl.” He looked me directly in the eye. “Is your mother a witch?”

I started to say, “My mother’s dead,” because that was the way I had answered questions about Clara my entire life. But she wasn’t dead. She was alive and well and ready to see me after a quarter century. Was that why she’d finally come back? Did she want to tell me that she was a witch? That I was? “I don’t know,” I finally said. “I haven’t seen her since I was four years old. My grandmother raised me.”

David nodded. “And is she a witch?”

“Gran!” I laughed out loud at the thought. “Absolutely not.” David just looked at me. “She’s a little old lady. She drinks Earl Grey tea. She sits on the board for the concert opera. She’s my grandmother, for God’s sake.”

“Precisely.” He reached out and rested his fingers on my wrist. As with the night before, I was surprised by how smooth his fingertips felt, how much warmth flowed from him against my pulse point. “She’s your grandmother. And you came by your power from somewhere.”

I pulled away from him and disguised my discomfort by stuffing my mouth with sole and rice. This was just too strange, I thought as I chewed. Too bizarre. Gran was not a witch. She couldn’t be. I would have suspected something all these years. I swallowed. “Is there any other way?” I asked, and my voice sounded impossibly small.

David nodded, and I thought that the glint in his eyes just might be sympathy. “There is. Sometimes, the witchcraft skips generations. Every once in a while—in a very, very rare while—it appears spontaneously. But there hasn’t been a wild witch in the Eastern Coven since Salem, since 1692.”

“So it’s not likely.”

“Not likely.” He shook his head and went back to his pork loin. He finished twirling the last strand of his tagliatelle as if we’d been discussing something as ordinary as pumpkins in fall. As he placed the bite in his mouth, a tiny dollop of sauce fell on his lapel. I was prepared to ignore it, but he noticed it himself and mopped it up with his napkin. He gave me a wry smile, and my heart twisted inside my chest.

So, that was how it was done. You mop up the mess and move on. I consoled myself with the fact that my sole had been excellent. Before I could dwell on eating matters, I asked the question that had been percolating for days now: “So, the books. How did they get to be in the Peabridge’s cottage? I mean, isn’t that a strange coincidence, that I just happen to be a witch and my employer just happens to have a secret stash of spellbooks?”

David leaned back as the waiter came to take our plates away. When questioned, he ordered an espresso, and I—distractedly—asked for tea. The answer to my question was further delayed by the entire service ritual that accompanied that beverage—the waiter brought the little tea chest, I got to choose between a dozen flavors, and there was much shuffling of china and silverware.

Finally, David leaned forward in his chair and grappled with his answer. “The books are part of an extraordinarily valuable collection. They—and Neko, too—were brought together by Hannah Osgood. She led the Eastern Coven in the first two decades of the 1900s.”

“But she didn’t live in the Peabridge house. I would know her name.”

“No.” David shook his head. “She lived up near the Palisades.”

“Then how did the books get into the cottage?”

David sighed. “Hannah had seven daughters, six of whom actually had considerable power, all but the youngest, Emily. Hannah had compiled her library for her girls.”

“What happened?”

“The Spanish flu. It tore through Washington in 1918. Hannah lost her husband first. And then her daughters, one by one. She tried to save them with spells, with crystals, but she fell ill herself.”

“Poor thing,” I whispered, feeling a ripple of pity.

“Hannah recovered her physical strength, but her spirit was broken. She renounced her witchcraft. She ordered away her warder, refused any assistance from the Coven. And when she died, all her books were missing.”

“But she’d brought them to Emily’s house,” I said, nodding as I realized what had happened. “Emily Osgood became Emily Peabridge.” I recognized the name from records kept in Evelyn’s office, records that tracked the mansion’s former owners.

David nodded and spread his hands wide. “It seems that she hid them away when it became apparent that her line would not survive. She’d come to despise the books, to hate the witchcraft that could not save her family. The Coven has been searching for years, but no one ever thought the books would turn up on Emily’s land. No one ever imagined they’d be stored completely outside the reach of known witches.”

“But why me? Why now? I mean, how did I end up living in the same cottage where those books just happened to be stored?”

David shrugged. “Magic reaches out to magic. Like magnets, jumping across space to be joined together. The books sensed your powers and influenced the world around you. Your dormant powers sensed the books.”

“That’s ridiculous! Evelyn let me live in the cottage because the Peabridge couldn’t pay my salary.”

David did not take offense at my agitated tone. Instead, he turned his hands, palm up. “I can’t explain it. This isn’t science. It isn’t actions and reactions, like the world you’ve always known. If Evelyn hadn’t let you live in the cottage, the books would have gotten you there another way. You might have found some colonial reference to a valuable collection in the basement. You might have chased a cat in there one day, while you were strolling through the gardens on your lunch break. In a pinch, you might have had a dream that pointed out the location. Magic calls to magic.”

The thought was enough to drive me to silence. At least until the chocolate soufflé arrived.

The dessert was impressive—it towered above the walls of its shiny porcelain serving dish. The waiter maneuvered it toward our table with a satisfyingly controlled sense of urgency. I’d seen enough of Melissa’s baking endeavors to appreciate the pillowy sweet, and I actually sighed as the waiter punctured the elevated crust to release a whiff of chocolate-scented steam. He poured a steady stream of vanilla sauce into the resulting crater before serving generous bowls of the treat.

One spoonful, and I thought that I would swoon.

David caught my eye and grinned. “Good?”

“Heaven.”

By unspoken agreement, we were through with the witchcraft instruction part of the evening. As we finished our dessert and I sipped the last of my tea, we discussed other things—the traditional Halloween parade that would take place through Georgetown at the end of October, the questionable quality of the first autumn apples at the Safeway up the street. We could have been friends, out to dinner after months of separation, catching up on the mundane details of our very busy professional lives.

It wasn’t until David held my coat for me that we returned to the true root of our relationship. He kept the collar low enough that it was easy for me to slip my arms into the sleeves. As he settled the woolen shoulders over my own, he smoothed them into place with a comforting familiarity. “We’re agreed, then? You’ll continue meeting with me to learn more about your powers?”

“Of course.” I realized that I’d already assumed we were going to work together. We started to walk back toward the Peabridge and home. I was so full and relaxed that I scarcely acknowledged the pain in my toes from my ill-fitting shoes. “But what sorts of things are you going to teach me? I mean, what can you tell me that Neko can’t?”

David’s lips pursed. “Neko is your familiar. He can magnify your powers. To some extent, he can even focus them. But he can’t channel them in the first place. There are many skills that you can learn besides reading spells.”

“Such as?”

An older couple brushed past us on the sidewalk, and David waited until they were out of earshot before he answered. “You can read auras. You can tell who a person is, what they believe before you’ve ever met them. That man, who just walked by. He is on the Board of Directors of the Shakespeare Fund, and he’s worrying about whether they’ll raise enough money to underwrite seven productions next year, or only six.”

The Shakespeare scholar in me hoped it would be seven. The new-hatched witch asked, “You could tell all that, just by walking by him?”

“My sleeve brushed his. Physical contact helps.”

“So, are you a witch, too?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have inherent powers, nothing as strong as witchcraft. Reading auras lets me function as a warder. The Coven gives me the power so that I can best serve. They work a spell.”

Auras. Coven. Warders. I shivered. David was talking about power. A lot of power. Power that I wasn’t certain I wanted to have. I thought of Harold, hanging around my desk like an overeager puppy. But then I thought of Jason, looking me in the eye and smiling broadly as I recommended the reference source of his dreams.

Before I knew it, we were standing at my garden gate. I glanced down the path and saw that lights were on in the cottage. Neko was waiting up for me. Neko, and possibly Roger.

I turned back to David. “Thank you,” I said. “For everything. I had a lovely time tonight.”

Before I realized what was happening, he closed the distance between us. His arms came around me, pulling me in toward his chest. His lips on mine were chilled from the night air, but they thawed instantly. His fingers moved into my hair as he pulled my head closer to his, and I tasted chocolate soufflé and vanilla sauce and the deep rich coffee that had ended his meal.

It was a kiss like you read about in books. It was a kiss like the ones on movie screens, the ones that make you sink deeper into your stadium seating and lean your head back and sigh. It was a kiss that my body melted into, that made my hands grip his arms and clutch him close.

And then, it ended. He stepped back and straightened his arms. The autumn air swirled between us.

He looked down, avoiding my eyes, but then he seemed to remember some silent promise he had made. He looked directly into my face. “That was wrong,” he whispered. He cleared his throat, and said again, loud enough to make both of us start. “Wrong.”

“No! I mean—I wanted—” And then I fell silent, my cheeks flaming as I remembered just how much I had wanted his kiss the other night. Had that desire been in my aura? Had he read my thoughts as clearly as words on a page?

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “I’m your warder.”

“So what does that mean?” I was trying to make the best of this, but my legs were trembling so hard that I was having trouble standing.

“I shouldn’t have blurred the boundaries. You’re my witch. I’m your warder. We’re going to work at being friends. It is too complicated for us to do anything more. Not while you’re still coming into your powers. Not while you’re still learning.”

Of all the patronizing, controlling, master-of-the-universe, pig-headed –

But maybe he was right. I didn’t know the first thing about being a witch. Okay. I knew the first thing—I could read spells in a spellbook. But I didn’t know the second. And I didn’t even know what might be on the list for third.

“Were you reading me just now?” I asked. “Reading my aura?”

“No!” He sounded shocked. “The Coven sent me to be your warder. A warder can’t read a witch unless she invites him to.” My relief was almost a physical thing. I glanced toward the cottage, just in time to see a dark shape jump back behind the curtains. Neko.

“Friends?” David asked, and he took another step back as if to clarify his stance.

“Friends,” I said, managing a nod that felt almost jaunty.

“Get some rest, then. We’ll continue with your training. And be kind to poor Harold Weems.”

My lips still tingled as I worked my key in the front door lock.

Chapter 11

It took a half dozen calls to Melissa to finish dissecting the night before. In between her providing baked goods to customers and my providing reference information to patrons, we worked the entire rainbow of emotions from red anger (over Roger having the gall to make an appointment for me with Clara) to orange speculation (over what, exactly, David’s kiss meant) to yellow caution (over the need to take small, precise steps as I learned more about the actual boundaries of all this witchcraft stuff) to green jealousy (over David’s ability to eat both onion soup and tagliatelle without committing sartorial disaster) to blue sorrow (over that kiss, again, and whether there’d ever be another, and whether I wanted there to be another, and why my years with Scott had left me such an emotional mess) to, finally, violet intrigue (over the powers that I could harness, once I’d done a bit more study).

All in all, it was a very busy morning, made more so by the fact that Harold Weems stopped by my desk on three separate occasions. The first time, he was carrying a small vase filled with yellow mums, a spray of brightly colored dried leaves, and a curling frond of fern. “I thought that these would look nice on your desk,” he’d said, and he blushed crimson.

“Thank you, Harold.” For the first time, a twinge of guilt nibbled at the back of my mind. “They’re lovely.”

An hour later, he’d come by to bring me my mail—the mail that I had thus far managed to pick up from the library’s shipping room every single day of my employment—and an hour after that, he’d stopped by to ask if I’d serve up a cup of coffee for him to sip on his break. At least I was able to give him a staff discount on the coffee.

“I’ve got a very busy afternoon,” I said to the poor guy, trying to head off more hours of witch-inspired attention as I handed him his cup and a cardboard sleeve. I extemporized: “I’m working on a special project for Evelyn.”

“What project?” he asked, perfectly reasonably.

“Umm….” I glanced back at my desk. I obviously wasn’t a practiced liar, if I prepared so poorly. A flash of inspiration hit, though, as I remembered walking home with David the night before. “Foundations! I need to research foundations! Ones that might fund the Peabridge.” That was it. Just like Mr. Shakespeare, who was trying to decide whether to fund another show. If I could find a handy donor or two, the library could be in the black, and I might shed my colonial garb.

“Well, good luck,” Harold said. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Mm-hmmm.” I muttered noncommittally, and I crossed back to my desk. I’d have to research the collection in my basement to see if there was some sort of counter-spell I could administer. I mean, poor Harold was getting more social skills exercise than he’d had in months, but it was only going to add up to heartbreak.

I glanced toward the second table in the reading room, the one where Jason would sit all afternoon. I could only hope that my spell had worked as strongly on him. My stomach did a somersault, and my fingers curled into fists. Jason, thoroughly bespelled. What a thought….

After all, nothing was going to happen with David. He had flat out said that it was inappropriate for him to have kissed me. And I had a lot more invested in my Imaginary Boyfriend than in my brand new warder—months of getting to know Jason, letting him see the true me as I assisted him with his reference work. I’d spent the time to build a solid base because I didn’t want anyone—myself included—to question if he was only my rebound relationship, after Scott.

I was no fool. I knew all about rebound. I had carefully measured every twinge of interest that I’d ever had for Jason Templeton, making sure that it was true, pure, legitimate. Not some figment of my Scott-tortured mind.

And Jason was real. Jason was my future.

But that future might not arrive if the Peabridge was forced to shut down, despite my cut salary, my charming colonial clothes, and the latte bar that perfumed the lobby. Foundation money. That really wasn’t a bad idea.

Rolling up my proverbial sleeves (my overdress fit too tightly around my forearms to permit the literal action), I dug into Google, refining set after set of search results to track down potential donors. This was the type of research project I loved—one lead ran into another, and I was swept along with the pleasure of learning new things. I was interrupted a few times by patrons, but my enthusiasm did not flag. My printer started to hum as I churned out pages from likely prospects. Some even included grant applications online.

It was mid-afternoon by the time I’d finished by information gathering. The stack on my desk was impressive, if I did say so myself. I glanced toward Evelyn’s office and contemplated telling her about what I’d done, but I figured that it was still such a long shot that there was no reason to raise her hopes. I slipped the materials into a white Tyvek envelope; I’d follow up tomorrow, when I was fresh.

Of course, the rest of my library work had hardly disappeared while I was doing my independent study. I glanced at the massive carts beside the circulation desk. We’d had a number of patrons in for the morning—it seemed as if each person who had walked through the door had carried his own weight in books, returning them to our collection.

Well, no time like the present to get started on reshelving. Besides, Jason would arrive at any moment. He should see me busily working, not waiting for him like some lovesick puppy. Squaring my shoulders, I wrestled one of the heavy wooden carts toward the back of the stacks.

I’ve never been a big fan of shelving. It is actually a lot of work—it’s amazing how many books are on the very bottom row of the collection, or the very top, and how many neighboring books can slip sideways during a one-month check-out span. Inevitably, I end up breaking fingernails (when mine are long enough to break; maybe there’s a reason that I routinely chew them to the quick.)

Today’s job was made more challenging by the fact that I had inadvertently chosen the Death Sled. The Sled was our oldest shelving cart. One wheel locked intermittently to the right, periodically pitching the entire cart to the side with a lurch strong enough to pull a poor librarian’s arms from their sockets. When using the Sled, I’d been known to grunt like Maria Sharapova at Wimbledon.

But today, I was determined to keep those grunts to myself. I strongly suspected that Harold was lurking nearby, ready to leap forward with a helping hand if he sensed my slightest need. And right now, I didn’t want to see the man. Not until I’d figured out some way to recall my spell. Or, at the very least, dilute it.

I finished shelving all the books on the right side of the cart. The last two were destined for bottom shelves in the collection. I knelt down to place the first one, and then I stretched to the next rank of shelves to shove the other one in place. My heel, though, caught the hem of my petticoat, and I heard the fabric start to rip. Swearing a most uncolonial oath, I tried to hop forward, to free my foot. Unfortunately, that only succeeded in throwing my weight against the Death Sled, where one of my long, ruffled sleeves snagged a corner. True to its name, the book cart chose that moment to leap forward at an impossible angle.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a patron standing in the path of the Sled. I threw my hip against the cart, hard, using my full body weight to yank my sleeve free and set the Sled off course. That fine football tactic, though, only upset my fragile, hem-bound balance. As I tumbled to the floor, my mob cap went flying, and my glasses were knocked askew. The Death Sled, weighted on only one side because of my industrious—if unbalanced—shelving, teetered precariously for the longest minute in the history of library science before it crashed to the ground, sending treatises, essays, and bound manuscripts flying.

I waited until the crash had stopped echoing through the stacks before I pulled myself to my knees. I was blinking like Rip Van Winkle awakened from a nap, and I fumbled to straighten out the ear-piece of my glasses, to get the lenses settled back on my face.

On the bridge of my nose, to be exact. The bridge of the nose that was now at hip-level to the rest of the world, as I knelt by the wreckage of the Death Sled. Hip-level. Or, to be more specific, crotch-level.

With a sickening swoop in the pit of my stomach, I recognized that khaki crotch. Even without my glasses properly placed, I knew the crisp cotton fabric. I’d spent enough days staring at it across the library. I’d wasted enough day-dreams about the package behind it, about the manly gifts of my Imaginary Boyfriend.

Jason.

Jason Templeton.

The man who now cleared his throat and took a single, polite step backward.

“I’m sorry!” I gasped, finally forcing my glasses back on my nose. My embarrassment crisped the back of my neck. At the crash of the cart, people had come running—Evelyn, and Harold, and at least two other patrons.

Harold stepped forward and righted the Sled. Evelyn started to collect the books, clicking her tongue over them as if they were naughty children. The patrons stared at me as if I were some sort of freak—I mean, what sort of librarian sends books crashing to the floor in the middle of a quiet afternoon of study?

Jason was trying to keep from laughing. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t mean—”

“Are you all right?” Harold interrupted, taking advantage of the situation to reach for my forearm and haul me to my feet.

“Harold!” Evelyn said, as if he were responsible for the chaos I’d created. “This cart is dangerous! Someone might have been hurt. Can you fix the wheel?”

Even though he was besotted by my spell, Harold managed to turn to his direct supervisor. “Sure thing,” he said.

“Well, take care of it now, so that this doesn’t happen again.”

Harold looked at me solicitously, but I assured him that I was fine. I raised my voice to let the others know as well, and it took only a few minutes for the patrons to return to their work. Evelyn shook her head and went back to her office.

That left me with Jason. With Jason of the Impeccably Pressed Khakis. The khakis that I had just studied much too closely. “I’m sorry,” I said for a third time.

“I don’t think you have anything to apologize for.”

“I’ve never done that sort of thing before.”

“What? Knocking over a book cart?”

“No. Kneeling—” I realized that I did not have a dignified way to complete my sentence. “Yeah. That’s what I meant. Knocking over a book cart.”

“No blood, no foul.” Jason shrugged, and his smile was blinding enough that I nearly forgot my mortification.

I don’t know what possessed me. Maybe it was a bounce-back from my grimoire spell. Maybe it was the wild confidence that had fueled my morning of foundation research. Maybe it was the realization that it was time to move this relationship forward, time to push Jason from the “Imaginary” category over to “Real.” But I heard myself speaking before I had even thought through the words in my head. “I’ve been wondering,” I said, and my voice was calm and collected, as if I spoke to dream boyfriends every day of my life. “Would you like to come over for dinner on Friday?”

“Friday?” For just a second, he looked surprised.

Had I been too forward? Had I been too bold, to propose the first night of the weekend? Um, that would be tomorrow night. Had I ruined my entire romance before it even had a chance to start?

He shook his head. “My schedule is crazy this semester. I have office hours on Friday afternoon. Then I go to dinner with Ekaterina. It’s a standing thing—wind up the work week, you know?”

“Oh!” I said, cursing the Russian ballerina princess. It made sense that he’d see her after office hours. If she was his star grad student, he probably had to give her a lot of support, a lot of personal attention.

“Any other night, though,” Jason was saying. “Any weeknight, I mean.”

Any weeknight. He was offering me any night, Monday through Thursday. Any night, we could wrap up our work here at the library and head out to my cottage. I could send Neko packing (lucky me, that my familiar was free to roam), and I could whip up a little something special….

“Thursday!” I said, like a drowning woman who had just found a raft.

He grinned. “Like a week from today?”

“Um, yes.” Like a week from today. An entire week. What was I thinking? Was the power of an Imaginary Boyfriend so strong that he could make me forget the days of the week? Romeo and Juliet had an easier time planning their balcony trysts. “Exactly like that.”

“What time?”

“Eight?”

“Eight.” He nodded and treated me to another one of his grins. “Where do you live?”

That’s right! He didn’t know! He didn’t realize that my home was so close to the library. I told him about the cottage, and he was suitably impressed.

“All right, then,” he said. “Next Thursday, eight. The cottage in the garden.” He took a step toward me. For just a moment, I thought that he was going to kiss me. Me. The librarian standing like an idiot, with twisted glasses and a rucked up colonial skirt. I took a step toward him, which made him move away.

“I—” he said, and he gestured toward the shelves behind me.

“What?” I asked, trying to hide my confusion.

“I was going to get an atlas.”

“An atlas?” I might never have heard of the word before.

“From that shelf over there. Behind you.”

“Oh! An atlas!” Of course. I was an idiot. That was why he’d come over here in the first place. Why he’d been in range of the Death Sled. I stepped to the side. “I need to get back to my desk, anyway.”

“I’ll see you next Thursday, then.”

I was dialing Melissa’s phone number before I sat down at my desk.

Chapter 12

Melissa replaced the pot of Caramel Karma coffee on its heating element and gestured toward the canisters of loose tea, silently asking me if I wanted my preferred form of caffeine. I shook my head. As it was, I was almost bouncing off the ceiling. 11:15, and Clara had not yet made her appearance.

“Go on,” I said, and I could hear the nervousness in my voice. “Who knows when she’ll get here? Tell me about last night’s dating game.”

Melissa glanced at the red-X’ed calendar and sighed. “This one was a Washington Today.”

I grimaced. The magazine was known for its funky articles about D.C. life, but its restaurant critics were more discerning than its personals editor. Most of the men Melissa had met through the ads had grossly overstated their qualifications. I’d encouraged her to stop using the silly thing—married men looking for action on the side, shrimpy self-professed giants, and “fit” poster boys for obesity clinics were not going to make Melissa happy. (Not, I hasten to add, that there’s anything wrong with short or fat men—just short or fat men who lie about their status to unsuspecting, open-hearted bakers whose biological clocks are ticking louder than Big Ben.)

“So,” I said, fiddling with a packet of turbinado sugar. “What did this one say?”

She looked up at the ceiling, as if the ad were printed there. “Single White Male, thirty-eight years old, brown hair, green eyes.”

“Thirty-eight!”

“That’s what he said,” she replied grimly. “I thought that I could make the age difference work. After all, we all know that women are more mature than men.”

I gave her a look that told her exactly what I thought of that logic, but I waved a hand to get her to go on. She continued to recite: “Gourmet chef in brown paper package. Can spice things up with salsa or cool them down with raita. Take a chance and feed your curiosity today.”

I frowned. “A little gimmicky.”

“Come on. I’m a baker. He should have been perfect for me.”

“And?”

“Who knew that McDonalds is experimenting with recycled brown paper bags? And that they actually offer a raita burger?” I shook my head as Melissa went on. “Only in major metropolitan areas, but still. And a salsa burger? Did you know that they’re testing them in the southwest right now?”

“This guy owns a McDonalds?”

She nodded grimly. “Thirteen of them. He’s a franchise king. A graduate of Hamburger University.”

I couldn’t keep from laughing. “You’ve always said not to be too snobby about things like education.”

“Want a coupon for a free Big Mac? I have several.”

I swallowed hard. Poor Melissa, with her child-like preference for plain burgers. That special sauce would all be wasted on her. “But how was he, aside from that?”

“There wasn’t any ‘aside from that.’ Our conversation was all-McDonald’s, all-time. Oh, except for one thing. The “thirty-eight” was a typo.”

“A typo?”

“He meant to say forty-eight. At least, that’s what I’d imagine, given his appearance. Or maybe he’s a youthful fifty-eight.”

“So, there you were, having drinks with a fifty-eight-year-old McDonald’s franchisee….”

“At least I had the good sense to plan this one for drinks only. He begged me to join him for dinner, but I told him I already had a commitment. If anyone ever asks, I was helping you bake a tres leche cake last night. You needed it for a work colleague’s birthday.”

“Tres leche. Birthday. Got it.” I shook my head and started to consider the value of yet another this-isn’t-worth-it-why-are-you-pushing-so-hard-to-find-the-man-of-your-dreams speech. Before I could work out a new angle, though, the door to Cake Walk opened.

And a woman walked in.

I recognized her from the photographs that Gran kept around the house. The old ones, of course, since my grandmother had not seen fit to update the collection, intent as she was on keeping me in the dark about Clara’s continued existence. Not that I’m bitter, or anything like that.

She had red hair. She clearly had exploited the skills of Lady Clairol, but if the shade was even close to natural, I could see where I got the russet highlights in my own hair. Her eyes were hidden behind giant sunglasses, as if she thought she was a movie star, tragically misplaced along the C & O Canal in Georgetown. Her skin was pale, a shade or two lighter than my own, and she seemed to have covered up suspected freckles with a heavy coat of makeup. Her neck was starting to sag, and her chin was softened by hints of age.

Hints of age, and the wages of hard living, I thought uncharitably.

I wondered what her eyes looked like behind those absurd sunglasses. Were they the same as mine? Did she have the flecks of gold that made the hazel seem deeper than it actually was?

“Mrs. Madison?” Melissa asked, finally breaking the spell.

“Smythe,” she said, drawing out the “y” into a long vowel, just like Gran did. Of course. She wouldn’t use my father’s last name. She’d left him behind, like she’d left me. Like she’d left Gran. “Clara,” she corrected herself before she extended her hand to Melissa.

My best friend smiled as if she always hosted my long-lost, drug-fiend relatives on a slow Saturday morning in the bakery. “I’m Melissa White,” she said, shaking hands firmly. “And I’m sure you’ve realized that this is Jane.”

I stood there, trying to remember what to say. Had Miss Manners ever written a column about reuniting with parents who abandoned you? With parents who lied to you for a quarter century, and then decided to come back into your life? I’m sure there was some specific etiquette; I just didn’t know what it was.

Once again, Melissa came to my rescue. “Why don’t you two take a seat, and I’ll bring some coffee.” She flashed Clara the smile of a professional hostess. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Thank you. I appreciate the offer, really I do, but I don’t drink coffee.”

Melissa sent me a sideways glance that was meant to carry an entire conversation, like smoke signals across the high plains. “Tea, then? We’ve got a variety of flavors.”

“Oolong?”

Melissa’s smile grew broader. She knew my favorite when she heard it. “With just a bit of cream?”

“Exactly!” Clara looked as if she might clap her hands together in joy. Or relief. I couldn’t help but steal a glance at those hands, and I was strangely relieved to see that they were completely different from my own. Her fingers were thick. Short. Stubby. But the nails were the same—bitten to the quick.

I silently promised to take care of my own nails once and for all. Neko would certainly help me with a manicure. Roger, Neko’s newfound Adonis, had to offer them at his salon. Roger. The man owed me, after getting me into this.

Melissa waved us over to the two-top in the corner, the table that provided the most privacy in the small shop. Clara waited until I sat down; then she took her seat. At first, she put her hands on the table, entwining her fingers, but then she shifted them to her lap. I imagined them clenching and unclenching as our silence stretched out. As if she’d only just remembered that she was wearing Hollywood glasses, she peeled them off, folding them carefully before returning her hands to her lap.

Bingo. Hazel. Gold flecks. More bloodshot than I hoped my own were.

“Jeanette,” she said.

“What!” I couldn’t help myself. She didn’t even remember my name.

“Jane!” She blushed crimson—the same telltale flush that I suffered through every time I was embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Jane.”

“Why did you call me that?”

“It’s your name. The name I gave you. Well, your father and I.”

Her voice was deeper than I’d expected, as if it had been sanded down by too much whiskey and too many cigarettes. She spoke in short, sharp sentences, reinforcing that she was every bit as nervous as I was.

I supposed that should have made it easier for me. I should have realized just how much we had in common, how much we both were suffering. After all, I’d read my Shakespeare. I knew how grateful mothers were when they found their lost children. In Winter’s Tale, Hermione’s reunion with Perdita was joyous; it finally awakened the entire mourning kingdom. But I didn’t feel joyful. I didn’t feel grateful. I felt more as if I’d like to exit, pursued by a bear. Anything but continue to sit here and make small talk.

“Gran always called me Jane.”

Clara pursed her lips. “She would. She never liked the name Jeanette. She thought it was fussy. She even made me put ‘Jane’ on your birth certificate, but I’ve always thought of you as Jeanette.”

Gran was right! I wanted to shout. Melissa spared me the need to reply when she carried our tea over to the table. She used one of her cork-backed trays, and she shifted mugs, hot water, tea strainers, loose tea, and cream with the ease of familiarity. The coup de grace, though, was the platter of Sugar Suns, iced lemon cookies that always made me smile. “Thanks,” I said, but she disappeared behind the counter before I could beg her to sit down and join us.

Clara and I busied ourselves with our tea. She liked it much weaker than I did; I almost asked her why she didn’t just wave her tea strainer over the steam that rose from her mug. I heard the words before I said them, though, and knew that they would sound too snarky. I settled for passing her the cream and taking odd satisfaction that she took more than a “bit.” She added a downright dollop.

“So. Jane.”

I wanted to click my tongue and roll my eyes and toss my hair in a perfect approximation of teen-aged frustration. After all, Clara had been exempted from dealing with me when I was stuck in those terrible years. Thrusting down my annoyance, I settled for stating her name in the exact tone that she had used. “Clara,” I said, and I watched her shift back on her chair.

“I’m not surprised that you’re angry with me,” she said. “My counselor said that you probably would be.”

“Your counselor?” I did not like the idea that Clara had been talking about me with strangers. I mean, I’d gone out of my way not to talk about her. Even Melissa hadn’t heard the constant monologue inside my head, my ceaseless questions about what Clara wanted, why she was returning to my life now, what she would be like, what all this would mean.

“She’s my…I guess you’d say that she’s my spiritual advisor.” Clara smiled for the first time since entering the bakery.

I bit off a Sun ray and let the sugary frosting mingle with the tart cookie on my tongue. I chewed a few times, remembering Gran’s constant admonitions not to wolf my food, and then I said, “What religion?”

Clara lifted her chin as if I’d challenged her. “The Universal Family of Light.”

Uh-huh.

So, she belonged to a cult. I immediately pictured her in a white robe, offering up all her worldly belongings to some wrinkled old man in a loincloth. Clara was waiting for a response, and I dug deep into the civility well. “I don’t think they mentioned that one in catechism.”

She smiled ruefully. “And I’m sure your grandmother didn’t bring it up.”

“Leave Gran out of this! She wasn’t responsible for teaching me about your church!” I was surprised by the strength of my reaction, by my need to protect Gran.

Especially, a voice whispered at the back of my mind, when Gran had not protected me. She hadn’t given me the facts that I needed to know; she hadn’t told me about Clara in the first place. It was as if she’d sent me out on a first date without any prior discussion of birds, bees, or the wayward hands of teen-aged boys. She’d left me vulnerable, and I hated the feeling.

“I didn’t mean to criticize your grandmother,” Clara said. “It’s just that she’s never approved of the Family.”

“What sort of things do you believe?” I asked, because I needed to say something, and I didn’t want to dwell any more on Gran and her role in this whole strange reunion.

“We believe in the harmonic balance of the world. We believe that there are some places that are holy, sacred wells where the powers of the ancients can still be felt. We believe that there are certain perfect structures that can bring us enlightenment and power, by bringing our own warped bodies and minds into proper alignment.”

“Structures?” I asked, because that seemed like the only concrete word in everything she had said.

She nodded and fished for a gold chain that had slipped inside her blouse. When she pulled it out, I could see a perfect quartz crystal. “Structures,” she repeated. “Crystals, to guide our meditation. To show us the ways of balance. To heal.”

Crystals.

My biological mother believed in crystals. Had I just stepped back into the 1970’s without any warning? I looked around wildly, hoping that Melissa would bail me out, but she was helping a customer at the counter.

But there was something about Clara’s words, something that reminded me of dinner with David. Power. She was interested in the hidden power of the world around her.

“Are you a witch?” I asked, before I’d even thought about the question.

“A witch?” She blinked, confused.

“You know. The powers that you’re talking about. Do you work spells? Do you channel power that way?”

Clara’s face shut down just a little bit, and she let her crystal slip back beneath her blouse. “I’m not kidding about this, um, Jane. It’s very important to me. I’m not just making it up to be strange.”

“No!” I heard how loud my voice was, and I swallowed before continuing. “No, I didn’t mean to say that. It’s just that….”

“Just that what?”

“I’ve become interested in witchcraft lately. I thought that maybe I’d gotten that interest from you.” Okay, so it sounded lame. But it was practically the truth. Even if it did sound like I’d been spending my time browsing the stacks in a library. Not working spells. Not summoning familiars. Whatever.

Clara shook her head. “No. No witchcraft that I know of in my past. Although I think that there are times that I’ve been more than a little possessed.”

I wondered if I should ask her for details, but the question seemed too intrusive. Instead, I stared out the window, watching a handful of sycamore leaves drift to the sidewalk. The silence stretched out between us until it was something palpable. Something uncomfortable.

“Did you—”

“Your grandmother—”

We both started at the same time; then we both insisted that the other speak. I finally gave in to her and completed my question: “Did you ever come to see me? Did you ever watch me, when I didn’t know you were there?”

She shook her head. “At first, I didn’t want to. I was too busy worrying about where I was going to get my next fix.”

There. She’d said it. In plain English. She’d wanted her drugs more than she wanted me. More than she even wanted to see me. I felt myself shut down. My shoulders hunched up around my shoulders, and I started to chew on my thumbnail.

“Don’t do that,” she said, reaching out to pull away my hand.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” I was surprised by the intensity of my anger. I jerked my hand back as if she had burned me.

“You’ve got such beautiful hands,” she said, folding her own in her lap. “They’re from your father’s side of the family. Mine were never much to look at.”

I folded my fingers into fists. Childish, I know, but I didn’t want her to look at them anymore. I didn’t want her to see the chewed fingernails.

“Jane,” she said. “I know that I’ve hurt you. I know that this all must be a huge surprise.”

“Do you? Do you know that?” I dared to meet her eyes—mirrors of my own. “Do you know how many times I wanted you to come back? How I hid your picture beneath my pillow? How I talked to you, late at night, when I knew no one else could hear?”

“I did what I thought was best,” she said. “I knew that I wasn’t strong enough to help you. To give you everything you needed.”

“Maybe that was true when you left, but it’s been twenty-five years! You must have found the strength at some point.”

“I did. Or I thought I did. I stopped using sixteen years ago, after I woke up in a city hospital without any memory of who I was or how I’d gotten there. It took me a few years to get my own life back. When I first contacted your grandmother, though, she said that you weren’t prepared to see me, that it would be too disorienting. You were starting high school. It was a difficult time.”

I flashed back to an image of me at fifteen—gawky, ungainly, absolutely unsure of myself. From day to day, I’d change from a loving, immature child to a haughty, tantrum-throwing teen. I wanted to go on dates, but I was afraid to. I wanted independence, but I was terrified of being on my own. I couldn’t have handled my biological mother’s disclosure. Not then.

“I always asked about you, though,” Clara said. “I always wanted to know how you were doing. Your grandmother should have—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what Gran should have done!” Again, my flash of anger overwhelmed me, confused me too. After all, I was angry with Gran. Why should I protect her? She was the one who had kept this secret from me. This was her fault, hers and Clara’s together. They had ganged up on me from the moment I was born.

“Jeanette—”

“My name is Jane!”

“Jane, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” I scrambled for my purse. “Look, I just remembered that I have a meeting to get to. At work.”

“On Saturday?”

I nodded, trying to think of something, anything, that would get me out of Cake Walk. “Big cataloging meeting. We’re going over acquisitions for the next year. All the staff. All day.” I stood up and pushed my chair up to the table. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t spend more time together. I’m sorry.”

I saw Melissa’s concerned glance, but I faked a smile and a wave, mimed that I would pay her later for the tea and cookies. I grabbed my shawl and flung it around my shoulders with a panache that beat Clara’s glasses, hands down. She stood, but I was already half-way to the door.

“Jean—Jane! I’d like to see you again.”

“Oh yes,” I said. “We’ll do that. I don’t have my calendar, though. Call me, and we’ll get together. Very soon.”

My fingers fumbled with the doorknob, and it took three tries to get the door open. I heard Melissa call my name as I finally wrenched it free. I half-turned and waved. “Staff meeting!” I called before I fled onto the cobble-stoned street.

I did not let myself think about Clara’s eyes, those eyes the same shade as mine, those eyes that were welling up with tears as I fled home to my cottage, to my books of witchcraft, to the life that I had carved out without any mother to call me by someone else’s name.

Chapter 13

Melissa set her right fist against her left palm. “One, two, three,” she said.

Scissors.

I tried to fold the “paper” of my flattened hand into a rock, but she closed her fingers around mine, sawing hers in a time-honored motion. “Scissors cut paper.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, none too happy. “I know. I will see Clara again. I promise. It was just too much—the cult thing, and the crystal, and the way her eyes were exactly like mine.”

“That was a little creepy, wasn’t it?” And that’s when I knew that Melissa would let this thing rest. She’d let me figure out how to meet Clara again, on my own timetable.

For now, though, we had bigger fish to fry. So to speak. As it were.

Jason Templeton was arriving for dinner in four short hours.

I’d taken the afternoon off work, and Melissa had stepped up to the plate with the unprecedented act of closing the bakery to come to my aid. We’d spent the better part of the past week—when we weren’t dissecting every second of the disaster that had been my reunion with Clara—planning a menu.

Against Melissa’s advice, I’d decided to go with a colonial theme. Eighteenth-century delicacies. Things that would show that I was an intellectual woman, not just an infatuated librarian.

The problem was, tastes had changed a bit in the past two-hundred odd years.

I hadn’t had any trouble finding sample menus. The Peabridge had a huge collection that covered kitchens, gardens, and foodstuffs, along with countless diaries from housewives, butlers, and more than a few men of the house.

I’d spent the better part of Monday plowing through them, reaching up to run my fingers through my unruly hair, consistently forgetting that I wore a satin-ribboned mob cap. I’d spent Tuesday selecting the best candidates, winnowing the possibilities down to a meager half-dozen contenders. I’d spent Wednesday writing up lists of ingredients, organizing the recipes so that I could cook them most efficiently, writing up detailed flowcharts of what needed to be accomplished when.

And I’d spent Thursday freaking out and wondering if this wasn’t the biggest mistake of my entire romantic life.

We were talking about Jason Templeton, after all. The man who was supposed to sit at my table, eat my cooking, stare into my eyes, and realize that we were destined to be together forever.

The man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. The man who was going to make me forget Scott Randall and his controlling, manipulative, debasing, two-timing ways forever.

I took a deep breath and looked down at my menu one more time. I wasn’t an idiot. I wasn’t about to serve the twelve courses that would have been standard in colonial times. I wasn’t going to offer a half dozen meats, as if this were the Hardy Lumberjack Buffet. I’d keep things simple.

Peanut soup (don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it—it’s really pretty good). Lamb chops (substituting for the mutton that most colonialists would have enjoyed. Have you tried to find mutton in a store these days?). Peas—Thomas Jefferson’s favorite vegetable (it was late in the season to find fresh ones, but Dean and DeLuca, the gourmet grocery in the heart of Georgetown, had finally obliged me—for a price). Sweet potato and pecan muffins—already baked by Melissa. And for dessert, a pear tart.

There. That wasn’t so complicated. Any girl could do it.

My kitchen already looked like a battleground. Every horizontal surface was colonized by herbs and spices. The ingredients for the soup huddled by the toaster. The spices for the lamb mustered by the sink. Fresh peas in the pod assailed the tin table—I could not believe how many I’d needed to buy to make sure I’d have enough once they were shelled and cooked down. The tart looked like it would command the most attention—flour already powdered the countertop, and sugar threatened to dive onto the floor.

Before I could implement my master plan of attack, the front door opened, and Neko waltzed in. My dry cleaning was draped over his arm; I had remembered just in time that I wanted to wear my pleated skirt.

Neko stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, his eyes widening in shock. “You girls better have a lot of alcohol planned.”

Alcohol! Wine! I hadn’t even thought of wine. What sort of hostess would I be, if I didn’t have wine for my guest?

What fit the meal? I ran through a list in my head. Thomas Jefferson had been a francophile; he would have drunk something French—a fine burgundy, most likely. What about George Chesterton? Did I know his wine preferences? Maybe a claret? What the hell was a claret, anyway? And would it go with lamb?

“Neko!” I said, reaching for my wallet. “Please, go buy some wine. Two bottles. You can go to the store down on M Street; they’ll help you choose something right. Make it French. And bold.” I gave him a twenty and watched disbelief twist his face. I extracted another bill from my wallet and folded his fingers around it. “Go on! The wine will need time to breathe!”

Neko pocketed the cash. “I’ll just put your skirt in your closet,” he said.

“No!” I shouted. Melissa jumped at the vehemence of my reply, but Neko wasn’t surprised. “You are not going into my room. You are not getting anywhere near Stupid Fish.” I had managed to change the tetra’s water the weekend before, but not without slapping Neko’s hands on three separate occasions. “Drape the skirt over the couch. I’ll hang it up when I’m done here.”

He shrugged and set down the garment, catching it twice when the plastic wrap threatened to slide to the floor. “Can’t blame a boy for trying.”

“I can very much blame the boy,” I said. My patience was wearing thin. I glanced at the clock. Four hours till Jason arrived. Four hours to make everything perfect. “Please, Neko. Go. And don’t stop off at Roger’s. There isn’t time.”

Neko pouted, but he left.

Four hours definitely wasn’t enough time for Neko to visit Roger. I’d gone to the salon with my enabling familiar on Sunday afternoon, still trying to recover from the fiasco with Clara. I’d decided to get my nails done. Roger had convinced me to splurge on a pedicure, to go along with the manicure I’d already chosen. He’d seduced me with scented lotions and heated towels, and I had luxuriated in every second of the treatment.

And I’d been astonished to realize that Neko and I had wiled away an entire afternoon in the marble and chrome temple to self-indulgence. It was too easy to lose track of time there. Too easy to slip away from responsibility, from the details of daily life.

“So, are you going to begin with the tart?” Melissa’s question tugged me back to reality.

“Yep,” I said, and I took a deep breath. “The crust first, right?”

“Right.” Melissa came to stand beside me. It really was brilliant for me to choose a baker as my best friend. She made all these little details fall into place.

We had decided to go with a gingersnap base—no chance for me to ruin a traditional pie crust by adding too much flour, or by kneading for too long. Besides, the smell of the ginger would brighten the entire house—and gingersnaps were a colonial favorite. Melissa walked me through the details—placing the store-bought cookies (hey, a girl has to take a few shortcuts) into a plastic bag, crushing them with a rolling pin.

It took a surprisingly long time to break them all into perfect crumbs. I was beginning to think that I should have bought one of those pre-made graham cracker crusts. After all, who was going to know the difference?

I would, I chided myself, quickly regaining my senses. And Jason would. He would know that our Founding Fathers (and Mothers) did not have graham crackers. He would know that my meal was not authentic. All the cachet that I hoped to gain with my scholarly feast would be lost.

Besides, once the gingersnaps were crushed, the rest of the crust was easy. I added sugar and shortening and pressed the resulting mixture into a pan.

“There,” Melissa said. “Now, you want to blind bake it for ten minutes.”

“Blind bake?” I asked, picturing a trio of mice in dark glasses.

“Without the pears. So that the crust gets done.”

Right. I knew that.

I put the crust in the oven, set the timer, and turned back to my friend. She was collecting the last of the dusty peapods from the table. The vegetables themselves were glinting in a bowl, fresh and inviting as summer.

“How did you do that?”

“What?”

“Shell the peas? I was busy over here, and you were giving me advice the entire time. It’s like magic!”

“You took long enough to press the crust into the pan.” She smiled to take the sting from her words. “And speaking of magic, when do I get to see the books?”

“You saw them. Neko brought up the grimoire the other night.”

“I mean all of them. When do I get to see the collection?”

“It’s not like I’m keeping it a secret or anything.” We crossed through the living room, and I turned the key in the basement door’s lock. I’d replaced the lightbulb at the top of the stairs so that we didn’t need candles to light the way.

Melissa exclaimed when she reached the bottom. I still hadn’t found time to put the books in order. Truth be told, I was a little afraid of them. I’d thought of asking Neko to get the collection in shape, but I wasn’t sure what I’d end up with if I put him in charge. Besides, David’s story jangled at the back of my mind. The books were part of Hannah Osgood’s estate. They weren’t really mine. They’d have to be returned to their rightful owners at some point.

“They’re incredible!” Melissa said. “Just smell them!”

She was right about that. They did smell amazing. Leather, and parchment, and a hint of ancient dust. That was the scent that had roped me into libraries in the first place—the magic of the written word, separate and apart from any special powers.

“May I touch them?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Might as well. They’ve definitely been handled in the past.”

She ran her fingers along the spines on the nearest shelf before pulling out one of the larger volumes. Letters were picked out in gold on the cover, and I craned my neck to read along with her: “Elemental Magick.”

She supported the volume with her left hand as she opened the cover, taking care not to spread it too wide. “On Water,” she read. “On its summoning and its banishing.”

“Great. If the basement starts to flood, I’ll have somewhere to turn.”

“You just can’t find good plumbers these days.” We both started to laugh but were interrupted by the triple chirp of my electronic timer up in the kitchen. “Crust is done,” Melissa said, leading the way upstairs.

I reached for the timer as she opened up the oven. She took a half-step back, though, and said, “This oven runs hot.”

“I set it for 350.”

“I see that. It’s probably cooking at around 400, though. Maybe a little higher.”

“Does that mean I can’t make the tart?”

“No, it’ll be fine. Just turn down the temp. Cook it at 300 on your dial, and check it after about three quarters of the time.” The things I didn’t know about baking.

The rest of the afternoon flew by. Under Melissa’s instructive gaze, I sliced the pears and layered them onto my gingersnap crust. I coated them with a honey glaze so that they wouldn’t oxidize, and then I baked them in my too-hot oven. As Melissa had recommended, I checked the dessert early, and I removed it just as the first hint of caramel color appeared on top.

It was a damn good-looking tart, if I did say so myself.

Melissa returned the ingredients to their respective cupboards, and I moved on to the peanut soup. I sautéed celery and onion in a stockpot, marveling that my kitchen—my kitchen—could smell like a real home. In a bowl, I combined milk and flour to make a slurry that would thicken the final soup. I added chicken broth to my savories and let it come to a slow boil, and I scooped a cup of chunky peanut butter out of its jar. When I had finally scrubbed the excess peanut butter from my knuckles, I set the entire project aside; I’d finish it at the last minute.

That venture went so well that Melissa let me mix the spice rub for the lamb on my own. I read the recipe three times before I measured out the ingredients. Salt, of course, and fresh ground black pepper. Fennel. A pinch of cinnamon, which would have been a treasured rarity in colonial times.

I took the fat chops out of the refrigerator and rubbed in the spice mix. I kept getting distracted by the burgundy polish on my fingernails. Burgundy polish. My nails. Almost like I was a grown-up.

The whole time that I was working on the lamb, Melissa kept reading from the witchcraft book, which she had carried upstairs with her. “You can use this thing to clean earth from surfaces.”

“Pity we didn’t have it when we were cleaning this place the first time.” I returned the spices to the cupboard, trying first the top cabinet, then remembering that I’d chosen to keep them next to the stove. Easy access. It all made sense, if I could only remember my rules.

“And you can freshen the air to make it healthful.”

“Great. Just think if that book got out in public. Glade would be right out of business.”

“You’re not taking this very seriously.”

“I am,” I said, frowning. “I’ve seen exactly what I can do. Did I tell you that Harold has taken to laying out the newspaper for me in the mornings? He has it waiting at my desk, all neatly turned back to the engagement announcements.”

“No!”

“And he stops by at least three times every day. Sometimes, I worry that he’s going to wake up from his trance, and he’ll just stare at me with horror.”

“You’re not fair to yourself. Spending time with you wouldn’t be so horrible.”

“I worry that I’m getting used to having him there. Just the other day, he diagnosed a computer problem—one of those blue screens of death. He walked me through some weird menus that he got to through the function keys.”

“Good man to have around.”

“Yeah. Right.” I looked at the production I was putting on for Jason, and I felt a little guilty. I still hadn’t found a counterspell for Harold. But I hadn’t looked that hard, either. I’d been too busy playing Colonial Martha Stewart. Besides, Jason was smitten with my spell as well. Jason, and old Mr. Zimmer, and a dozen other men who frequented the library. If I liberated Harold, would I have to liberate all of them? Including my Imaginary Boyfriend?

Squelching an icky feeling in the pit of my belly, I glanced at my cooking notes.

Peanut soup—done, except for the last minute pulling together.

Lamb chops—ready to broil.

Peas—ready to cook in a small saucepot, while the lamb finished in the oven.

Pear tart—stunning, if I did say so myself.

“Hey,” Melissa said. “I think this is actually going to go okay.”

“You say that as if you had doubts.”

“Um, you? Cooking? Colonial fare?”

I started to splutter, defending myself, but even I couldn’t make the argument sound real. Melissa laughed and walked into the living room, collecting her jacket from the couch where she’d thrown it upon her arrival. “Going so soon?” I asked her.

“Soon? It’s almost 7:00.”

“Yikes!” I had completely lost track of time. As had Neko. I was certain that he’d stopped by Roger’s. I started to mutter under my breath, but Melissa read my mind. “Don’t worry. He’ll be home soon.”

“How do you know?”

“The salon closes at seven on Thursdays.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Neko told me, the other day. I guess he didn’t mention it to you? He decided to have Roger over tonight.”

“He what?”

“Don’t worry. He said they’d stay in the basement. He said you’d never even know that they were here.”

I was torn between tearing out my hair by the roots and screaming at the fates. Everything was going to go wrong. I just knew it. “Relax,” Melissa said.

“Easy for you to say. You wouldn’t be quite so content if you were suddenly planning on entertaining your Imaginary Boyfriend while your familiar got it on with the salon guy downstairs.”

“It’s all going to be fine,” Melissa said, in the voice that a perfect nanny uses on her fractious charges. “Some day, you and Jason will laugh about this.”

“And if we don’t?” I asked darkly, opening the front door for Melissa to leave.

“Then you’ll know that he wasn’t actually the right man for you. Spell or no spell.” She smiled sweetly and ducked outside before I could swat at her. She was a fine one to talk, with her Mama’s Boy and McDonald’s Owner and who knew what other romantic treasures waiting in the dating wings.

I closed the door and hurried off to shower before the men converged on my cottage.

Chapter 14

“Ja-ane…” Neko’s voice echoed from the living room. I checked my teeth in my bedroom mirror one last time, making sure that nothing green and embarrassing had lodged between them. I ran my fingers through my unruly hair—at least I wasn’t wearing a mob cap—and pulled the bottom of my blouse down over my skirt. I lifted my arms so that the hem rode more normally. Leaning over to adjust my bra, I jiggled back and forth to even things out, and then resisted the urge to tug the blouse down one last time.

“Ja-ane! He’s at the front of the garden!”

I flung open my bedroom door, scarcely taking the time to close and lock it behind me. For one fleeting moment, I wondered what Jason would think as I led him back here, as we were clinched in the throes of passion, and I needed to dig my key out of my pocket. What kind of freakish woman locks her own bedroom door?

What kind of slut sleeps with a guy on her first date? Even a perfect guy. Even an Imaginary Boyfriend.

I’d changed my sheets, though, just in case.

Wishing that I had invested at least one blouse-tug’s worth of time into hunting down a breath mint, I hurried into the living room. “Okay, guys. Downstairs, now. We all need our privacy.”

“Don’t we?” Neko purred, raking me with his almond eyes.

Roger clicked his tongue against his teeth. “A-plus on the manicure, sweetheart, and the blouse works wonders for your décolletage, but we have got to do something about that hair.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, panicking.

“Nothing,” Neko said immediately, splaying a possessive hand across Roger’s well-muscled chest. “Nothing at all.”

But Roger would not be hustled into silence. “It’s just a few inches too long. Too boxy. You have got cheekbones, darling, if you’d just learn how to show them off.”

A knock at the door saved me from more belated makeover advice. “Get downstairs!” I hissed, starting to run my fingers through my hair again. Would that help, though? Or would it hurt? What if I ruined any possible emphasis on my cheekbones? “Now!”

I never should have let Neko bring Roger back. I should have taken the late wine delivery and sent them packing for the evening. I should have splurged on dinner for both of them, somewhere in Georgetown. Better yet, somewhere on Capitol Hill, all the way across town. Somewhere with atrocious service, so that they’d take at least three hours to eat their food.

There was another knock at the door, this one more insistent. Showtime. As the basement door clicked closed, I took a huge breath that I intended to be calming. And then, I greeted my Imaginary Boyfriend.

“Jason!”

He was perfect. He’d traded in his khakis for grey flannel slacks, trousers that managed to look casual and special, all at the same time. His sweater picked up the grey, but wove the color into a swirl of blue and green, leaving ample golden highlights to enrich the glints in his curls. His hair was mussed, like a little boy who had forgotten to bring a comb.

And he was holding flowers.

Honest to goodness flowers. A mixed bouquet of bright autumn colors—zinnias and Gerber daisies and dahlias and one late sunflower splash. Scott had bought me precisely one wrist corsage in all the years that we had dated. He’d always said that flowers were a waste of time, because they only died. Died. Just like romance, when it’s left unfed.

“They’re beautiful!”

He smiled shyly. “I saw them, and I thought of you. ‘There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance.’”

A man who read Shakespeare. My heart clenched, and I pulled up another part of Ophelia’s speech, “And pansies, that’s for thoughts.” A shiver swept my spine. Of course, I was quoting the words of a mad woman, a woman insanely in love with a man who did not return the affection. Not a good omen. I shook the rest of the words out of my skull, ordering myself not to dwell on fennel. Or rue.

“Come in,” I said, ushering him into my living room. I finally remembered my best hostess manners. “May I get you a cocktail?”

“Sure. What have you got?”

“You name it, I’ve got it.” I finally took the flowers from him—an awkward motion that resulted in his stepping forward, my jumping back, his easing away from me, and my leaping to catch his arm to keep him from toppling over the coffee table.

When we were both standing steady and the flowers were in my hands, I managed to smile, turning my head to the side in an attempt to remind him that I was waiting to serve him a drink. “Um, Scotch, then,” he said. “On the rocks.”

Hmm…. I shouldn’t have been so glib about my household bar. “No Scotch. Bourbon? Or anything clear?” Except for rum. I hadn’t restocked after the last mojito therapy night. “Or wine? I have wine!”

He laughed. “Wine sounds perfect.”

“Please, have a seat,” I said.

“Let me help you.”

I immediately pictured the clutter on my kitchen counters. I’d read that there were two things you never wanted to witness being made: sausage and legislation. I’d add another thing to the list: a cozy dinner for two. “The kitchen is tiny,” I lied. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

He shrugged, and I retreated into the battle zone. Of course, you could see it from the living room. He’d know that I’d lied about the size. I wanted to smack myself on the forehead, but that would have ruined the bouquet.

Bouquet. Flowers. For me.

My heart was doing strange flip-flopping things in my chest, and I was having trouble remembering to breathe. Wasn’t that one of those things that your body was supposed to do for you automatically? Keep your lungs moving in and out, without your consciously reminding it?

I opened the drawer to the left of the sink, searching for the corkscrew. None to be found. I knew that I kept it there—that was one thing important enough that I wouldn’t lose it in my kitchen. I pulled open three other drawers. I stopped and decided to put the flowers in water, while I worried about the looming wine disaster.

No vase.

Well, that’s what pitchers were for. The mojito one. With fish on the side.

Okay. So the flowers were going to live to see another day, but where had the corkscrew gone? Had Neko made off with it? He’d threatened to come upstairs every half hour, just to keep an eye on Jason and me. To make sure that my Imaginary Boyfriend didn’t take advantage of me, he’d said. Maybe stealing the corkscrew was part of his master plan.

I wanted to be taken advantage of. Here. Now.

I took a deep breath and resigned myself to crossing the living room, to knocking on the basement door, to calling downstairs and asking where my conniving familiar had hidden the corkscrew.

“Is everything all right?” Jason called from the living room.

“Fine! Just fine!” And then I saw that it was all fine. Neko had followed my instructions to the letter. He had left the bottles of wine on the counter, and he’d opened the first one to breathe. The corkscrew was sitting on the counter, the cork standing guard beside it like a loyal infantryman.

I contemplated taking solid slug from the mouth of the bottle, but I told myself to wait. I’d be a lady tonight. I’d sip delicately.

I poured with a heavy hand.

“Here we go,” I said, returning to the living room and raising Jason’s glass like the Olympics torch.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it from me. “To new beginnings.”

I thought that I’d never draw a full breath again. “To new beginnings,” I whispered, clinking my glass against his and barely managing to take a sip.

“I always think of the autumn as the start of the year,” Jason said, nodding toward the darkened garden outside my windows. “The beginning of the new school year. Meeting new students. Launching new projects.”

Oh. So maybe he and I weren’t beginning anything new. My cheeks flushed, and I didn’t know whether to blame the wine or my presumptions. Just for good measure, I took another sip. I wracked my brain for something to say, something witty and endearing and entertaining.

Normally, I don’t have any problem talking. I can go on and on; I can be the belle of the conversational ball. Something about Jason, though, left me speechless. It might have been the sight of his fingers around the stem of his wineglass—long fingers, sensitive ones. They looked as if they could work any manner of magic, grimoires or no.

It might have been the light glinting on his eyes. His eyelashes were really long, longer than any guy should have. I’d never noticed that before, in the daylight of the library. Everything was different here, in my cottage, alone, together. At night.

A loud thump came from the basement.

“What’s that?” He looked at the floor, as if it might open up beneath his feet.

“Um, my cat?” Was I asking him, or telling him? “My cat,” I repeated. “He’s downstairs.”

“This place has a downstairs?”

“It has a basement.”

“And you keep your cat down there?”

Yeah, what was I? Some heartless wench, imprisoning a helpless animal? “No, no, I just put him down there for tonight. I was afraid that you might be allergic.”

“Oh, no. I love cats. You can let him out.”

Fat chance. “No!” I realized that I sounded too stressed. “I, um, I gave him a treat when I put him down there. He gets really nasty when I interrupt him when he’s playing with his…treat.”

Jason shrugged. “Maybe I’ll see him later, then.”

“Maybe.”

Well, that was the end of one fantastic conversational gambit. Hopefully, Jason would forget about my phantom house cat before long. There was another thump from downstairs, but we both pretended not to hear it.

“So,” I said, “I thought that we’d start with some soup.” If I couldn’t wow the man with my words, I’d reach him through his belly.

“Sounds great. Is that what smells so good?”

Ah, he was a silver-tongued devil. I answered breezily, as if I spent every day whipping up three-course dinners for two. “That, or maybe the pear tart I baked earlier.”

“Wow! You are domestic, aren’t you?” His praise was like a warm wash, flooding me from head to foot. “You work at the Peabridge all day, you cook in the evenings. What other secrets do you have up your sleeves?”

If he only knew. I’m a witch, I could say. Now, that was a conversation starter, for sure. Instead, I went for the more traditional: “Why don’t you just make yourself comfortable in here while I—”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’m not going to sit here while you wait on me all night. I won’t take no for an answer. Let me help. Or—” he shrugged, and his grin was positively boyish, “at least let me watch. You probably don’t want me touching anything; I’m dangerous in a kitchen.”

I wasted a split second making the calculation. I could leave him out here, listening for the Neko serenade from below, or I could let him into the kitchen. The directions for the peanut soup really were straightforward. I could risk finishing it, even with the man of my dreams as my audience.

“Well then, come on in.”

And he did. He sat next to the counter as I reheated the celery and onion mixture on the stove. He watched as I retrieved chicken broth and the milk and flour combination from the fridge. He turned his head to the side as I produced the cup of peanut butter.

I felt like I was on some cable channel cooking show, demonstrating technique for a crowd of impressed guests. Since Jason and I weren’t doing so well on the small talk front, I decided I might as well fill him in on the cooking process. “So, now I just pour in this chicken broth, and I wait for it to boil.”

“You look so intense when you do that.”

Intense. I was trying to keep from splashing broth onto my low-cut blouse. I should have thrown on an apron, but I didn’t want him to think that I was some 1950’s house frau.

“Wait a minute!” he said, and his tone was so sharp that I almost stopped stirring the soup. “Peanut soup. Pear tart.” He spun back to the counter and found the basket with the muffins, the ones that Melissa had baked earlier in the day. “Sweet potato and pecan muffins! Thomas Jefferson! You’re making Thomas Jefferson’s favorite meal.”

He got it. He understood. It was as if I’d reached out to him through a code, a secret language, and he’d deciphered everything. He truly understood me. “You figured it out!”

“Then that means that you’ve got mutton for the main course! And peas. You must have peas somewhere.”

“In the fridge. And, um, lamb, not mutton.”

“I don’t even know who sells mutton these days,” he said.

“Exactly!” We laughed, and for the first time that evening I felt confident that I might—I just possibly, conceivably, potentially might—make this whole Imaginary to Real transition happen.

When our shared laughter had finished, he looked away. He cleared his throat, as if he were about to say something, but his eyes fell on the book. Elemental Magick. Melissa had left it on the counter, beside the pear tart.

“What’s this?”

“Oh, nothing.” I would have slipped it out of his hands, tucked it away out of sight, but my fingers were coated with the peanut butter that I was trying to coax from the measuring cup. Somehow, I didn’t think that Julia Child ever had these problems.

“It looks ancient! It’s certainly from before my dates.”

His dates. Colonial America. The field that I specialized in, at the day job that he knew all too well. I thought quickly and forced a bright smile. “It’s from before my own, also. I’m branching out a bit. Taking some library continuing education courses.”

“And they let you keep rare books in your kitchen?” He lifted it with a scholar’s reverence, easing open the cover to peer inside. “What sort of program lets you do that?”

“It’s not really a program,” I hedged. “It’s more like independent study.” I finally managed to get the peanut butter out of the measuring cup and into the soup, but I didn’t back up quickly enough to escape the resulting plop. My blouse was drenched.

“Dammit!” I swore without thinking. I grabbed for a dish towel and tried to mop the worst of the damage from my cleavage. It was hot, but not bad enough to burn me. The fat from the soup would stain the fabric, though. At least it was black. That was part of the method to my fashion madness—stains were virtually unnoticeable on my wardrobe.

“Are you okay?” Jason looked up, but he didn’t move toward me.

This was why I’d wanted him to wait in the other room. This was why I hadn’t wanted him to watch me cook. I was embarrassed to find hot tears rising behind my eyes, embarrassment spilling over.

“Hey,” he said, setting down the spellbook. Well, at least I’d distracted him from the magic. He still kept to his half of the kitchen, though. He must be mortified that he was wasting an evening on a klutz like me. “Don’t worry about it.” he said.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize that it was going to splash all over.”

“I wouldn’t have either. I’m totally helpless in the kitchen—I can’t even fix myself a turkey sandwich.”

Chagrined by my own incompetence and thinking that I would have done better to order in two turkey sandwiches from Subway, I was horrified to feel two huge tears escaping down my cheeks. I suddenly remembered watching him with Ekaterina in the hamburger joint. She had been crying then. She had looked gorgeous, despite her tears. I would not; I knew that. I would look like a goggle-eyed carp. The thought of my red nose and swollen eyes was terrifying enough that it immediately desiccated my tear ducts.

“And besides,” he said, before I could find a way to maneuver the conversation around to Ekaterina, before I could find out something more about the ice ballerina, “I’ve been standing over here trying to figure out how to tell you something.”

I took a deep breath. This could not be good. Something that he had to think about. Something that he had to debate. Something that worried him. Something that kept him all the way on the far side of the kitchen. “What?”

“I’m allergic to peanuts.”

My rush of relief nearly made my knees buckle. In one panicked flash, I’d imagined much worse. I’d suddenly expected him to tell me that he was married. That he and Ekaterina had two perfect children and a Labrador retriever named Molly. That he secretly lusted after Neko and had only accepted my dinner offer because he’d seen my familiar lurking about the cottage. That he had agreed to come to dinner because he was involved in a sociological experiment that measured what hopeless, awkward, plain women find attractive about accomplished, gorgeous, entertaining professors.

He just couldn’t eat the food that I’d prepared.

“No problem!” I turned off the burner with a precision usually reserved for aborting missile launches.

“I’m sorry. I should have said something when you first took out the peanut butter, but I was so surprised.”

“I didn’t exactly give you a chance.”

“But you planned everything, and now I’ve ruined your colonial menu.”

“The proportions would be off, anyway. Now that I’m wearing half of it.” I managed a bemused shrug.

He laughed, and I joined him after only a few heartbeats of hesitation. Then he said, “When you told me you’d locked up your cat because you thought I might be allergic, I almost said something about this stupid peanut thing, but I figured, what are the chances that you’d serve them?”

I glanced at the bread in Melissa’s basket. “How are you on pecans?”

“Just fine.”

“And gingersnaps?”

“Not a problem.”

“And lamb?”

“My favorite.”

“Peas?”

“The finest of all the legumes.”

I grinned. “I think we’re still in business, then.”

He finally took a step closer, as if he’d realized that he would not actually collapse from the peanut infestation on top of the stove. “You know, you have a beautiful smile.”

I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. That shy glance let me realize that my Miracle Bra was outlined perfectly against my soaking blouse. I shrugged, but the fabric didn’t move. The silence was stretching to something uncomfortable, so I reached for a feeble joke. “You must say that to all the girls.”

“It’s the truth.” He reached out and touched my chin with his finger. With gentle pressure, he made me raise my eyes. I was suddenly preternaturally aware of my smudged eyeglasses. “I notice you at the library every day I’m there.”

And then he kissed me. Jason Templeton kissed me. Standing in my kitchen, surrounded by herbs and spices and the makings of poisonous peanut soup, Jason Templeton kissed me.

I’d like to say that it was the finest kiss I’ve ever experienced. I’d like to describe how he made me feel, what he did to my swooning body. I’d like to explain how this kiss was like no other I’d ever known, that it was better and deeper and more meaningful on a hundred different levels.

But all I could think was that I was covered in chicken broth and standing dangerously close to a cupful of potent allergen, some of which was certainly still on my fingers. I could kill him, then and there. I could send my Imaginary Boyfriend into anaphylactic shock and spend the rest of my life explaining to the police that I’d never meant to harm him, that it had all been Thomas Jefferson’s fault.

I waited for Jason to come up for air before I took a step back. “I’m a mess,” I explained, when he looked confused. I managed a steadying breath and transformed it into a laugh. “Here. I’m going to turn on the broiler so that we can cook the lamb. You must be starving.” As I suited action to words, he grinned wolfishly and pretended to lick his lips. “For food!” I said, laughing and playfully pushing him away, but taking care to use my non-contaminated forearm. “I’m just going to change into—”

“Something more comfortable?” He was totally irresistible when he grinned.

“Something a little dryer. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

“Don’t take too long. I might try to work those spells in Elemental Magick.”

“Be my guest,” I said, laughing and shaking my head. I hurried across the living room, managing to palm the key to my bedroom door and open it smoothly.

Once the door was safely closed, I collapsed against it, fighting down a fit of giggles. Jason Templeton had kissed me. He had stood in my kitchen, put his arms around me and kissed me.

I was so over Scott Randall. I was on my way to true love and eternal happiness. Melissa had her First Date system, but I had knowledge and planning and foresight. I’d had the courage to ask my Imaginary Boyfriend to dinner, and now everything was, um, slipping into place.

I stripped off my blouse and tossed it into the corner of my closet. I could deal with it tomorrow, have Neko take it to the dry cleaner to see if it could be saved. For tonight, though, what would I put on?

Casual t-shirt, right out. Clingy crop top, would have been perfect about ten pounds ago. Sheer oxford cut to accentuate curves, ideal—except that the middle button had an annoying tendency to pop open. I was not about to limit my options for the evening by applying a safety pin for protection.

Slinky wrap-around, that tied on the side. Yes. That was perfect. It said, I am sophisticated, yet fun. It said, I am available, but I’m not an utter slut. It said, you want me, you know you really do.

I was slipping the garment from its hanger when I was interrupted by the most piercing Klaxon I’d ever heard.

Chapter 15

Chaos.

Complete and utter chaos.

The piercing whistle continued as I stumbled into my living room, frantically wrapping my new blouse around my still-damp bra. The door to the basement was gaping open, and Neko was standing beside Roger, crowding the way to the kitchen. I plunged past them, terrified about what I would find.

Smoke billowed out of the oven in greasy black clouds. The uninterrupted shrieking was the smoke detector, letting me know that my house was on fire. And Jason was standing on the far side of the kitchen, looking like a deer trapped in someone’s headlights.

When I moved into the cottage, I had told myself to get a fire extinguisher. Melissa had suggested it on that first day, but we’d forgotten when we were at Target, buying all of our cleaning supplies. She’d already told me the brand to get, the one that would be useful on grease fires. The one that could have saved me now, if I’d remembered.

I could barely think, with the smoke detector’s constant shrieking.

I grabbed for a dish towel, taking a hurried moment to wrap the cloth around my hand. Reaching for the oven door, I tried to open it quickly. The motion felt silly, helpless, like the softball throw that had made me the laughingstock of third grade gym class. Steeling myself (and filling my lungs with too much greasy smoke) I tugged the door open. And then I realized my mistake.

Oxygen feeds a fire.

I grabbed for the mojito pitcher, full of water and flowers. Before I could throw the entire thing into the oven’s maw, Neko knocked the container to the floor, sending the flowers flying. “Not on a grease fire!” He managed to convey the same horror he might have expressed if I had proposed wearing white shoes after Labor Day.

He was right. “Smother it!” I exclaimed, finally remembering my one summer at Girl Scout camp. Drop and roll. Well, I didn’t have a fireproof, outdoor sleeping bag at the ready, but I recalled the principle. “Roger!” He was closest to the couch in the living room. “The throw!”

He somehow figured out what I was saying, even above the penetrating scream of the smoke detector. Damn that thing! It should have some sort of wall switch, so that I could turn it off and deal with an actual emergency without going deaf in the process.

Roger tossed me the blanket—his overhand throw was more girlish than my own. I wasted a few moments shaking it out, hoping it would cover more area. Then, I hurtled it toward the oven.

In theory, that should have worked. The blanket should have smothered the flames and cut off the oxygen that was feeding them. Everything should have been fine, and I should have earned my Fire Safety merit badge.

Except the blanket had been made out of something flammable.

The greedy flames crackled as they grabbed hold of the material; for one short moment, the fire was actually louder than the smoke detector. Then, the flames began to work their way down the throw, onto the linoleum floor, where the ends of the blanket trailed after my imperfect toss.

“Jane!” Neko’s voice rang out, sharp and clear over the shrieking detector. I turned to him in panic, wondering just how long we had before the floor caught along with the walls. This cottage was ancient; it had to be as dry as kindling. And Jason was still on the other side of the oven, still frozen into place.

Neko called my name again, and this time he sounded strangely calm. My excitable familiar might have been summoning me to a discussion on the merits of beige over ecru, for all the emotion in his voice. I realized that he held a book in his hands. Elemental Magick.

It was open to a page in the middle. A page that I was willing to bet Neko had not chosen at random.

I crossed to him.

He leaned in toward my side, putting his mouth right beside my ear. He held the book in front of us, and his fingers rested lightly beneath the words. “Take a breath,” he said, and I did. “Now exhale. Again. Exhale. Calm yourself. Take another breath. Deeper. Exhale. One more time.”

He sounded perfectly centered, perfectly calm, as if we did this exercise every single day. In a flash, I was reminded of Melissa’s yoga teacher, the woman whose constant droning about breathing and holding postures and reaching for the quiet inside us made me fall asleep in corpse pose.

“Very good,” Neko said, and now I could listen to him and hold his words separate from the screech of the smoke detector, apart from the crackle of the flames that wanted to take over my kitchen. “Now, take your right index finger and touch your head to offer up your pure thoughts. Touch your throat to offer up your pure speech. Touch your heart to offer up your pure belief.” I did as he said, and each time my finger landed against my flesh, something thrummed deep inside my mind. I felt as if I were in the middle of a child’s game, suspended on a string stretched between two tin cans. Power vibrated around me, through me, in me.

“Now,” Neko said. “Read the words.” I started to argue. There were strangers around us, people who did not know about my powers. “No,” he said, his voice still given over to that eerie calm. “Read. The rest will follow. Read.”

And so I read.

Good and evil, loss and gain
Flame is savior, flame is bane
On a bitter winter night
Fire might preserve a wight
Flames unbound can lead to ruin
Lives destroyed, possessions strewn.
Learn the power of the fire,
Note its strength within the pyre.

Tame the flames by calling other
Powers of the world to smother
Balance water, air, and earth
Push back fire, salvage worth.

For a moment, nothing happened. After all, it couldn’t be so simple. Who was I to think that I could control one of the four elemental forces of the universe? Me—Jane Madison? A librarian who couldn’t even make a single date work out? A witch who didn’t know the first thing about her powers?

But then, I saw a shimmer in the air. It was a curtain surrounding the flames. I sensed the pure essence of water, knew it with my witchy senses. It looked like a waterfall made up of the finest droplets possible, suspended in the middle of my kitchen. I poured my thoughts into the curtain, summoning up all of the tingling power that I’d ever felt and transferring it into the wall of water.

I was terrified by the whoosh as the fire consumed the sheer liquid conjuring, but that sound was immediately dampened by a sudden heaviness in the air. The weight of the atmosphere in my kitchen had doubled, trebled. It felt like the pressure was dropping before a hurricane; I was crushed beneath the airless weight of a ferocious weather system, the kind that made old bones ache and migraines blossom. Its pressure smothered the remaining flames, beating them out as if they were trapped beneath an invisible flame-retardant blanket.

Sparkling dust coalesced from the heavy air. It fell like gritty snow, sifting down on the already-cooling remnants of the fire. I imagined pulverized earth, volcanic stone exploded into the tiniest fragments imaginable. The dust drifted down in silence, catching the light in the room, sparkling like a million diamond shards. It ensured that no whisper of flame survived.

The fire was out.

But the smoke detector was still shrieking. I grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and dragged it across the room, so that I could step up and retrieve the battery. Neko moved like my shadow, and I put a hand on his shoulder to steady myself before I climbed onto the seat. It took three tugs to get the plastic case off, before I could reach the nine-volt battery. My fingers slipped twice, but I finally wrenched the power source free.

The silence was so sudden that I wondered if I’d been struck deaf. But no, I heard Jason’s slacks rustle as he finally stepped forward. I heard Roger, breathing deeply as he tugged his tight T-shirt down over the six-pack abs that had been on display after whatever basement romp the fire had interrupted.

And I heard Neko whisper, “Okay, Jane. We’re all done here.” Then he stepped back and raised his voice for everyone to hear. “What are we going to do with you, Jane? Three-alarms are fine for a chili cookoff, but they really put a crimp in a boy’s love life.”

I was still standing on the chair. My knees were turning to jelly, though, and it seemed as if I hadn’t filled my lungs since Neko had told me to take those cleansing breaths. I reached out for his shoulder, but he stepped away, gesturing toward Jason.

And my Imaginary Boyfriend finally moved to my side. “What the hell is going on here?” He sounded more frightened than angry. I leaned on him a little more heavily than strictly necessary as I stepped down, but he didn’t get the idea. He didn’t sweep me off my feet and carry me into the next room, lay me down on the couch and fan my flushed face with fathomless concern.

Instead, he stared at my stove as if it had been possessed. Then, he turned those disbelieving eyes on me.

Before I could muster a response, Neko stepped forward. He cocked his head to one side, executing one of his perfect single-eyebrow arches. I knew that he was evaluating Jason’s every move, measuring out every drop of manliness my Imaginary Boyfriend had to offer. When Neko presented his hand to Jason, he kept his wrist just lax enough that there could be no mistaking his intentions. Or, rather, his preferences. “I’m Neko,” he said. “And you must be Jason. Charmed.” My familiar turned to me and grinned. “Yummy.”

Jason shook the offered hand, but he looked at me in confusion. He blinked hard, and I was reminded of a child waking up from a too-long nap. He started three different questions before he settled on, “What just happened here?”

I worked a spell in front of you. Just a little something I’ve been working on in my spare time. Witchcraft, you know. It’s all the rage in library circles these days.

I sighed and said, “I don’t know. It must have taken longer for the blanket to smother the fire than I thought it would.”

“But you stood there.” Jason pointed to the spot that Neko and I had occupied. “I watched you. You read from that book, and the fire went out.”

“I must have panicked.” The explanation sounded lame, even to me. “While I was waiting for the blanket to work. I’d been reading about the fire spell before you got here; my subconscious must have grabbed at straws.”

“Something happened when you read those words. I couldn’t see clearly; it was like there was some silvery curtain or something. But the fire died down.”

“Silvery curtain?” I looked at Neko, desperate for help, but he only gave an elaborate shrug. “It must have been something in the blanket. Some strange chemical reaction when it came in contact with the flames.”

Jason shook his head, but he didn’t really have an option, other than to accept my explanation. After all, it wasn’t like any ordinary, every day, red-blooded male was going to believe in magic. He let himself become distracted enough to nod toward Neko. “And where did he come from?”

“Downstairs?” I said, and realized that it sounded like I was asking a question. “Downstairs,” I repeated firmly.

“With your cat?”

“Um, there is no cat. There’s only Neko.”

“Only!” Neko repeated, and he sounded scandalized.

“Well, Neko and Roger,” I amended, gesturing toward the sculpted stylist, who was now fully clothed. “Neko’s my, um, tenant. He lives in the basement. Roger is his friend.”

“And you said you had a cat because?”

Because I didn’t want you distracted by the thought of the passionate man-man love being made one floor below us, I thought. I didn’t say that, though. I just sort of shrugged. Roger stepped forward and saved the day. “So, that old blanket trick really works? I thought it was just something they told you about in Scouts.”

And when had he ever been a Scout? Nevertheless, I could have kissed the man, deflecting attention like that. “Apparently so.”

There was a knock at my door.

I should have expected it. By the time I crossed into the living room, I knew who would be there. Not the fire department, dispatched to save the day. Not Dan Savage, ready to research another exciting Savage Love sexual advice column with the plethora of men in my kitchen.

“David!” I said, as my warder swept into my living room. I tried to make it sound like I was surprised to see him, even as I worked to convey a hidden message, a mental telegraph. I wanted to tell him to get out of my house and let me get my dream date back on track. I settled for the more direct use of speech: “I was just about to finish cooking dinner for my guest.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” David said, barely playing along enough to sound civil. He strode directly into my kitchen.

I took a deep breath and began the unavoidable introductions. “David, I don’t think that you’ve met Roger, Neko’s friend.” The men exchanged somewhat wary handshakes. “And this is Jason Templeton.” I sighed and gestured toward my Imaginary Boyfriend. “Jason, this is David Montrose. He’s the, um, mentor I mentioned earlier. The one who is guiding my independent study.”

Jason glanced at Elemental Magick as he offered his hand. The book now looked perfectly harmless, resting on the countertop where Neko had placed it after our fire-dowsing. “David,” he said, offering his hand.

“Professor.” David shook, but his voice was flat. It barely warmed when he turned to me. “Jane, we need to talk.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No.”

“Look,” I said, and I must have recovered from the shock of everything, because I could feel anger shortening my breath. “This has not been my dream night, okay? First, I almost burned the pear tart because the oven runs hot. Then, I came close to poisoning Jason with peanut soup. As you can see, the oven caught fire while I was preheating the broiler. I do not have time to talk to you, David. Not tonight.”

If I had not known better, I would have said that a smile tugged at David’s lips as I cataloged my catastrophes. He managed to sound sincere, though, when he said, “There are just a couple of details that we need to work out. Tonight. There are some problems that have come up with your…independent study, and I would hate for the administration to get involved.” As if to emphasize his words, he laid a protective hand on my elbow.

Jason stepped forward, glancing at that hand, and then at my face. “Look, Jane. Maybe I should head home.”

I shrugged off David’s grasp in annoyance. “But we haven’t eaten!”

Neko looked at the lamb chops on the counter. “I wouldn’t trust the oven,” he said helpfully. “But I’ve heard that lamb tartare is considered a delicacy in some parts of the world.”

Jason looked repulsed, either by the notion of eating raw lamb, or the thought of spending another minute with me. “You probably should get someone to check that oven. We’ll do this again, though. Sometime soon.”

“But I baked a pear tart!”

Jason glanced at it with barely masked horror, as if he believed it might fly from the countertop and attempt to choke him. “And I’m sure it’s wonderful. Look, you can bring it into the library tomorrow. I’m sure you could sell slices to go with lattes. It would give a real colonial feel to the library.”

“Jason—” By now, he had edged around David and made his way past Neko and Roger. His hand settled on the door latch. I crossed the living room, trying to pretend like I was the perfect hostess, like this sort of thing happened all the time, and didn’t we all just love the quirkiness of it?

“Thanks for everything, Jane. The… Well, the glass of wine was great.”

“Yeah,” I said, miserable. “Thank you for the flowers.”

I resisted the urge to look at the trampled blossoms, spread across my kitchen floor. I’d like to think that Jason would have kissed me goodnight if we hadn’t had a full audience watching from the kitchen, but somehow, I don’t think he would have. I closed the door and leaned my head against it. One deep breath was not enough. Nor two. Nor three.

I was going to have to face them all some time. I steeled myself and turned around.

David was just slipping his wallet into his back pocket, and Neko was palming several bills. “Right,” my familiar whispered, but I think that he intended me to hear. “Roger and I will have a ‘late supper’. At Bistro Bis. On Capitol Hill.” He winked and put his hand on Roger’s shoulder.

They slipped past me, closing the door quietly behind them. I came to stand beside David, surveying the wreckage in my kitchen. “Well,” he finally said. “At least you weren’t frivolous about using your magic this time.”

“I’d pretty much run out of other options.” Even though I was exhausted, even though I was embarrassed, even though I wanted to sob about the mess I’d made of my perfect date, I somehow found myself smiling.

The entire thing was absurd. Magic on a first date. My gay familiar making loud thumps from the downstairs. My culinary talents stretched to their maximum extension.

At least I didn’t have to pretend for the rest of the night. David already knew I wasn’t perfect. He already knew that I wasn’t the ideal girlfriend. He already knew that I made mistakes—and plenty of them. I could relax around him.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“I’ll take you out to dinner. We’ll get something safe. Something cooked in someone else’s kitchen.”

I started to protest, but then I looked around. My kitchen looked as if the Battle of Agincourt had been fought across its tiled floor. The mess from making dinner had sifted into the debris from extinguishing the fire. I should clean it up as best I could and then tumble into bed.

Before I could say anything, though, I realized that I was exhausted. The adrenaline from working my spell had pumped away, and I was left with a bone-weariness that could only be partially ascribed to ruining my date with Jason. I looked into David’s guileless face, recognized his offer for the kindness that it was. “Thank you,” I said. “I’d like that. Very much.”

Chapter 16

The next day, I conferred with Melissa, and she suggested that I bring the pear tart to Gran’s apartment. It’s a good thing that she remembered my social calendar—I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to help Gran with a little party she was hosting for the concert opera guild board of directors.

A soiree, she called it. They were putting the finishing touches on plans for their Harvest Gala, their biggest fund-raising event of the year. With only two weeks left until the fete, there wasn’t much to be done, but the board members enjoyed each other’s company, and Gran never passed up a chance to use her fine china.

A gathering of operaphiles was not my first choice for a Friday night date, particularly since I was still exhausted from the night before. David had rewarded my hard work by taking me to Paparazzi, a late-night Italian restaurant down by the canal. The waiter had rolled his eyes at my order of baked ravioli, but he had conceded that the kitchen was still open despite the relatively late hour. I had not even realized that the pasta came with mozzarella cheese—stringy, baked mozzarella cheese—until after I ordered, but I decided to take my chances. After all, this wasn’t a first date, so Melissa’s food rules did not apply.

David and I had talked until they threw us out of the place, at nearly one in the morning. We’d avoided witchcraft and Jason Templeton, managing to fill in a couple of hours of light conversation about favorite foods, treasured childhood books, and dream vacations.

My late night activities had made for a long day at the office—a day made longer by the arrival of a thin envelope from one of the foundations I had queried about grants. That envelope contained a parsimonious half-sheet of paper with a form letter that had been photocopied so many times the words were scarcely legible. I made out the message, though. The Peabridge could not expect any funding from the Institute of Library Preservation.

Oh well. There were more fish in that sea. Twelve more, in fact. I tried not to let myself get depressed. After all, Eleanor didn’t know that I was trying to track down grants. I didn’t need to admit my failure to her.

By the time evening rolled around, I resorted to a Starbucks latte with an extra shot of espresso just to keep awake. No, I don’t drink coffee. But lattes are medicinal.

Especially when I hadn’t seen my grandmother since I’d run out on her at the Four Seasons. At least we’d spoken on the phone several times in the past few days.

Ostensibly, I was invited to this meeting as the Voice of Youth. (I could hear a chamberlain introducing me at the Gala: “Miss Jane Madison. The Voice of Youth.” Smattering of applause as I swept into the ballroom wearing a stunning gown and tiara.) The entire board wanted my opinion about what “You Young People” thought about the Harvest Gala. Apparently We Young People all think alike, act alike, and donate to charities alike.

Would You Young People mind paying for your drinks at a cash bar? (Yes, and we’d be more inclined to donate if we felt indebted to the Guild for our liquor.) Was it sufficient to have wine and soft drinks, or was the hard stuff mandatory for You Young People? (Not mandatory, but “spirits” would loosen a lot of wallets.) Should the dress code be strictly black tie, or would that frighten off You Young People? (They should label it black tie; people would wear what they had in their closets.)

I’m not sure why I got to make all the decisions, but it made Gran happy for me to help out. Besides, where else was I going to get such excellent counseling on my love life?

“Wonderful to see you,” Uncle George said, kissing my cheek after I let myself in the front door. “Doesn’t that tart look delicious! And homemade? That’s where you’ve gone wrong, Jane dear. You should advertise your baking skills more. They will help you find a good man.”

If he only knew how my cooking had worked the night before. Or that Melissa was still frustratedly single, despite being a baker extraordinaire. He only meant well, though. “Thanks, Uncle George.”

“Your grandmother is in the kitchen.”

I thanked him again and threaded my way through the gathering in the living room—a dozen opera fans whose average age was higher than the freeway speed limit. What did it matter, the advice that I gave at these meetings? Concert opera just did not attract young listeners; I could not think of a single person my age who went.

In fact, with a few exceptions—Bugs Bunny cartoons or the Marriage of Figaro scene from The Shawshank Redemption—I could not think of any opera that was familiar to my peers. Certainly none that would make them fork over thousands of dollars to support the arts.

I sighed. If I could find a few enthusiastic opera lovers, I might be able to identify someone to help support the Peabridge. I’d been upset enough about the morning’s rejection letter that I’d crumpled it and tossed it into my wastebasket. That led poor besotted Harold to hurry across the lobby and ask me if anything was wrong with the way he’d delivered my mail. It had taken nearly half an hour to reassure him, although I think that part of that time he was dragging his feet, purposely staying on to have a few more minutes to bask in the glory of my presence. Yeah. Right.

And I need hardly add that Jason had not shown up at the library that afternoon. Not that he ever did on Fridays, but still. He could have called. To make sure that I was all right. That I hadn’t burned down anything else.

“Jane, dear! Why so glum?” Gran looked up from the counter, where she was pouring coffee into a monstrous silver pot.

“Nothing, Gran.” I brushed a kiss against her cheek, noticing how flushed she was in the close heat of the kitchen. “Let me take care of that.”

“What a beautiful tart! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The greatest disaster of my dating life, I thought of saying. That would only worry her, though. “I had the pears sitting around, and I thought you’d enjoy the treat.”

“How sweet of you!” Gran nodded toward a pink cardboard box. “You’ll put my store-bought cookies to shame.”

Her cookies were shameful, but not because she bought them in a store. If she’d stopped by Cake Walk, for example, she could have had any number of toothsome treats. Instead, Gran insisted on buying from the Watergate Bakery. The name was prestigious, but the sweets hadn’t been updated since Nixon was a boy—there were plenty of pink lady-fingers and a passel of green leaf-shaped cookies, all of which crumbled into dusty remnants when you picked them up.

Gran and I made small talk as I sat down on the floor, reaching back into the deep cabinets to retrieve her china cups and saucers, along with the dessert plates that were her pride and joy. She had polished her silver earlier in the day; the dessert forks gleamed on the countertop.

When everything was ready to be carried into the other room, Gran laid a hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry, dear. I heard that things did not go well when you met your mother.”

For one brief moment, I thought that Melissa must have phoned Gran, must have filled her in on the unhappy reunion. I quickly realized, though, that Clara had done the dirty work herself. She’d probably called my grandmother straightaway, reporting on all of my perceived shortcomings.

“Yeah, well….” I shrugged and tried to figure out an explanation. Not an excuse, mind you. I didn’t have anything to excuse. Just a reason why things had not gone as Gran had hoped.

“Your mother felt just terrible, dear. She worried that she’d put too much pressure on you, that she overwhelmed you with too much information all at once.”

I shrugged again, feeling like a teenager who had lost the last vestige ability to communicate with her elders. If I weren’t careful, I was going to be reduced to a vocabulary consisting entirely of exasperated sighs, eye rolls, and deep grunts. I made myself say, “I think that too much time has gone by, Gran. If we were ever going to find a way to talk to each other, it had to be years ago.”

Gran’s lips thinned into a greyish line. “We’re never so old that we don’t need people who love us.”

“Gran, that woman doesn’t love me! She doesn’t even know me! At most, she loves the idea of me, a perfect little girl that she tragically lost so many years ago.”

My grandmother shook her head. “I don’t expect you to understand, Jane. You’ve never had children, so you don’t know what it’s like.” That’s right. Let’s turn this conversation into a referendum on my floundering love life and nonexistent children. Gran went on, though, obviously unaware of how much her words bothered me. “You can’t imagine how it feels, Jane. A mother is always connected to her children. She always feels the bond that once fed them, nourished them, kept them safe and sound—”

Gran would have gone on (was she really waxing eloquent about the umbilical cord, or was there something else she was getting at?) but she started coughing. She made a terrible noise, deep and wheezing, as if her lungs were melting inside her chest.

“Gran!” I said, throwing an arm around her waist to support her. She felt so frail, so tiny. For one terrible moment, I realized that my grandmother was old. Not old as in she-liked-opera. But old. Old as in she-was-going-to-die-some-day. Old.

Her face turned crimson with the exertion of her coughing, and she turned away from me. I didn’t know whether she was trying to hide her weakness or just keep her face away from the counter, the cups, and the food. The motion, though, only served to make her look more vulnerable.

I grabbed a glass and filled it with water, but she waved me away. By then, she was able to snag great shuddering breaths in between coughs. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but I wasn’t sure if she was crying from emotion or physical effort.

When the coughing finally died away, she accepted the water, sipping it slowly. After emptying the glass, she set it firmly on the counter. She gathered up her apron and used the hem to wipe at her eyes. She turned to the sink and washed her hands, lathering them up like a surgeon getting ready to enter the operating room.

“Gran!” I said, when she started to pick up the saucers as if nothing had happened. “How long have you had that cough?”

“It comes and goes.”

“Comes and goes! It sounds like you’ve got pneumonia!”

“It’s allergies. You know, the changing seasons always get to me.”

I knew that spring always got to her. Spring, and its pollen. My grandmother had never had a problem with ragweed, or mold, or burning leaves. As if anyone still burned leaves in the fall. “You’ve never had problems in September before.”

“I’m fine, Jane. Just fine.” She patted my hand and turned to the door, only to draw herself up short. “If you really are worried, though, there is one thing you can do, dear.”

“What?” I would do whatever she asked. Run out to the drug store. Phone her doctor’s emergency line. Take her to the hospital.

“Make me a promise.”

“Gran!”

“Promise me that we’ll go to the Smithsonian, next Saturday. A week from tomorrow. The Natural History Museum, like we used to visit when you were a little girl.”

“Gran, I haven’t—”

“Promise me! The three of us will go—you, me, and your mother.”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell her that I had work to do. I wanted to make up some hot date, or some important library meeting, or some absolute need to wash my hair.

But her coughing fit had frightened me. My grandmother wasn’t going to be around to extract promises forever.

And, I had to admit, there was a teeny, tiny part of me that wanted to give Clara one more try. After all, she was my biological mother. And we’d spent less than an hour together. Her whole cult thing couldn’t possibly be as alarming as I’d made it out to be. And she certainly couldn’t be as into crystals as she’d seemed.

“All right, Gran. Next Saturday.”

“Wonderful. We’ll meet at the elephant. At 10:00.”

The giant bull elephant was in the building’s rotunda; it greeted thousands of amazed tourists every single day. I had marveled at him when I was a little girl, inventing long, involved stories about his elephant wife and elephant children, and their happy lives in the African bush. Father, mother, perfect kids. Life was simple back then.

“Now you bring in the tart, dear. We’ll serve it out here.” Then my grandmother swept into the living room, apologizing for her delay and serving up coffee, tea, tart, and crumbling cookies.

I found myself sitting next to Samuel Potter, an old friend of Uncle George and the newest member of the concert opera guild board. “So, Jane,” he said. There was a glimmer in his eye, and I suspected that he pulled coins out of his own granddaughters’ ears. “Do you come to these little get-togethers every month?”

“Oh, no. Only when I can help with the Gala planning.” That sounded wrong, as if I thought there was something wrong with opera, or with the board gatherings. I added, “I’m usually too busy at work.”

“And where do you work?”

“At the Peabridge Library.”

“Is that part of D.C. Public?”

I knew two things by the way he asked the question. First, he was a librarian, or someone he knew was one. We librarians were all hip and happening folks; we dropped “Library” from the names of major systems because we all knew what we were talking about. I had once dreamed of being a reference librarian at “New York City Public”, until Melissa told me that I sounded totally affected, phrasing it that way.

The other thing, though, was more important: My magic spell was still working. I recognized the expression on Mr. Potter’s face; I’d come to know it well over the past couple of weeks. He was nowhere near as smitten as poor Harold Weems, but Mr. Potter was attracted to me. Not in an icky, dirty old man way. Rather, in an avuncular way. I thought that he might buy me a box of salt water taffy, or invite me to an ice cream social. And there was a part of me that was pleased to have that effect on him.

I really had meant to ask David about that spell. About ways to soften its effect, or to withdraw it altogether. I’d forgotten, though, the night before. We’d had too many other things to talk about.

Withdrawing from the only good memory of the night before, I smiled at Mr. Potter. “No, the Peabridge is a private library. We specialize in colonial America.”

“Ah! I’ve walked by your place! You’re over by the University, right? In the heart of Georgetown?”

I agreed that we were. Mr. Potter told me that he took his dog for a walk near us almost every evening. The shih-tzu had actually belonged to Mrs. Potter, but poor Lucinda had passed away about six months before. She was the one who had been a librarian, a cataloger. She’d always loved the profession.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t have the chance to meet her, Mr. Potter.”

“Aren’t you a dear.” He patted my hand. “She spoiled that silly dog as if it were her own flesh and blood baby. We were never blessed with children.”

So much for his pulling coins from his granddaughters’ ears. Now I wanted to pat his hand. He shook his head, though, as if he were well-accustomed to changing his mood by force of will. “So tell me, dear. What do you do at the Peabridge?”

“I’m a reference librarian by training.” Because I was at the board meeting of an arts society, I felt compelled to add, “But I’ve become involved with development lately.” Development. Not fund-raising. I’d picked up the lingo in the course of drafting my grant applications.

“Have you now? What sort of projects are you working on?”

“I’ve started to apply for grant funding. We’ve got several specific projects that we want to take on, cataloging our collection of manuscripts, developing a system to track all of our ephemera.”

“Ah… My Lucinda would have loved to talk to you about those things. When we lived in Indianapolis, she got our little opera library in order. She organized all of the sheet music, along with the archives of programs, production notes….”

“She sounds like a very interesting woman. Dedicated, too.”

“She would have loved the Harvest Gala,” Mr. Potter said. His eyes started to look sad again, but he speared a bite of pear tart into his mouth. “Oh! This is wonderful!” He smiled at me conspiratorially. “Much better than those nasty cookies from the Watergate.”

I laughed out loud, and then I needed to make up an explanation when Uncle George asked me what was so funny. I didn’t want him to think that I disrespected Gran’s choices, even if she did woefully misjudge baked goods.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. Gran led the review of plans for the Gala. Ticket sales were strong. The reach-out program to local universities seemed to have worked; there were more young people (everyone turned to smile at me) than the Guild had seen in years. The caterer was an opera fan himself, and he was upgrading the hors d’oeuvres as a donation to the Guild. The silent auction was organized; a fussy-looking woman sitting on the chaise lounge had agreed to print out the bid sheets on her home computer.

In fact, the meeting would have been perfect, if Gran had not succumbed to two more coughing fits. The first one left her surrounded by her fellow board members, each trying to help in perfectly ineffective ways, passing over glasses of water, trying to fan her with napkins, patting the backs of her hands. The second fit must have given her some warning; she said that she had something to check on in the kitchen and escaped before it grabbed hold completely.

I followed her out of the room, trying to avoid setting off an alarm among the guests even as I moved quickly. The spasm wasn’t as bad as its predecessors, and Gran caught her breath quickly. “Silly me. I must have swallowed something wrong.”

“Don’t play around with this, Gran. If you’re still coughing tomorrow, I want you to phone Dr. Wilson.”

“He doesn’t want to waste his time with the likes of me. Especially on the weekend.”

“You’re not a waste of time. You’re his patient.”

She made a noise that sounded like, “Pshaw.”

“Gran,” I said. “Come on, now. Promise me. You’re the only grandmother I’m ever going to have, and I don’t want to see you suffer like this for no reason.”

She smiled at the mock warning tone in my voice. She’d used it often enough on me. “Fine, Jane. I promise.”

By the time we returned to the living room, the meeting was breaking up. I collected another round of compliments on my pear tart and a handful of avowals that I would make some lucky man an excellent wife. I had my cheek pinched my Mr. Potter, and I submitted to a slobbery farewell from Uncle George. It took half an hour to gather up the china and wash it, another half hour to return all the finery to its properly appointed cabinets.

As I slipped my coat from the hall closet, Gran rested her palm against my cheek. “Thank you, dear. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d do just fine, and you know it. Besides, I enjoyed the meeting. I think the Gala is going to be wonderful.”

“I certainly hope so.” She smiled. “It’s late, sweetheart. Why don’t you just go sleep in your old room?”

Gran had kept my bedroom set up, almost as a shrine. It had last been decorated when I was sixteen years old. Although I had torn down the movie star posters and taken the high school yearbook photos from the frame of my mirror, I couldn’t do anything about the Barbie pink color that I had once thought was the height of sophistication. I’d tried to convince Gran that she should convert my bedroom into a home office, but she just laughed and reminded me that she didn’t work from home. And I have to admit, a part of me was pleased that everything was just the way I’d left it.

Of course, I couldn’t sleep in Gran’s apartment. I had to go home and feed Stupid Fish. I had to make sure that Neko had not gotten into any trouble. I had to start organizing those books in the basement; there were several spells that David had mentioned the night before that seemed intriguing.

Besides, Jason might have called.

My life was much more complicated than Gran needed to know. I laughed as if I thought she was joking about my spending the night. She sighed but saw me to the door. “Now, you aren’t going to take a bus at this hour are you?”

“Of course not, Gran. I’ll take a cab.”

“I can give you money.”

“I don’t need your money.” I patted my purse. “I’ve got my own.”

“Promise!” she insisted.

“I promise!”

My fingers were still crossed as I walked out the door of her apartment building and headed up the street. I went two blocks north, up to Calvert, so that there was no possible way for her to see me getting on to the 42R. My timing was good. I only needed to wait five minutes, and I got a seat at the front of the bus. I wondered if I could find a spell to make all of my transportation endeavors work so flawlessly.

Chapter 17

I stared out the window of the yoga studio, cursing my choice of “scissors” that had succumbed to Melissa’s “rock.” Unaware of my thoughts, the instructor was saying, “Today, we’re going to work on inverted poses. We’ll start with a supported shoulderstand.”

I wondered if our colonial fathers had ever considered using the asana, instead of placing people in public stocks for humiliating punishment. Taking a deep breath, I met Melissa’s game smile. “I love this,” she whispered to me. “I feel so strong when the energies shift to my head.”

Strong was not the word I would think of. Silly, maybe. Foolish. Completely and utterly out of balance.

The yoga instructor was undaunted. “The pose is called Salamba Sarvangasana. It is extremely important that you do it properly. You must not turn your head to either side, or you risk serious neck injury. You can use a blanket if you’d like, folded once on top of your mat, but don’t give yourself any more padding. You can hurt yourself badly with this posture.”

Okay, now I was getting a little afraid. There were more qualifications for contorting my body than there were for working magic. It sounded like the instructor was doing her best to keep from being sued. I imagined my legs, kicking up into the posture. I saw myself toppling sideways, knocking over Melissa to my right and sending her falling into the next three students. I envisioned myself in a hospital bed, tied to one of those strange triangular bars that looked like an oversized instrument from a giant child’s music class. I saw the bandages wrapped around my head and neck, turning me into a classic mummy.

I sat back on my heels.

“Come on,” Melissa whispered. “Just try it once. It’s easier than it looks.”

“Easier for you,” I muttered. But then, I stopped to think. Since my last yoga class, I had accomplished any number of new things. I had worked successful spells. I had begun a campaign to keep the Peabridge alive. I had faced Clara. I had even kept from chewing my fingernails—sure, my nail polish was chipped from use, but I had not gnawed it off since Roger had given me my manicure.

No silly supported shoulderstand was going to get the better of me.

And I did it.

I followed the instructor’s words, and I did it. My legs moved into the air as if they had a power all their own. The pose felt out of balance, but I shifted my hands higher on my hips, providing a little more support for my lower back. I tucked my chin in closer to my chest, and I felt my spine stretch and relax, just like the instructor had said that it would.

Melissa was right. It was easier than it looked. And the energies did shift to my head. I felt them, just as I had felt the power of my magic when I extinguished the fire in my kitchen. There was a distinct hum, a definite buzz as my body realigned itself.

I should remember this, I told myself. I should draw on this when I’m working with David.

The instructor had us hold the shoulderstand for a few more minutes before she walked us through a supported headstand. Salamba Sirsasana, for those of us who wanted to add to our Sanskrit vocabularies. Not that I’d remember that name after I left the studio.

We took up stations along the wall as the instructor assured us that many students needed the security of a vertical surface. In fact, she pointed to a patch of wall where the paint was a half-shade lighter than the rest, and she admitted that she had put her own foot through the wall not two weeks before.

Maybe that should have intimidated me, but it had the opposite effect. If my instructor had not perfected the pose, then how could I expect my own attempt to be flawless? I might as well try.

The headstand was harder than the shoulderstand—it hurt. I felt as if the crown of my head was going to break open. But then the instructor reminded us to take as much weight as we could on our arms, to transfer our balance outward. People around me were falling down, and I got distracted more than once, but each time I was able to try again. I finally managed to hold the pose for a full minute, and then the instructor decided it was time to move on to our closing sequence.

As we stretched and balanced before settling into corpse pose, I could not keep a smile from my face. I had conquered the inverted poses.

Okay, that might not have been a very yogic way of thinking about things—”conquering” was probably not the central metaphor that I should use when talking about peace, meditation, and harmony between body and mind. But I knew what I meant.

As I practiced my deep breathing and blanking my mind to conscious thoughts, the instructor walked around the room. She approached each student with lavender oil on her palms, making small adjustments to our necks and shoulders. When she lengthened my spine, she leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Excellent job today, Jane.”

Well, maybe she didn’t. I’d never heard her compliment anyone like that during class. I’d never heard her make any purposeful noise to break up the meditative silence. But I could sense her approval in her fingers.

“Really!” I said to Melissa as we walked away from the studio. “I could tell that’s what she believed. For once, she didn’t think that I was wasting my time there. She was proud of me.”

“She’s always proud of you,” Melissa said, shrugging. “You’re the only person who thinks you should be perfect the first time you try anything.”

“I don’t think I should be perfect!” I met Melissa’s smirk, and I corrected myself. “I don’t always think I should be perfect. I should just be more flexible than I am. I should be able to stretch more.”

“And you do. Over time.”

I started to argue, purely out of habit, but I realized that Melissa was right. Yoga was getting easier. Even downward-facing dog—I had enjoyed the stretch instead of feeling like my calf muscles were about to tear loose from my bones. Or tendons. Or ligaments. Or whatever my muscles attached to.

I was spared needing to reply because we’d reached M Street, the main drag of Georgetown. We were supposed to meet Neko on the corner. He was going to join us for mojito therapy.

Roger had gone out of town for his sister’s big-deal thirtieth birthday party, and Neko was sulking because he hadn’t been invited. I didn’t think that my familiar truly wanted to wander the wilds of West Virginia, attending long-scheduled family events as the ho-mo-sex-you-al companion of a hometown boy, but I hadn’t said anything. I understood that Neko had wanted to be invited, even if he didn’t actually attend. I just didn’t think it would do any good to tell him how miserable he would likely be. Or to point out that he’d only known Roger for a couple of weeks. Or to mention that he was squandering his ability to roam free from our book collection if he only used it to moon after Roger. I bit my tongue.

We found him on the corner, leaning against a streetlight. He sighed as we approached, the deepest sigh I’d ever heard from someone who wasn’t a teenaged girl. Anyone passing on the street might have thought that the poor man had just learned that he was suffering from some terminal disease. “Hey, Neko!” Melissa said. We’d already decided that our best strategy was to ignore his despondency.

Another sigh, even deeper. Entire wind farms could be fueled if he went on like this. “Hello.”

This wasn’t going to be easy. Melissa tried, though. “You should have seen Jane in yoga class! She mastered the inverted poses.”

He gave me a wan smile that might have broken my heart if I’d thought for a second that he was truly suffering. “Wonderful.”

We moved down the sidewalk, avoiding the early revelers who were starting their big nights out in Georgetown’s trendy restaurants and bars. Amateurs, Melissa called them. People who wanted to see and be seen.

Passing by the plate glass windows of Sephora, I was amazed by the number of women buying cosmetics on a Saturday evening. Hard to believe, but I’d never been inside the place. I knew that it was a high end cosmetics emporium; I’d seen the ads and walked by the classy black-and-white storefront. But when I was with Scott, it seemed silly to spend all that time and effort making myself beautiful for my own fiancé. And since he’d dumped me, I hadn’t had any reason to splurge.

I shrugged and said. “Can you imagine spending hours shopping for makeup?”

Neko sighed. “Roger could spend hours shopping for makeup.” He made life as a spendthrift sound downright noble.

Melissa started to retort—I knew that she would say that she had never spent more than five minutes at the drugstore selecting a lipstick. And I suspected that Neko would bite back with something unkind. I was desperate to avoid sniping between the two of them, so I said, “Well, I want to see what they’ve got.”

I grabbed both Neko and Melissa by their hands and plunged inside, only to be stopped by the first display. TARTE, said large letters. I picked up their “Clean Slate” and read the ingredients. “Here, Melissa. This should sound familiar—avocado oil, rosemary, hibiscus oil.”

“I wouldn’t know whether to cook with it or put it on my face.”

“Roger uses hibiscus oil.” Wistfully, Neko picked up the makeup base and read the rest of the label, barely summoning the strength to return it to the counter.

“But Roger isn’t here now,” I said, deciding to take a firm hand with my lovelorn familiar. I wasn’t totally heartless, though. I knew that I’d have to do something to distract him. “I’m going to have to rely on you to help me.”

“Me?” Neko perked up at that, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be drowning in the slough of despond.

“You.”

“What are you looking for?” Melissa sounded incredulous, and I tried to flash her a warning look over Neko’s bowed head.

“A new image. A new me. I’ve got fingernails for the first time in my adult life. I remembered to put on Pick Me Up Pink lipstick every morning last week. I have to do something to brighten up my colonial wardrobe. And there’s certainly a lot to choose from here.”

When I’d started cranking out my explanation, I had no idea what I would say. I didn’t even know what half the things were in the store; I’d certainly never applied them to my body before. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered why I shouldn’t go on a shopping spree. After all, my brilliant foundation idea looked like it was going to be a bust. I wasn’t likely to shed my Martha Washington look anytime soon. I might as well do all I could to freshen up my appearance. Especially if I ever hoped to regain Jason’s attention, after the Great Indoor Barbecue fiasco.

“Come on, Neko,” I said. “What would you suggest?”

“Mojitos. Extra rum.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I,” he said mournfully.

“We’ll make the mojitos,” I promised. “But first you have to help me choose some makeup.”

Nothing. I was having flashbacks to the babysitting I had done when I was twelve, to my desperate attempts to get an overtired five-year-old to pay attention to dinner and get ready for bed.

Melissa wasn’t helping. She had wandered down the counter, studying the rest of the Tarte line. I watched her pick up a palette of eye-shadow and flip it over so that she could read the price tag. It must have been pretty steep; she practically slammed it back into its Lucite holder.

Well, fine then. I wasn’t going to waste the rest of my evening trying to orchestrate fun for the whole gang. “Okay,” I said. “I’m just going to buy this eye-liner, and then we can go.” I chose the purple one. Purple has always been one of my favorite colors—that must go back to my Barbie dream-girl days.

“You’re not going to buy the plum!” Neko could not have sounded more scandalized if I had suggested stripping bare and performing a bump and grind under the chic store’s pinlights. A dozen heads swiveled in our direction.

“Um, no,” I said, blushing a color only a shade lighter than the offending eye-liner. “I just meant that I would buy this brand.”

Neko took the pencil from my hand and eased it back into its container. “Step away from the plum. It would bring out all the red in your face. You need something green. But not too green. You don’t want to lean toward sallow. Green-blue. Like Roger’s eyes….”

And for a moment there, I’d thought we were making progress. Melissa rolled her own eyes. “Look,” she said. “I’m heading down to the bakery. I’ll make the mojitos. Come down when you’re finished here.”

I nodded, not quite ready to give up on revivifying Neko. I was certain that we’d be fine for the rest of the weekend if I could just make him forget his vacationing love for five straight minutes. Consecutive minutes. Whatever. “Go on,” I said to Melissa. “Just don’t forget to—”

“Add extra lime. I know.”

I gave her a finger wave as she ducked out the door. She actually shook her head when she got out to the street, as if she were clearing away a physical residue of frou-frou girliness. I thought of a Labrador retriever puppy shaking off raindrops.

“Green-blue,” I prompted Neko. “Help me find something.”

“It doesn’t really matter.”

“All right then.” I strode over to the Cargo display. “I’ll go with this Casablanca palette. Mmmm. Caramel lip gloss.”

“Caramel?” Neko’s shriek actually stopped a transaction at the cash register. He swept over to me and covered my hand with his own. “If you get the caramel, you will absolutely look like a corpse. It will bleach every hint of color that you have in your cheeks.”

I bit back a smile as Neko led me down the row. “Here,” he said. You need something more pink. A little sheer. No glitter.”

His hands moved as if he were dealing blackjack. Before I knew it, I was holding foundation and blush, pressed powder and loose. He passed me a pair of eye-liners and a tube of mascara. Seven lipsticks—they were all just too luscious to pass up he assured me—and three different bottles of nail polish.

With each category of cosmetic, Neko became more of the man I knew and—well, not quite loved, but expected. He offered bitter criticisms of some products. “Can you imagine who buys that? She’d have to have the skin of an elephant and the coloring of a three-hundred-year-old witch. Oh. Present company excepted.” I bit my tongue and kept from pointing out that I had a few years left before I hit the three-century mark.

He was on a roll. “Orange? Who needs orange lipstick? There isn’t a woman alive who would look good in orange lipstick.” My favorite was when he checked out the sample of glittery body powder. He shook the powder puff against its ornate cardboard box with an expert flick of his wrists before he highlighted his collar bones with the faintest hint of gold sparkles. “Stunning!” he pronounced himself.

“Enough!” I said, figuring that we had done sufficient retail therapy. “I can’t buy all this stuff.”

“Why not?”

“Fifty dollars is my limit. I’m just a working librarian, remember?” The Peabridge might be paying my rent, but I didn’t have a stash of hundred-dollar bills for all Neko’s treasures.

“There are ways,” he countered, waggling his eyebrows in a manner that suggested something utterly unethical. Or at least immoral.

I was afraid to ask if he meant shoplifting or peddling my own pitiful body to pay for the wares. “David Montrose would have you turned back into a cat statue faster than you can blink if he even heard you make that suggestion.”

I watched him contemplate retorts. One even bubbled to his lips. But he thought better of his words and settled for a shrug. “Well, you have to get the eye-liner. And the nail polish. The stuff you have on is working wonders; you really need it to remind yourself not to gnaw.”

He made me sound like a rabbit, but I decided not to take offense. Instead, I said, “And we’ll add the blush. I’ll get lipstick another day—stay with Pick Me Up Pink for a bit longer.”

He gazed wistfully at the products we were abandoning. “Can’t we just add the foundation?”

“Nope.”

“The Tarte Clean Slate?”

“You are incorrigible! It would cost half my budget. No.”

He pouted. “I can’t be held responsible for the damage if you don’t take my advice.”

“No one is holding you responsible for anything. And there won’t be any damage. Besides, if I spend all my money here, I won’t be able to get my hair cut.”

“You’re getting your hair cut?” I might have told him I was giving him a pony for his birthday. He clasped his hands and held them close to his chest. “You’re having Roger cut it, aren’t you! Tell me that you are! Tell me that you’ll let him do it! Please, please, please!”

“Yes!” I said, laughing.

“Then I forgive you for getting my hopes up here.” He fondled the mascara and bid it farewell with one last sigh.

We paid a small fortune for my three new cosmetics, and I let the salesgirl put my loot into a cute bag. Neko prattled on about the choices that we’d made, debating the considerable merits of blue-green over green-blue. At least he’d recovered from his heartbreak.

Melissa greeted us at the back door to Cake Walk. She already had the drinks made, and she was sipping from her own well-iced glass. We followed her upstairs to the Snuggery, her name for the cozy one-room apartment on the townhouse’s second floor. She raised her eyebrows at Neko’s streaming commentary about her throw pillows, her coffee table, her breakfast nook, and the color of her walls. I shrugged when she gave me a questioning look, but we both knew that it was better to ignore his transition from moping and lovesick to hyper and designer-obsessed.

“So,” she said, when we were gathered on her couch and matching loveseat. “When am I going to see you work some of your magic, Jane?”

I wriggled deeper into the pillows and sipped from the mojito she had just passed me. “Not tonight. I promised David I wouldn’t combine alcohol and magic.”

“You’ve had one sip.”

I looked at Neko. He shrugged elaborately. “My lips are sealed,” he said, taking great care to lock them with an invisible key.

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I don’t have a lot of skills yet. If you want to fall in love with me at first sight, then great, I’ve got that covered. Or if you want to set your kitchen on fire—I know how to handle that.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything big.”

“Neko?” I asked, uncertain of what I should try.

“How about that candle?” He gestured to the three-wick monster that Melissa had centered on her coffee table. I knew that she lit it for a few minutes each night, using it to calm her thoughts before she went to bed.

“I don’t know the spell for lighting it.” I tried to hide the exasperation in my voice.

“Well, I do, silly. That’s my job, remember?”

I stuck my tongue out at him. Of course I knew that was his job, but I wasn’t exactly sure how all this worked. He grinned and moved closer to me, pressing his leg up against mine in a comforting way. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, quiet enough that Melissa would not be able to make out his words. “I’ll tell you the spell. You just repeat after me. This is a fire spell, in the same family as the one you did on Thursday. Do you remember how to start it?”

I nodded, glancing at Melissa to see if she thought I was nuts. She was staring in rapt fascination, but she didn’t seem ready to call the men in white coats. Yet. “Four deep breaths,” I said to Neko. “Then I touch my head, my throat, and my heart.”

“Perfect,” he said, and he settled even closer to me as I went through the routine. I felt the same thrum that had risen earlier in the week, the tingling energy that had released itself into water and air and earth. “Now point to the first wick,” he said. I did. “And say after me:

Candle light, candle bright

Wick kindle, bring sight.”

Well, that was simple enough. I repeated the words, but I couldn’t keep from gasping when the first wick blossomed with golden light. The vibrating power inside me ratcheted down a notch.

Neko nodded. “Go ahead, then. You can do the other two.”

And he was right. I could. I repeated the little rhyme, pointing at each wick. Obediently, they also bloomed with little tongues of fire.

I felt calm inside when I had finished. I knew that I had spent some energy, but I was not at all exhausted. In fact, I felt a little as if I had successfully completed a supported headstand, the same rush of pleased success. “Salamba Sirsasana,” I whispered, wondering how I had remembered that phrase.

“What?” Melissa asked, finally pulling her eyes away from the candle.

“Nothing,” I said. “I was just remembering something else.”

“That is amazing,” Melissa said, clearly not listening to my answer. Instead, she was craning her neck, checking her candle as if she thought I might have worked some sleight of hand with smoke and mirrors. When she looked up at me, there was a hint of awe in her face. “What happens now?”

I glanced at Neko.

“Now, you feed us something,” he said. “Do you have any tuna?”

Before Melissa could think about searching her kitchen, I gave her the real answer to her question. “Now, we wait for David Montrose to appear. He’ll read me the riot act and tell me what I’ve done wrong.”

But I was mistaken. David did not arrive. And, when I finally gave up waiting for him and drank the rest of my mojito, I realized that I was just a little bit disappointed. Not as disappointed as Neko, though, when he found out that Melissa’s cupboards were bereft of canned fish products.

I poured a second drink and reminded myself that I did not want to see my warder when I was working new spells during cocktail hour. And for a few minutes, I even believed myself.

Chapter 18

On Monday morning, Evelyn was waiting for me beside my desk the instant I arrived at the library. “Just a second,” I said. “I’ll turn on the latte machine.”

“This is more important.”

More important than the precious aroma of Colombian Roast filling the lobby? Evelyn had always insisted that I prepare our coffee service first thing; we could lure early morning researchers that way. Besides, if we were ready to serve them right when the doors opened, we were more likely to get their repeat business before they finished their library work.

I locked my purse into my desk drawer and straightened to look at her. Deep lines cut beside her lips, making her face look even more jowly than usual. I was sure that Neko would know some cosmetic fix, but I didn’t have the courage to suggest such a thing. “Is everything OK?” I asked, apprehension twisting my stomach.

“Come into my office.”

Gulp. This was serious.

I followed Evelyn into her glassed-in office, shutting her door as she took her seat. She was wearing a brown and green tweed suit, with a large, loose weave. The colors weren’t terrible on her, but the cut was far too boxy. More advice that I’d absorbed from Neko. More advice that I wouldn’t share.

Evelyn nodded her head toward one of the guest chairs. I sat down, but I did not lean back. Something told me not to get too comfortable. “What?” I finally asked.

“Saturday night, something came to my attention, and I spent all day yesterday trying to figure out the best way to discuss it with you.”

Saturday night. She had been strolling by Cake Walk, and she had looked up to see me light the candle in Melissa’s apartment, without benefit of match or Zippo. Or she had watched Neko and me frolicking in Sephora. Could she have stopped by the cottage while I wasn’t home? Oh my God—had she stumbled on the collection of books?

That must be it. She had discovered the trove of witch books. She had found the valuable leather and parchment, noted its complete and utter disarray. Even if she weren’t furious with me for keeping the collection a secret, she must be angry that I had done nothing to preserve the rare tomes.

Every fiber of my being wanted to explain. I wanted to tell her all about my witchcraft experiences, let her know that I completely understood the responsibility that had fallen into my lap. I wanted to say that I would never harm the books, and that I would get them into some semblance of order, and that I was only using my powers for good and not for evil.

I mean, putting out the fire in my kitchen had been good, hadn’t it?

The fire in my kitchen. Oh no. Was that what she was upset about? Had she heard that I’d invited Jason over for dinner? Had he complained to my boss?

“Evelyn, I can explain.”

He’d been my Imaginary Boyfriend for almost a year, I would tell her. I’d watched him, every day that he’d come in. I knew his study habits. I knew his writing style. I knew everything about him, and I knew that he and I would be perfect together. Once he got around to recognizing the same. Once he thought to ask me out.

“I can’t tell you how embarrassed I was,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. She really should think about getting her hair cut. That length was just so unflattering, the way the ends of her hair curled under right beside her jaw. Of course, if she colored it, instead of leaving it that mousy grey….

Wait. Evelyn was embarrassed? What had Jason said that embarrassed her? I was the one who should be mortified. Just what had he told her?

“Whatever Jason said, I can explain, Evelyn. Just let me tell you the whole story.”

“Jason?” Her lips thinned.

Should I have called him Professor Templeton?

Evelyn said, “You mean Justin. You don’t even remember the man’s name.”

Justin. Justin? I hadn’t invited any Justin over for dinner. I hadn’t ignited my oven for any Justin. I could hear Neko’s snarky voice whispering, “Ignited your oven? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” I tried to tamp down the smile at the corner of my lips, but I wasn’t really successful. If Evelyn was upset over someone called Justin, then my Jason had not spoken to her. He had not complained to my boss, had not told her that the pyromaniacal librarian she had living on Peabridge property had attempted to work a spell in front of him. Had actually worked a spell which, from Evelyn’s perspective, just might be worse.

Well, thank God for small favors.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Justin?”

“Justin Cartmoor.” I must have looked blank, because Evelyn gusted out a sigh. “Justin Cartmoor? The executive director of the Library Foundation.”

Oh.

I didn’t even bother to make my words into a question. “He told you I applied for a grant.”

“He assumed that I knew all about it. He told me that he was terribly sorry, that if he’d known we were interested earlier in the year, he might have been able to do something. I had no idea what he was talking about, of course, and so I made a fool out of myself, trying to get details about what I’d allegedly done.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I really, truly was. “Evelyn, it was just an idea I had. I thought that if I could line up some grant funding, then we wouldn’t have to wear our costumes. We might not have to turn the library into Starbucks, just to keep going for another year.”

“Jane, I was horribly embarrassed. It looked like I have no idea what my employees do. It looked like I don’t keep track of our day-to-day operations, or—worse—that I’m a forgetful old… old… biddy!”

Tears were starting to build up in her eyes, and her voice had grown thick. My belly twisted, and I caught my breath. I had never intended to cause anyone harm. I really had thought that I’d be helping—helping me, of course, but also helping Evelyn and the Peabridge.

“Of course you’re not a biddy, and anyone who would imply that is absolutely insane!” The words came out a bit more vehemently than I’d intended, but they made Evelyn smile. I took that as a good sign and carried on. “The applications were totally a spur of the moment thing. I spent a morning putting them together.” Hmmm. That might not reflect well on me—it made me sound like I’d gone off half-cocked. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Applications?” Evelyn said, stressing the plural.

I nodded, suddenly wary, but I knew I needed to come clean. “Thirteen of them.”

“Thirteen!” She looked out the windows of her office as if she expected the Inspector General of Grant Applications to be waiting for her, black briefcase and bad suit at the ready.

“Those were only the strongest leads. For historic collections. And original materials. Like ours. There are lots of other possibilities. That. I. Can. Follow up on later.” I ended in a rush, realizing that there would be no “later.”

Evelyn shook her head. “Jane. Jane, Jane, Jane.” When she finally looked at me, though, her face had relaxed. I thought that there might even be a hint of a smile behind her powdered cheeks. “Jane, you are an excellent librarian. You really have a flair when it comes to research, and I am often amazed at the obscure details that you’re able to come up with in our collection. You are personable. You are flexible. You understand customer service.”

Any other time, I would have preened at the compliments, but I knew there was some giant “but” coming.

“But—” There it was. “But, you are not a fund-raiser. You aren’t trained in development. We have board members who specialize in that, people who have retired from successful careers working with some of the largest non-profits in the country.” She leaned back in her chair. “The Library Foundation is one of the ‘big guys.’ Applications to them should include complete records of our finances and plenty of graphs, charts about our past, present, and future needs. If we’re going to ask them for money, we need to make sure that we’ve dotted every single one of our i’s and crossed each of our t’s. It’s a tremendous job. Much more than any one of us should take on, on our own. And even so, the Peabridge is likely below their radar screen.”

I felt as if I had shrunk to the size of a munchkin. Smaller. To a fairy. A gnat.

What had I been thinking of? I walked by one guy on the street, found out that he was thinking of donating money—to a theater company—and I believed that there were thousands of dollars just waiting to be taken?

“I’m sorry,” I said, and now I was surprised to hear tears in my own voice. “I only wanted to help. I thought that I’d surprise you, that you’d be happy—”

“I am happy, Jane. I’m happy that you care enough about the Peabridge to have tried. And I’m happy that we understand each other going forward. We’ll wait for a few years. Get our collection under control. Once we’re running a little more smoothly, we can try to go after the big grant people. All right?”

It wasn’t all right. I wanted to ask how we were going to get our collection under control without additional funding, without qualified cataloging help. But Evelyn knew the situation as well as I did. Better. I wasn’t going to teach her anything she didn’t already know. I nodded. “All right.”

“Thank you.” She nodded.

I pushed back my chair and crossed to the door. When my fingers touched the knob, Evelyn said, “Oh, one more thing.” I froze, afraid to turn around. “Justin was quite impressed with the essay that you wrote. He said that you were clearly passionate about your work, that your true librarian interest shone through. He was particularly taken with your quoting that line about Prospero’s books, and how you tied it in with the magic of learning.”

Well, that made it a little easier to head back to my desk and face another work week. But I wasn’t any more enthusiastic about getting the latte machine set up.

I had ground the first batch of coffee beans when Harold came through the library doors. Great. Frosting on my Monday morning cake.

“Did you have a wonderful weekend?” he asked. “You deserve the very best.”

Poor guy. I looked into his eyes and saw the patient trust and loyalty of a basset hound. “Yeah, Harold. I did. I helped my grandmother out with a party on Friday night and then I mostly hung out with friends. How about you?”

“Well, my mother needed a ride to her bridge club.” That’s right. I’d forgotten that Harold lived with his mother. “I brought along a book to read, instead of driving back and forth. The ladies there were really nice. They offered me treats, but all they had were those nasty cookies. You know, the pink and green ones? From the Watergate Bakery?”

I actually laughed out loud, and I was rewarded with the first pure, unworried smile I had seen on Harold’s face for a long time. “I know those cookies,” I said. “My grandmother loves them.” I added fresh-ground coffee to the paper filter and set the first batch of drip coffee to brew. Harold liked his black, although he sometimes treated himself to one of the sugar packets at the end of the counter. “What book are you reading?”

“Oh, nothing interesting.”

“You never know.” I smiled, amused by his hang-dog look. “I’m interested in a lot of things.”

He blushed, and I wondered if he was reading the secret erotic diary of some desperate Victorian lady. He looked carefully to either side before he replied, “Linux for Dummies.”

He looked so uncertain when he said it that I wanted to assure him that the “dummies” part was a joke, that he didn’t have to be dumb to want to learn. Especially about Linux. I barely knew what Linux was—some sort of computer operating system, a gold standard with geeks who managed computers. “Do you program computers, Harold?”

I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to blush more. The strands of hair that he had carefully combed across his bald pate looked as if they might catch fire from his embarrassment. “Not yet,” he said. “But I want to.”

I remembered the day that he had fixed my computer, pushing it past its annoying blue screen of death. “I’m sure you can, then. Especially if you’re willing to spend your weekends reading up on the subject.”

“You don’t think it’s stupid? For me? I mean, I’ve never been to college.” He lowered his eyes, suddenly overcome with bashfulness. “Like you have.”

Ach. What had I done working that spell? Sure, I’d gone to college, but so had most women in the world around us. Certainly Evelyn had. And Marie, our intern in the mail room. Harold was putting me on a pedestal, and I had no right to the special treatment. Oh well, I might as well see if I could use my power for good. “If there’s one field that you can break into without college, it’s likely to be computers. Take Bill Gates—he never got his degree.”

Well, that might have been a little overly optimistic. I mean, how many billionaires dropped out of Harvard? I thought that I should temper things a bit. “You might want to look into some of the technical schools around town. Or one of the community colleges. An associate degree may open just the doors you want.”

“An associate degree,” he repeated the words as if they were a mantra. I’d better watch what I said, or he’d be filling out college applications right in front of me. A quick beep let me know that the coffee had finished brewing, and I gratefully filled a cup for him, ready to send him on his way.

“Thank you,” he said gravely. “You make the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.”

“That’s very nice of you to say.” I made the best coffee. Right. He hadn’t even tested this batch. All I’d done was grind the beans, put them in the filter, and let the machine work its magic. Still, I supposed it was a nice sentiment. I said, “I’d better get back to work.” I nodded toward Evelyn’s office. “I don’t want her to think that I’m slacking off.”

“Who could ever think that of you?” Harold sounded astonished. So, this is what it felt like to have a knight in shining armor, ready to ride to one’s defense. Poor guy. He took his coffee and shambled off to the front door.

Before I could return to my desk, another patron approached the coffee counter. “Mr. Potter!” I said, recognizing Uncle George’s friend from the opera guild.

“Good morning,” he said, tipping an invisible hat. “And how is the Peabridge’s grant-writing phenom?”

I tried not to make a face. “Not the best, Mr. Potter.”

“What’s wrong?”

I gave him the sanitized version of the story—the funding just wasn’t going to come through this year, but we had high hopes for the future—and then I asked if I could make him a coffee. “A small mocha would be wonderful, dear.”

“Whipped cream?”

“What’s a mocha, without whipped cream?”

I laughed and agreed and got to work making the chocolate and coffee mixture. Mr. Potter took advantage of the time to look around the Peabridge lobby. “You’ve got a beautiful building here, don’t you?”

“It was converted from a residence nearly fifty years ago. The architects did a wonderful job at bringing in light.”

“My Lucinda would have loved this place. She always said that her spirits rose, just by standing near books.”

I smiled. “I know what she meant. How’s her dog?”

“Oh, Beijing is doing fine.”

I passed him his mocha, and he took a tentative sip, relying on the generous serving of whipped cream to keep from burning his mouth. “Ah,” he sighed. “As perfect a mocha as I’ve ever had.”

“We aim to please,” I said.

“I never would have expected to find a coffee bar in a library.”

“Well, you know. We try to make up budget shortfalls, wherever we can.”

“How much revenue can coffee possibly generate?”

“You’d be surprised,” I said. “Besides, our budgetary needs are relatively modest. A thousand here, a thousand there, and we might be able to get started on cataloging our colonial recipe books.”

A smile crinkled the corners of Mr. Potter’s eyes. “I’d better stop in for a mocha more often, then.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

Then he was gone, off to his widower’s life, with Beijing and whatever else he had for company. I turned my attention to wiping down the milk-steaming nozzle. When I looked up, I was astonished to find Jason Templeton standing at the counter.

Jason Templeton. Flashing the perfect Imaginary Boyfriend grin.

“Good morning.”

“It’s 9:00!”

He looked confused, but then he said, “And it can’t be a good morning at 9:00?”

“You don’t come in until 9:30.”

“My morning class was canceled today. Founder’s Day. The students are supposed to attend other lectures on the deep inner meaning of higher education in our country. Most of them are still sleeping off the weekend, though.”

I was hearing the words, but I wasn’t truly processing them. Jason was here. In the Peabridge. Talking to me as if I hadn’t incinerated dinner in front of him the week before. As if I hadn’t worked magic.

“I brought you something,” he said, and he handed me a white plastic bag.

Jason was here in the Peabridge, and he’d brought me a present.

“What is it?” It was light, whatever it was. And it squished when I clutched the bag close.

“Open up and see.”

Marshmallows. A bag of giant marshmallows.

“I—” I started to say, but I couldn’t imagine how I’d complete the sentence.

“I thought that you could use them, if your oven catches fire again. I should have brought graham crackers and chocolate bars as well.” I laughed, and he shook his head. “No! I should have brought you another blanket to replace the one that burned. That was really quick thinking, to smother the flames.”

There we were. He’d decided to completely ignore the magic spell. Well, wasn’t that what I’d told him to do? Hadn’t I insisted that the strange sights had been misconstrued in the panic of the moment? I felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief. I wanted him to press me for information about my witchcraft and yet, I was thrilled that he was willing to make light of the Great Lamb Chop Debacle.

“Well,” I said. “Once a Girl Scout, always a Girl Scout.” I gestured with the bag of marshmallows. “And I can use these to bake banana boats over an open campfire.” Quick. Think of something else to say. Before he walked away. “I’m sorry that you had to leave so quickly Thursday night.”

He looked uncomfortable, as if I’d chastised him for bad behavior. “I didn’t want you to go to any more trouble on my behalf. And things were getting sort of strange with your tenants appearing out of nowhere and your ex showing up and all.”

Scott? What did Scott have to do with anything? Scott was in England with his new lady love.

“Oh!” I said, finally understanding. “David!”

He nodded. “I know that you called him your mentor, and I understand how that works. It’s always strange when professors start seeing their students, isn’t it?” Just how much did he know about that, I wondered? But first, I had to make him understand that David wasn’t my ex.

“I imagine that is pretty strange, but David and I have really never been romantically involved.” Our one kiss didn’t count. He and I had agreed on that.

Jason looked unconvinced. “You can’t tell me there wasn’t something going on there. I got definite possessive vibes from that guy.”

I remembered David’s insistence that he and I needed to talk, that we needed to discuss the fire spell. “He can be pretty pushy, but it’s just that he takes his study seriously. And he thinks that I should too.”

Jason shrugged. “If you say so.”

“So.”

Okay, that was stupid. I know that it was stupid. I don’t know what possessed me to say it. But it just popped out, before I could stop it. Throwing good impressions after bad, I said, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you’d come over for dinner again?”

That surprised him. What was I thinking? I trapped the guy in a corner of my kitchen and nearly burned the house down around him, then I asked him back for dinner? Right. He might be willing to forgive me one disaster, but what idiot would put himself on the line for a second attempt on his life?

“Actually, dinners are sort of hard for me. You know, as the term gets going at school….”

“Oh, I understand,” I said. My stomach swooped down to my toes, and I tried to remember to keep a smile on my lips, to pretend that I couldn’t feel my heart shattering inside my chest.

“But if you were free for lunch? My treat?”

“No! I mean, no to your treat. But yes to lunch. Of course. Yes.”

He wasn’t rejecting me! He wasn’t trying to avoid me! He wanted to eat lunch with me!

He took out a slender black calendar from his briefcase. “Hmm,” he said. “This week is crazy, with Founder’s Day changing courses around. How about next week, though?”

“Next week’s fine. Name the day.” If I had anything on my calendar, I’d move it.

“How about Wednesday? We could meet at, say, noon? At La Perla?” Italian. That would make Melissa-approved first date ordering a challenge, but I’d manage it. For my Imaginary Boyfriend, I’d manage anything.

“La Perla,” I said brightly. “Noon on Wednesday.”

“It’s a date, then.”

A date. He actually said the word “date.” He started to turn away and walk toward his usual research table. “Jason!” I called, unable to let him go quite yet.

He came back to the coffee counter, a smile quirking his lips. “Jane.”

“Um, what if I need to phone you? You know, if Evelyn calls a meeting or something and I’m going to be late. Can I get your number?”

“Oh. Sure.” He dug a pen out of his briefcase and looked around for something to write on. I started to tell him that I’d grab a pad of paper from my desk, but he picked up one of the cocktail napkins from the counter. “Here you go. It’s my cell. I’m never home, so it’s useless to try to reach me there.”

He smiled and handed me the number. Ten digits. Ten consecutive steps toward making my dream come true. A kiss that I scarcely remembered, a silly gift of marshmallows, a lunch date for next week, and now a phone number. That was clearly progress, anyone would have to agree.

As I watched him settle in at his work table, I resisted the urge to call Melissa. I would never have been able to keep the teen-aged squeal out of my voice as I told her that I was ready to drop the “Imaginary” category for the man of my dreams.

Jason Templeton had asked me out on a date and then he’d given me his phone number. He’d taken the first step over the border into the delicious, terrifying, exciting, breathtaking territory of Boyfriend-land.

Chapter 19

“All right, Gran. It’s a quarter after. Can we go now?”

“Jane,” my grandmother said, and I could hear annoyance in her voice. I wasn’t sure, though, if that emotion was directed at me, or at Clara, or at the small children who were dodging around us, intent on seeing every square inch of the stuffed elephant in the center of the Natural History Museum’s rotunda.

I looked toward the front doors of the museum, wondering if I could have missed Clara in the crush of people. By arriving right at opening time, at 10:00, Gran and I had been caught up in the melee of families, the mothers and fathers and screaming, anxious children, all eager to get a glimpse of the museum’s fossils and skeletons and other exotic displays of the natural world.

I’d never understood why families start at the Natural History Museum. Most kids were fascinated by the collection. Didn’t that make the museum a more likely target for the afternoon, then? Drag the kids to the art museum in the morning, make them study the delicate application of paint by the Dutch masters, or the effects of atmosphere in Impressionist paintings.

Then, reward them in the afternoon, by taking them to see the suspended blue whale, or the rampaging tyrannosaurus rex, or the live insect zoo. (A live insect zoo, by the way, sponsored by Orkin. No one could say that our government didn’t have a sense of humor.)

Instead, I was willing to bet that half these children would be weepy and/or hyperactive by the afternoon, and their one real chance at learning art history while still in elementary school would be ruined. But who was I to say anything? No one had asked me my opinion.

“There she is!” Gran said, and her relief was as loud as the horde of rampaging kids who had just discovered the elephant’s tusks and were debating whether the pachyderm could throw them up to the balcony with one toss of its head.

Clara swept up to us, as breathless as she had been in Cake Walk. She was wearing the same movie star sunglasses, and she raised the same hackles on the back of my neck. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had to read my runes before I came over here this morning. The spread took longer to interpret than I’d planned.”

I slung my purse over my shoulder and started to head toward the door. Runes. Clara’s runes were more important to her than I was.

“Jane!” my grandmother called.

I stopped. This wasn’t fair. Gran shouldn’t have come. If Gran hadn’t been here, I could have been as rude as I wanted to Clara. As rude as she’d been to us, leaving us waiting for her. Waiting for fifteen minutes. For twenty-five years. But with Gran standing at the base of the giant elephant, I couldn’t very well turn around and walk away. I’d be offending the one woman who had loved me unconditionally, who had nurtured me and raised me, even when my own mother abandoned me.

I took a deep breath and turned back around. When a troop of Cub Scouts started to shriek their excitement over the dinosaur exhibit, I moved back toward Gran and Clara, so that we wouldn’t have to shout to make ourselves heard.

I set my teeth and tried to keep my voice civil as I asked, “And what did the runes have to say?”

I must not have succeeded in the civility department, because Gran gave me a sharp look. Clara, though, seemed thrilled by my interest. “I used my jade runes,” she gushed. “They’re often the best at depicting matters of emotion, Jeanette, family, love, relationships.”

“Of course,” I said, icily ignoring the oversight about my name.

Gran glared at my super-polite tone, but Clara went on, oblivious. “I drew a fork spread, because we seem to have reached a critical point in our relationship. Decisions have to be made.”

Oh, don’t they.

No, I didn’t say it out loud. But I thought it very, very clearly. Clara chattered on, utterly unaware of my scorn. “The first rune of a fork represents the first possible outcome. I ended up with Ken.”

Ken. Like Barbie and? I had no idea what Clara was talking about. Even Gran seemed a bit put out, and she started to look at the banners over the different museum galleries. I sensed that she was trying to find something to distract Clara, to rein in her rampant enthusiasm over bits of green stone.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling some bizarre need to fill the silence as Clara paused for breath. “I don’t know what Ken means.”

Clara swept off her oversized sunglasses for the first time, and she blinked at me. Once again, I was struck by the color of her eyes. My eyes. And when I glanced at Gran, a shiver crept down my spine, for I realized they were her eyes as well. Any stranger looking at us would know that we were three generations of the same family. Three women in a long line.

I thought again about what David had said, about how witchcraft typically descended through the mother. Could there be some truth to that? Was it possible that I came by my powers legitimately? Did my mother’s use of runes have the same magical base as my working spells?

“Ken,” Clara said, obviously unaware of my introspection. “It looks like an arrow, a less than sign. It stands for light. For knowledge.” She pursed her lips in a rueful pout that almost made me smile. “I don’t draw Ken very often.”

I wanted to tell her that I knew the word then. Shakespeare had used it in his long poem, The Rape of Lucrece: “‘Tis double death to drown in ken of shore.”

I suspected that I knew what he’d meant. You can see salvation, but you know that you’re never going to reach it. Just as I could see the family that I’d never really known, I could see the mother who had abandoned me when I was a child, but I was never going to find comfort in her arms.

Grudgingly, I asked, “What other ones did you draw?”

Gran looked at me in surprise, as if she suspected that I was mocking Clara. I was able to turn an honest smile to her, though, and I was rewarded by her glance of relief. Clara answered, not at all aware of the silent conversation that had passed between Gran and me. “Gebo was the next one, the second possible outcome.”

Gebo. Okay, Shakespeare never used that word. “Um, I don’t know that rune,” I said, but I was curious enough that I forgot to sound snotty.

“It looks like the letter X. It stands for a gift. It’s a positive sign, because the giving of a gift enriches both the person who gives and the person who receives. But it’s a complicated one, because additional bonds are built with gifts. Debts are created.”

“Or paid.” I said the words without thinking, but I knew that they were true. Clara looked at me directly for the first time since she’d arrived in the museum.

“Or paid,” she repeated, and she nodded slowly. I could almost see the wheels spinning inside her head, and I wondered what connections she was making, what lines she was drawing between what she’d said and what she thought.

Maybe—just maybe—there was something to these runes. After all, two months ago, I would have said that the notion of witchcraft was ridiculous. If anyone had told me that there truly were familiars or magic wands made of rowan wood or fires that could be extinguished by chanting some words, I would have laughed and asked them what book they were reading. Or what they were smoking.

But witchcraft was real. And maybe Clara’s jade tiles were too. “What was your third rune?” I asked.

She flashed me a huge smile. “With the fork spread, the third rune is the critical factor. The one that determines which possibility will come to pass.” She looked from me to Gran, then back at me. “My third rune was Berkana. It looks like a B, but the loops are triangles.” She looked down at her short, stubby hands, suddenly—amazingly—shy. “It stands for household. For family.”

And there it was. I could hear something in her words, something that I hadn’t heard before. Not in her rush of exuberance here by the elephant. Not in the crazy words she’d spouted at Cake Walk.

Clara wanted this to work. She wanted to build a relationship with me, to strengthen the one she had with Gran. She wanted to find the family that she’d walked away from, that she’d abandoned so many years ago.

This couldn’t be easy for her. Every time she looked at me, she must see opportunities that she’d lost. I must remind her of my father, of her youth, of all her mistakes.

“So, that’s why I was late. You can see why I needed to finish the reading.” She sighed and looked around expectantly. “Now, where are the crystals in this place?”

Okay. Well, I might have a glimpse of understanding into Clara’s soul, but she was still weird. I mean, I was coming to believe in witchcraft, and I might ascribe some form of power to her strange jade stones, but I certainly wasn’t about to embrace every form of New Age hocus pocus that crossed my path.

Gran shook her head, but there was a hint of fondness at the corners of her lips. “They’re upstairs, dear.”

Dear. That’s what Gran called me. I felt the scrabble of a green-eyed monster at the edge of my thoughts.

I was adult enough to know that Gran could love two of us at once. She could call two people dear. Hell, she called Uncle George “dear” half the time. But it was different when she directed the word to Clara. It felt as if Gran was taking something away from me.

“Let’s go, then!” Clara started to soldier off to the nearest flight of stairs.

“Clara!” I called, and needed to repeat myself to be heard above the noise in the rotunda. “I think we should take the elevator.”

“Oh.” She turned back and gave me a curious glance. “If you really need to.”

I looked at Gran, but Clara didn’t seem to get my point. Gran did, though. And she took exception to my trying to protect her. “I’m fine, Jane. I can walk up a silly flight of stairs.”

But they were long flights. Two of them. And Gran was breathing heavily by the time we got to the top. “Let’s just look out at the crowd from up here,” she said. She didn’t fool me, though. I knew that she wanted to catch her breath.

And then she started coughing.

It was the same cough that she’d had at her apartment, but now it seemed worse. Much worse. Her face flushed crimson as she fought for breath. I started to put an arm around her shoulders, intending to help, but she shrugged me away. Frantic, I looked around for a bench. Without touching her, I directed her toward the stone surface. Still coughing, she collapsed onto the seat.

“Mom!” Clara said, sitting beside her. “Are you all right?”

“She’ll be fine,” I said, but I didn’t really believe myself. “She was coughing like this the other night.”

After what seemed like a lifetime, my grandmother finally got her breathing under control. By then, the color had drained from her face, and her lips were thin grey lines. Clara hovered next to her. “Mom, you look terrible.”

I was torn between snapping at Clara for her lack of tact and agreeing with her assessment. Gran gave a wan smile. “Just what a mother loves to hear from her daughter.”

Again, that green-eyed weasel burrowed beneath my heart. Gran should be directing words about love to me. I was the one who’d been there for her, for years. I was the one who’d helped her at the party the other night, who had listened to her coughing then. Which reminded me…. “Gran, did you call Dr. Wilson?”

She patted my sleeve, as if I were the person who needed to be comforted. “There was no need, dear. I’m fine.”

“Mom, you didn’t sound fine just now,” Clara said. Again, I pushed down my frustration with her. After all, she was on my side in this. I knew that. It was hard for me to admit, but I knew it.

“I’m feeling better already,” Gran said, forcing a ghastly grin. She insisted on getting to her feet. “Now, where are those crystals?”

Shrugging and exchanging worried looks with Clara, I followed my grandmother into the minerals display.

I had been to the National Museum of Natural History approximately five thousand three hundred and forty seven times, counting school field trips. Every single time, I visited the minerals and gem stones. Every single time, I was bored out of my skull with the display, except for the Hope Diamond.

And it wasn’t even the Hope itself that interested me. It was the myth that surrounded it—legend said that disaster would befall every one of the stone’s owners. The Hope was the largest blue diamond in the world. A billion years old, it was the size of a baby’s fist, and it glinted balefully on its velvet display. It was sheltered behind bulletproof glass, set inside vault doors. Rumor said that the treasure was lowered into the ground each night, stored in a secure safe dozens of feet below ground level. A line stretched around the viewing gallery as scores of museum visitors waited for their chance to ooh and aah over the cut stone.

But Clara could not have been less interested. Instead of waiting to see the Hope, along with the Star of Asia, jade carvings, and other valuable pieces of jewelry, Clara was immediately drawn to the minerals. Not the gemstones. The boring, ordinary, workaday minerals.

She stopped in front of a display case and stood transfixed, as if she were reading all the secrets of the universe. I stepped up beside her and saw a bunch of rocks.

“Pink kunzite,” she breathed.

“What?”

“That one. The dark pink one. With the black streaks going through it.”

I saw the stone that she was talking about. It was pretty enough, but nothing special. I might have seen rocks like it in the cheap jewelry stores along Wisconsin Avenue, in Georgetown.

“The pink of the stone reflects the heart. Unconditional love. Mother love.”

She hesitated for a moment before she looked at me, but I wouldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, I looked behind us for Gran. She was sitting on one of the benches, across the gallery. She caught my concerned glance but when I started to take a step toward her, she waved me back to the display. Her expression was clear: she did not want me drawing attention to her. She wanted me to stay with Clara.

Who seemed not to have noticed my distraction. “But there’s violet in there too,” she was saying. “Violet is the sign of the higher mind, Je –, Jane. Of wisdom.”

I rolled my eyes. Runes, I was able to accept. They were a way of working human experience into the world around us, sort of like my spells. But crystals were just bizarre. They were a bad joke, and I was the butt of the story.

Again, Clara was oblivious to my skepticism. She pointed at the rock. “And see those striations? They’re a sign of rapid transmission of energy. When things change, after having stayed the same for years.”

Come on. Was she making all of this up? Would she have said the same thing about the chunk of fool’s gold in the next case? Or the—I craned my neck to read the label—elongated tetrahexahedral copper crystals next to them?

Clara could go from display to display and make every single thing we saw be about family and love and hope and renewal. That still didn’t explain the fact that she’d ignored me for a quarter of a century.

Yet, even as I started to work myself into my abandoned-by my-mother rant, I realized that twenty-five years was not actually all that long. Sure, it was most of the time that I’d been alive. But it was nothing compared to the timeline of the rocks around us. Hell, it wasn’t even all that much compared to Gran’s life.

My grandmother had been abandoned by Clara and still found room in her heart to love.

Shouldn’t I be able to do the same? Wouldn’t Gran want me to show off the lessons that I’d learned from her?

As if she knew that I was thinking about her, Gran began to cough again.

I could tell that something was different this time. Something was worse. The coughs sounded like they were coming from the bottom of her lungs, as if her entire body was seizing up each time her throat constricted. Staring across the gallery, I watched a handful of people look in Gran’s direction, then look away, as if they were embarrassed by her infirmity.

I ran toward her bench, falling to my knees in front of her. I grabbed her hands in mine, but then I tumbled backward. Her palms were burning. Her fingers were powdery and dry, and I knew that she had a dangerous fever.

The coughing continued, soggy, threatening. It hurt my ears to hear her laboring so hard, and I scrambled in my purse for a Kleenex. Gran took my linty offering and pressed it to her lips. When she took it away, she wasn’t quick enough to fold it over, and I saw that it was flecked with crimson.

“Clara!” I cried. She looked up from her precious kunzite. “Call 911.” She looked at me without understanding. “It’s Gran,” I screamed. “She needs a doctor now!”

Gran would have protested, but she couldn’t get enough air. By that point, a crowd had gathered around us. A balding man, his brow creased with worry lines, was digging in his pocket, flipping open a cell phone. I saw him press three digits, and I nodded, turning back to Gran. “You’re going to be okay,” I said.

Then, everything spiraled out of control.

I was vaguely aware of the museum guards, appearing in their blue uniforms. They moved the curious onlookers away, redirected the crowd’s attention to the glinting treasures in the display cases. My cell phone Samaritan hovered nearby, looking at his watch, and then his phone, and his watch again. One of the guards spoke into her walkie-talkie, enunciating our location clearly and professionally.

There was a gurney, and two uniformed paramedics. They helped Gran onto the platform and eased her back. They elevated her head, to help her breathe. They slipped plastic tubing over her head, issuing instructions loudly, firmly. Gran tried to explain that she was fine, that she didn’t need their assistance, but they ignored her. They started the flow of oxygen, adjusted it, adjusted it again. They put a blanket over her, tucking it in beside her arms, her legs. She was smaller than I’d ever imagined she could be.

The EMTs raised up the gurney and started rolling it toward the elevator. I trotted beside Gran, babbling words that I meant to be soothing. She looked at me over the oxygen mask, and her eyes—my eyes—were wild and frightened. As the elevator door closed, I saw that Cell Phone Samaritan was hovering outside. I called out thanks, and he nodded. The doors closed.

I turned back to Gran, and I realized that Clara was beside me, closer to Gran’s head. The paramedics were going about their business, checking the flow of oxygen, taking Gran’s pulse, being professional.

An ambulance waited in the half-circle of driveway at the back of the museum. A crowd of tourists had gathered around, staring as if we were some sort of special historical re-enactment designed for their viewing pleasure.

The EMTs brought the gurney up to the back door of the ambulance. Like clockwork, the legs collapsed against the ambulance floor, and the crew eased the rolling surface into place. The nearest paramedic said, “Only one of you can come with us.” I looked at Clara. She looked at me.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Looked at Gran, whose eyes were shut.

“Go,” Clara said, and she put her hand in the small of my back. Tears exploded down my cheeks. Clara looked at the EMT. “Where are you taking her?”

“George Washington. 23rd and I.”

“I’ll meet you there.” Clara stepped back, already turning toward the street to hail one of D.C.’s ubiquitous cabs.

“Wait!” I cried, and the paramedic hesitated as he reached for the heavy ambulance door. “Do you have money?” I called out.

She nodded. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ll see you at the hospital.”

The door closed, and the ambulance started, and the siren sang out, and the EMTs chanted to my grandmother that she would be fine, that she shouldn’t worry, that everything was going to be all right.

Chapter 20

By the time we reached the George Washington Hospital emergency room, I had a greater appreciation for Indy 500 drivers. I’d never thought about how much they accomplished as they were enveloped by teeth-shattering sound, taking tight corners with G forces that would make an ordinary human’s face stretch like a cartoon character’s. Or maybe it only seemed that way, in the back of the ambulance.

The EMTs handled the gurney professionally when we arrived at the hospital. They hopped down from the back of the ambulance as if they were performing some well-rehearsed ballet. I scrambled after with minimal regard for how ridiculous I looked. I followed the EMTs through the rubberized doors into the confusion of the emergency room.

One advantage of traveling by ambulance—we got priority treatment upon arrival. Gran was wheeled into an examining room, and a doctor called out the count as she was transferred to a bed. The EMTs folded the straps back onto their conveyance, snapped out some medical information to the treating physician, and then they were gone.

Before I could get their names. Before I could even thank them.

Clara joined us quickly; her cabdriver had made excellent time getting across town. We both worked to stay out of the doctor’s way as we craned our necks for a better view.

The doctor slipped off the oxygen apparatus and listened to Gran’s chest. She was already protesting that we were making a big deal out of nothing; she insisted that she was just a little tired, that she hadn’t slept well the night before. She said that she always had a cough, that she had allergies, that there was absolutely nothing wrong with her, and that she was ready to go home right now.

The doctor agreed with everything she said, but he did not stop in his exam. He shone a light onto the back of her throat, and he peered into her nose and ears. He spent a lot of time applying the bell of his stethoscope to her back, and he repeatedly urged her to take deep breaths. Only the slightest of frowns told us that he was not pleased with what he heard.

He took Gran’s temperature, tested her reflexes, checked her blood pressure, and asked her any number of personal questions about her diet, elimination, and daily life in general.

Gran got increasingly snippy with the doctor, insisting that she was well. When he started to feel the glands under her neck, she announced that that was the last straw, and she started to jump down from the examining table. The half-breath that she took prior to jumping triggered something inside her lungs, though, and she was off and running on another coughing jag.

This one was every bit as bad as the last she’d suffered at the museum; however, the doctor did not seem surprised. He passed Gran a Kleenex and only nodded when it came away from her lips splotched with red. He made some cryptic scribbles on his clipboard and waited for the coughing spasm to pass before he told Gran that she would get to stay at the hospital for a few days.

Double pneumonia. Likely viral in origin. Given the tenderness on her left side, she had probably cracked a rib with her coughing. She needed Tylenol for her fever and an IV to combat her severe dehydration. X-rays would tell us more and confirm that she had nothing more dire—like the terrible word, cancer, that my mind kept spinning away from.

Actually, dehydration was causing the medical staff their greatest concern. A phlebotomist fussed over Gran’s bird-like arms, telling her that he could scarcely find a place to stick his needle. He hovered as he started administering fluids, chiding her as she explained that she just hadn’t been thirsty.

A nurse watched as Gran swallowed her Tylenol. Personally, I felt like crying with relief when I heard the drug of choice. Tylenol. Just like I could buy at the CVS. There was something tremendously comforting about that, about the fact that I could pronounce the name of the treatment Gran was given. It wasn’t mysterious or terrible or threatening.

The doctor convinced Gran to lean back and relax, and Clara and I stepped out to complete the admissions paperwork. That’s when things got a little, um, interesting.

The admissions nurse was a large African-American woman. She wore brightly colored hospital “greens”, those shapeless clothes that were designed for maximum comfort and easy cleaning. Around her neck hung an amber pendant; I could just make out flecks of Jurassic life suspended in the orange stone.

Clara gasped when she saw the jewelry. “When was the last time that you had that thing cleansed?”

The nurse blinked at her. “We’re allowed to wear jewelry, ma’am. Studies have shown that necklaces pose no threat to patient health. Now, if you could just complete these forms, indicating the patient’s name—”

“No!” Clara said. She was loud enough that several people in the waiting room looked up from their zombie states. “I don’t mean germs. Any idiot can take care of germs.” I winced. Surely under the circumstances, it wasn’t a good idea to call health-care providers idiots. Clara bulled forward: “I mean the negative energies that you’ve collected.”

Negative energies. I could see the nurse parsing the words. Her eyes narrowed, and I knew that she must wonder if Clara was some sort of raving loon. The nurse—R. N. Lampet, I saw from her nametag—started to vocalize three different retorts to Clara, but then she seemed to decide that she was better off addressing her comments to me. “If your grandmother has insurance other than Medicare, we’ll need that information here—”

Clara was not willing to be put off that easily. “Your amber is exposed to some major negative energy here. All of the pain in this hospital. All of the fear. Listen to me—I am a trained vibrational consultant, and I’m telling you that you need to cleanse that thing, before it affects your entire body.”

“Trained vibrational consultant?” The disbelief in Nurse Lampet’s voice echoed across the waiting room. I heard two different people snicker. So wonderful that we were able to brighten the morning for other people here in the emergency room. How nice that we were able to ease their own fears and concerns, give them a moment of amusement.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the nurse, mortally embarrassed. “If you just give me the clipboard, I’ll see what I can do.”

R.N. Lampet nodded. “Just make sure you take her with you.”

Miserably, I dragged Clara to a pair of plastic chairs. “I’m not making this up, Jeanette. Jane!” She corrected herself as I uncapped the ball-point pen. “That woman needs to place her amber in the open air. Keep it free from human contact for at least a fortnight. Burying it in the earth would actually be best, especially if she can find some undyed, virgin wool to wrap it in. I’ve got some at home. I should bring it when we come back.”

“You do that, Clara.”

Something about my tone silenced her. I’m not quite sure what it was—the way I had to force my words through my clenched teeth? The way I barely restrained rolling my eyes?

Clara sat silently while I filled out sheet after sheet of information. Any known allergies. Any prior hospitalizations. Any prior surgeries. Any current medications. I knew all of the answers.

When I had reached the fourth page of the admission forms, Clara said, “You do know that I love her, don’t you?” Reflexively, I looked toward Nurse Lampet. “Not her! Your grandmother.”

I took my time signing my name at the bottom of the form, taking care to print my relationship to the patient in large, accusing letters. Granddaughter. There, in black and white. A concise declaration of Clara’s failure. Only then did I look up at my biological mother. “I know that you think that you do.”

Clara’s lips narrowed. “I fully admit that I made mistakes, Jeanette.”

“Jane.”

She ignored me. “I lost years, which I’ll never be able to get back again. I didn’t expect you to come running into my arms. I knew that you were an adult, that you’ve found your own way in the world. You make your own decisions. But I’d always believed that your grandmother would have taught you her greatest lesson: to keep an open mind.”

Low blow.

I pictured Gran in the examining room, surrounded by ominous medical paraphernalia. What would she think if she heard us squabbling out here? She certainly had not intended any of this to be the result of our morning visit to the Smithsonian.

Gran had forgiven Clara. Couldn’t I?

I sniffed and ran a hand down my face, as if I could scrape away the confusing mixture of emotions sparked by Clara’s words. “I need to give these forms back. And I have to make a phone call.”

“Tell that nurse that I’ll bring her my black tourmaline solution when I come back tomorrow. That won’t be a perfect fix, but it will extend the life of her amber by at least a few months.”

I shuffled across the room and dropped off the forms. Nurse Lampet looked at me with pity, shaking her head as she reviewed the paperwork. When everything was pronounced to be in order, I dug into my purse and found my cell phone.

I stepped outside the hospital doors to make my call, forcing myself to take a trio of calming breaths. I punched in Melissa’s number from speed dial. I could only hope that she had baked a batch of Triple Chocolate Madness that morning. Nothing else was going to get me through the rest of the day.

***

Melissa didn’t have any Triple Chocolate Madness, but she brought along the next best thing—an entire pan of Butterscotch Blessings. The creamy flavor of the butterscotch blended into the oatmeal base, and the chocolate drizzle over the top provided a perfect bittersweet balance.

I ate half a dozen of the things.

But anything eaten in a hospital doesn’t count, we all decided, as we kept Gran company in her room. Personally, I was just pleased that I had set aside the temptation to chew my fingernails to the quick. That Sephora nail polish really did work wonders.

Melissa passed around the pan of Blessings one more time before she leaned back in her chair. “So, ladies,” she said. “This whole hospital thing is not the worst thing that has happened this weekend.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “What could be worse?” she asked. She and I had fallen into a respectful, mutual silence. I needed to think about what she’d said. Not the part about the black tourmaline cleansing—that was total hogwash. But the rest of it would take some time for me to process.

Melissa grinned. “My date last night.”

I laughed out loud. For years, I had been regaled with Melissa’s tales of dating woe, but Gran and Clara were in for a treat. My best friend spread her hands out in front of her, as if she were presenting a tray of perfect drop cookies. “Last night was one for the record books.”

“He was a FranticDate?” I asked, but then I laughed at the confusion on Gran’s face.

Melissa nodded, taking a moment to clarify: “It’s a website, Mrs. Smythe. I filled out a questionnaire, and a bunch of guys filled out the same questionnaire, and a computer matches us up with our soul mate.”

Gran snorted. “A good square dance at the church did better for my husband and me. We didn’t need any computer.”

“Maybe I’ll add square dancing to my list,” Melissa said. Honest to God, I didn’t know if she was kidding.

“So?” I said. “What’s this guy like?”

“According to the computer, he’s a doctor.”

“Ohhhh,” we all said, as if we’d just excavated some sacred relic from an ancient civilization.

Clara asked, “What else did you know about this man before you met him?”

Melissa ticked points off on her fingers: “Doctor. Prefers city loft to mountain cabin. Prefers Chinese food to burgers and fries. Reads Popular Science, not People. Favorite color: Yellow.”

“Melissa…” I said. I thought I could see where this was going.

She shook her head and held up one more finger. “Oh. And he’s five feet, six inches tall.”

Melissa was five feet, six inches tall. In her stocking feet. Not that she was a stickler for height in a prospective mate, and not that she spent a lot of time walking around in stiletto heels, but all the same…

Clara asked, “So, how does this work? The computer spits out his name and you just call him up and invite him over for dinner?”

Melissa shook her head again. “Not quite. We exchanged email a few times, using anonymous email addresses that the computer set up for us. You know, in case he’s an axe murderer. Then we talked on the phone. He sounded like a nice guy—really interested in giving back to the community, energized by finishing up medical school. We agreed to have dinner down in Chinatown. At Eat First.”

Gran looked confused again. “It’s a Chinese restaurant,” I explained. “With a menu that goes on about a thousand pages.”

Clara said, “And? How was the charming doctor?”

But Melissa was not one to be rushed. “I got there first. Jane, you’ll appreciate this. I actually changed out of my work clothes. I had on a jersey skirt and a cable-knit sweater. I brushed my hair. I even put on lipstick.”

That told me more than Melissa would ever convey to Gran and Clara. She had put on makeup for this guy. She had liked him. A lot. I nodded, to let her know that I understood what she was telling me.

“I got to the restaurant first,” she repeated. “They seated me, and I started to look through the menu. I’d had a busy day at the bakery, and I hadn’t had a chance to eat lunch. I was starving.” In honor of Melissa’s suffering, I helped myself to yet another one of the Blessings.

“Three different men came up to my table. Who knew that Eat First could be so popular for first dates? For first blind dates. The third guy seemed nice enough, and I almost decided to say that I was Penelope, and that I did, in fact, play the piano, and that I was—surprise, surprise!—waiting for George. But that wouldn’t have been right.”

We all shook our heads. It wouldn’t be right. Even if it was the perfect fodder for a sitcom.

“Then, Michael-the-doctor came in. He walked directly over to my table, and he sat down before he said hello. He held out his hand across the table, and he said it was a pleasure to meet me.”

“And?” I asked. I felt as if I were on a roller coaster, and the car had ratcheted its way up the steepest hill.

“If he was a half-inch over five feet, that was because he was wearing elevator shoes.”

“No!” Gran gasped.

“Cross my heart,” Melissa said. “His body was strange—sitting at the table, he was normal height, but standing up, he was just about eye-level with my, um, chest.”

Gran shook her head, determined to be the voice of wisdom in these things. “But surely you wouldn’t let a little thing like height get in the way of an otherwise perfect romance?”

“It wasn’t the height,” Melissa said. “It was the lying about it. And even if that wasn’t enough, the real fun started when we got ready to order. No beef, because he doesn’t eat red meat. No seafood, because you can’t trust any restaurant’s refrigeration. In fact, no meat at all, because it could be cross-contaminated—yes, that’s the word he used—contaminated.”

“Well,” Clara said. “There are lots of good vegetarian options in Chinese restaurants. I frequently enjoy Chinese because it helps me to keep my aura balanced. The harmonic—” She caught herself and swallowed hard. “So what did you order?”

“At first, I thought I’d try the General Tso’s Tofu. But I was informed that it would be a nightmare for my arteries. No, not just a nightmare. I was treated to an entire discourse on arterial plaques and the demon that is the American diet. That ruled out fried rice and lomein. And don’t even get me started on the Buddha’s Eight Treasures.”

“What?” I asked. “He has a problem with water chestnuts?”

“Baby corn. You can never be sure that child-labor laws weren’t broken in its harvesting.”

I leaned back in my chair, feeling utterly defeated. “So what did you end up with?”

“An order of steamed cabbage wontons and a side of brown rice.”

I laughed. “At least it couldn’t take you very long to eat. You could make it back home with plenty of time for a real dinner in the peace and quiet of your own kitchen.”

“And that, my dear best friend, is where you would be wrong. Michael-the-doctor is a proponent of natural digestion.”

Even Clara was taken off guard by that one. “Natural digestion? As opposed to what? Swallowing a bunch of enzymes and jumping up and down?”

“Nat-u-ral di-gest-ion. Chewing each bite fifty times.” Melissa took on a tone as if she were reciting the good doctor’s words. “Complete chewing promotes the release of hormones, digestive enzymes, and gastric juices specific to the food being chewed. Chewing also lets the food become covered with saliva.”

“And you actually made it through a plate of cabbage wontons?” My fascination and horror were blended in equal amounts.

“I made it through three.”

“Three plates?”

“Three wontons. I couldn’t, um, stomach any more.”

“What a horrid little man!” Gran exclaimed.

“But why did he choose Eat First, if he had so many problems with their menu?” I asked.

“Can you think of any place he might have liked more?”

Clara started laughing. “And let me guess. Your part of the dinner bill—”

“Came to eight dollars and twenty-three cents. Tax and tip included. Ten percent tip, because they stopped filling our water glasses after the first hour.”

“The first hour!” I whooped. “How long were you there?”

“Three and a half hours,” Melissa enunciated grimly.

We all exploded with laughter. Three point five hours, one order of cabbage wontons, and a bowl of rice. Plus waiting. Plus lying over height. Plus the lost opportunity to pose as piano-playing Penelope for George. “This may be your best blind date story yet,” I said.

“You are a cruel and heartless woman,” Melissa countered. She glanced at her watch. “Look, I have to get going. There’s always a rush at the bakery on Saturday afternoons.”

Clara stood and stretched. “I’ll walk you out. I want to get a bottle of water. Anybody else need anything?”

Gran and I demurred, gave our goodbyes to Melissa and then were alone in a room that was suddenly too silent. After an awkward moment, I reached toward her. “Can I shift that pillow for you?”

“It’s fine,” she said. I tugged at it anyway. “Jane,” Gran said, and I knew that her warning tone was about more than the pillow.

“What?”

“She’s trying.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can see how impatient you are with your mother. It’s written across your face, every time she says something.”

“Most of the time, she’s saying something weird!”

“She’s every bit as nervous as you are. She wants this to work.”

“She’s got a strange way of showing it.” I knew that I sounded like a brat, but I couldn’t help it. I tried to think of something a bit more mature to say.

Fortunately—or not—Gran filled the conversational gap. “Make me a promise, Jane.”

I sighed. “What this time?”

“Promise me that you’ll come up to the Farm.”

The Farm. A Connecticut farmhouse just outside of Old Salem. It had been in the family for years. Gran’s sister and two brothers always got together there the third weekend in October. They brought their kids and grandkids; the place absolutely swarmed with aunts and uncles and cousins. There were two huge rooms in the attic, a “Girls’ Room” and a “Boys’ Room,” and assorted outbuildings were pressed into service as guest cottages.

“Gran, you know I hate the Farm.”

“You loved it when you were a little girl.”

Of course I did. When I was a little girl, we spent the entire weekend running around, playing practical jokes on each other. We ate apples that we picked fresh from the trees in the yard. We lit a giant bonfire. We stayed up talking until the darkest hours of the night, pretending that the thumps we heard from the boy’s dorm were ghosts haunting the hallways.

Now, everyone was settled down. The last time I’d gone—seven years before—I had explained to thirteen different relatives that Scott and I were going to get married some day. Some day soon. He loved me. We just weren’t ready to settle down. But we would be. I knew we would be.

I could hardly face all of them now. Alone. Still unmarried after all that time. Without a likely candidate on the horizon.

“Gran—”

“Jane, I don’t make many requests of you.” She didn’t? What world did she live in? “But your mother is going to be there. And I want you to come too.”

I looked at her, pathetic in her hospital bed. They had dressed her in one of those embarrassing cotton gowns. An IV needle threaded into her arm, and her papery flesh looked bruised. Plastic tubing draped around her neck like some avant-garde excuse for a necklace. A machine by her head pulsed a bright red light every time her heart beat.

“Okay, Gran,” I sighed. “I’ll go to the Farm.”

“You can bring along a friend.”

Like that would help. Melissa had to run the bakery. And Neko…. Let’s just say that he wouldn’t quite fit into the Farm esthetic. Still, I managed a smile. Gran was trying to make this easier for me. “Thank you. I’ll see if I can think of anyone to ask.”

Chapter 21

Neko said, “Tell me again what you’re looking for?”

I waved my hand at the stacks of books surrounding us. “I don’t even know, really. Something that will help my grandmother. A spell that I can work for her to get better faster. Something to help her breathe more easily. To keep her fever down.”

I’d spent the entire day at the hospital, but I was too tired to sleep. After climbing in bed at midnight, I’d stared up at the ceiling, telling myself that I really needed to get my rest. When the digital clock flashed 3:00, though, I’d given up.

When I’d snuck into the living room, Neko was instantly awake, calling out from his makeshift bed on one of the overstuffed couches. I hadn’t heard him come in from his dinner with Roger; that was a sign of how distracted I’d been. I’d made us a pot of chamomile tea, and we’d discussed the relative merits of standard undershirts versus a-shirts. (According to Neko, Roger had a distressing tendency to wear the latter. I didn’t want to know more.)

We’d retreated to the basement when I realized that I just wasn’t going to get any sleep that night. If anything, the books were in greater disarray than when I’d first discovered them. I had personally thumbed through the shelves a couple of times, studying titles and bindings, and I suspected that Neko had been prowling around during the days, when I was at work. I really needed to make the time commitment to getting them in order.

Right. After Gran got out of the hospital. After the opera guild’s Harvest Gala. After the trip up to the Farm.

“How about crystals?” Neko asked.

“What!” I hadn’t mentioned Clara to him. What possible good could it do to tell my familiar about her oracular harmonic-convergence-centering crystal-cleansing?

“All the best witches use them.” Neko looked around the basement. “I know there’s a box in here somewhere.”

“You have got to be kidding.” Were the crystals really another link between Clara and me? More proof that my family had magical roots?

Neko blinked. “I never kid. Not about magic anyway. It’s not in my nature to joke about my essential raison d’etre.”

I sighed. Far be it from me to question my familiar’s essential raison d’etre.

Neko crossed the basement, peering into the darkest corner. “Let’s see. I sensed it when you first awakened me. I could feel all of the power in the room—that’s one of the first things they teach us, to take an inventory of our surroundings.”

“Who is ‘they?’”

“The Coven.” Neko looked at me as if I were either insane or heinously stupid. “Maybe you’re too tired to think about this tonight. If you want to go back to bed, I’ll see if I can find the crystals, and we can talk about them in the morning.”

Neko being solicitous was almost as annoying as Neko being fashion advisor. I shook my head. “Okay, so the Coven teaches you to take an inventory each time that you’re awakened.”

“Right. And when you awakened me, I was standing there…” He moved back to the reading table, where he’d crouched as a cat statue. “And I felt the harmonic vibrations—”

“Oh, come on!”

“What?” Neko looked totally innocent.

“Harmonic vibrations? Next thing, you’ll be telling me that you’re a trained vibrational consultant.”

“And when would I have found the time to do that? I’m just a familiar, you know. And Hannah Osgood locked me away in 1919. They’ve only been training vibrational consultants for the past thirty years or so.”

I shook my head at his matter-of-fact tone. “What about black tourmaline?” I challenged him, thinking of Clara’s offer to cleanse Nurse Lampet’s amber. “Did you sense any black tourmaline solution when you woke up?”

“Right,” Neko scoffed. “Like I’d actually fall for that ‘black tourmaline’ stuff. I didn’t join the Coven yesterday, you know. It’s only the most gullible fools who get taken in by ‘black tourmaline’ solution. You might as well waste your money on eye of newt.”

So there. Even if Clara was a witch, she’d been conned by a beginner’s trick. I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse.

“Aha!” Neko pounced on a pile of books with the vigor of a tabby going after a mouse. He picked up half a dozen volumes, one by one, setting them aside and shaking his head. And there, underneath the disarray of parchment and leather, was a wooden box.

With a grunt, Neko picked it up, but he sneezed as he brought it to rest against his chest. “Dust. Someone should really get this place cleaned up.”

“I thought that was your job,” I said, hoping to deflect a little of my guilt.

“I don’t do windows,” Neko said. “Or dust. Or vacuum. Let’s get this thing upstairs, where the light is better.”

I followed him out of the basement, unable to resist looking over my shoulder a few times. I don’t know what I expected to see. It wasn’t as if the books were going to come to life on their own. They weren’t going to fly across the room, placing themselves on the shelves in order.

Neko grunted as he set the wooden chest on the coffee table. I sat beside him on the couch and studied the thing. It had looked heavy in Neko’s arms. It was about two feet on a side, entirely made of wood. I could make out a pair of corroding brass hinges on the back and a metal hasp along the front. A bar of polished wood held the hasp closed.

The surface of the box was scarred, as if someone—or something—had sharpened its claws against the surface long ago. I looked at Neko, but his well-manicured nails did not seem up to the destructive job. He met my eyes. “Well, go ahead.”

“Go ahead?”

“Take out the wooden bar. Open the thing.”

“What is it?”

“Open.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, as if he were waiting for me to finish trying on a new blouse.

I set my jaw and pushed on the wooden bar. It was surprisingly difficult to get moving. I grunted and tried again. “Son of a—” I said, as I ripped one of my fingernails.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Neko said, playfully stopping my foul language.

His admonition wasn’t enough to knock me silent, but my fingers were. I had torn a fingernail. Me. The girl whose nails had been bitten to the quick for so long that I’d forgotten what it felt like to break one. Inordinately pleased with myself, I attacked the wooden bar again, and it finally started to slip. I banged it with the heel of my hand a few more times, and it fell free from its brass hasp.

I made short work opening up the box. Inside, there were a half dozen nested trays, suspended on a complicated system of brass hinges and struts. The container reminded me of a tackle box, but it must have been built in the days well before plastic. Built in the days before glowing fishing lures, as well, for that matter.

But my ancient wooden tackle box was filled with treasures, nonetheless.

Each tray was broken into dozens of velvet-padded compartments, and each of those cells contained a separate stone. There were rocks that were readily classifiable as crystals—jagged shards with regular angled sides. There were other stones as well– some beads that looked as if they’d been rubbed smooth by countless fingers, a handful of spheres, each polished like perfect marbles.

“What are these things?” My voice was thick with wonder as I reached out for the nearest stone.

“Neko, aren’t you obliged to warn her before she touches the Spinster Stone?”

I jerked my hand back and bit off a surprised cry, managing to smother another like I was swallowing a hiccup. Even before I turned toward the kitchen door, I recognized David Montrose’s voice. “Don’t you knock anymore?”

“I did. You must not have heard, because you were down in the basement. I let myself in and helped myself to some tea.”

He saluted me with his mug of chamomile. I cast a wary eye toward my front door. I could have sworn that I’d locked it before I went to bed. “You did,” David said, as though he were reading my mind. “You locked it. It’s standard practice, though, for a warder to be able to open his own witch’s locks. It can come in handy if she’s ever in any real danger.”

“I guess witches don’t feel any great need for privacy.”

David shrugged. “I guess not. Not from their warders, anyway.” For just a moment, I was reminded of the David Montrose who had appeared on my doorstep that first night, after I’d awakened Neko. That man was cold and angry, domineering in his possession of specialized information. Not the same man who had taken me to dinner at La Chaumiere and Paparazzi. Not the one who had answered the rest of my questions with good humor. Not the one who had kissed me and retracted that promise.

David grinned, and the expression helped him to slip back into the new and improved warder that I’d come to like. “So you’ve decided to move on to crystals?”

“I told Neko that I was looking for something to help my grandmother.” I summarized Gran’s illness.

David nodded. “You’ve shown some affinity for spells. But working with crystals is completely different. Most witches aren’t able to work both areas.”

“I think I might manage.” I looked at the box again, at drawer after drawer of empowered stones. “I think my mother has an affinity for crystals.”

If David understood how much effort it took for me to call Clara my mother, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he came to sit beside me. “Let’s see what you can do, then.” He reached into the box and shifted the layers to get to the bottom one. His fingers ranged over the divided compartments, alighting first on one stone, then on another.

I glanced at Neko. He was watching David curiously, turning his head slightly to the side, as if he were trying to discern some meaning behind my warder’s actions. As David finally selected one stone, Neko nodded minutely. I reached out my hand for the rock, and Neko leaned close to me, as he had when we cast the fire spell in my kitchen.

David set the stone on my palm. “Tell me what you feel.”

It was a clear crystal about half the length of my index finger. I turned it around in the light, looking for striations or other markings, but there was nothing to distract from the stone’s simple perfection. If not for its weight and its cool touch, it might have been made of plastic. I examined its facets and found nothing, no distinguishing marks, no surface features.

I started to feel silly. I mean, here it was, the middle of the night. I was a grown woman, looking for a magic token to help my sick grandmother. What did I think this was? Some sort of fairy tale? I closed my hand over the stone and looked at David. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing! It’s a rock.”

Neko shifted closer to me, and I sensed that he was disappointed in my response. I craned my neck to look at him, but his attention was locked on the crystal closed inside my fist. I took a deep breath and tried again. “It’s clear. It’s heavy, for its size.”

“Very good,” David said, and I could tell from his tone that he meant it. “How does it feel?”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to concentrate. After all, the spells had worked, even if I had first thought that their sing-song rhymes were absurd. “It doesn’t have a feeling,” I said after a long pause. “It doesn’t have an emotion of its own. Instead, it’s like a magnifying glass. It makes other things more intense.” The more words that I strung together, the more confident I became. “Yes! That’s it! It enhances other feelings. It’s making me more sure of myself right now!”

“Precisely.” I had not realized that my eyes were closed until David spoke. I popped them open to find that he was smiling at me. “That’s clear quartz in your hand. An excellent specimen of it, too. It’s an amplifier, a strengthener of your existing thoughts. Try this one.”

He dug around in the box again, extracting a rounded stone. He took the clear quartz from me and filled my palm with the new specimen. This one was pink, with black stripes arcing through it. It was completely smooth, as if it had spent years in a rock tumbler.

I folded my fingers around it and closed my eyes. This one had a definite…flavor. A power. It was soft. Gentle. It made me think of Gran. Of Gran tucking me into bed at night, when I was a little girl. I remembered something that Clara had said at the museum that morning—it already seemed so long ago! The pink crystal there meant family.

“Love?” I said, trying to distill the sensations into a single word.

“Yes,” David said, and he pitched his voice low, as if he were reluctant to disturb the balance I was building with the stone. “It’s called rhodosite. It eases stress. Heartache.”

My eyes snapped open. Exactly what did he know about my heart? Just how much did he know about me?

If he was surprised by my reaction, he gave no sign. Instead, he dug around in the box again. This time, the rock that he gave me was a translucent dark green. I thought that it might be jade, except it didn’t have any milky quality. When I peered closer, I saw a sheen across its surface, as if it had been dusted with the finest glitter imaginable.

I folded my fingers around it and reached out for its meaning. The stone felt…positive. Beneficent. I smiled as the word unfolded in my mind. This stone was designed to do good. It was designed to bring about positive changes. I took a deep breath and tried to extend my powers further around it. It thrummed. Like the energy I had harnessed through the spellbooks, the crystal vibrated. The power moved up my arm, and it settled in my chest. In my heart. My lungs.

I breathed as deeply as I could, thinking fleetingly that my yoga teacher would be proud of me. As I exhaled, the crystal’s warmth stayed behind. It made my torso glow.

I was vaguely aware of Neko leaning against me. I remembered his steady force, his focusing of my witchy power, so unlike his manic fashion and makeup advice. Without opening my eyes, I reached out for his magical anchoring. I felt it in the air between us, a path into the heart of the stone. I gathered together the energy inside me, and I plunged deep into the green crystal.

Then I realized how the stone could help Gran. It could hold all of the energy I felt. It could relay power to her heart, to her lungs, to her weary, ailing body.

All it took was my recognizing the possibility, and then I was siphoning off healing power from myself, pouring it into the crystal. I streamed in all the warmth, the comfort, the vibrating strength that had coalesced in my own body. The green rock drank it up; the shimmering glitter became energized with my thoughts. The crystal was a battery, a bank; it stored all the power I could give it.

“That’s enough,” David whispered, and his words startled me back to consciousness.

I hadn’t been dreaming, precisely. I hadn’t fallen asleep. No. I’d been meditating. I’d been harnessing the power of my mind over my body, as if I were mastering my yoga instructor’s corpse pose.

I opened my eyes and stared at the crystal on my palm. “What is it called?”

“Aventurine. It’s a quartz as well. But one that focuses healing.” David reached into the wooden box and pulled out a velvet drawstring sack. “Here.”

I was exhausted. I had no idea what he expected me to do with the sack. Neko finally took my hand, tilted it gently, so that the stone rolled into the bag. As my familiar tightened the silk ribbons, David nodded. Neko tucked the sack into a pocket that rested over his right breast.

“You can give it to your grandmother tomorrow.”

“No.” I tried to protest, but I could barely manage a whisper. “She’s sick. She needs this tonight. I’m family. They’ll let me in.”

“It’s practically morning anyway, and she has Western medicine for now. The IV they put her on is doing more than even this crystal can. When you give it to her tomorrow, it can start the long work of healing, of strengthening.”

I shook my head and tried to get to my feet. I only succeeded on the third try.

I was as weak as a kitten. I felt as if I’d run a marathon. As if I were a single pat of butter spread over an entire baguette.

A baguette. Melissa should bake baguettes for Cake Walk. She could call herself a bag lady.

I giggled at my own joke. I felt drunk, as if I’d downed an entire pitcher of mojitos without benefit of any food.

Come to think of it, a mojito would be good about now. “Neko!” I said. “Mix some drinks! The magic wand is in the drawer!”

Neko looked disconcerted, but David only pursed his lips. “Come on, Jane. It’s time for you to get some sleep. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

I took a step and started to stumble. I covered really well, though, by catching myself on the sofa. I folded my hands in front of me, trying to project an image of determined innocence. Dorothy Gale, bound to confront the Wizard of Oz. When I spoke, however, my voice cracked, and I came off more like Margaret Hamilton, the wicked witch of the west. “Is that an invitation, big boy?”

I’m pretty sure that Neko snickered, but by the time I swiveled my eyes toward him, he was studying his fingernails. David shook his head and said, “Just doing my job.”

It took both of them to walk me down the short hallway. My legs didn’t want to cooperate—my feet kept dragging against the floor. It was a good thing I still had my bunny slippers; I could have ended up with some terrible splinters otherwise.

When we got to my bedroom, David took my key and unlocked the door. The three of us started to stumble forward, when I saw the moonlight glint off of Stupid Fish’s aquarium. “No!” I said. I flailed around to push a hand against Neko’s chest. “You can’t come in here!”

David followed my line of sight, and he turned to look at Neko. My familiar shrugged elaborately, as if it had never crossed his mind to invade the piscine privacy of my bedroom. David said, “I’ve got her from here.”

Neko’s disappointment would have made me laugh, if the room hadn’t suddenly started to spin like a Tilt-a-Whirl. Somehow, Neko disappeared. David got me over to my bed. I collapsed backward onto the mattress, closing my eyes as calliope music filled my skull.

I felt David’s hands on my feet, slipping off my precious bunnies. He sat beside me on the bed, and I sensed his fingers untying the knot of my bathrobe around my waist. He eased me into a sitting position and slid the robe from my shoulders. I was vaguely glad that I was wearing my faded men’s pajamas—top and bottom.

Somehow, he got me underneath the covers. My pillow was perfectly centered under my head. The sheets were cool against my bare arms, and the comforter was heavy across my body. “Go to sleep,” he said, and he passed his hand over my forehead.

There must have been something magical about the motion, because I was suddenly unable to open my eyes. “David?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened?”

“You used new powers. I let you go deeper than you should have. I felt the strength of your love for your grandmother, and that swayed my judgment. Get some sleep. You’ll be fine when you wake up.”

“David?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re different now.”

“Different?”

“Than the first night. You scared me then.”

For a long time, I thought that he wouldn’t answer. I thought that I had fallen asleep, but my brain didn’t quite know it. I thought that I was imagining our entire conversation. But then he spoke.

“That first night, I didn’t know who you were. I came here as a warder, trying to protect resources that were in danger.”

“And then?” It took all my strength to pull out the two words.

“I met you. I did some research. I became the warder you wanted me to be—you needed me to be. So that you would listen. And learn.”

There was something wrong about that. Something that didn’t quite make sense. I started to put more words together, to ask another question, but David passed his hand over my forehead one more time. “Sleep, Jane. We’ll talk more later. Sleep.”

And I did.

Chapter 22

Gran was staring listlessly at the television set when I arrived at the hospital. Her bed had been cranked up so that she was sitting upright. Her pillow, which had probably once been situated to cradle her head, had slipped down her back, making her look cramped and uncomfortable. Oxygen flowed through tubing that nestled under her nose.

“Good morning, Gran!” I pasted a cheery smile on my face.

“Hello, dear.” She sounded cranky and tired, and if she were a toddler, I would have prescribed a long nap. I was a bit surprised that I wasn’t more tired myself, but I had awakened refreshed and recharged, completely energized by my working with the crystals.

I tried not to let my good mood get burned off by Gran’s frown. “How are you today?” I asked, in a voice that might have been appropriate for a grown-up on Sesame Street.

“I hate it here,” Gran said.

“You’ll be home soon,” I reassured her.

“I can’t get any sleep because the nurses constantly come in to take my temperature, or adjust my oxygen or read my blood pressure. The man next door was moaning all night, and the woman on the other side of that curtain had her grandchildren visiting until 10:00. Grandchildren! In a hospital!”

I reminded myself that Gran didn’t mean me. She was only complaining about someone else’s brats. I renewed my smile. “I’ve brought you a present!”

Gran seemed about to make another tart observation, but then curiosity got the better of her. Her hazel eyes, so like my own, even if they were bloodshot just now, looked inquiringly at me.

I handed Gran a small box. Neko had helped me to find it in the basement. It just about filled my palm, sitting high, with a row of hinges on one wooden edge. It looked ancient and delicate, but solid at the same time, the sort of box that Romeo might have used to give a ring to Juliet.

“What’s this?” Gran asked. “You shouldn’t have gone to any trouble. Not for me. Not just because I have a little bug.”

“Open it!” I urged. “I wanted to see her reaction. I wanted to see if my crystal would work.

Still fussing, Gran lifted the box’s lid. For just a moment, she didn’t know what to make of the contents. I’d nestled the aventurine on a bed of soft velvet. “What’s this?” Gran asked again, but now her voice was filled with tetchy curiosity.

“Just something that I found. Something that I thought you’d like. Maybe you can use it as a worry stone, rubbing it when you feel stressed.”

Gran looked at it dubiously. “Your mother has always been a big one for worry stones. “I stored away that interesting tidbit of information. “Well, Gran, maybe I got more from her than I knew,” I said.

Gran drew in a deep breath, as if she were going to reply, but she only triggered a coughing fit. Like the others, this one shook her entire body, turning her face purple, and clenching her fingers into claws. Helpless, I handed her a Kleenex, but then all I could do was wait. And wait. And wait.

When over a minute had passed, and she was still hacking painfully, I threw caution to the winds. I snagged the jewel box from Gran’s sheets, where she had set it when the spasm began, and I upended it onto her withered palm.

Her fingers curled around the stone by reflex. Her eyes closed as she sucked in more air. But she stopped coughing.

She sank back on her pillow, eyes still shut, as she breathed shallowly. Perspiration stood out on her forehead, but I did not want to disturb her by wiping it away.

“Do you want me to get a nurse, Gran?” I asked, when it seemed certain that she had completely conquered the cough. This time.

“No dear. Not right now.”

Surprisingly, Gran’s voice sounded stronger than it had when I arrived. She must have heard it too; her eyes flew open. “No, dear,” she said again. “I’m actually feeling a little better.”

I helped her to sit up straighter in bed, and I adjusted her pillow so that she no longer looked like Quasimodo’s frailer cousin. When she was settled, she smiled at me, and it was the patient smile I remembered from my childhood. My heart quickened, and I glanced at the aventurine, only to find it still hidden in her fist.

“There is one thing, dear, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“What, Gran? Anything!”

“I wasn’t hungry for dinner last night, but some applesauce would be lovely now. Some applesauce, and maybe a hard-boiled egg?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, moving toward the door. When I stepped into the hallway, I glance back and saw that Gran was absent-mindedly rubbing the aventurine with her thumb. Color had come back into her lips, and her breathing was easier. I almost skipped down the corridor, in search of a healing woman’s breakfast.

***

“You are totally falling for him!” Melissa’s amusement over the telephone line was so extreme that I looked up to see if any of the library patrons could hear her.

“I am not!” I whispered into the handset.

“You are. You used to talk about Scott exactly the same way. You were going to wear the such-and-such dress to please him, you were going to see the whatever-it-was movie because you thought he’d like it.”

“That’s ridiculous! I certainly didn’t wear my faded plaid pajamas because I thought David would like them.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did. But Melissa was totally, completely, one hundred percent wrong. Jason Templeton was my Imaginary Boyfriend. I mean, Boyfriend. No longer Imaginary. Jason. The man I had watched for the past nine months. The man I had dreamed of. The man I was going to lunch with in less than an hour. Just to clarify my arguments one more time, I said to Melissa, “I do not have feelings for David Montrose. He’s like my boss.”

“And you’ve never heard of inter-office romance?”

“He’s my mentor,” I said priggishly. “He has a moral and ethical obligation to show me the way toward being a proper witch.”

“And he’s really, really hot.” I could imagine her grinning, leaning against the counter in Cake Walk.

Well, that’s what I got for calling my best friend in the middle of the work day. I should have known that she’d give me a hard time. And I did not need to be traumatized today. It was time for me to leave, to meet Jason for lunch at La Perla. I said, “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.” Melissa only laughed. “I’m hanging up on you now! I’m going back to work!”

I was laughing, too, by the time I returned the phone to its cradle.

Sure, David was a viscerally attractive guy. But he was totally off limits. I mean, it would be one thing if we were peers, if we were walking into the relationship on equal footing, both understanding who we were and how things work.

But he was lightyears ahead of me in the witchcraft department. He understood all of that magic stuff; he knew how to harness powers that I could only imagine. Exhibit A was the healing crystal that he had guided me in making for Gran.

Besides, a nagging voice whispered at the back of my mind, he had changed himself to be with me. The more I thought about that, the more creeped out I was by the information. I mean, how many times had I changed myself to be with Scott? And had it worked out well?

I mean, had I really thought that I was going to develop a love for Italian cinema just because Scott had one? And what had I been thinking when I’d started in on the collected works of Tolstoy? Just because Scott said that they contained the sum experience of the human condition, why had I thought they would speak to me? And we wouldn’t even begin to talk about my professed love of ice hockey. There were some things no girl should ever be forced to pretend.

And yet, things were different with David. He had readily admitted changing himself to be with me—a clarification that I’d never made with Scott. And David actually seemed happy to have done it. He seemed…content.

Before I could twist myself into any more emotional pretzels, I dug my purse out of my desk. A quick check in my compact mirror for makeup flaws, a dash of lipstick, confirmation that nothing terrible had sprouted between my teeth…. I popped a mint into my mouth and headed to the library’s front door.

That was one thing I could say about working at the Peabridge. The pay might be terrible, and I had to listen to way too many choruses of “Marian the Librarian” when I told people where I worked, but I had freedom when it came to my personal life. That morning, I had mentioned to Evelyn that I had an appointment over the lunch hour, and she had merely nodded, telling me to make up the time whenever I could.

And Jason Templeton was certainly worth making up a little time.

I smiled as I got to the doors, thinking of the date that awaited me. I could actually call it that. He had.

I looked down at the outfit that had taken an ungodly amount of time to assemble that morning. Black wool skirt. Form-fitting cashmere sweater (of course, also black.) Black tights. High-heeled pumps. A necklace of chunky green beads that I knew set off my eyes. I tried not to think of the mounds of clothing on my bed, the rejects from the morning’s dressing marathon that would only have to be returned to their hangers.

I also tried not to think of my colonial costume, crammed into a garment bag and hanging over the chair beside my desk. I’d have to change back as soon as I returned from lunch. Even now, I suspected that Evelyn would give me the evil eye if she saw me out of uniform. I took a deep breath and headed out into the autumn chill.

“You look beautiful today!”

Dammit.

“Thank you, Harold.” I had hoped to sneak out without encountering my lovestruck friend, but he was holding the door for me with all the formality of a Beefeater at Buckingham Palace. I slipped outside so that the fallen leaves on the doorstep wouldn’t blow inside the lobby.

“It looks like you have an important meeting,” Harold said.

“I have a d—” I stopped myself. I’d been cruel enough, binding the poor man’s love with that cursed spell. I didn’t have to rub in my lunchtime destination. I searched my mind, frantically trying to find another word that started with “d”, something other than “date.” “A dentist appointment! Yes!”

“You seem really excited about it.”

I did, didn’t I? “Oh, no. It’s just that I thought I was going to forget it, and I’ve had it written down on my calendar for months, you know, since the last time I went. I filled out the little postcard thing, and they sent it to me as a reminder, but it seems like I always have to reschedule anyway.” I heard myself rushing through my explanation, trying to justify my enthusiasm and digging myself a deeper and deeper hole. “I really hate the fluoride treatment, but I love it when I get a new toothbrush. The last time, all they had were orange toothbrushes, so I’ve been stuck with that, but this time, I’m going to get a good color. Like purple. I love purple. It’s my favorite color.”

Oh my God. I had gone insane. I was standing here outside the Peabridge Library, babbling about purple toothbrushes.

“Mine is blue,” Harold said.

“Blue! Great toothbrush color. Second favorite! Gotta run! Don’t want to keep the dentist waiting!”

Someone should just shoot me now.

Jason was waiting for me when I finally arrived at the restaurant. He had managed to secure a table in a corner, tucked into the back. I was a little disappointed. I liked the idea of sitting behind the restaurant’s lace curtains, of watching the traffic go by on Pennsylvania Avenue. Maybe someone would see us, someone I knew. They would wave and smile as they realized I was on a lunch date. They would call me during the afternoon, to ask about the absolutely gorgeous man who had been eating with me, the one with the blond curls and easy grin, who seemed to be hanging on my every word.

No one would see me now that I wasn’t sitting at a table in the window.

When I took my seat, however, I realized that Jason had actually chosen well. Within our little nook, it seemed that we were the only people in the entire restaurant, the only people in the entire world.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, fiddling with the beads on my necklace.

“Traffic can be bad.”

“Especially at lunch time.” Great. Brilliant conversation. This was terrible. It was as if I’d never seen Jason before, as if we’d never even spoken to each other.

The waiter came to take our drink orders. “I’ll have a glass of Chianti,” Jason said. “It’s cold outside,” he justified to me.

“And a Chianti for me, too,” I said, following my Imaginary Boyfriend’s lead.

No, I reminded myself. He wasn’t Imaginary anymore. He had asked me out. He had brought me cute gifts (the marshmallows were still inside my desk drawer)!

Flustered by the seismic shift in our relationship, I gave the menu a ridiculous amount of attention. The entrees were all too heavy for lunch. The salads were too fussy. Pasta, then. Not long pasta, though. I’d never live it down with Melissa if I dripped linguine down my front. (Not to mention the dry cleaning bill I’d get for my cashmere sweater.)

Tortellini, then. Bite-sized. Self-contained. No hidden dangers.

“Do you want to start with some garlic cheese bread?” Jason asked.

My heart exploded in my chest. Garlic cheese bread. You only ordered garlic cheese bread if you really knew the person you were eating with. If you trusted them. A first date could never order garlic cheese bread, but a Boyfriend could.

“I’d love to,” I said.

The waiter came back to the table, bringing the blessed fruit of the vine. He took our orders (Jason chose the lasagna al forno) and then he disappeared.

“So,” Jason said.

“So,” I echoed.

An ambulance went by outside, and its siren kick-started my brain. I took a sip of wine and dove in to my story. “You would not believe the weekend that I had!”

I told him about going to the Natural History Museum with Gran, about how she had collapsed. I somehow managed to make it a funny story, stressing the bits that had not been at all amusing at the time—the way the Cell Phone Samaritan had blinked at the closing elevator doors, the way the ambulance had careened around corners. I told him how Melissa had come to the hospital with her Butterscotch Blessings, and how my grandmother had become the most popular patient on the floor.

Of course, I left out some parts. I didn’t mention that I was estranged from my own biological mother. I didn’t tell him about my late-night crystal training session with David and Neko. I didn’t say that I had created a healing charm in the privacy of my own living room, and I overlooked announcing that I seemed to have an affinity for crystals that was at least as great as my ability with spells.

I didn’t tell him that my grandmother seemed to have some sensitivity to magical power—the same as Clara. As I.

But I entertained my date. Jason seemed intrigued as he dug into our garlic bread with gusto. So much had changed, he commented, since George Chesterton’s time. Health care then was a nightmare of tinctures and ointments. I found myself agreeing, even going so far as to volunteer my time researching treatments for typhus, to learn more about how Chesterton’s son had been cured of the deadly disease. After all, I was a librarian, and if my skills could help my Boyfriend….

Scott had never asked me for help.

By the time our pasta arrived, I was much more relaxed. I asked Jason how his work was going, about the current semester and the classes he was teaching. I laughed when he told me about one of his students—the one who thought that the colonists should have purchased their arms from the Soviet Union, on the black market, so that they could have overwhelmed the British that much sooner.

“The Soviet Union?” I asked, incredulous.

“Well, he knew that the Soviets preceded today’s Russia.”

“What do they teach in high school these days?”

“A question that I ask myself every single day,” Jason said, shaking his head. “I’m actually thinking of setting up a new project for next semester. You probably won’t believe this, but I got the idea from the Peabridge.”

“From us?” I felt a flush of pride. Or maybe that was my second glass of wine.

“When you started wearing your costume, it really changed everything for me. It made my reading come alive—it was as if the history was happening right then. George Chesterton could walk in the door at any moment.”

Damn. Evelyn had been right.

Jason went on. “I’m thinking of having the students put together their own outfits. Use quill pens. Do some laundry the colonial way. Anything to actually experience the time period, to realize how different things were two hundred years ago.”

“Don’t you think that sounds a little…beneath college students?”

He smiled at me across the table. “Is it beneath you?”

“Well—I—” I tried to picture a roomful of college coeds, all wearing hoops and petticoats and sack gowns. I expanded my mental view, imagining Ekaterina the Ice Ballerina in a mob cap, grading essay exams with a quill pen dipped in red ink. “Do you think your grad students would go for it? I mean, I only met Ekaterina once, but she certainly didn’t seem the type—”

“Ekaterina?” Jason looked surprised. He obviously had not thought through his grand hands-on scheme. Then, he shrugged. “She wouldn’t need to join in. She specializes in nineteenth-century. Early suffrage movements.”

“Yes!” I was surprised to hear myself say that out loud. Must have been the Chianti. But I had told Melissa that Ekaterina was a proto-feminist controlling bitch the first time I’d met the Russian ice queen. I’d known it from the moment I’d laid eyes on her perfect brow.

Jason blinked, then smiled slyly. “It wasn’t Ekaterina I was thinking of, when I came up with the idea.”

I twirled the stem of my wine glass between my fingers, suddenly shy. “Oh?”

“It was you.” He leaned forward, settling his hand on top of mine. “Jane, I have to admit that there’s something about seeing you dressed up that way.”

I tried to laugh, but no sound came out. “I bet you say that to all the girls who try to poison you with peanut soup.”

He shook his head. “I’m serious, Jane.”

I couldn’t believe it. Jason—my Boyfriend—was attracted to me in my colonial costume. It must be the love spell that I had worked, the words I had read from the grimoire.

He went on. “You’ll probably think I’m crazy, but when I look up from my research, and I see you sitting at your desk, wearing your stays and that lace bodice….”

Oh. My. God.

The waiter came to take away our plates. “Dessert?” he asked. “Coffee?”

Jason looked at me, and I managed one short shake of my head. Jason said, “Just the check, please.”

It was my turn to say something. Anything. “Sometimes, the lace itches.”

Oh, that was great. Brilliant. The hottest words that anyone had spoken to me since Scott Randall first told me what he wanted to do in my Barbie pink bedroom, and all I could think to say was that I itched. I deserved to be alone until the day I died.

“I’ve made you blush.”

“I just don’t think of quilted petticoats as a turn-on.”

“When you wear them, they are.”

The waiter returned with the check before I could stammer out another embarrassing reply. Jason pulled out his wallet and dropped some money on the table. I started to reach for my purse, but he waved my hand away. As the waiter returned, Jason asked him, “The restrooms are downstairs?”

“Yes, signor.”

I recognized Jason’s grin. I remembered it from years before, from when Scott still thought about long afternoons of romance. Somehow, miraculously, I matched that goofy smile with one of my own.

Trying to pretend that I had just discovered my own need to freshen my makeup, I followed Jason down a narrow flight of stairs at the back of the restaurant.

Melissa was never going to believe this. She would never believe that I had shared garlic cheese bread with my Boyfriend on our first official date. And she would certainly never believe that said Boyfriend found my colonial dress sexy. And there was absolutely, positively, no possible way that she was going to believe that that Boyfriend had led me down the service stairs toward the restrooms, only to sweep me into an alcove underneath those very steps.

I didn’t even believe that it could happen to me.

Until I felt Jason’s hand on the back of my neck. Until I felt his lips on mine.

Was this what I had missed the other night? The kiss that I had managed to overlook, because I had been stupidly obsessing over the dinner I was about to ruin?

Okay, so it wasn’t the best kiss in the world. How could it be, with us standing up in a poorly lit alcove beneath the stairs of an Italian restaurant during a busy lunch hour? I worried that I wasn’t into it enough, that I wasn’t leaning against him the right amount. I was afraid that my feet would slip on the linoleum floor.

But Jason managed to distract me from the flaws in the setting. The touch of his palms on my back did that. And the realization that he was gliding his hands around to my front. That he was slipping his fingers under the straps of my bra. My black lace bra. The one that I had hooked up that morning, chiding myself for wishful thinking.

A door opened behind us. I heard a woman’s heels on the hard floor, heard her quick gasp of indrawn breath as she saw us. “Well, I never!”

Well, lady, I never did either. But I sure as hell wouldn’t mind doing it again.

Jason, though, was stepping away from me. “I’m sorry,” he said, as the woman’s heels clomped above us..

“Don’t be.”

He brushed back a strand of my hair. “I shouldn’t have done that. You must think I’m some sort of animal.”

“I think you’re something, all right.” I hoped that my smile indicated exactly what I thought he was.

There was more traffic on the stairs, another woman coming down. What was this, Grand Central Station? Trying to find something to do while she walked by, I glanced at my watch. “Ach! I have to get back to work!”

“So soon?”

“Evelyn thinks that I’m at an appointment. I need to get back to the reference desk.” I started to sigh, frustrated that I hadn’t managed to win the lottery and retire from my day job forever.

“I should let you go then.” He trailed a finger along my jaw, and I almost melted into a garlic-fragrant puddle.

“I’ll be changing clothes,” I said when I could breathe again. I felt more than a little foolish, but I was rewarded by another one of Jason’s wicked grins. “Once I get back to the library. I’ll be wearing my costume.” He actually moaned as he kissed me. I whispered as we pulled apart from each other: “But I’ll think of you as I lace up my stays.”

And I did.

Cheeks flushed from the walk back to the office, eyes bright with untold secrets, I pulled the linen strings extra tight. And I thought of Jason’s touch all afternoon, as I researched medicine of the eighteenth century, an obscure founding father, and the father’s even more obscure son.

Chapter 23

“Jane, I just can’t get over how wonderful you look without glasses.”

“Gran, was I really so terrible before?”

I was beginning to wonder. I’d received nothing but compliments since I’d picked up my contact lenses four days before. Neko had watched as I made faces in the bathroom mirror, inserting the lenses and taking them out until it seemed natural to poke my fingers in my eyes. He’d sniffed when I set aside my eyeglasses. “They were the wrong shape for your face anyway.”

Now he told me.

Even David Montrose had noticed—and commented on—the change during our training sessions. We’d met three times in as many days. He had wanted me to focus on crystals rather than spellbooks, once I’d explained that Clara and Gran both seemed to have an affinity for them. He thought that we should explore their magic, try to figure out whether they were the true source of my own power.

We hadn’t come to any solid conclusions, but I’d learned a lot more about chalcedony, bloodstone, and natrolite than I had ever thought possible. (Chalcedony stimulates maternal instinct among other things. I decided that I might want to make a gift to Clara.)

The training sessions had been intense, all the more so because I was constantly distracted by thoughts of Jason. My Boyfriend had not phoned during the week, and I’d constantly fought the temptation to dial his cell. I’d hoped that he would add a research session or two to his library schedule during the week, but I’d been sorely disappointed. I kept reminding myself, though, that the university was hurtling toward mid-terms. Jason was probably busy counseling students. Still, I sulked for the second half of the week, reading and re-reading the research notes I’d prepared.

Maybe that was why I was so determined to make the Harvest Gala a success. Perhaps I was depressed over Jason’s failure to phone. Or I was just desperate for a break from studying crystals with David. Or, just possibly, I wanted everything to be perfect for Gran.

She had been released from the hospital two days before, but she was still on strict instructions to get plenty of rest and limit outside activities. It had taken every ounce of my persuasive capabilities to convince her to stay home during the Gala. In the end, I think that it was actually Uncle George who made her believe that the possible risk of a relapse wasn’t worth it. He’d said that he wanted to spend many more Harvest Galas with her.

Gran’s eyes had teared up, and she’d finally agreed to stay in bed. Somewhat surprisingly, Clara had offered to spend the evening with her. Now, I stood in front of both of them, feeling for all the world as if I were about to head out to my high school prom.

Earlier in the evening, I’d started to force my newly trimmed hair into some sort of updo for the grand event, but Neko had talked me out of that. Just as he’d convinced me that I couldn’t wear my classic little black dress, as I’d long intended.

Well, if I hadn’t wanted his advice, I probably shouldn’t have told him that the event was black tie. He had immediately decided that I simply must wear autumn colors. I’d assured him that there was not a single shade of orange or yellow that would complement my coloring, and he’d reluctantly agreed. But then, he’d dragged me into some little boutique, a tiny hole in the wall that he’d apparently discovered during his daily neighborhood rambles.

I had to admit that the dark green shantung sheath he picked out was stunning. It was shot through with a hint of gold, just enough to make the eye take notice. I’d never had the courage to wear a strapless gown before. (I won’t even bother explaining the lingerie lessons I was given by my familiar. Suffice to say that Victoria’s Secret can accomplish miracles. Even on short notice.) Fortunately, Gran had already agreed to foot the bill for my finery.

“Now, don’t forget to place my bids at the silent auction,” Gran reminded me for the four hundred and thirty-second time. “And try to mingle with the new people. Make them feel at home.”

“And don’t forget to be home by midnight, or your coach will turn into a pumpkin,” Clara added in a grave tone.

Gran frowned at her, momentarily distracted from her list of dos and don’ts. “Do you need money for a cab, dear?”

“I’m fine,” I said, brandishing the little gold hand-bag that Neko had insisted I buy, to complete my outfit. “But I really should be going.”

I still needed another fifteen minutes of grandmaternal advice, including instructions on the frequent re-application of lipstick and a reminder to keep my hair brushed. By the time I finally escaped, I wondered if I should just give up and head home. After all, it was the getting dressed up part that had been fun. The event itself was bound to be a disappointment, as I tried to remain vivacious and witty with the over-seventy crowd.

But I knew that Uncle George would report back to Gran. And I had promised to place her silent auction bids. Not to mention the fact that I felt pretty wonderful wearing my ball gown.

Ball gown. Who would have ever thought that Jane Madison, Librarian would own a ball gown? Whether I was lucky or the green sheath did its job, I had no trouble hailing a cab right outside of Gran’s apartment building.

The Gala was being held in the St. Regis Hotel, just a couple of blocks from the White House. As the taxi pulled into the small circular driveway, a shiver tiptoed down my spine. I paid the driver while the uniformed doorman waited to assist me out of the cab. Fairy lights reflected off the lobby’s turquoise and gold coffered ceiling, and I blinked, trying to figure out where I was supposed to go. Another uniformed attendant glided to my side. “May I help you, Madam?”

Madam? Me?

I couldn’t help but answer with a British accent—it just seemed like the appropriate thing to do. “Yes, please. The Concert Opera Harvest Gala?”

“Of course, Madam,” he murmured. “Right this way.”

Rather than point to the door on the far side of the lobby, he walked me across the inlaid floor. I murmured my thanks as he left me framed in the ballroom’s ornately carved double doorway.

The Gala seemed to be in full swing, or at least as full a swing as the evening was likely to achieve. A surprisingly good jazz band filled the stage at the end of the room, energetically playing something that was actually danceable. At least a dozen couples were taking advantage of the parquet floor.

Rectangular tables had been set up around the edges of the room, pushing up against heavy gold brocade curtains. Each table had a green-shaded accountant’s lamp, directing light onto a beautifully-printed silent auction form. As I sidled along the wall, I could see that several bids had already been entered for many of the prizes. Deciding that I should keep my promise to Gran early, I wrote in her bids on the appropriate sheets, taking especial care with her first pick, a landscape painting by local Impressionist artist, Bill Schmidt.

The bar was set up against the near wall of the room, and a few people were waiting for drinks. Next to the bar was a towering display of desserts; even from my vantage point, I could make out perfect mini-éclairs, a glistening croquembouche, and wave after wave of individual fruit tarts.

Feeling strangely anonymous without my glasses, in my grown-up dress with my grown-up hair and my grown-up clasp hand-bag, I secured a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Alas, once I had my drink in hand, I slipped back into the trauma of every party I had ever attended anywhere in my life. I didn’t know anyone. I was terrible at making small talk. No one was ever going to ask me to dance. I’d never even heard of most of the operas that were the bread and butter of this crowd.

I made another circuit of the room, upping one of Gran’s auction bids that had already been countered, and then I retreated to the corner farthest from the band. I wished that I could lock myself into a stall in the ladies room until the evening was over.

I considered it a success that I made my champagne last for an entire jazz number. When a too-attentive waiter took my glass away on his silver tray, I practically sprinted to the bar to secure another flute. After all, it wouldn’t do to have my hands empty. People might think that I wasn’t enjoying myself.

That second drink, however, only made things complicated. Just as I was feeling the first heady tickle of the champagne, a flock of waiters descended on the room, passing enormous trays of sinfully tempting appetizers.

The first that came my way was a deconstructed Peking Duck—slivers of duck served with shreds of crisp pancake and a drizzle of hoisin sauce, all presented on porcelain Chinese soup spoons. The food was delicious, and I managed to eat it without leaving behind unsightly streaks of Pick Me Up Pink. But then, I was left holding a spoon in one hand and a champagne glass in another.

And I realized I was really hungry.

Other waiters sailed by. There was a tantalizing tray of miniature frenched lamb chops, their curved bones serving as the perfect hand-hold. Another tray of grilled pear slices with blue cheese melting on top. A third of roast beef tenderloin, sliced paper thin and presented on caraway flatbread.

But not a single server was collecting used soup spoons. If I had planned better, I would have eaten the other treats first, then gone for the Peking Duck. Having gone out of order, I was stuck without fingers for the finger food. (In theory, I could have put down my champagne glass, but I never actually considered that as an option.)

Just as my stomach actually gurgled a protest, I heard someone say, “May I help you with that spoon?”

I turned around, relieved that one of the tuxedoed staff had finally noticed my predicament. I found myself face to face with Samuel Potter, the owner of the shih-tzu named Beijing. “Mr. Potter!” I said, surprised to find a person instead of a waiter. No, I knew that waiters were people too. But you know what I meant.

Much to my embarrassment, he took my spoon, and my now-empty glass. Within seconds, a waiter materialized to relieve Mr. Potter of the burden. I started to make a snappy complaint, but I decided that the Harvest Gala was neither the time nor the place.

Mr. Potter kissed my cheek gallantly. “You look ravishing, dear.”

I flushed, even as I wondered at the strength of my grimoire’s love-spell. How many weeks had passed since I had first worked it? How long could my witchcraft hold? And why had I repeatedly forgotten to ask David about the spell? I’m sure I would have remembered at some point in the past week, if he hadn’t been plying me with tray after tray of dusty rocks.

I remembered that I needed to reply. “It’s certainly kind of you to say so, Mr. Potter.”

“And are you enjoying yourself?”

“Absolutely. The Peking, er, Beijing Duck was excellent.”

Mr. Potter’s laugh boomed across the room. “My Lucinda used to do that all the time. One of our neighbors owned a yappy little Beijingese, if you listened to my wife—you know, those lap-dogs with the dark little faces and fluffy bodies.”

“I’ve always thought they looked like mops,” I said.

“Precisely!” Mr. Potter laughed again. “Lucinda also irritated the smile off my cousin, an anthropologist, by always referring to Beijing Man, no matter how many times he explained that the evolutionary find was made well before we became politically correct in our pronunciation.”

“And how is Beijing the shih-tzu tonight?”

“Home alone, and probably howling at the window. He hates to be abandoned.” For just an instant, a frown crossed Mr. Potter’s face, and I regretted having reminded him of his loss. Before I could think of something to say, though, the jazz band began an energetic swing number. Mr. Potter’s face cleared, and he said, “May I have this dance?”

He sounded so formal that I almost wondered if I was supposed to have a dance card. I wouldn’t put it past those opera people to perpetuate the tradition. Ordinarily, I’m afraid of embarrassing myself on a dance floor, but the poor man looked so smitten. And I was wearing my new green silk dress. And I did have the perfect haircut. And new contact lenses. “I would love to, Mr. Potter.”

I felt like a child, being led out to the middle of the parquet surface. I wondered if Mr. Potter would let me put my feet on top of his, matching him step for step, as if I were a little girl. Instead, he clasped one hand firmly to my waist and offered me his palm. We shuffled awkwardly for a moment, trying to find the beat of the music. As he stumbled left and I leaned right, I wondered if I had a dance-spell hiding in my basement, a few magical words that would lend us even a faint semblance of grace and beauty.

We staggered around the floor, Mr. Potter muttering the count beneath his breath. We never quite found the rhythm projected by the band, and we certainly didn’t mesh with each other.

But none of that really mattered. The entire time that we were demonstrating how not to dance, Mr. Potter was beaming. He looked from me to his fellow opera fans, then back to me. He maneuvered us so that we were standing directly in front of the band. He was proud of me. And proud of himself for being with me. And I was pleased that I could make him happy.

I wished that my grandfather had lived longer.

As if summoned by that thought, Uncle George was waiting for us at the edge of the dance floor when the band finished its number. His applause was partially for the musicians, but he tilted his head toward me in an amused acknowledgment of my supposed dancing skills. Or, at least, my social skills. I laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

“Jane,” he said. “You look stunning.” He clapped his hand on Mr. Potter’s shoulder. “Sam, you old dog. You were quite a sight out there.” Uncle George winked at me, and I grinned in response.

Mr. Potter said, “Jane, your grandmother must be so proud of you. Not only are you accomplished in a noble profession, but you’re willing to fritter away a weekend night with us old farts, in support of a good cause. What a pity that Sarah couldn’t be here tonight.”

Sarah. I never thought of my grandmother as “Sarah.” I never thought of her having any life separate from being my grandmother.

Mr. Potter turned to Uncle George. “Have you heard about the holdings in the Peabridge Library, George? They have original manuscripts dating back to the seventeenth century.”

I smiled at Mr. Potter’s enthusiasm. He had the vigor of the newly-converted whenever he mentioned libraries. I said self-deprecatingly, “Not that we could find anything if we needed to.”

Uncle George shook his head and waved one hand about vaguely. “Surely you’ve got them all arranged by Dewey Decimal number, or something like that? I remember learning those numbers when I was just a boy. Always liked the 920’s. Biography.”

“I was an 800 girl, myself. Literature.” And a touch of 133, I added silently. Witchcraft. Before I could say something aloud that I might regret, I surged ahead in the conversation. “But we don’t use the Dewey Decimal system in our library. If we did, all of our holdings would be under the same few numbers, for American Colonial History.”

“Ah!” Uncle George said, as if I had explained some secret of the universe. I saw that his attention was being drawn across the room. Anything, I supposed, to escape a discussion of the joys and beauties of library science. Either that, or he was actually taking seriously his role as “host” at this soiree. He made polite excuses and crossed the room to talk to a potential donor.

“So,” Mr. Potter said. “No Dewey Decimal. What do you use instead?” He seemed so interested that he ignored the three waiters who converged upon us with silver trays of appetizers. I snagged a lamb chop and a napkin, operating on the assumption that I needed to make up for time lost to both the Peking Duck spoon and the dance floor.

I managed one quick bite of the most succulent meat I had ever tasted before I said, “We’ve pretty much invented our own system.”

Mr. Potter breathed in, as awed as if I had told him we were constructing an atom bomb in the basement. “Just like that? Without guidance from anyone? You must be so proud of yourself!” I could hear echoes of his love and respect for his lost librarian wife in the question.

I smiled gently. “I wish. I’ve never been fully trained as a cataloger.”

“Like my Lucinda was,” he said, and sighed.

“If we had the money, we would hire someone like her tomorrow. Good catalogers are worth their weight in gold.”

Mr. Potter looked out over the dance floor, his face gone soft and vague. I wanted to know what he was remembering, what private jokes, what secret love. A pang daggered just beneath my heart, and I wondered if anyone would ever miss me as much as he missed Lucinda.

I took another bite of lamb, trying to fill the silence with some sort of normal life activity.

“Jane Madison. I didn’t know you were an opera fan.”

I knew the voice before I turned around. Before I finished chewing. Before I swallowed. Before I thought about the animalistic awkwardness of clutching a lamb bone in my supposedly-delicate well-manicured hand.

“Jason,” I choked out after I had gulped down the partially-chewed bite in my mouth.

He was stunning. He wore a tuxedo that had clearly been tailored specifically for him. His glistening linen shirt shone against a scarlet cummerbund. As my eyes lingered, I realized that the red was shot through with gold—a perfect complement to my own silk dress. The satin stripe on his pants accentuated the long line of his legs, and I felt myself melting right there.

Mr. Potter cleared his throat.

“Oh! Jason Templeton, this is Samuel Potter, one of the board members of the Concert Opera Guild. Mr. Potter, Jason is—” I started to say “my Boyfriend,” but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Not in public. Not in front of another man I had snared with my love-spell. “Jason is a professor at Mid-Atlantic. He uses our collection regularly.”

“The best in the city,” Jason said. “For my purposes, the best on the entire eastern seaboard. And the reference librarian is the finest in the profession.”

I blushed.

The band struck up a spirited waltz. “I’m sorry, Mr. Potter,” Jason said. “May I steal Jane away for this dance?”

The older man looked disappointed, but only for a moment. “Of course. I should mingle with the crowd, anyway. The role of a board member you know.” He turned to me, though, before he walked off. “Thank you, Jane. This has been a most memorable evening.”

“Thank you,” I said, hoping that Gran would be proud of me. I glanced around, desperately hoping that I could find a waiter to take my nasty lamb bone, now wrapped in a napkin.

“Here,” Mr. Potter said, just before stepping away. “Let me take that for you.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Now, don’t keep your young man waiting.” He took the napkin and waved me toward the dance floor. Once again, I felt like a child, spitting out my gum into an adult’s hand before a meal. But Mr. Potter smiled, and I turned away. To dance with “my young man.”

Jason guided me toward the floor with a hand on my waist. My heart was beating so hard that I could scarcely breathe. If Neko had found me a dress one bit tighter, anyone could have seen the pounding inside my chest.

And Jason proved to be everything in a dancer that Mr. Potter wasn’t. His arms around me were strong, confident. He guided me about the dance floor—not in any showy way, but in a manner that convinced me—and apparently everyone around us—that he knew what he was doing.

Where had a man his age learned to dance? My peers had mostly managed to shuffle back and forth at the occasional bar mitzvah, or we had jumped up and down at school dances in high school. I would never have learned ballroom dancing myself if it weren’t for Uncle George and some misguided Arthur Murray lessons that Gran had insisted on giving me for my Sweet Sixteen.

But who was I to question my Boyfriend waltzing me around the dance floor of the Harvest Gala?

I finally recovered enough presence of mind to say, “What are you doing here?”

“The opera folks contacted the university about this fundraiser. They said they wanted to build town-gown relationships. The head of the history department is a big opera fan, so he bought tickets for everyone—to help us bond as a department, he said.” Jason nodded toward a cluster of people in the far corner of the room. I darted a glance and saw that Ekaterina was anchored in the middle of the circle. Well, any department head that brought me my Boyfriend could bring the Ice Ballerina as well, I supposed. Jason asked, “But what are you doing here?”

“My grandmother is on the board. Sarah Smythe. She’s the one who thought it would be a good idea to build up the guild’s relationships with universities.”

He smiled, and I suddenly felt faint. “I suppose I should meet her and thank her for getting me here. For letting me see you. I should have phoned you this past week, but things have been insane. I have an article due on the fifteenth. You know—publish or perish.”

I took a breath, the first time I’d filled my lungs since turning around to see Jason. So, that was why he hadn’t phoned. He’d been busy with work. Nothing more ominous than that. Everyone got busy. I did, myself.

“Which one is your grandmother?” he asked.

“She’s not here tonight. She’s still recovering from her pneumonia.”

“What a shame,” Jason said, pulling me in closer as he led us through a graceful spin. “I’ll have to meet her another time.”

And that’s when it hit me. The perfect plan. After all, I’d already promised Gran that I would go to the Farm. And she had said that I could bring someone. And after my little, um, makeout session with Jason beneath the stairs at La Perla, it was time to see just how far my Boyfriend was willing to follow me….

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and leaned in closer to Jason’s ear. “Come with me to my family reunion.”

He almost stopped moving, right there, in the middle of the parquet floor. Not exactly the reaction I had hoped for. Nevertheless, he recovered his dancing legs quickly, and he asked in a careful voice, “When is it?”

“The third weekend in October. Two weeks away. We get together up in Connecticut, at our family farm. Gran will be there, and a couple dozen cousins and aunts and uncles.”

“The third weekend…. That’s Historical Politics.”

“Excuse me?” I knew that my family had a lot of issues, but I’d never heard anyone phrase it quite like that.

“The Historical Politics Society of America. The ‘trade association’ all we history professors belong to. They always have their annual meeting the third weekend in October.”

“Oh.” I knew that I shouldn’t feel so disappointed. I mean, five minutes before, I’d never even considered asking Jason to join me. I looked up to find him staring across the dance floor, looking at his historical political colleagues. He was probably imagining the raucous time they’d have, discussing Hegelian Dialectic and Cartesian Dualism over endless beers in the hotel bar at the conference.

He pulled me a little closer to his chest, his fingers spreading more broadly across my back. “This reunion thing. It’s for the whole weekend?”

“Friday afternoon until Sunday afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t be able to make it up there until Saturday. I can’t get out of a commitment Friday night. I could drive up and meet you there, though.”

I knew that the music was playing. I knew that other couples were dancing around us. I knew that Jason was holding me close, waiting for me to say something.

I knew that my entire world was opening, expanding, like the moment that a theater curtain flies up and a play begins and all the possibilities are spread out on the stage, just waiting for the audience to discover them.

“That would be wonderful,” I finally said.

Suddenly, I thought that he would kiss me. There. On the St. Regis ballroom dance floor, with his arms folded around my perfect green silk dress, as he looked down at my new-cut hair and my manicured nails, into eyes not obscured by glasses.

But the band stopped playing. The waltz ended, and everyone started to clap. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement, and then Uncle George was standing by my side. “Jane!” he exclaimed. “Your grandmother’s bid on the Schmidt painting has been overwritten. You should take a look and see if she wants to pay more.”

“Okay,” I said, wishing that he would disappear, that he would take all of his concert opera cronies and enter suspended animation, that he would leave me for even one more minute with my amazing, stupendous, incredible Boyfriend. My Boyfriend who was joining me at the Farm. My Boyfriend, who was going to redeem me after years and years of aunts and cousins questioning how I could possibly remain single for so long.

“I’ m sorry,” Uncle George said, half-turning toward Jason. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all, sir,” Jason said, inclining his Greek-statue head. “In fact, I should get back to my friends.” He still held my hand, though, and he squeezed my fingers gently before he started to walk away. “We’ll talk more at the library next week, Jane. I can’t wait to see what you’ve found for me about the apothecary trade. That’s the last piece that’s missing from my article.”

“I’ll have it for you at the circulation desk on Monday morning.”

I felt like I was speaking code in front of Uncle George. And I’ll see you at the Farm, I meant.

“Wonderful,” he said. Then he smiled and was gone, scarlet cummerbund, impeccable tux, and all. Uncle George needed to remind me three times before I was ready to cross the room and check on Gran’s silent auction bid.

My Boyfriend was going to meet my family. At the Farm.

Chapter 24

“Jane, you’re just not concentrating,” David said, collapsing back on the couch and sighing with frustration.

“I’m trying!”

“No, you’re not.” He picked up the pink fluorite crystal that was centered on the coffee table. He’d explained numerous times that it was supposed to help focus my thoughts. I was supposed to be able to see through it, to channel my energies as I worked a spell.

I glared at the stone. “I just don’t think that my strength is with crystals.”

“Your mother’s seems to be,” he said in a perfectly reasonable tone.

Neko had the good sense to cringe at those words. He’d heard enough of my rants about Clara to know that mentioning her was not about to make me more pliant to the warder’s wishes.

“And if Clara,” I gave a definite emphasis to her proper name, “had bothered to train me, then maybe all this witchcraft stuff wouldn’t be so hard to pick up now. Maybe I’d be ready for a teacher, if a decent one could be found around here.”

David sucked in breath to reply, but he visibly caught himself before he could say something that he’d regret. Neko winced, stood, and stretched. “Perhaps if I made you both a cup of tea…”

David looked toward my familiar, annoyed. “We don’t need tea. What we need is a bit less self-pity and a bit more concentration.”

Neko positioned himself precisely equidistant between us and shrugged. “It seems to me that at least one of us needs a nap. Awfully cranky tonight, aren’t we?” He minced into the kitchen before David or I could ask just who was supposed to be the tired one.

I leaned back against the couch’s cushions, exhaling sharply to get my stupid bangs out of my eyes. I’d never had a problem with my hair when it was just one long tangle of curls. I closed my eyes, suddenly too exhausted by the whole training process to focus on the room around me. Not that I needed a nap. Really.

“Neko,” I called. “A cup of tea would be wonderful.”

He didn’t answer, but I heard him bang the kettle against the sink.

David took another deep breath and said, “I’m not meant to be a trainer, you know. I’m here to protect you. To keep you safe. I only started to teach you about your powers because you seemed so completely lost.”

I didn’t bother opening my eyes. I was almost too weary to say, “Fine, then. Don’t teach me anymore.”

He was silent for a long time, and I wondered what expression was on his face. We’d worked together twice since the Harvest Gala and at both sessions, he’d complained that I wasn’t applying myself. I wasn’t quite sure what he wanted me to accomplish. I thought it was extremely unlikely that I’d hurtle from being Jane Madison, Meek and Ordinary Librarian to Jane Madison, Super Witch, practically overnight.

Besides, I had important things on my mind. Like my Boyfriend. And our looming weekend at the Farm. I’d only seen Jason once since the Gala, to hand over my apothecary research which—if I do say so myself—he had declared invaluable. Now he had me digging up historic midwife’s records; he believed that Chesterton and his wife might have lost twins before young George was born. That loss might modify how scholars had traditionally viewed the stoic farmer—and Jason might glean another career-advancing article.

“You don’t understand.” David interrupted my scholarly distraction, using a weary parent’s tone of voice, as though I were an unruly toddler.

“Explain it to me, then.” I forced myself to sit up and open my eyes. “Tell me what I’m missing. Tell me why this is so important. There are about a hundred other things I’d rather be doing, you know. I was supposed to be at yoga tonight with Melissa. And I should be packing for the weekend. I leave tomorrow morning.”

“I know.”

I heard his disapproval, as loud as a bonfire crackling. “And what’s that supposed to mean? Are you telling me that I shouldn’t go to my family reunion?”

“I don’t have anything against your family.” He laid out his answer very precisely, with just the faintest emphasis on the last word.

Jason. I never should have mentioned that Jason was coming to the Farm.

Well, David Montrose had passed up his chance. After all, David was the one who had stood outside my cottage and kissed me goodnight before deciding that it was better off for both of us to stop our “relationship” before it began. I certainly wasn’t asked what I preferred.

Not that I would ever trade Jason for David. Perish the thought.

I knew Jason. I’d spent almost an entire year observing his every move. All the time that he’d been my Imaginary Boyfriend, I’d memorized his preferences, his quirks, the endearing little things he did that made my heart twist inside my chest.

I didn’t know David well enough to get worked up about him. He didn’t make me tongue-tied. He didn’t make me question every word, every thought I had in his presence. There was no chemistry with David. No rush of flirtation. He was my warder, plain and simple.

And he was acting as if he was in charge of every aspect of my life. Including my love life.

Neko slunk in from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with teapot, mugs, butter cookies, and a pitcher of cream the size of Montana. He poured oolong for all of us, then doctored his own, adding a quick dollop of tea to a mugful of cream. He blew on the lukewarm mixture and sipped daintily. When he finally noticed that David and I were studiously avoiding looking at each other, he pursed his lips and asked, “Are we having fun yet?”

“I’ll be having fun tomorrow afternoon. When I’m in Connecticut.” I crossed my arms over my chest. I knew that I was acting like a petulant teenager, but what else could I say? David brought out the worst in me. If he was going to act like my schoolteacher, I was going to regress to the worst of my student days.

Predictably, David sighed in exasperation and set down the mug that he had just picked up. “You know, we don’t have to do this, Jane. You can just hand over all the books downstairs. Let the Coven take charge, and you won’t have to worry about them any more. The crystals, too. The Coven would be thrilled to have the entire collection.”

Neko slammed his own mug onto the table, letting some of his ecru-colored drink slop over the top. “Stunning advice,” he hissed, glaring at David. I was reminded immediately of the black cat that Neko once had been, and I wondered what he would look like if he actually attacked in his feline form.

David answered my familiar, but he looked directly at me. “It’s not ‘advice’, Neko. It’s merely a statement of fact. The Coven hasn’t interfered so far because I’ve convinced them that a valid witch has possession of the materials downstairs.” He pointed at my familiar. “The fact that Jane was able to awaken you is an indication that—at some level—the magic accepts her. I assure you, though, that the Coven is getting rather curious about the situation. They’re growing impatient. They want to meet Jane, know her capabilities. And they want to know exactly what is in that collection. I can’t put them off forever.”

“Dammit, David! I’m not asking you to!” I responded more loudly than I’d intended. “All I’m asking is to be left alone until after my family reunion. Is that so much? The books were missing for decades. Can’t I take one more weekend, for myself?”

David sighed. “You can take one more weekend.”

Surprised by my sudden victory, I sank back onto the couch and hid my gloat behind a swallow of tea. As I thought about Neko’s hissed concern, though, it occurred to me that there was more at stake here than I had imagined at first. “David?”

“What?” He sounded every bit as annoyed as I had felt.

“If I did give back the books, what would happen to Neko?”

David looked at the young man who sat in the chair beside me. Neko, for his part, studiously avoided both of us, apparently discovering endlessly fascinating patterns on the surface of his drink. When David answered, his voice was soft. “He goes with the materials. He’s the familiar for the collection.”

“Not for the witch? Not for me?” I was stunned by how much David’s words hurt. As annoying as Neko might be, as frustrating as he was, I had become accustomed to sharing the cottage with him. I had just assumed that he was meant to help me. To stay with me.

“If the collection is yours, then he is yours. But if you reject the collection, then he’ll go with it to the next witch who has the power to transform him.”

Neko wouldn’t meet my eyes.

I wondered if he was thinking about this cottage that he’d come to call home. Or the fish market down on 31st Street. Or the cream that he’d taken to buying in quart containers. Or Roger. Or me.

I sighed. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll make a serious effort with my witchcraft after I get back from the Farm. But I really don’t have any choice about this weekend. I promised Gran.”

“And Jason,” Neko added helpfully, stealing a butter cookie from the tray. So much for his everlasting loyalty as I made sacrifices to protect him from strangers.

I watched David stiffen at my Boyfriend’s name. “What?” I said to him, and I was surprised to hear that my one-word question was a shout. “What can you possibly have against Jason Templeton?”

David eyed me steadily. “Do you really want me to answer that question?

His smooth certainty infuriated me. “Yes! I am sick and tired of your coming in here and posturing every time his name comes up. This isn’t some kind of contest between the two of you. Jason Templeton has nothing to do with you, Scott!”

I was so deep into my tirade that it took me a moment to realize my mistake. The name of my ex-fiancé hovered in the air, taking on a life of its own, assuming every bit as much form and substance as Neko possessed.

And in the end, it was Neko himself who broke the charged silence. “Well now,” he said. “Isn’t this uncomfortable?”

“Shut up, Neko,” I said. I turned to David, whose face had set in a perfect, implacable mask. “Seriously. Jason has nothing to do with you. He is completely separate from your world. From witchcraft. From warding.”

“My job is to keep you safe,” David said. His voice was so flat that it might have come from a million miles away.

“And how can Jason possibly be a threat? Do you think that he’s going to come in here with a stake, or a silver bullet or, or, I don’t know, whatever kills witches?”

“Of course not.” David set his answer perfectly in the center of the room, the words as smooth and polished as if he’d spent a lifetime carving away any hint of an offensive note.

“And is he a threat to my powers? Do you think that he’ll suddenly decide to burn the books downstairs? Or steal my crystals? Or stab Neko?”

“I have no reason to think that he will.” David sounded like Mr. Spock; he had stripped out every last vibration of emotion from his voice.

“So you think that he’ll steal everything in the basement? Hide it away from the Coven? Sell it to the highest bidder on the magic black market?”

“No.”

I stood and gestured toward the door. “I think that we’re through with this conversation.”

David stared at me for a long time. I watched the muscles in his jaws tighten, as if he were biting back words. He reminded me of the David that I’d met the night I awakened Neko. The dark David. The angry David.

Gone was the man who had changed himself to appeal to me, and in his place was a man doing all that he could to test me. He was Petrucio, cracking his whip to tame my rebellious Kate. It seemed like he was trying to alienate me. To distance me.

And he was being remarkably successful.

He set down his mug and stood. He brushed his hands down the front of his slacks, as if he were shedding invisible crumbs. He looked at Neko for several heartbeats. My familiar gazed back, his almond eyes as distant and remote and unblinking as a cat’s.

“Very well,” David said. “No more training.”

I waited for him to finish, and when he did not, I made my voice as firm as I could and said, “Until I get back from the Farm.”

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “No more training from me at all. Things have become too confused. Too confusing. I had hoped to avoid that, but I can see that I was not successful.”

He held out his hand, as if we were concluding a business meeting. I stared at it, not offering my own. “You’re kidding, right?” I finally said. “You want me to think about what you’ve told me tonight. You want me to realize that I need you, and then get back to witch school like a good little student. Right?”

He did not answer. I looked to Neko, but he gave me no further guidance. His gaze was pinned on David, as intent as a cat stalking a broken-winged bird.

I tried again. “So, do you want me to apologize? Is that it? I’m sorry, and I want you to be my teacher again?”

David’s voice was perfectly even. “I don’t want anything of the sort. I want you to be content in your life. I want you to know who you are and what you are. I want you to be balanced, so that you can find all your natural power and strength. Jane, I want you to be happy.”

“And your walking out of here tonight is going to make me happy?”

“In the short term,” he said, his voice so dry that he might have been lost in a desert.

I said, “And in the long term?”

“In the long term, the Coven will take care of you. They’ll provide you with a proper trainer. Someone who is used to teaching witches. You don’t need to be afraid; they’ll be fair about everything. They won’t test you until you’re able to show your true potential.”

He made everything sound so reasonable. So sane. So utterly, perfectly normal. “And if I can’t learn from the Coven’s teacher?”

“Then they’ll take back the books.”

“And Neko?”

He nodded, not sparing my familiar a glance. “And Neko.”

Before I could even begin to figure out a response to that, David crossed to the front door. “Enjoy the Farm, Jane. But be careful. And apply yourself when you come back here. Work with your teacher.”

Then he was gone.

My warder was walking down the garden path outside my home. I stared after him until he turned the corner of the library, until he was out of sight. Until he was clearly not coming back again.

I sat down on the couch and stared at Neko. My belly ached, and I realized that I was dangerously close to tears.

I felt like David and I had just broken up. We’d never been going out, and now we had broken up. Hell, we had shared one kiss, and now I was parsing every word of his conversation, trying to figure out what he had meant, why he had spoken, what did he mean when he said….

I knew this feeling. I remembered it. It had swooped over me when Scott phoned from London that last time. I had lived with it for those long days after my beloved fiancé had told me that we should see other people. That he had started to see someone else. That he wanted his ring back.

But why should David Montrose make me feel that way? Especially when our fight was about the real love of my life, my Boyfriend, Jason?

I gulped the last of my tea as if it were a vodka shot, closing my eyes. Actually, I could use some vodka. Or mojitos. Was it too late to call Melissa?

I looked at my watch. 10:30 on a school night. It was too late to get started with mojito therapy.

I closed my eyes and collapsed back on the couch.

“Burning,” Neko said, breaking the silence at last.

“What?”

“Burning witches. Stakes are for vampires, and silver bullets are for werewolves.”

“Gee. Thanks,” I said. “I guess.”

“Anything I can do to help,” he said. “More tea?”

I shook my head and heaved myself upright. It was time to go to bed. Cut my losses for the night.

Tomorrow would be an all new day. I would get up early to pack. I would take a cab over to Gran’s apartment. We’d drive up to the Farm. I would get ready for Jason to arrive on Saturday. And I wouldn’t have to worry about witches or warders or familiars until after the long weekend was over.

Chapter 25

It was still dark out when I attempted to leave the next morning.

Attempted. It took me three tries to actually get out the door. First, I forgot my keys to Gran’s apartment. Then, I left behind my carefully hoarded bag of Sephora cosmetics. Then, I forgot the box of condoms that had languished in my night stand for nearly a year, a present from Melissa to celebrate my so-called freedom from Scott, once he had broken off our engagement. I had not looked favorably on the gift at the time, but now I allowed a spiral of excitement to uncurl in my belly at the thought that they might—finally!—be put to excellent use.

Neko hovered close as I made my way out the front door for the third time. “Don’t make too much noise while I’m gone,” I told him. He nodded, looking for all the world like a teenager being left home alone for the first time in his life. “I left some food for you in the fridge.”

“Salmon?”

“No. Chicken.” He sniffed, letting me know what he thought of that choice. I hoisted my bag on my shoulder, fighting to free the ends of my hair from the shoulder strap. “How do I look?”

“He’s not going to be there until tomorrow.”

“Who?” I asked, forcing myself to sound shocked.

“Be careful, Jane,” Neko said.

“Don’t start sounding like David.”

“For all his faults, David can be right sometime.”

“Well not this time. I’m going to have a wonderful weekend with Jason. And when I come back, we’ll straighten out this witchcraft thing once and for all.” Neko kicked at a stone embedded in the garden path. “Seriously. You don’t have to worry. I’m not letting anyone take the books. And I’m definitely not letting anyone take you.”

He made one last, half-hearted kick before forcing a smile across his face. “You aren’t really going to wear your hair like that, are you?”

“What’s wrong with—” I grumbled in exasperation and dashed back into the house. A quick stop in my bedroom to retrieve a black scrunchie, a dash into the bathroom for a mirror as I gathered up my staggered waves of hair, and then I really, truly, absolutely was ready to go. I leaned forward and kissed Neko on the cheek. “See you Sunday night.”

“Ciao!” He made a big show of waving farewell.

Fortunately, I hailed a cab just one block away. Gran was waiting in the lobby of her building, when I let myself in. She was sitting primly on one of the benches beside the mailboxes. I picked up her small suitcase, led her over to the garage elevators, and we hit the road.

After a brief stop, that was, to pick up Clara. With a rush of shame, I realized that I had not even known where my biological mother was living. It turned out that Clara had rented a townhouse in the northern suburb of Silver Spring. I didn’t get to see the inside, but the front of the building was unassuming: red brick, hunter green front door, whitewashed window boxes that were currently bare.

At Gran’s instruction, I got out to ring Clara’s doorbell. She opened the door almost immediately but kept us waiting nearly fifteen minutes while she ran around, collecting the last of her necessities for the weekend. I started to get irritated, but then I remembered that it had taken me a half dozen passes to gather up my own things. Like mother, like daughter? What a truly terrifying thought.

The ride to Connecticut was uneventful. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed driving, even when the vehicle was Gran’s mammoth Lincoln Town Car. “Best looking car on the road,” she affirmed, every time she got into it. She drove herself to the grocery store and to opera guild board meetings, but the car spent most of its time just sitting in her garage.

We stopped a few times, for food and drink and the elimination of same, but we made great time, arriving at the Farm by 1:00. As I stepped onto the wrap-around porch, I was transported back to my childhood, to the years when I had loved vacationing in Connecticut. As I had when I was a little girl, I centered my feet on the great marble block that nestled in front of the door, and I touched my fingers to the house’s wooden clapboards.

“Protect me and keep me safe from all harm

Watch o’er my family here at the Farm”

A frisson ran down my spine, and I turned to Gran, who had taught me the rhyme on my very first visit, more than a quarter-century before. “Gran,” I said. “It’s like a spell!”

“It’s a tradition, dear,” she chided. But I felt the same prickle on my neck when she repeated the words, and Clara as well.

I gave a second look the inset marble block. Marble. A stone long associated with physical protection. With safety. Security.

Before I could question Gran more closely, the door flew open, and relatives boiled around us. Someone took our bags, others ushered us into the kitchen. A dozen helping hands made us more sandwiches than we could possibly eat.

My cousin Leah rested her hands on her hugely pregnant belly as she looked curiously out at the car. “Where’s Scott? Not able to join us again?”

Aunt Jenny leaped to my rescue. “Leah, I told you that Scott wasn’t going to be here.” She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “He broke off the engagement more than a year ago.”

Leah laughed in fake embarrassment and waved her hand in front of her face. “Of course, of course! I have been so forgetful this pregnancy! They say it gets worse with each one. After three, you’d think I would have learned my lesson. My Joey is just about ready to divorce me!”

Her Joey wouldn’t dare—he’d never find another woman to put up with his wandering eyes and roaming hands. I barely managed to keep from saying that out loud. Leah was exactly why I had not wanted to come to the Farm. Leah, and all my other contented, breeding cousins.

But then, I remembered my secret weapon. I forced a beatific smile to spread across my lips. I tested my tone of voice inside my head, lightened it another shade, then another for good measure. “I invited someone else to join me for the weekend.”

“Who?” Leah asked. I watched Aunt Jenny crane her neck, as if she could make out a body stored in the Lincoln’s deep trunk.

“My Boyfriend,” I said, shrugging to show that my relationship was so steady and stable and committed that I could be casual. “His name is Jason Templeton. He wasn’t able to get away from the city until tomorrow morning, but he’ll stay for the rest of the weekend.”

As I’d hoped, Leah pounced on my information. I spent the next hour insouciantly describing how Jason and I had met, how we worked together, how he was writing definitive articles on George Chesterton and changing colonial scholarship as we’d known it. I even managed to fit in how we had attended the Harvest Gala, making it sound as if we’d planned to be at the event together all along, instead of running into each other by accident.

Gran, bless her heart, kept silent. And Leah, true to form, continued pressing me. She wanted to know about Jason’s family, his background, where he was raised, whether he had any siblings. I didn’t know the answer to most of her questions (despite my most determined research as a reference librarian—that is, using Google to research Jason incessantly—I had not been able to uncover most of my Boyfriend’s background.) Nevertheless, I invented details on the spot. When he arrived, I’d let him know what I’d said. He could back me up.

And until Jason arrived, there were plenty of Farm traditions to take care of. Gran had mapped out who would stay in which rooms. Not surprisingly, I had been assigned a bed in the “Girl’s Room” up in the attic. Clara was parked next to me. We lugged our bags upstairs, and Clara made a show of opening up the round window under the eaves, waving her hands to bring more air into the room.

Cousin Leah was waiting for us when we descended. “It’s always so musty up there,” she said. “Fortunately, Joey and I are in the White Cottage.”

The White Cottage. One of the four outbuildings on the property. They always went to the breeding pairs, as if a couple couldn’t go without sex for two nights in a row. I thought about the box of condoms shoved into the side of my duffle bag. Some of us had survived without sex for months. Over a year, even.

I knew that I needed to change the topic of conversation or I’d say something I’d regret, so I dredged up my last vestige of maturity and pointed to the choker that Leah wore. “That’s unusual. I don’t think I’ve seen stones like those before.”

She raised her fingers to her throat as if to remind herself of what she was wearing. “Oh, this? Mom gave it to me when I was pregnant with Joe Junior. She said it’s tradition for women in our family to wear it during their last trimester. Oops! You wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

A hot retort rose to my lips, but I made myself look closer at the necklace. The stones were mottled, red with veins of green and white. Sard, I realized. A type of agate, often associated with safe childbirth. (Thank you, Neko, for your patient naming of stone after stone from the kit in my basement.) How long had the necklace been in my family? And what other witchy artifacts lurked here at the Farm?

“Penny for your thoughts.”

I looked up to see another cousin. “Simon!” I leaped to my feet and threw my arms around him. He kissed my cheek and folded me into a bear hug. “How are you?”

“Wonderful. Carol and I are both great.” I looked around for his wife, as petite as he was massive. “She’s corralling the twins.” Carol and Simon had two seven-year-old boys who must be doing their best to brew mischief around the Farm. They lived on a real, working farm in Vermont, and Simon’s boys always knew more than their cousins about leaping from tall surfaces, eating inedible treasures, and setting small fires to precious objects.

“What’s this I hear about a new beau?” Simon asked, scratching his belly as if he’d just awakened from a nap. I launched into my Jason story, ridiculously pleased that the rumors had already spread.

In fact, I got to repeat my tale more than a dozen times, throughout the afternoon and into the evening, as I caught up with relatives I hadn’t seen in far too long. By the time we were returning to the Farm from a chaotic dinner at the Clam Shack, I was having trouble remembering all the details I’d glossed onto my relationship. Was Jason one of five boys, or six? Did he have an allergy to clams and oysters, or clams and crab? Had we discussed wanting three children, or four?

Back at the Farm, I managed to secure one of the prime wicker armchairs on the porch, along with a woolen blanket. The temperature had dropped as soon as the sun went down, but we’d all suited up with jackets, gloves, and mufflers. The entire family was unwilling to miss out on fresh, country air.

While the children played a rambunctious game of flashlight tag on the sloping front lawn, I leaned back in the darkness, listening to my relatives chatter into the night. Clara was quite a hit among my aunts and uncles, catching up with her siblings as if she had merely taken a long vacation.

She made her travels sound exotic and brave, especially as she drew out a long story about making a spirit quest outside of Sedona, camping in the Arizona desert for thirty days and thirty nights to find her true self. I found my mind wandering to that region’s famous red rock, and I wondered what witchy powers my mother might have found inside herself on her retreat.

By the time I staggered up to the attic, I was drunk on family gossip, the shrieks of children, and a bellyful of fried clam strips. I was asleep before my head hit my pillow.

At sunrise, I was awakened by more shrieking children on the front lawn. I could remember when I had been one of those kids, drawn outside by the early morning mist, captivated by the crunch of dew frozen on the grass. I pulled my pillow over my head and pretended to sleep for as long as I could. Eventually, though, even I couldn’t keep up the illusion, and I pulled on my wooly bathrobe and stumbled down to the kitchen.

The teakettle was always ready to go at the Farm, and I soon had a steaming cup of English Breakfast to help me wake up. In short order, Aunt Jenny had taken charge of the kitchen, heating up the electric griddle and spooning out massive rounds of pancakes. Simon took over frying up a half ton of bacon, and Joey actually bothered to lug in a few gallons of orange juice from the giant refrigerator in the storage shed.

After breakfast, one group decided to head out to Old Mystic Seaport, a sort of Disneyland-on-the-Sea that recaptured the magic of the whaling industry. Another group decided to head into Salem for the annual Autumn Art Arcade, a judged show of local artists.

Pregnant Leah claimed that her ankles were too swollen for her to go anywhere; she staked a claim to the farmhouse’s sunny parlor. I stayed in the Girl’s Room, trying on every item of clothing I’d brought with me, brushing my hair, pulling it back, letting it go straight, applying makeup, re-applying makeup, eating an emergency donut, eating another, contemplating a third (and eventually giving in but promising myself that I would not have lunch.)

Oh, and I drove myself insane wondering when Jason would arrive.

As it turned out, he must have left Washington well before dawn; his boxy blue Volvo pulled into the Farm’s driveway just a few minutes past noon. While I knew that one school of Boyfriend management said that I should wait on the porch for my one true love, I gave in to the Jane Madison School of No Restraint.

I hurtled down the front steps, coming to a gravel-spray stop in front of the driver’s door. “Hello!” I exclaimed as Jason clambered out. I couldn’t keep from grinning. Truth be told, I felt like laughing loud enough for them to hear me out on the highway.

“Mmmm,” Jason said, pulling me in for a kiss that was as perfect as any I could have scripted. My arms automatically went around his waist; I hardly spent any time wondering if he would think I was too forward, too passionate, too needy.

“Any trouble finding us?” I asked.

“None at all.”

“And the traffic wasn’t bad?”

“Oddly enough, at six o’clock on a Saturday morning, traffic is relatively light. Even around the Beltway.” The laughter behind his words made my heart pound, and I tried to shake my goofy grin off my face. This was all too perfect. It couldn’t be happening to me.

“Come on in!” I said, finally remembering that I was supposed to be the hostess. “Most folks have gone out for the day, but there are still a few of us here.”

“I didn’t mean to make you miss out on all the fun,” he said, running a long-fingered hand through his unruly curls.

“I haven’t missed out on anything,” I said. And Jason’s smile absolutely convinced me that I was speaking the truth—as if I ever could have doubted. We climbed the steps to the front porch.

“So, Professor Man really does exist.” Leah barely smiled from the top of the stairs, her pregnant belly thrusting toward us like the body of a malevolent spider.

Jason turned toward me in mock surprise. “And here, I thought that all my years of schooling were wasted. Professor Man! To the rescue!” He slid his left palm to the small of my back, and the motion ran a shiver from the top of my head to my tailbone. “Jason Templeton,” my Boyfriend said, shaking Leah’s hand.

“Leah Stark,” she said reluctantly. I could read her thoughts as clearly as if they were words written on the parchment pages that filled my basement. She wondered how I could have landed a catch as perfect as Jason. She gave me another appraising glance before she stepped aside. “Well, I’d better get back to the kitchen. I promised to start the baked beans for tonight.” She whirled back to Jason with all the subtlety of a tabby pouncing on a mouse. “Jane said that you were allergic to clams, but we’ll have halibut and side dishes at the clambake.”

Jason, bless him, didn’t bat an eye. “Jane always remembers my allergies. I hope you didn’t expand the menu just for me, though.”

Leah rolled her eyes. “No. Most of the kids hate clams, anyway.”

“They’ve got good taste,” Jason said with a smile. He reached around Leah to hold the screen door for her as she went back into the house. I could have melted on the spot.

Instead, I remembered that Jason had never been to the Farm before. “Here!” I exclaimed, once the screen door had slammed closed behind us. “Let me show you the upstairs.”

As we clambered up to the attic, I waited for him to comment on his sudden shellfish allergy. Instead, he waited until we were on the upper landing before he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close and nuzzling my neck. It was a good thing that he was holding me; otherwise, I might have swooned like some silly woman in a Shakespeare comedy, tumbling back down to the ground floor.

“So,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear. “Anything else I should know about myself before I meet the rest of your family?”

I squirmed, but his fingers tightened around my waist.

“I don’t suppose you have four brothers, do you?”

“Nope,” he said. “Only child. But maybe I forgot the Wyoming branch of the family.”

“And, um, you’ve always wanted to have three kids?”

“I’ve never really done the math. But three’s as good as any other number. Anything else?”

I shook my head, unable to meet his eyes. I could feel his laughter against my side. “I’m sorry—” I started to say, but he stopped me with a kiss. A serious kiss. A steal-your-breath-away-and-make-you-wonder-where-your-toes-went kiss.

“Don’t be. That’s what this weekend is all about, right? Building up our own fantasy world away from the pressure of work?”

And that’s when I knew that I loved him. Not had a crush on him. Not dreamed that he would replace Scott on the appointment book in my heart. Not imagined that he would sweep me off my academic feet and admire my librarian accomplishments as if they meant something in the world at large.

Love.

Quickly followed by a darting twist of guilt through my belly. I couldn’t help but think of poor Melissa, struggling through her First Date hell. She was working to achieve this. She was hoping to experience what I had been lucky enough to stumble upon. All of her strategies, her pools of men, her hopeless, hapless first dates, they were all supposed to lead her toward this warm vanilla rush of comfort, of fun. Of love.

I’d found it, and she had not. Of course, a little voice nagged at the back of my mind, I had the benefit of the grimoire spell. But a girl had to use all the assets at her command, didn’t she?

“So,” Jason said, easing away from me. “I suppose you’d better show me what’s up here, and then we should get back downstairs before your cousin thinks that I’ve carried you away.”

I knocked twice on the door to the Boy’s Room, just to make sure that it was empty. When I showed Jason where he’d be sleeping, he looked shocked. “I thought…” He trailed off, but the way his eye roamed over my sweater told me exactly what he’d thought.

My cheeks flushed, and I started to stammer. “I did, too. I mean, I’d hoped. I mean, I wanted….” I took a deep breath and forced myself to exhale slowly. “I’ll see what I can arrange. There are cottages on the grounds. They’re spoken for, but maybe…”

He leaned over and brushed a wayward strand of hair off my cheek. “See what you can do.”

My heart was pounding by the time we got back to the kitchen, and that had nothing to do with the climb down the steep stairs.

Jason was the perfect Boyfriend. As the family troops returned from their morning excursions, Jason met relative after relative. He let himself get roped into a surprisingly brutal game of touch football on the front lawn, managing to capture one of Simon’s twins and hold the boy upside down while a teammate scored the winning touchdown. He helped collect wood for the night’s bonfire, securing a tiny pine cone that he pressed into my palm like a secret token. He sat on the porch with Gran, holding out his hands for her new skein of wool, admiring her knitted shawl and asking intelligent questions about her latest project.

He even carried on a spirited conversation with Clara, about whether our colonial forefathers had been capable of breaking free from their Christian indoctrination to experience a true spiritual awakening in the rugged new land of America. I think that he gained innumerable points when he proclaimed that Plymouth Rock was a symbol of all religious settlement of the New World, and that the stone beneath the pilgrims’ feet was echoed in the crystal around Clara’s neck.

Chalcedony, I noticed at a glance. The stone for motherhood.

If Clara caught my intent gaze, she ignored it.

My contribution for the evening clambake was a giant casserole dish of apple crisp. Some of the cousins had brought back bushels of orchard-fresh apples that afternoon, and I had found myself grinning as I peeled and cut them, slapping Jason’s fingers away as he tried to steal slices. When the kitchen timer beeped its alarm, I excused myself from the porch to remove the bubbling, cinnamon-scented dish from the oven.

And when I turned back to the counter, Gran was standing in the doorway.

“He seems quite charming, dear.”

I let the fluttering joy beneath my heart burst through my smile. “He is, Gran. He really is.”

“I’m surprised that you’ve never mentioned him before.” I heard the hurt behind her words, and I knew that she was asking if I was ashamed of her. She’d always worried about my being different from my friends, growing up without the standard issue of one mother and one father.

I set the hot apple crisp on a cooling rack before looking up at her again. “Gran, it’s not like that at all. This has all happened so quickly. There have been so many changes, just in the past couple of months.”

“Changes?” She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. Suddenly, I was assailed with deja vu. I’d had this conversation with my grandmother before. We had talked about Jason, about my job at the Peabridge, about the mysterious collection of books in my basement.

I blinked and realized that we’d never had such a discussion. But we had talked throughout all my painful years of high school. Through the trials and tribulations of my first date, my first kiss, my first agonizing decision of who to invite to a Sadie Hawkins dance.

I took a deep breath, ready to share with Gran, ready to tell her about Neko, and David, and what little I had learned about witchcraft. Before I could get out the first words, though, Leah burst into the kitchen. “Oh, good,” she said. “You’ve got the cobbler out.”

“It’s a crisp,” I said, irrationally annoyed by her appearance.

“Crisp, cobbler, freaking brown betty. The kids are screaming for dessert. If you had children, Jane, you’d know that they really can’t be kept waiting when they’re excited like this. Honestly, sometimes I don’t know how you single women survive.”

My retort was hotter than the crisp in its casserole dish, but before I could spill out a venomous reply, Gran pulled herself up from her chair. “We’d best make sure all the little monsters get more sugar, then, shouldn’t we? At least they’ll work it off running around the bonfire.” I flashed her a smile of gratitude and scrambled for bowls and spoons.

The crisp was declared a success, and everyone adjourned to the back clearing for the evening’s main event.

The bonfire was everything that I remembered from my childhood. Flames leaped high against the pitch-black sky, sending up sparks in ever-changing patterns of light. My back grew chilled, even as my face was toasted by the fire. Someone broke out bags of giant marshmallows (Jason and I shared a fond smile), and Hershey bars magically appeared beside boxes of graham crackers. The kids tracked down long branches for marshmallow-roasting. One of Simon’s twins discovered a coveted five-pronged stick.

I learned that Jason preferred his marshmallows charred to a crisp. I learned that he liked extra chocolate on his smores. I learned that he could lick stray graham cracker crumbs from the corners of my mouth, in the dark, on the very edge of the fire’s light. And I learned that he could protect me from the spookiest ghost stories in Connecticut, his arm hollowing out a perfect circle by his side.

As the kids fell asleep and parents began to make noises about shuffling off to bed, Simon came and sat beside me. “It’s been a long time, Jane,” he said, nodding to Jason, as if to include him in reminiscences.

“Too long,” I sighed.

Simon held out his fist, and I automatically extended my hand. Something brass slipped from his fingers to mine. “Blue,” he said.

The Blue Cottage. The one that Gran had set aside for Simon and Carol, to give them a break from their boys. The one that was nestled on the very edge of the Farm’s property, far away from prying eyes. “Simon, I can’t.”

“Of course you can. I’ll take the couch in the main house. Someone has to make sure that the boys don’t sneak out too late. And Carol will be fine up in the Girl’s Room.”

Jason’s fingers tightened on mine. I leaned forward and kissed Simon on his cheek. “Thank you,” I said.

“You look happy,” he replied, and he nodded toward Jason again. “Both of you.”

We waited a few minutes, just for appearance’s sake. Someone called for another ghost story, and there was a good-spirited debate about whether it was time to bring out a bottle of schnapps.

I waited until the singing began before I clambered to my feet. Trying to look innocuous, as if I were heading out to search for a new marshmallow stick, I eased into the darkness. Jason followed behind me, close as a shadow.

My feet knew the path to the Blue Cottage; they’d traveled the walkway often enough when I was a child. I clutched Simon’s key like a good-luck charm. I felt Jason breathing behind me as I worked the lock. When I fumbled for the light switch, his fingers closed over mine, keeping me from springing the cottage into brightness.

The moonlight was enough. It puddled on the queen-sized bed, illuminating the wedding-ring quilt that had been in the family for as long as I could remember.

I barely managed to set the key on the night stand before Jason was kissing me. These were not the sweet, promising kisses that he had stolen on the stairs. These were urgent kisses, plying kisses. They reached down into my belly, twisted me, arched me against him with an urgency I had long ago forgotten.

We were like animals, there in the Blue Cottage. We were like fairies from the woods around us, Titania and Oberon, come together in desperate forest love. Jason tugged at my sweater, peeled off my jeans. I returned the services, pulling him closer to me.

The air was chilly in the cottage, kissed by the autumn night. We dove underneath the quilt at the same time, pulling it up to our shoulders and giggling like mad children. For just a moment, I wondered what Jason was seeing. I worried that he would feel betrayed by my too-chunky thighs, that he would close his hands around my waist and realize that I was never going to be a ballerina. I was never going to be a sculpted Russian ice queen.

But then his hands moved with a new urgency. Even I—a woman who had been left high and dry on the sexual seas for over a year—recognized what pushed against my belly.

“Damn!” I exclaimed.

“What?” He barely pulled back.

“The condoms! They’re back in the house.” I was furious with myself. Embarrassed. Disappointed. Desperate. “Maybe Simon and Carol—” I started to say.

But Jason silenced me with another kiss. And when I’d abandoned the ridiculous notion that my happily married cousin might have rubbers sitting around his weekend cottage, Jason sat up. He fumbled for his jeans in the pooled darkness on the floor. He reached into his pocket and drew out a ring of keys, placing them on the night stand. He extracted his wallet. He opened it up.

And he displayed a foil packet.

A glorious foil packet.

A foil packet that was ripped open in a matter of seconds. And put to astonishingly good use in the middle of the Connecticut woods.

Chapter 26

The early morning sun woke me up, slanting through the window shade. For one confused moment, I thought that I was back at home. I pulled my comforter up closer to my chin, only to realize that it was not my comforter.

It was a quilt.

And I was lying under it, naked.

And I was not alone.

I rolled over to find myself looking into Jason Templeton’s eyes. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning.” I barely got the words out, as my heart started jack-hammering away, and I regretted them immediately. What was I thinking? I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet! Here, I had finally lured Jason to bed, and I was going to drive him away with clambake-and-smores morning breath.

Before I could figure out a way to sneak out of bed, to redeem my breath by stealing Simon’s toothpaste and rubbing it on my teeth with my finger, before I’d reconciled myself to showing Jason my bare rear-end as I ducked into the bathroom, the decisions were taken away from me.

Jason’s hands were firm as he pulled me close. His fingers clutched my hair. His lips found mine, as if it were perfectly natural for two people to kiss without the aid of minty fresh breath.

Which, I supposed, it was.

And I didn’t regret that lesson. I didn’t regret anything, as his fingers began to massage my scalp. His hands moved lower, smoothing over my bare back. I wriggled even closer to him, relishing the feeling of our bodies awakening, tangling, finding each other beneath the quilt.

Scott had never been one for morning love-making. He’d never wanted to linger between the sheets—he’d had too many important things to do, too many exciting people to see. I’d once proposed an entire “Pajama Weekend” where we’d do nothing but stay at home, make love, and eat disgustingly fattening food, and he’d looked at me as if I was mad before laughing and “getting” my so-called joke.

But Jason…. Jason was a different man entirely.

When he came up for air, he said, “And here I thought it might be strange, coming to your family reunion.”

“I knew you’d fit right in,” I said. And the double entendre in my innocent words made both of us laugh. “Seriously,” I said, when I trusted my voice again. “I don’t know what possessed me to invite you. I know it can be overwhelming to meet so many people at one time.”

“At least Leah set out a welcome mat.” We both laughed again. If only my spiteful cousin could see us now…

Jason leaned back on his pillow, pulling me on top of him so that my head rested against his chest. His surprisingly well-muscled chest. His perfect chest. I mean, the man was a college professor! I hadn’t expected him to have the body that he had, hidden beneath his long-sleeved shirts, and his impeccable khaki pants….

As I listened to his heart lub-dubbing beneath my ear, I spread my fingers against the curve of his ribs. “This is too perfect,” I sighed. I hadn’t actually intended to say those words out loud. Nevertheless, they seemed right, drifting to rest in the morning cabin, settling in with the dust motes that sparkled in the sunlight. I closed my eyes as Jason started drawing designs on my back with his fingertips. “Tell me something to make it real,” I said.

“What?” His voice was as lazy as his hands.

“Tell me something bad about you. A secret, or something. Something so that I’ll know this isn’t some fairy tale dream.”

“Something bad? You mean, other than the fact that I’m married?”

I froze.

He was joking, of course. He was teasing me. I had practically asked him to tease me. “Married?” I sounded stupid, but my question freed me to sit up, to gather the quilt across my chest like some censor-conscious heroine on a TV show.

“You know, Ekaterina? Marriage? I do, and all that crap?”

I knew all the words that Jason was saying, but I couldn’t make sense out of them. I couldn’t make them apply to my Boyfriend, to the man I’d just slept with.

“Ekaterina?” I’d lost the ability to form sentences, to string together subjects and predicates, nouns and verbs. Even as my belly twisted, even as my fingers and toes flamed red-hot then fell icy cold, I tried to remember how to speak, how to ask what I was suddenly terrified that I did not want to know.

Jason went on, before I could piece together a coherent sentence. “You met her, remember? At Five Guys? At the Harvest Gala?” He was sitting up now, too, leaning against the bed’s headboard and staring at me warily.

“I met her,” I said, finally managing to make a sentence. “I met her, but you never said anything about being married.”

“I told you that she was going to Historical Politics this weekend,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“But you left out the tiny fact that you’re her husband!”

I was such an idiot.

He’d let me make a fool out of myself. He’d let me declare my interest in him. He’d flirted with me and joked and made me think that we had a future. But he would never, ever be there for me. He would never, ever be mine. Because he belonged to someone else. To have and to hold. Til death do us part.

I was such an idiot.

I’d seen him with her twice. I’d watched her crying. He’d talked about her research. I’d forced myself to believe that she was a grad student, that she meant nothing to him, that she was just another woman among the hundreds of women that he saw in his professional life.

I was such a complete and utter idiot.

I threw myself out of bed, tugging the quilt with me, so that Jason was suddenly exposed. Bare. Silly.

He stared at me in astonishment. “Jane, you had to realize I was married!”

“And how was I supposed to realize that?” I said, as I scrambled for my clothes. “You don’t wear a wedding band!”

“I told you that I couldn’t make dinner on a weekend night.” He honestly sounded aggrieved, as if I were the one who had lied, who had pretended to be something I was not. “I told you that I couldn’t get up here to Connecticut until Saturday. I gave you my cell phone number.”

I tugged on my pants. My bra was tangled around itself, and there was no way that I was going to stand in front of him long enough to tuck myself into its cups and clasps. Instead, I jerked my sweater over my head, slashing at my hair to free it from the tight knit neck. By the time I had finished that maneuver, I could trust my voice with a few more complete sentences. “You never told me you were married. You never gave me any reason to believe that you were. You lied to me, Jason. You lied, and you took advantage of me.”

I shoved my feet into my tennis shoes, deciding that socks were as unnecessary as my bra. Jason took a deep breath, and stood up in front of me, naked.

“Jane, you’re being completely unreasonable!”

“I’m—” I started to say, but he cut me off.

“Come on! You had to know Ekaterina was my wife. You’re the one who brought her up in half our conversations.”

“But what—” My voice broke, and I needed to swallow hard before trying a second time. “What was this all about?” I gestured toward the bed.

“This was a break,” he said. “We’ve both been working so hard—me, writing my articles, you, doing my research….”

Doing his research. My so-called Boyfriend thought I was nothing more than a research assistant. Well, a research assistant and an easy lay. A research assistant, an easy lay, and a wiling partner in adultery.

My anger was hotter than our passion the night before, hotter than the bonfire that had blazed in the back clearing, hotter than the greasy flames that had shot out from my oven on the night that Jason first kissed me.

I needed to do something, needed to move. My arms rose up, and my fingers stiffened. Power pulsed inside me, building with every heartbeat. The thrumming energy of spell-work rippled down my spine. My hair crackled, and I knew that it must halo my face.

The magic was strong, stronger than anything I had summoned before. It was greater than my fumbling efforts when I awakened Neko, greater than my mastering simple kitchen flames. I opened my mouth and heard a terrible sound, a grating laugh, a murderous glee. I was making that noise; I was gloating over this power, this strength.

Part of me was mortified, horrified, afraid to even look at Jason’s aghast face. But part of me reveled in his terror. He was remembering. He was thinking back to the fire in my kitchen. He was making himself see the magic that he had denied, the power that he had convinced himself was nothing.

Nothing.

He thought that I was nothing. He had been playing me from Day One. Plying me with marshmallows and Italian lunches.

I closed my eyes, but I could no longer control my rage. It spun me around, crashing my thoughts against each other. I needed to ground the force; I needed to store it away. Even thinking of dampening it, though, only made the magic surge higher. I panicked, and that adrenaline rush folded into the maelstrom.

My mind was moving faster than light now. Jason was frozen before me—naked, frightened. The anger, the rage, the sucking, spinning power —

“Neko!” I sent the call across space, across time. It echoed inside my skull, and yet I knew that I’d said nothing aloud. “Neko!” I called again. My familiar had been awakened under the light of a full moon; he could leave our books, leave the home we shared. He could come to me here, where I needed him. “Neko!”

“Oh, my,” he said, and under other circumstances, I might have laughed at the expression on his face as he studied the naked Jason. “I know they say that size doesn’t matter, but—”

“Help me!” I cried as the tremendous forces inside my body, inside my soul, began to rattle my teeth.

Neko glided to my side. He leaned in, barely stifling a yelp as he came into contact with my scarce-pent magic.

“No time for spells,” he muttered, and he grabbed one of the sheets from the cottage floor. “Here,” he said. “Bleed the power into this.” He took my hand, and I felt him pull off the worst of the heat, the core of the pressure. The power seeped into the fabric fibers, dissipating through the warp and weft. Then, there was a concussion, short and sharp as a car back-firing. The sheet flashed into brightness, every thread illuminated into instant brilliance, and then it simply disappeared.

“Again,” Neko said, and he sacrificed the wedding-ring quilt. That bulk siphoned off a little more of my rage, but there was still too much for me to control alone.

“Again.” The bed’s fitted sheet. “Again.” Pillows. “Again.” The towels in the bathroom. “Again.” The shower curtain. “Again.” Jason’s tangled clothes still strewn on the braided rug where I had flung them the night before.

“And again.” The rug itself.

Finally, I was able to breathe. I was able to look around the cottage. I was able to see Jason, freed also, trying to cover himself with trembling hands.

“Jane,” he croaked.

“No.”

I swept his keys off the nightstand before he could react, and I sailed out of the Blue Cottage, letting the door swing wide so that the freezing air shriveled the lying, cheating bastard I’d thought of as my Boyfriend.

Neko followed in my wake. He was silent as we thrashed along the wooded path, but I watched his eyes dart toward a flash of bird-wing here, a shimmer of insects there. I only paused when we stood on the edge of the lawn, looking at the Farm’s sturdy wrap-around porch.

“So,” Neko said. “I take it he wasn’t any good in bed?”

I burst into tears.

Neko folded his arms around me, and I buried my face against his black t-shirt. He let me cry, making a soft sound deep in his throat, which might have been a purr.

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” I said, when I could finally speak. But even I couldn’t say if I was referring to sleeping with Jason, or to the magic disaster. Neko just made noises of agreement. “I didn’t know. And David told me, and I didn’t listen, and now he’s going to show up, and I’ll have to explain, and Leah will watch, and I’ll be an idiot in front of her again, like always.”

“Well,” Neko said reasonably. “She can’t watch if you aren’t here.”

“Just where am I supposed to go?”

Neko looked pointedly at the keys in my hand.

“But I can’t just take his car!”

“Why else did you grab them? Besides, it didn’t seem to bother you much, taking his clothes.”

“But David will—”

“Oh, he won’t be pleased. But taking the car isn’t going to make that any better or worse. It’s the magic he cares about. Not grand theft auto.”

“David’s going to kill me.”

“Give him some time to calm down, then. Drive home.”

“But won’t he just materialize inside the car?”

“He may be a warder, but he’s not a complete idiot. Would you try to pick out a few square feet of vehicle cruising down the highway? And attempt to materialize inside it?” I still felt dubious. “Go,” Neko insisted. “I’ll deal with him here. I’ll explain. You can talk to him later, when he’s had a chance to calm down.”

“And Jason? He’s going to be ranting like a madman. He’ll tell everyone I’m a witch.”

“Not that I’m sure your family would care…. Don’t worry. I’ll blur his memory of what happened. I’ll make sure he remembers why you were so upset, though. Knock a little shame into him.”

“Can you do that?”

“Have I failed you yet?”

Gratitude swelled in my chest, and I wiped my eyes with the backs of my hands. “Thanks, Neko.” He walked me over to the Volvo and watched me climb in on the driver’s side. “I owe you one.” I jammed the key into the ignition.

“Just remember you said that, after you get home.” He closed my door and knocked twice on the roof before stepping back to let me drive away.

It was Sunday morning; there was no traffic on the rural Connecticut roads. By the time I got to the highway, I was reliving every moment that I’d ever spent with the bastard Jason, every time that I’d looked at him in the Peabridge, helped him find a book, ordered a rare pamphlet for his studies. I remembered every word we’d ever exchanged through the long, long months when he was only my Imaginary Boyfriend. I remembered speaking the grimoire spell, and the short six weeks when I’d thought that there was something real between us. Something more than my being a tool. A research slave. And a cheap thrill besides.

I remembered the way that he’d touched me the night before. I wanted to take a shower, the hottest one that I could stand. I wanted to stand under water that made my eyes smart and my skin turn pink. I wanted to scream.

But instead, I drove.

I drove until I reached the Beltway. I drove until I turned off for D.C. I drove until I’d threaded my way into Georgetown. I drove until I reached the No Parking Any Time Towing Enforced 24 Hours zone, three blocks from the Peabridge. I left the engine running, and I locked the keys in the car. I hoped with all my heart that it would be out of gas by the time that it was towed.

I was still reciting angry imprecations to myself as I passed through the garden gate. I was halfway down the path to my front door when a man stepped out of the shadows. For one heart-stopping instant, I thought it was David, already arrived to chastise me.

I was mistaken. But my actual visitor was nearly as bad. Harold. Harold Weems. My would-be knight in colonial frock coat. As if I needed to see him now. As if I needed to be reminded that everything I did went wrong, that every idea I’d ever had became warped and twisted and ruined.

He slid to a stop in front of me, trying to catch his breath and suck in his belly, all the time smoothing back his pitiful strands of hair. “Jane, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Harold,” I said, my voice nearly a whisper.

“I was closing up the Library a few minutes ago. I always take a look back here, just to make sure everything’s okay, that you’re okay—”

“I’m fine, Harold,” I said again, through gritted teeth.

“No.” He shook his head. “I mean, you might be fine, but your house…. Your front door was open. I’ve already checked inside. Everything seems fine. Perfect. Of course, since it’s your home, how could it be anything less than perfect?”

Oh, great. My front door. I must have plucked Neko to Connecticut just as he was entering or leaving. Wasn’t that my perfect luck.

Harold rattled on. “I’m really glad that I could be here for you, Jane. I’m really glad I could help you out. Let me just go inside with you now. Maybe make you a drink?”

And I just couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t stand there, in my sweater that stank of bonfire smoke. I couldn’t bear my belly aching, my legs sore from exercise I never should have had the night before.

I planted my feet and looked Harold directly in the eye. “I don’t need you to help me, Harold. I don’t need you to ‘take a look’ at my house. I don’t need you to make me a drink. I don’t need you in my life, Harold. I release you. Go play with your computers or read your books or whatever it is that you really want to do, but leave. Leave. Me. Alone.”

I felt a ping in the air between us.

Harold was shocked. His gentle eyes squinted closed, as if I’d slapped him. He swallowed hard, started to say something, stopped, and swallowed again.

But I couldn’t bear to hear what he would say. I couldn’t bear to think about what I’d done to him. I was hurt, angry, and confused, and I’d just lashed out at another person—at a spellbound person—for no good reason. I should have found a way to release him from my witchcraft without destroying him in the process.

Disgusted with myself, I pushed past him into the cottage. I closed and locked the door behind me.

Inside, the house did indeed look fine. Sunlight streamed in the front windows. Yesterday’s mail was centered on the coffee table. A wineglass glinted in the drying rack on the kitchen counter. My bed was neatly made, the comforter perfectly centered and the pillows fluffed to perfection.

My bed.

I shouldn’t be able to see my bed from the front door. My bedroom was supposed to be locked.

All of a sudden, I remembered my frantic departure on Friday morning, my multiple attempts to gather all of my belongings. Neko had asked about my hair. I’d stormed back into my room, grabbed a scrunchie.

I had left my bedroom door unlocked.

“Stupid Fish!” I cried, running into the room. I searched the ten-gallon tank, looking for the familiar tetra flash, the ripple of Stupid Fish’s tail as he circled endlessly. But the tank was quiet, dim, lifeless.

Empty.

Chapter 27

I was going to sit here in my basement, surrounded by books, and I was never going to deal with the outside world again.

Okay. I knew that wasn’t really feasible. After I’d recovered from the immediate shock of Stupid Fish’s demise, I’d grabbed a bowl of apples, a bag of pretzels, and a two liter bottle of water. That was all that I had for food here in the basement. I wouldn’t stay here forever, of course. I wasn’t going to starve myself to death just to prove that my familiar was a lying, cheating pescivore. Or to avoid my warder. Not even to prove that my so-called Boyfriend was a conniving, manipulative adulterer.

I was just going to spend some time alone. Take some time to figure out why I always made such an idiot out of myself. Figure out what I’d wanted from Jason, and why I’d settled.

First things first.

My collection of books on witchcraft hadn’t changed much since the night I’d discovered it. Now, under the full glare of overhead lights, I could see how dusty the spines were. When I shifted a few volumes to make room on one shelf, I left a dark dust-free footprint behind.

Even worse than the dust, though, was the disorganization. I’d peered at the titles for nearly an hour, and I could figure out absolutely no overall system. They’d just been shoved onto the basement shelves without regard to origin, size, subject matter, or anything else.

If this were a typical library, I’d organize the books by subject matter. After all, people who came looking for one book on colonial agriculture were likely to be interested in others. The same principle should hold for crystals or runes or whatever.

I quickly found, though, that I didn’t know enough about witchcraft to organize my collection that way. A peek inside the ancient leather-bound portfolio, On Scrying and Ways of Seeing, showed me that crystals could be used in conjunction with mirrors or pools of water. Certain crystals made visions sharper. But was scrying more related to Reflections on Life as a Witch, or Using Mirrors to Increase Magical Flow? Should it be with books about stones or books about mirrors?

As I worked through the collection, becoming more and more confused by the obscure terminology of witchcraft, bigger doubts nibbled at the back of my mind. Why had I let myself be deceived by Jason? I remembered the feeling of his hands on my back, the tickle of his chest-hair against my cheek as I listened to him breathe. Had he always been lying, cheating scum? Or had he only become that way as time moved on, as he realized that I was hopelessly, helplessly in love with him? And what about my spell? Had I forced him to violate his marriage vows? No one else that I had bewitched had acted so…completely, not Harold or Mr. Potter or my newly-coffee-loving Mr. Zimmer.

Was Jason different because I had been in love with him?

Well, not exactly. I’d been in love with the idea of him. With the Imaginary Boyfriend. The perfect man who just hadn’t had the chance to discover that I was the perfect woman.

I’d barely known Jason at all. That’s what I’d learned up at the Farm, even before the disastrous night in the Blue Cottage. I didn’t know his favorite foods, I didn’t know his family (little had I realized how much I didn’t know his family!) I didn’t know what he wanted to achieve in life.

Inside my mind, I’d taken him and made him into something that he wasn’t. Made me into something that I wasn’t.

I felt as if I’d lost something at the Farm—a dream, a hope, a future. But all I’d really lost was my own pathetic image of those things. I’d let myself be deluded.

And what was that all about? Why had I been so willing to tell myself stories?

As I got to my new barrage of questions, I realized that I needed to stretch my legs and my back; I’d spent too much time crouching in front of bookshelves, peering at dusty spines, trying to translate strange words into comprehensible subjects.

I peered at my watch as I stood. 9:30.

How had it gotten so late? I’d made it back from the Farm in good time, but it had been early afternoon when I discovered that Neko had murdered Stupid Fish. I’d spent nearly seven hours down here—practically an entire work day.

Work. I had to go to work tomorrow.

It would be Monday. Jason would be in all morning. Sitting at “his” table in the reading room. Facing toward my desk.

I was going to be sick tomorrow. A terrible flu. I wouldn’t want to infect the entire staff. I’d sleep it off and be in on Tuesday. If I could.

I practiced my phone call to Evelyn in my head, repeating myself until I sounded natural. Feeling like a sneaking thief in my own home, I crept upstairs to the kitchen. I had a brick of cheddar cheese in the fridge, and there was bread in the freezer. I made myself two slices of cheese toast, savoring the bubbled orange surface like a little kid. I washed down my comfort food with a glass of milk, phoned Evelyn, used the restroom, and retreated downstairs, bringing a blanket to shield against the night’s growing chill.

As I curled up on the cracked leather couch, I thought about the Farm’s wedding ring quilt. I remembered how soft the fabric had been as I pulled it up to my chin, as I spooned with Jason and fell asleep, certain that I would find him next to me in the morning. I drifted off on the couch with slow tears leaking from beneath my eyelids.

When I awoke, I lay quietly and listened for noise upstairs. Nothing. No footsteps. No water running. No chattering.

I gathered the blanket around my shoulders and crept up to the living room. Sunlight streamed in the cottage’s front windows. I squeezed my eyes shut and raised a hand to protect my face. So what if I looked like a vampire? There was no one there to see me.

In the kitchen, I glanced at the clock. 11:30. I’d slept away nearly the entire morning.

On the table, there was a note, in Neko’s slanted handwriting. He’d obviously found his way back from Connecticut, by magic or by Lincoln town car.

Talked to David. I’m sorry about the fish.

He’ll see you later. I’m sorry about the fish.

9:00. Gran called. I’m sorry about the fish.

9:05. Melissa called. I’m sorry about the fish.

9:10. Gran called again. I’m sorry about the fish.

9:15. Clara called. I’m sorry about the fish.

Fine. I’m sorry wasn’t going to bring back Stupid Fish. Let Gran and Melissa and Clara call as often as they wanted. I wasn’t ready to talk to them yet. I hacked a chunk of cheddar off the brick in the refrigerator and went back downstairs.

And that was my pattern for the next three days. I ate when I was hungry, drank when I was thirsty. I waited to hear footsteps cross the living room and the front door close before I stole upstairs to use the toilet and gather fresh food supplies. Each time I emerged from my darkened lair, there was a fresh note from Neko, cataloging phone messages and apologizing.

My grandmother favored clustering her calls, while Melissa and Clara spread theirs out through the day. When I remembered, I updated my message to Evelyn at the office, telling her that my stomach bug was more tenacious than I’d thought at first.

Each time I returned to the basement, I slept. Hours and hours, for more time than I’d ever imagined possible. My body felt wrung out, as if someone had squeezed all of the energy from my flesh. I kept thinking of Hamlet’s soliloquy—“to sleep, perchance to dream.” I wasn’t contemplating suicide like the Prince of Denmark, but I wasn’t dreaming, either. I slept like the dead.

Every time I came upstairs, I knew that I should take a shower. I should brew a cup of tea. I should comb my hair and brush my teeth and pretend that I was a normal, everyday girl.

That required too much energy, though, and the couch in the basement always lured me back with its comfortable, overstuffed arms. I brought an extra set of sheets downstairs and tucked them into the cushions. I dragged my pillow with me.

But in the few hours that I wasn’t sleeping, or eating, or reading Neko’s increasingly agitated notes, I organized the books in my basement. After the first night’s shuffling, I did what I should have done in the first place; I pulled all of them off the shelves, stacking them in the middle of the room.

Then, I sorted them by title, taking care to set each in its proper place, lining them up methodically at the front of the shelves so that they looked like some Hollywood designer’s idea of a library. I looked through each volume, finding a surprising number of hand-written notes, scraps of parchment, papers filled with dozens of different handwritings.

There were objects on the shelves, as well. I uncovered a set of jade runes, and another of gold, and a partial set of wooden tiles. I found three different wands, each as long as my forearm, each carved out of a different type of wood. I discovered a set of three nested iron pots, all shaped like classic witch’s cauldrons.

In one corner, sheltered beneath a dusty crocheted afghan, there was a wooden chest. I opened it to discover dozens of glass vials, each carefully labeled. Robin feathers. Columbine. Tortoise shell. I glanced back at the books, wondering what sort of potions I could make with the ingredients.

After finding the first few objects scattered among the books, I realized that I needed to take care of all of the treasures. I couldn’t just consign them to further forgotten life on their dusty shelves. I waited until I heard Neko close the front door one afternoon, and then I darted upstairs to find my laptop computer. It was a hand-me-down from Scott that I’d had for almost five years but never used. I plugged it into one of the basement wall sockets, fired it up, and pulled up the ancient database program that Scott had loaded on it years ago.

I took great pleasure in deleting the files that Scott had stored away. In fact, I enjoyed wiping out his databases so much that I opened up his Office program. I started to delete everything there, but I paused when I found an email folder labeled “Amelia.” Amelia had been in Scott’s law school section; they’d studied together for first year and remained friends after they’d both graduated. I double-clicked on the folder icon.

It was locked; I needed to type in a password. I barely hesitated before entering Scott’s birthday, two digits each for month, day, and year of birth. If I’d learned nothing else in library school, I’d learned that most people are completely unimaginative when it came to protecting their computer files.

Sure enough, the folder sprang open as if it were loaded on a spring.

If I’d expected an exegesis of criminal law, I was disappointed, but I managed to uncover a great deal of criminal intent. Okay, maybe not criminal. But I found myself utterly fascinated by the notes that Scott had written to Amelia. They’d had email sex. They’d apparently had phone sex, too, on several nights when I’d left the apartment, hoping to make it easier for Scott to study for exams. And they’d had real sex, on numerous occasions, in the bed that Scott and I had shared.

With fingers trembling so hard that I could scarcely type, I closed Amelia’s folder, and I opened the next: Birgit. Then Cathy. Donna.

The folders read like a list of hurricanes, and each one ripped through my gut. Woman after woman after woman. Scott had flirted with all of them, lured most of them into online antics, and many of them into his bed. Our bed.

How could I have been so blind? How could I have missed the fact that my fiancé, the love of my life, the man I was going to marry and love happily ever after, had been screwing anything in a skirt?

And what did it mean that even when I was free from my philandering significant other, I had immediately sought out Jason, a man who was carved from the exact same stone?

Nauseated, I deleted all of it. The email, word processing files, spreadsheets. I would have reformatted the entire computer hard disk, but I wanted to use the programs that Scott had installed so long ago. I wanted to use his computer, to use him, to make something good come out of the years I’d wasted on him.

Tears trickling down my cheeks, I reopened the database program and started to build my library catalog. I made neat entries for my witchcraft books—their titles, authors, subject matters, physical descriptions. I created records for the slips of paper that had been tucked between their pages; I made special notes about the objects I’d found.

The work took a long time, but it was mostly mindless.

And that gave me time to think. Time to cry. Time to look at the mess I’d made of my life.

Why was I so good at choosing bad men? Why did I seek out the same type, time after time? Why did I write stories in my mind, justifying them, explaining them? Why did I hang on to them so desperately?

And what was I possibly going to do with myself, now that I knew I had to let them go?

Chapter 28

I thought that I was dreaming when I smelled the chocolate chip cookies.

I’d spent four days in the basement, working feverishly whenever I wasn’t sleeping. Although the room was cool, I knew that I smelled, um, somewhat less than fresh; I still hadn’t brought myself to waste time taking a shower. It just seemed unnecessary. I mean, it wasn’t like I was ever going to see a man, ever again. Scott had lied to me. Jason had lied to me. Even the nice guys, like Harold, were driven away by my bitchiness.

I was going to have to do something about food. The apples had only lasted until Tuesday. The pretzels were long gone; I’d run out of cheese the night before. I’d even resorted to eating the canned Bartlett pears that had lingered at the back of my kitchen shelves for months. I’d fallen asleep, wondering if Neko’s Stupid-Fish-engendered guilt was great enough that he would run to the grocery store for me, solely on the strength of a written note. Could I trust him to bring back a pint of Chubby Hubby? Or would my favorite ice cream go the way of my poor, lost fish, right down Neko’s gullet?

So, I thought that I might be hallucinating the chocolate chip cookies.

I crept to the top of the stairs and listened carefully. The night before, I’d stayed awake until nearly dawn, finishing the catalog of my witchcraft books. I had to admit that I was impressed—Hannah Osgood had brought together quite a collection. Even though I couldn’t say with were rare in the world of witchcraft, I knew that most were by different authors. Many reached back several centuries, and all were now neatly listed in my sort-able, print-able, one hundred percent accurate and up-to-date catalog.

Now, huddled at the top of the stairs, I smelled something else beneath the aroma of chocolate chip cookies. Something salty and hot, a memory of childhood sick-days.

I twisted the knob and eased the basement door back on its hinges.

Chicken soup. Hot chicken soup. With rice, if I remembered anything from my childhood. Easy tears sprang back into my eyes. Someone had cared enough about me to make chicken soup.

I tugged my bathrobe tighter around my waist and crossed to the kitchen, only to discover a half-circle of earnest, silent women. Okay. Three women and Neko. But Neko was looking his most feminine, brushing on clear nail polish and studying his fingers as if they were works of art.

“Hi,” I said, suddenly aware of just how greasy my hair must be.

Melissa stood up. “Hi,” she said. “We thought you might be hungry.”

“Yeah, well….” I trailed off, taking a moment to dash my palms against my damp cheeks.

Gran stepped up beside my best friend. “Why don’t you go take a shower, dear? Then, we’ll all sit down to a bit of midnight supper.”

I glanced at the clock. 11:30. P.M. I had completed another sleep marathon.

Clara rose to complete the triumvirate. “I’ll make some sandwiches to go with the soup. Turkey or ham for you?”

“Turkey,” Melissa and Gran both answered, before I could. They knew I didn’t like ham.

“Go ahead,” Melissa said to me. “Wash up and come eat with us.”

Gran volunteered, “I put some clothes on your bed. You can change into them after you shower.”

Neko twisted shut his bottle of nail polish and came to stand beside the others, waving his drying fingers in the air. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I wasn’t going to keep taking messages forever, you know. I had people to see. Places to go.”

Fish to eat, I thought, but I didn’t say it. Instead, I shut myself into the bathroom and turned on the water for the hottest shower I could stand.

Someone had been at work here as well, and I suspected Melissa’s hand. My favorite Body Shop shampoo was standing on the floor of the shower, partnered with conditioner and a matching bar of glycerin soap. My toothbrush and toothpaste had been retrieved from the Farm; they were laid out on the counter like offerings to some goddess of hygiene. I peeked underneath the sink and found my entire cosmetics bag, the one that I had abandoned in the Girls’ Room, tucked away, safe and sound.

As I soaped up a washcloth, I remembered how good a shower can feel. I lathered shampoo into my hair and filled my lungs completely for what seemed like the first time in weeks. Toweling dry, I realized that I was starving, ravenous, as if I had eaten nothing for months.

I ducked into my bedroom and found that Gran had been true to her word. Fleece pants were laid out on the bed, grey to match the heathered sweatshirt beside them. I tugged the pants on and was pleased to see that the elastic waist band was a little loose. I wouldn’t market heartbreak as the diet of choice, but a girl had to take her benefits where she could.

Clean for the first time in days, I returned to the kitchen to find a simple meal set out on the counter, buffet-style. Gran loaded up a plate for me, ignoring my half-hearted protests that she was giving me too much food. We all decided to sit in the living room, because there weren’t enough chairs in the kitchen.

“So,” Gran said, when we had settled on the hunter green couches.

“So,” I repeated. What did they want me to say? I’d been an idiot? I’d been a desperate fool? I filled my mouth with turkey sandwich, trying to ignore the salty taste of renewed tears at the back of my throat.

Clara jumped in to fill the silence. “We had quite an interesting ride back to D.C.”

I wasn’t interested, but I had to say something. “Really?”

Clara looked at Gran, who clicked her tongue primly before saying, “Well, your young man showed up at the farmhouse wearing nothing but his shoes. Poor Leah thought she might go into labor then and there, from the surprise.”

“Leah was awake?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.

“Oh yes,” Gran said. “Neko saw to that.”

I turned to Neko, who was studying his manicure with pursed-lips nonchalance. He shrugged. “Well, I couldn’t be sure which room you were staying in, could I? I needed to call your name from the driveway, let you know that I’d made it to the Farm after my weekend in Boston. I knew that you’d be worried.”

“Your weekend in Boston,” I repeated, beginning to understand the cover story that Neko had concocted.

“I got a little carried away, though,” he admitted, lowering his eyes in false shame. “It must have been that Tennessee Williams retrospective I saw last month. For the record, it’s much easier to bellow ‘Stella’ than ‘Jane.’”

Melissa guffawed around a mouthful of ham sandwich, and I shook my head at his silliness. “So, Neko arrived…from Boston and woke everyone with his Stanley Kowalski imitation.”

Clara nodded and said, “Just in time for us to see Jason stumble out of the woods. He had some strange story to tell—that you’d mistakenly taken his clothes when you borrowed his car to return home. He said you had an emergency back here.”

Gran broke in: “Which certainly didn’t please the other man.”

“Other man?” I asked, looking at Neko, only to catch his minute nod.

Clara explained. “David, he said his name was. He came over from the Blue Cottage right after Jason.”

Gran shook her head. “What a pity they didn’t run into each other on the path in the woods. David could at least have given Jason his overcoat to wear.”

“Pity,” Neko said, with a doleful shake of his head.

Gran took up the story. “Well, at least Simon was able to loan Jason some clothes, but that poor young man was simply swimming in his borrowed dungarees.

“Now, Mother,” Clara said. “They probably wouldn’t have fallen down if the twins hadn’t ‘pantsed’ him.”

I made a mental note to thank Simon’s boys. Melissa asked, “So then what happened?”

“Jason insisted that Jane had left,” Clara said. “David seemed rather put out. He told Neko—”

Neko interrupted. “He and I discussed things. In fact, we strolled back to the Blue Cottage to tidy up. And then he went on his way.”

“On his way?” I asked, glancing apprehensively toward the door.

“He said that he understood that you had a lot, um, on your plate, and he’d catch up with you later in the week.” Later. Great. That could be now.

Gran, oblivious to my concern, continued her story. “By the time Neko came back to the house, most people had left. We all piled into the Lincoln and drove home.”

“All?” I asked.

Neko clarified. “Clara drove. And a fine driver she is—never went a mile above the speed limit. That gave us plenty of time to talk to Jason.”

“Jason was with you?”

“In the back seat. With me. While your grandmother sat up front.” Neko fluttered his hands in front of his eyes. “The poor man just could not get comfortable. I think that he was positively chafed by the time we got to his house.”

Clara took up the tale. “Of course, we waited with him at his place, to make sure that he could get inside. He’d misplaced his house keys, somehow. Or that’s what he told the woman who finally showed up.”

“Ekaterina?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

“Is that her name?” Clara snorted and tossed her flame-red hair. “Sounds about right. Poor thing looked like she was going to faint away when she saw all of us. She burst into tears. No strength to her at all. No meat on her bones.”

“Speaking of meat on bones,” Melissa said, and she jumped up from the couch. “Neko will you help me?”

I took the opportunity of their absence to look at my mother and grandmother, to really study these women who were so like me. I reached out to take their hands. “Thank you,” I said.

Gran smiled slightly, and then Clara, and I knew that I would one day tell them everything that had happened in the Blue Cottage. Well, not everything….

“Gran?” I said, realizing this was the perfect time to ask them both a question. “Clara?” They looked at me expectantly. “Have you ever done …” I trailed off, realizing that I was going to sound like an idiot. “Have you ever worked …” That was no better. Well, there was no way to avoid this. They’d stuck with me this long; I couldn’t imagine they’d abandon me now. “Do you believe in magic?”

Clara glanced at Gran and then quickly looked away. She dropped my hand and raised her short, blunt fingers to her mouth. She chewed on her fingernails distractedly until Gran said, “Stop that!”

Clara folded her hands in her lap and finally met my eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I believe in magic.”

“Clara—” Gran said.

“No!” My mother did not raise her voice, but she spoke with great force. She looked me in the eye and said, “I first felt it when I was a teenager. If I held my worry beads, I could…make things happen. And when I cast runes, they truly told the future.” She swallowed. “It frightened me. A lot. And so I drank. And got high. And just stayed away from home, where the feelings were strongest.”

Gran looked flustered. “You know I don’t believe in those things, Clara. I never have.”

“But you believe in your traditions, like the rhyme at the Farm. And that old pregnancy necklace.”

“Those are different,” Gran countered immediately.

“And you used the crystal Jane made for you, when you were in the hospital.”

“That was a gift!”

“Mother!” Clara said, and her voice held the exact same note of exasperation that I had perfected as a teen. Clara turned to me. “I’m sorry, Jane. What can I say? You come from a long line of weird women. Stubborn, wonderful, gifted, magical women.”

There was a sudden clatter in the kitchen, and Melissa and Neko returned with a towering plate of chocolate chip cookies, a pitcher of milk, and a tray of glasses. From the studious way they avoided meeting our eyes, I figured they’d overheard all of that last bit.

Melissa slapped my familiar’s hand as he attempted to drink directly from the pitcher. He settled for a tall glass of milk and a single cookie. Melissa poured for me and held the serving plate in front of my nose until I’d taken two, then three, and finally four cookies. “They’re best when they’re hot,” she said, passing the platter to Gran and Clara.

Suddenly, I realized how much I’d missed my best friend, up at the Farm. How much I’d needed her. I clutched at Melissa’s free hand as she sat down. “I’m sorry,” I said to her.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry. When I was, um, with Jason, I realized that I…pitied you. I thought your First Dates were ridiculous. I thought that I had everything, that I was leading some sort of dream life, and I actually felt sorry for you. I was an idiot.”

Gran answered before Melissa could. “We’re all idiots.” She offered her pronouncement around a large bite of cookie, and she swallowed before she elaborated. “We women who forfeit what we believe in, just to please a man. We’re idiots.”

I took a mournful nibble of my own. “Not you,” I said to my grandmother. “You loved Grandpa, and now you love Uncle George, and you’ve never been an idiot.”

“Except for that foolish concert opera.”

“What?” I was astonished. “You love the opera.”

“I like the people,” she conceded. “But the operas? I might as well listen to cats yowling at the moon.” She sipped her milk. “George loves it, though. At first, I was afraid to tell him how I really felt, and now it’s far too late. So I suffer half a dozen nights a year. I’m an idiot.”

“Six times a year!” Clara said, helping herself to another cookie. “I was locked into a weekly meditation group for six entire years. That’s one of the main reasons I decided to move back here.”

“What happened?” I stared at her.

“I met a man at the food co-op in Sedona. He had the most sensitive hands I’d ever seen….” She sighed, and I tried to picture her scooping quinoa from a bin, standing next to her Adonis. “He told me about a meditation group he was setting up. Group chanting in the box canyon. It was utter crap.”

I snorted. “Why?”

“He chose nonsense words for us to chant. Had us yip like coyotes and howl like wolves, communing with our inner carnivores. Every Wednesday night. For six long years.”

“Why did you keep going back?” I asked.

“I told you. He had these hands….” Clara sighed and flexed her own fingers. Then she shook her head. “I finally stopped going when I found out that he was showing Megan McDonald those hands. Those hands, and quite a bit more. We’re idiots!”

I laughed at the same time that Clara did, and it felt wonderful to share her disdain. Melissa took advantage of the moment to refill my glass. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “You know my ways with men.”

I couldn’t help but turn to Neko. “And you?”

“What about me?” He tilted his head at a delicate angle.

“Aren’t you going to defend your gender?”

“Do I look like a fool?” He set down his empty glass of milk and stretched his arms high above his head. “I could tell all of you stories that would make your hair curl.” He redirected his gaze at my tangle of drying hair. “Or straighten. Suffice to say that Roger found a way to come out to his family when he was home for his cousin’s wedding. A way that involved a waiter at the reception, a microphone from the band, and way too many glasses of champagne.”

“Oh, Neko,” I said, catching a glint of true hurt behind his blasé recitation. “I’m sorry. I thought that I just hadn’t seen him around because I’d been busy.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head sharply. “You haven’t seen him around because men are jerks.”

I patted his hand. “Not all men,” I said.

I immediately pictured Harold Weems. Poor, bespelled Harold, gaping at me like a fish out of water.

Fish. I put that image out of my mind. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. Not the time to mourn a super-annuated tetra that was the last remnant of eleven wasted years. I should be grateful that I was through with Stupid Fish. That I had moved beyond him, and the rotten man he represented.

For there were good men. As long as we women remembered to be strong. As long as we remembered to be true to ourselves.

I took another cookie from the plate and held it high, waiting until everyone around me had one. “To ourselves,” I said, saluting the air.

“To ourselves!” they echoed, and then we collapsed into a corny, girly, loving, supportive group hug.

Chapter 29

Evelyn was sitting behind her desk, her tweed suit boxier than ever, her blunt-cut hair still hovering along her jaw line at the absolute wrong length for her features. How did she maintain that exact cut? I ran my fingers through my own mop nervously, only to come up against the gathered band of my muslin cap. This was my first day back in colonial garb after nearly a week of heartbroken sulking, and I missed the casual comfort of my fleece pants.

“Jane, I’m very pleased that you were able to make it in to work today. I have to say, you still look a little pale. I’m glad you’re back, though. So much happened while you were out.”

I faked a slight cough into my hand. I’d figured that I should come in to the office and salvage at least one day of the work week. I didn’t want my boss thinking that I was a total slacker, just pretending to be sick. Somehow, I didn’t think that Evelyn would give me a lot of leeway for destroying my love life with one of our patrons. (Although she might have been interested in the cataloging project that I’d taken on in my basement—in my classification skills, if not the subject matter.)

Evelyn leaned forward and settled her doughy features into her “concerned” look. “I’m afraid that you didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to Harold.”

“Goodbye?” What? Harold had left? Where had he gone? Icy dread painted my throat. What exactly had I screamed at him last Sunday?

Evelyn sighed deeply. “Yes, goodbye. He gave us seven long years, but it had been clear to me for quite some time that he needed to move on. I’d told him as much in his annual reviews for two years running, but he always seemed too timid to take the chance. I’d love to know exactly what you said to him.”

I stammered. “I—I really don’t remember. I think that I was already coming down with the flu when I saw him on Sunday. I’d been away for the weekend, and he startled me when I was opening my front door. I wasn’t really thinking—”

“Well, whatever it was, it did the trick.”

“The trick?” I stopped fumbling for an explanation. “What trick?”

“Helping Harold find the strength to tender his resignation,” she said matter-of-factly, “He said that you always showed him the importance of being true to himself. You encouraged him to follow up on his computer skills, to hone his abilities.”

I was shocked by his generous gloss on our relationship. “So what is he doing?”

“He set up his own computer firm—SuperGeek. He said that he’d been thinking about doing it for years, but your conversation on Sunday afternoon made him realize that it was finally time.” She pursed her lips into a small pout. “Perhaps you were a little too effective with your pep talk, though. Harold insisted that he couldn’t give us two weeks notice. He was too eager to reach his first wave of customers.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, still stunned.

Evelyn smiled. “Don’t be. It was time. Past time. I’m just sorry Harold couldn’t have thanked you himself. Harold, or Professor Templeton.”

“Jason?” My belly turned to ice so quickly I scarcely had time to worry about using my so-called Boyfriend’s given name.

“Oh yes,” Evelyn said. “We had a long conversation on Monday morning. Professor Templeton told me how hard you worked to meet his manuscript deadline. He said that he sincerely appreciated the extra hours that you put in on his behalf. He’ll be donating a copy of his book to our collection when it comes out next summer, but he wanted me to know that the footnote mentioning the Peabridge does not begin to express how useful you’d been.”

Useful.

Well, that was one way of looking at it. I blinked away a mental image of his hands under my sweater as we huddled beneath the stairs at La Perla. Unfortunately, it was replaced by another snapshot—our bodies tangled on the bed in the Blue Cottage. I gritted my teeth.

I supposed I should be grateful that he hadn’t elaborated on my skills. Evelyn waited for me to say something. “I was only doing my job,” I finally managed.

It wasn’t the truth, but it seemed to match whatever wholesome scenario Jason had carved out for us. I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder, back into the reading room, toward the table where he usually sat. How many times had I primped and preened to walk past the man? How many coats of Pick Me Up Pink had been wasted on him? I scratched my knee through my petticoats, wondering just how much my silly costume had turned him on, had led him to his cruel manipulation.

Cruel manipulation. Well, it sounded all grand and tragic when I thought about our relationship that way. I was the one who had fallen for a married man. I was the one who had tried to muscle in where I wasn’t wanted, where I didn’t belong. I was the one who had cast the grimoire spell.

The heartsick queasiness that I had battled during my time off swept over me with a vengeance. Still, I probed deeper into my thoughts, like a patient testing a bad tooth. Jason had made himself available to me. And of course he had known that he was married, that he should have been off the market. Even if he were caught in my love spell, he should have respected the truth. I couldn’t really be at fault. At least not completely.

But there was something in me, something that had made me reach out for him. I had wanted him, was attracted to him, was drawn to him. Was that because of his very unavailability? Because I somehow sensed that I could never truly have him? Because I could tell that he was emotionally bound to someone else, and I would never have to commit, never have to hurt the way that I’d hurt for the past year, getting over Scott?

Yeah, right. I could ask myself questions all day, but the reality was I had fallen really hard for a jerk.

Evelyn was continuing to speak. “Professor Templeton made it clear that he won’t be using our reading room in the near future; he said he’s had a family emergency come up, and he’ll have to spend more time at home. He specifically asked me to thank you for your…how did he phrase it? Your professional enthusiasm.”

Professional, my ass.

Before I could summon up a few polite words, Evelyn leaned back in her chair. “And that brings me to the last thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

I couldn’t read her expression. Usually, her chair-leaning signaled something bad. It generally accompanied grave news, announcements where she wanted to read my reaction completely. In fact, the last chair-leaning conversation we’d had was the one where she’d informed me that I was not going to get a raise, that I’d be living in the cottage.

“Yes?” I said, because she seemed to need a prompt to continue. What could it be now? Maybe Harold had told her something about what had happened; maybe he had mentioned his so-called love for me.

Or maybe Ekaterina had called, demanding that I be disciplined for poaching her husband. Husband. I shivered.

Or maybe there was something else going on at the library, some particularly dank corner of the basement that needed organizing, some obscure collection of impossible cramped-handwriting letters that needed to be sorted through, and Evelyn had decided that I was just the woman for the job..

Finally, she spoke. “There comes a time in every library where the director has to consider the long-term viability of the institution.”

Oh. My. God.

She was breaking up with me. She was giving me the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, tailor-made for the reference desk. She was firing me.

I was going to be out on the street. No job. No home. No decent references, courtesies of Harold and Jason and all the insanity of my life in the past couple of months.

How was I going to feed myself? How was I going to feed Neko? And where would I put the books on witchcraft that now marched along the orderly shelves in the cottage basement?

“Evelyn, I—”

She shook her head, effectively cutting me off. “You and I face one of those times.” She settled her palms on her desk blotter and finally looked me in the eye. “Jane, I spent all day yesterday in an emergency meeting with the Board.”

“The Board?” I tried to keep my voice from quavering.

“The Board, and a special guest. I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised that you never mentioned Mr. Potter to me. Not after our discussion about Justin Cartmoor and your grant applications.”

“Mr. Potter?” I could not begin to figure out how he fit into this discussion.

“He came to see me on Monday afternoon. He brought pictures of Lucinda.”

Mrs. Potter. The owner of the shih-tzu. “I never met her,” I said, because it sounded like I should say something.

“That’s what Mr. Potter said. But he seemed certain that she would have liked you. Liked you and us. Our building. Our collection.” Evelyn’s face suddenly split into a broad grin. “That’s why he decided to endow the Lucinda Potter Library Enhancement Fund.”

“The Lucinda—” My grimoire spell had struck again. Besotted, Mr. Potter had solved the Peabridge’s fiscal nightmare.

“Yes!” She couldn’t contain herself any longer; she actually leaped up from her chair. “The Lucinda Potter Library Enhancement Fund. Mr. Potter—Samuel—has already spoken with his lawyers, and the paperwork is all complete. He’s setting aside one pool of money for our daily operations, and another for special projects. He mentioned our diary collection in particular, said that you had told him how desperately we needed to get it in order. With his generous gift, we can hire one full-time cataloger, and at least two part-time people.”

I collapsed back in my chair, thoroughly shocked. Mr. Potter had said that he and Lucinda had no children, that she would have loved to help us out with our collection needs. Nevertheless, I’d never really believed him; I’d thought that he was just engaging in cocktail party chatter. Two full-time-equivalents, plus money to run the place on a daily basis?

Somewhat dazed, I pulled off my mob cap, running my hands through my hair to collect any stray bobby pins. Was it ethical to accept the gift of a man blinded by magic? Could my spell change the way he thought of Lucinda, of his wife and what she loved, what she believed in? I tried a shaky laugh. “Then I guess we’re through with the costumes, aren’t we?”

Evelyn’s own guffaw was loud, horsey. “Through with the costumes! You are a kidder, aren’t you! We’ll need them more than ever, with all the new people who are going to come flooding through our doors! We’re going to issue press releases, Jane, host a party. We’re on the Georgetown map at last!”

Well, a girl could try, couldn’t she? Grudgingly, I asked, “Then I guess the coffee bar stays as well?”

“I wouldn’t think of changing a thing!” Evelyn shook her head. “Not the coffee, not the costumes, and most certainly not you. Thank you, for everything you’ve done.”

I shook my head and dropped my mob cap into my lap. “Really,” I said. “It was nothing.”

All’s well that ends well, I tried to justify. Those were Shakespeare’s words, and they should be good enough for me. But I promised myself that I would think twice—no three times—four!—before I worked another spell.

Chapter 30

For the rest of the day, I was ridiculously happy. A lot of things suddenly made sense in my life. Burdens that I hadn’t even realized I carried were suddenly lifted, and for the first time in ages, I found myself able to fill my lungs completely, to walk with my head high and my spirits light.

I thought about calling Melissa—it was only fair that she should hear from me on the good days, as well as the bad. Arriving home, though, I remembered that she was out on yet another First Date. The woman’s persistence was remarkable, even if her choices were flawed.

Neko was waiting for me in the living room, stretched out on the couch, soaking up the last beam of afternoon sunlight. “Did you bring the candy?”

“Candy?” I looked behind me, as if some explanation for the strange request might lurk on the doorstep.

“Ghosts? Goblins? Snack-size Snickers bars? Tonight is Halloween.”

Halloween. How had I forgotten that? Somehow, all of the autumn days had run together—I could have sworn that it was still September, and I had just moved in to my cottage. I shrugged. “There aren’t that many trick-or-treaters here in Georgetown anyway. And I can’t imagine any of them will come back here in the Library gardens.”

“I wanted cream caramels,” Neko pouted.

“Too bad they don’t make sardine taffy,” I said, collapsing on the couch, then shifting to ease my whalebone stays.

“That would be heaven,” Neko sighed. He stretched and got to his feet. “Should I make some mojitos?”

“For just the two of us?”

“You’d make them if Melissa were the only one here.”

“That’s different. She and I always have mojito therapy.” I shrugged. “Besides, I don’t feel like mojitos. I’m going down to the basement.” All afternoon, I’d been trying to figure out some magic I could work, something that would be completely selfless, completely dedicated to the peace, harmony and well-being of another. Something to atone for my love spell and to offer up thanks for all the good news in the library.

Neko’s face twitched with interest, and if he’d been an actual cat, I think his tail would have quivered in expectation. “What were you thinking of?”

“A spell. An incantation. Whatever. I have all this positive energy, and I should use it. I’m just going to change out of this stuff—” I gestured at my colonial costume “– and I’ll meet you downstairs.

Neko was waiting for me when I showed up, feeling fresh and clean in jeans and a bulky sweater. He sidled up to the shelves in the furthest corner of the basement, where I’d placed the most repugnant books in the collection. “What are you thinking of? Another love spell?”

“No!” That sounded too sharp, and I forced myself to lower my voice. “No more love spells. No more love. At least for a while.”

Neko curled up on the cracked leather couch to watch me. “What, then?”

“I want to do something to thank them. Gran, Clara, and Melissa. Something to let them know that I appreciate their being here last night, the stories that they told me.”

Neko arched his back and settled into a more comfortable position. “You could brew an elixir of joy. Add a drop or two to a hot beverage, and the drinker feels happy for no good reason.”

I turned a doubtful glance toward the spice chest, occupying place of pride beneath the reading stand. “What’s in it?”

“You’d have to check the potion book for the precise amounts. It has a rainwater base, and you add a bit of bluebird wing. Some dried apple blossoms, a pinch of powdered dove’s blood… You pour the whole thing over toad’s skin, to filter out any lingering negativity, and then you drink it out of a silver thimble.”

“Toad’s skin?”

“If you don’t believe me, you can read it in the potion book!”

“No, no, I believe you.” And I did. For all his vanity, his narcissism, his absolute belief that the world rotated around him and only him, Neko had not led me astray about a single aspect of witchcraft.

“What then?” he asked.

“I promised Gran.” I thought back to that early September day. Was it only seven weeks ago? “The day that Evelyn told me I’d be living here in the cottage. Gran called at work and made me promise not to lick any toads.”

“What sort of fool would lick a toad?” Neko sounded scandalized.

“My point exactly. I promised, without considering the consequences. I think that drinking a potion poured over the skin of a toad might violate the spirit of my promise, though, if not the actual words.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I’ll talk to Gran. Take back my promise. But not tonight.”

Neko cocked his head to one side. “Would she ever know? I mean, I don’t think that the elixir of joy is what she had in mind.”

“A promise is a promise.” I shrugged. “We’ve always trusted each other. Besides, I’m pretty sure that she would know. When I was a kid, she could always tell when I was lying.”

A smooth baritone spoke from the base of the stairs. “Now that sounds like a witchy power, if ever there was one.”

I started at the first words, but I placed David Montrose’s voice before I turned around. “I don’t think that I invited you in,” I said, but I wasn’t truly surprised.

David inclined his head up the stairs. “Warder’s rights, remember? In any case, you shouldn’t leave your front door unlocked, if you don’t want visitors. Especially on Halloween. Who can say how many ghosts and goblins might take up residence here?”

Had I left the door unlocked? I looked upstairs, trying to remember whether I had automatically flipped the deadbolt when I came home. Turning back, I caught the tail end of some silent communication between David and Neko. My familiar stood and stretched. “I’ll go check on it,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” I responded quickly.

“No,” he said to me, but his eyes stayed on David’s. “I wanted to, um, get a drink of water.” And he was gone, before I could beg him to stay.

I took a deep breath before I turned to face David directly. “So,” I said.

“So,” he repeated. He was dressed in clothes that I’d come to think of as “mine”, comfortable khakis, a soft-as-flannel shirt. Clothes that I knew he’d chosen to make himself more attractive to me.

“Just how much trouble am I in, for Connecticut?”

He studied my face for several heartbeats. “If you’d stuck around till I arrived? You’d still be unable to use your powers. I would have locked your witchcraft down so tightly, you wouldn’t be able to watch The Wizard of Oz.”

“But now?” I asked warily?

“Now, I’ve had a chance to calm down. Neko explained everything to me.”

“Everything?” I felt myself blushing.

“Enough.”

“I suppose you’re here to gloat over the mess I made of things.”

“Mess? It seems to me that everything has worked out pretty well.”

I shrugged. “If you don’t count lying, cheating, and deception.” My words were more petulant than I actually felt.

“Who did you lie to?”

“Harold?” I said the man’s name louder than I’d intended. “Jason. Mr. Potter.” I had a truly terrifying thought. “You! Oh my god, you, too. That was why you kissed me that night. That’s why you changed your clothes, why you became something that you weren’t. You were caught up in the love spell too! Be free, dammit! Just leave me alone!”

I waited for the ping, the snap, the breaking of the bond that I had felt with Harold.

Nothing.

“Jane, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” He sounded amused. Tolerant. Not angry, like a man who had suddenly been released from a spell that had held him against his will. Not bemused, like a man still caught up in my magic.

I crossed to the couch and collapsed in the pool of my comfortable sweater. “That first spell I did, the grimoire spell. It worked, but it made too many men fall in love with me.”

David came to stand in front of me. He crossed his arms on his chest and shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“The way the spells work.”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea. I haven’t sat around doing nothing for the past two months. You’ve been a good guide to all this witchcraft stuff, and Neko helped out a lot.”

“Well, neither of us taught you enough about the grimoire spell.”

I heard something behind his words. Laughter, I was pretty sure, but something else. Something grave. Respect? Pity? I gritted my teeth. “No time like the present, then. What about it? Did I change the balance of the universe as we know it? Have I set the world of Faerie upside down, releasing petty spirit vengeance on all the world?”

“Nothing quite so dramatic as that.” David sat down beside me. He took a deep breath and met my eyes guilelessly. “The grimoire spell only works on the first man you see after you work it.”

“The first man—” I thought back to that night, to Melissa standing in the kitchen, Melissa and…. “Neko!”

“No.” David shook his head in brief annoyance. “Neko doesn’t count. For purposes of magic, he’s a part of you.”

I felt my face turn crimson, but I said, “You, then.”

“No. Warders are immune to their witch’s workings.”

“Then the first man was…Harold.”

“Precisely.”

“But the others? Jason, finally realizing I was alive? Mr. Zimmer, ordering coffee? Mr. Potter, talking to me at Gran’s, and at the Gala, and making his donation to the Peabridge?”

“Just Harold. The spell bonds to the first man. The others weren’t caught up in your magic.”

I repeated his words inside my head. I couldn’t believe him. Each of those men had been free to act? Free to do whatever he wanted?

“But why?” I finally asked. “Why would everything change now, all at once?”

David gestured smoothly. “Look at yourself.” I stared down at my jeans, raised my fingers to my hair. “You’re the one who’s different, Jane.”

“I’m not! I’m the same person I’ve always been!”

“Are you, really?” His voice was soothing, even as his next words plunged me into doubt. “You’ve cut your hair. You grew out your nails. You put on makeup every morning and touch it up during the day. You’re wearing contact lenses.”

Everything he said was true, but I found my heart beating faster to hear a man say the words. A man who had been attracted to me, spell or no spell.

Of course, he was also a man who had set me aside, like a shirt that didn’t fit.

I started to get up from the couch, too embarrassed to continue the conversation. David reached out and grabbed my wrist. “We men are really dumb creatures, you know. We can be led anywhere by our…senses.” I knew that he was going to identify another leader, and I was glad that he hadn’t specified body parts. I was already mortified by this conversation.

“Jane,” he said, and he removed his fingers from my wrist, only to cup my jaw with his palm. “You’ve grown. You’ve changed. You like yourself more, and the men in your life can see that. You have confidence. You’re at ease—and that draws us like flies to honey.”

And suddenly, I understood what he was saying. I saw the path that he was leading me toward, the direction he was taking me.

I liked being the woman who remembered to put on lipstick, the woman who wore a green evening gown to the Gala. I liked being the woman who organized hundreds of books, cataloging them like a true professional.

I liked myself.

I sat up straighter. “And you? If self-love and independence are symbolized by wardrobe shifts, what are you doing in those clothes?”

He glanced down and shrugged. “I’ve grown, too. I’ve changed. I’m not the same warder who was fired by my last witch. I’ve decided that I can let myself be comfortable. If I’m going to succeed as a warder, as your warder, I’m going to succeed on my ability to guide you. To protect you. No one’s going to care if I wear stiff, formal clothes or magical robes inscribed with symbols.” I turned my head to one side, still skeptical. “I like myself this way.”

And that admission actually made me laugh out loud. “That, I understand.”

He joined me in laughter, amusement that trailed off easily as he looked around the basement. “I like what you’ve done to the place.”

“Really?”

He got up to study the nearest bookshelf, walked down to the next one, and eventually traced his way around the entire room. He nodded when he found the spice chest, took note of the tackle box full of crystals, made a mental inventory of the little cauldrons and other witchy supplies stored on their respective shelves.

“A place for everything, and everything in its place,” he pronounced at last.

“It just feels…right like this. I hadn’t realized how much the disorganization was bothering me.”

“So now it seems like you’re really ready to study. Ready to learn.”

“What about the Coven? What are the chances that they’ll challenge me for this? For Hannah Osgood’s collection?””

David shrugged. “High. They’ll say that you aren’t skilled, that you aren’t trained, that you don’t know what to do with everything you have.”

Indignation rose in my chest and I opened my mouth to protest.

“They’ll say that. But they probably won’t succeed. For one thing, they could never come up with a list of everything that’s here. They’d have to, to convince the Court that the books belong to them.”

I thought about the laptop computer secure beneath my bed, and the backup drive I’d left in my desk at the Peabridge that very morning. “But they’ll definitely try?” I said, and my voice was suddenly very small.

“They’ll definitely try,” David confirmed. “But that will take a long time. And in the end, I don’t think that they’ll be successful. In the meantime, that you can learn more about using your powers.”

I caught my breath, suddenly realizing just how much I wanted to do that. “And you? You’ll teach me?”

“Jane, I told you before, I’m not supposed to be a teacher. I’m a warder.”

“Then, you’ll…ward me? Be my guide? Keep me safe?”

He looked at me for a long time. I remembered how I’d been drawn to him when we first met. I remembered how I’d worried about eating in front of him. But then, I recalled how I’d relaxed with him, how he’d helped me through my early spells, how he’d tucked me into bed with tender hands—hands that had no secret mission, no ulterior motive.

Men. I’d never understand them. In fact, I was ready to take a break from them. From my romantic interest in them, at least. I needed to spend some time figuring out who I was. I needed more nights like the one just past, gathered together with my grandmother and my mother, with my best friend. I needed to know more about Jane Madison before I tried to convert her into Jane Randall, Jane Templeton, or Jane Anyone Else.

“Please,” I said to David. “As warder to witch. Say you’ll help me.”

He nodded gravely. “As warder to witch.”

I reached out to hug him and felt him tense beneath my hands. I turned my face away from his, though, and he relaxed. His ease spread to me, and I took a deep breath. A clean breath. A new breath for the new me.

“But first,” I said. “Would you like a cup of tea?” He followed me upstairs to the kitchen, where Neko had already put on the kettle, set out the teapot, arranged the mugs, and added a huge pitcher of cream.

My familiar looked up as we gathered around the table. He turned his head to one side, looking first at me, then at David. “Trick or treat?” he said at last.

“Treat,” David and I said at the same time.

It wasn’t going to be easy, I was certain. Figuring out the new me, helping the Peabridge grow, preparing for my confrontation with the Coven…. None of it would be easy. But it was definitely going to be a treat.

About the Author

Mindy Klasky learned to read when her parents shoved a book in her hands and told her she could travel anywhere in the world through stories. She never forgot that advice.

Mindy’s travels took her through multiple careers—from litigator to librarian to full-time writer. Mindy’s travels have also taken her through various literary genres for readers of all ages—from traditional fantasy to paranormal chick-lit to category romance, from middle-grade to young adult to adult.

In her spare time, Mindy knits, quilts, and tries to tame her endless to-be-read shelf. Her husband and cats do their best to fill the left-over minutes.

Other titles:

Sorcery and the Single Girl

Magic and the Modern Girl

Single Witch’s Survival Guide

Fright Court

Capitol Magic

How Not to Make a Wish

When Good Wishes Go Bad

To Wish or Not to Wish

How to Date a Werewolf

Book One of the Riley Cruz Novels

Rose Pressey

Dedication

This is to you and you know who you are.

Acknowledgements

To my son, who brings me joy every single day. To my mother, who introduced me to the love of books. To my husband, who encourages me and always has faith in me. A huge thank you to my editor, Christy Phillipe. And to the readers who make writing fun.

Chapter 1

How to Date a Werewolf Rule #1:

Always tell your date how nice they look despite excess hair.

Romance was such a hairy business. Why I continued to subject myself to such freaky situations as the one I was in, I had no idea.

The clock on the wall read five PM. Evening fast approached, and the air in my cramped office felt stifling hot. Instead of being home and sinking my chops into a juicy steak, my butt remained firmly planted in my desk chair. My legs stuck to the leather, making a swooshing sound every time I moved. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead, and heat rushed to my cheeks. Some days you should stay in bed, and this day turned out to be one of them. Not to mention, in a few days a full moon would appear, making playing around with anger issues a dangerous proposition.

“I told you, Lily, I can only do so much to help you.” My temples throbbed and massaging them didn’t help. “I run a matchmaking service not a mail-order husband business. I can’t force the guy to like you. What do you want me to do? Bring him to you at gunpoint?”

I hated what happened when I lost my cool. Granted, it didn’t happen often, but when it did… Watch out. Fur everywhere, glowing eyes. It was not a pretty sight.

“You clearly state in your brochure you can find a mate for anyone. Right here it says: Get a Mate Dating Service, bringing lonely hearts together all around town. It even has your signature, Rylie Cruz.” She pointed to the words. “You obviously found the wrong one for me.” Her hand trembled as she waved the brochure under my nose. “So I want to know, why not me? That’s false advertising, you know. I think I might sue you.” Her eyes shimmered with a faint tawny glow as she stared me down.

“Why, Lily, I do believe you’re trying to intimidate me.” My lips jerked at the corners.

She glared, then ripped my brochure in half.

Maybe she forgot we were alike—both succumbing to the lure of a full moon and morphing into hairy wolves. She possessed a knack for ticking me off. But the customer was always right, and I didn’t need a lawsuit, so I had to suck it up. For the sake of not upsetting myself, and dealing with the nasty feat of turning furry, I decided to try to make amends with my dear, sweet customer.

“Listen, Lily, I am truly sorry things didn’t work out for you. How about I offer you a full refund and we’ll cut our ties. I won’t waste any more of your time.” Nice, huh? Grandma Cruz always said I was a people person. Whatever that means.

“Are you friggin’ kidding me?” Her voice shot up a decibel. “You think you can flip your curly hair, dash your toothy grin at me and I’ll fall for that? No way.” She shook her head. “Men might fall for it, but I won’t. I want compensation for the distress you’ve put me through.” She slammed her fist on the edge of the desk.

Perhaps, I reflected as Lily narrowed her orangey eyes and fixed her venomous stare at me, in spite of how hard I tried, my customer service skills were lacking. I found myself in a bit of a quagmire.

“Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be. I said I was sorry and there’s nothing else I can do.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I’m in love with Martin, and I thought he loved me too. Then last night over sushi and beer, he said he didn’t love me, and never would. He is my were-soul mate.” She lowered her evil glare, let out a sob and snatched a tissue from the box teetering on the edge of the desk.

Were-soul mate? Was that a word?

“Take a deep breath. Did you have a fight? Lots of couples argue and have misunderstandings.”

“Yes, we fought. He said that new beer with the lime added in sucks. I said it tasted good.”

What kind of lame-ass argument was that? “Oh, is that the beer I keep seeing commercials for all the time? It looks really yummy.”

Lily glowered. Her eyes were like daggers, and I thought at any moment they would cut right through me. “If you’re finished talking about damn commercials, I will continue.”

I nodded. She could so use a cup of chamomile tea right about now. Or a tranquilizer.

“He said fresh limes should always be used, but they’re so messy. Besides, he wanted beer with fresh lime while eating sushi. That’s a sin, in and of itself.” She let out another howl. If she didn’t calm down, I’d have a heartbroken lycanthrope to deal with. Talk about a mess.

“Aw, come on, Lily.” I moved around the front of my desk and placed my hand on her shoulder. I used care, though. I didn’t know when she might snap and take a chunk out of my hand. “I can find someone else for you. I bet the next guy will be even better. Martin’s not so special, anyway. He has coffee breath and I’ve noticed he belches way too much.” I brushed back a lock of Lily’s ginger-colored hair from her shoulder.

“What do you mean, even better? You claim to get it right the first time.” The tears vanished and her belligerent tone returned.

I jerked my hand away before she had a chance to bite it. Hmm. She had me there. I did claim that.

“Anyway, you’ll be hearing from my attorney, Miss Cruz.” Lily snatched her purse from the floor and jumped to her feet. She flung the monster-sized bag around and let out an immense huff as she made a dash for the door, knocking my collectable figurines off the shelf in her wake. Damn. I loved those things. Now, much to my chagrin, the two knickknacks rested headless on the floor.

It had been a lousy end to a long day. I wasn’t a violent person. When munching on meat, I always use a fork and proper table etiquette is always followed, unlike some werewolves I knew. Heck, my high school classmates named me Miss Congeniality. Well, it was never official, because of the little incident with the principal, but whatever. Point is, I contained my anger with the drama queen.

I never told Lily Friedman I was perfect at my job. What did she expect from me—everlasting love? I reached down and salvaged the broken turtle and frog from the floor and placed them ever so gently back on the shelf. How she had managed to behead them with one clean sweep of her handbag, I’d never know. The poor maimed things would have to wait on the shelf for my return. I’d bring glue in the morning, but at that moment, I longed for nothing more than a relaxing bath and a glass of wine.

My tired muscles breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way out of the office and up the stairs. I didn’t have a long commute home—I lived on the second floor with my best friend of twelve years, Jennifer Matthews. The narrow staircase leading to my apartment had a claustrophobic feel and a persistent musty smell. The odor was faintly akin to rotten bananas, but it had been ages since I’d eaten a banana. Other than the smell from hell that wouldn’t go away, I loved my home. At the top of the stairs, I turned left, then reached for the knob. The door burst open and I fell flat on my face with a thud.

“Ugh. What the…?”

“I was coming to find you. You have got to have a look at this. Hot guy alert. I mean H. O. T. Hot.”

“Give me a second while I retrieve my teeth from the hardwood floor. Then I’ll check out the ‘hot’ guy.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She turned her attention my way. “You still have all your teeth. Wait. Smile for me.”

I lifted an eyebrow, but couldn’t keep myself from smiling at my roommate, the screwball.

“See? All your teeth are still attached. Now get over here and check him out.”

Jennifer slid to the window, feet stuffed into her bunny slippers. She’d already traded her work clothing for sweatpants and a t-shirt. The sun shone across her mass of shoulder-length blond hair. With her long legs and gorgeous face, she looked like a model even in sweats.

Grabbing the doorknob of the still open door, I pulled my way up from the floor. “Thanks for the hand.” She ignored my sarcastic comment, and I took my time getting over to the window, because I knew it would get Jennifer’s feathers ruffled.

“Sure, take your time. You’ll be sorry, though, when you see what I’m looking at.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll be the judge of that.” I ambled over to Jennifer while she ogled the poor guy out the back window of our living room. “Whoa. For once you actually weren’t kidding.” I stopped in my tracks, then leaned close to the window.

“What do you mean, ‘for once’?”

“Admit it. Your taste in men is questionable.”

“Give me one example, please.” Jennifer jutted a hip and placed her hand squarely on it.

“The guy at the grocery store last week.”

“I thought he was adorable.”

“Sure. If you like trolls.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “I like guys shorter than me.”

I laughed and squeezed her shoulders. “Fair enough.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off the guy outside.

“He’s perfection,” Jennifer said.

Hiding behind the silk curtain, I watched as he ran his hand through his short blond hair.

“I do love the tousled look,” I whispered.

A U-Haul truck full of boxes and furniture was parked next to the curb. He grabbed a box from the back of the truck and turned toward the building, muscles flexing as he carried it across the courtyard. We stood in silence when he disappeared around the corner. After a minute, he returned. His chiseled features made my heart go pitty-pat. Six feet tall with broad shoulders—I hadn’t seen a man like him since…well, never. Not in person at least. Only on television or the cover of a romance novel.

“What color do you think his eyes are?” Jennifer whispered dreamily. I knew where her thoughts were.

“Brown, maybe? I don’t know—he’s too far away. Why don’t you go down there and find out?” I flashed her a big grin.

“If I weren’t dating Todd I would. Believe me, I would.” Ah, Todd Christian.

“Six years and I still don’t have a ring,” she mumbled, then let out a sigh.

Touchy subject. He still wasn’t ready to commit. He had issues, but who was I to point fingers? I didn’t even have a boyfriend.

“You go, Miss Matchmaker. Do your job.”

“My job does not involve flirting with strangers.”

“It should,” she whispered.

“I heard that. Look, it’s complicated, you know that.”

When I was fourteen, my mother sat me down and explained the curse. The Cruz curse. As the story goes, the youngest daughter of the Cruz name was destined to live a lonely life, never to find true love. A gypsy witch bestowed the punishment upon my ancestors for becoming involved in the werewolf world. She was a meddlesome bitch, to say the least, and thought it a sin to be involved with werewolves in any form. It wasn’t as if my ancestors chose the wolfy lifestyle.

I know, I know—it sounded crazy to me too when I first got wind of the wild tale. To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t believed the legend for a long time. Not a word of it. However, when my twenty-sixth birthday rolled around, and not one prospect of true love had come my way, I started to believe. How could I not? As if the fate of my family being werewolves wasn’t enough, I received a curse to boot. Lucky me.

“Yeah, yeah. The curse, I remember. I think the only reason it’s complicated is because you let the werewolf thing upset you too much.”

“You know the same as I do that in all my years of dating, I’ve never gotten past the third date with a man.”

“That’s not true.”

“Okay, other than the year I dated Bruce Taylor, but that was probably a fluke. It’s the curse, I tell ya. It has to be. What other explanation is there?”

“Find a werewolf to date and be done with it.”

“That’s easier said than done, and no amount of dating will work for me. Werewolves, humans—it doesn’t matter.” I waved my hand. “I’ve given up all hope. Besides, the whole werewolf thing is kind of a big deal.” My gaze wandered down to the magnificent piece of yummy on the sidewalk below.

Jennifer leaned closer to the window. She was practically panting. “I think he’s moving in. He’s carrying boxes into the office next to us. This could be interesting.” She placed her hands on the window as if reaching out to touch him.

Figuring there was no point in gawking, I’d slipped into the kitchen. As I stuffed an Oreo in my mouth with one hand (the beef jerky I’d munched on for lunch had not been enough), I grabbed a bottle of wine from the small rack above the cabinet with the other, then poured the red liquid into a glass.

Jennifer screeched from the other room, “Wait. What the hell? Is that Lily pacing the sidewalk? Is she…picketing you?”

The glass slipped from my grasp and shattered on the hard tile floor. Damn.

“Wait…what? Did you say Lily is outside? I’m praying I misunderstood. Please tell me I heard incorrectly.”

“You heard me. Lily’s out there. The hot guy is staring at her. She’s waving the sign frantically at him. How embarrassing for you.” Jennifer sounded a little too excited with her play-by-play.

Shards of glass littered the floor. I eased around the broken mess and dashed for the window to witness the debacle with my own eyes.

“She has a friggin’ sign? This day keeps getting better. Stupid me, I thought the worst was over.” The throbbing in my temples returned.

“Why, may I ask, is Lily marching up and down the sidewalk with a ginormous sign that says, Get a Mate Is a Fake’ to begin with? What the heck happened? She was singing your praises just last week.” Jennifer turned to me and raised a carefully tweezed eyebrow.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. She blames me because the guy I fixed her up with doesn’t love her. I can’t help it if he likes real lime in his beer.”

Jennifer scrunched both eyebrows. I didn’t feel up to explaining how a lime debate had caused a rift between Lily and her honey. I needed wine. Lots of wine. Then I might move on to something stronger. Whiskey might do the trick. Perhaps a little intravenous therapy of hard liquor was needed. Thankfully, Jennifer didn’t want to hear the lime story. Or if she did, she didn’t push for details.

“How long had they dated?”

“Two weeks.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish I were. I feel bad for her. Well, kind of bad, if she wasn’t such a crazy-ass.”

“What’s so special about this Martin guy, anyway?” Jennifer crossed her arms.

“Nothing really.”

“Then why’d you fix them up?”

“They were a good match. That’s all I’m saying.”

“What does Martin do for a living?”

“He’s an accountant. Smart enough guy. Really nice car. Not particularly handsome, but not ugly.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to ignore her, go back into the kitchen, clean up the mess on the floor and pour myself a glass of wine. I want to erase Lily from my memory.” I turned away from the window and headed to the broken disaster. I’d seen enough of Lily for one day.

As I poured my glass of chardonnay and tried to forget my were-soul mate potential lawsuit, the buzzer at the main door of the office blared through the apartment.

“Why’d you install that god-awful bell again?” Jennifer covered her ears.

“I’m a business-savvy kinda gal.” I grinned. “Having a doorbell in the foyer makes it easy if someone needs me for pressing reasons.”

“Yeah, ’cause that happens so often.”

“Okay, granted, I might not appear savvy with Lily protesting me at the moment, but a girl can dream, right?”

“I can’t recall you’ve ever gotten an urgent call after six at night.”

“I don’t feel the need to offer emergency dating assistance.” The buzzer wailed again and I covered my ears. When it finally stopped, I continued, “But the vampires need nighttime appointments, so occasionally they gave me a ring.” I matched up all types of lonely paranormals. My specialty slanted toward fixing up werewolves. Humans too, although they weren’t privy to info about the paranormal folk. “You’re never here to hear it ring.”

“Right, right, right, right.”

Jennifer popped her head around the corner and whispered, “Do you think it’s her?” As if being quiet would make the buzzer mysteriously cease.

“Most definitely. I might have to call the police.”

“I can’t believe she’s that upset. I mean, no wonder he doesn’t love her.” She snorted.

“She’s driving me bonkers. I think I might have to move. Leave the country even.”

“I’ll deal with her.” Jennifer stalked to the door.

“You’d do that for me? You’re so thoughtful. Now I remember why you’re my best friend.” I sipped my wine. “Go easy on her, will you? After all, she does have a broken heart.” All right, so I was a softie. Even after all Lily had put me through, I felt bad for her.

Jennifer huffed and marched out the front door like a soldier ready for battle. I plopped down on the sofa, closed my eyes and leaned back onto the plush cushion, trying to keep nasty thoughts of Lily to a minimum. The door opening woke me from the light doze I’d slipped into, but I didn’t open my eyes.

“I hope you got rid of her. Please tell me she didn’t grow fur and turn into a werewolf while you were talking to her.”

“Um. Rylie?”

“Tell her to go away. Tell her to treat those paws of hers to a manicure.” I groaned and pressed my eyelids tighter together. The wine eased the tension from my shoulders. I took another gulp from my glass.

“Rylie? Oh, Rylie. Special delivery for you.” Jennifer had a tendency to sing her words.

I cracked open one eye and proceeded to spit wine all over myself and the sofa.

“This is Jack.” Jennifer had a huge smile plastered across her face.

Chapter 2

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 2:

Beef jerky is not an appropriate dinner option.

Poised in the doorway like a model on the cover of Men’s Vogue was the guy we had shamelessly ogled mere minutes earlier. Technically, Jennifer ogled more than I did. But in an instant, my own primal instinct took over. Or maybe it was just hormones and lack of sex. My body came alive as I took in every inch of his appearance. I tingled in all the right places.

His intoxicating aroma whirled around the room, a mix of patchouli and soap. The scent seemed to reach out, as if with imaginary arms, drawing me closer to him. From the expression on Jennifer’s face, it had a similar effect on her.

He gazed at me—a long, seductive gaze—and I experienced a rush. I stared at him as if he were a piece of meat, but not for the same reasons I ogled steak. Yes, he was a fine specimen. But why was he standing in my apartment? Had he seen us from outside? I prayed he hadn’t. Maybe he came up to tell us to stop staring at him. How rude were we? Oh God, maybe he’d heard my comments about Lily turning into a werewolf. He would think I was a nutcase.

He cast a glance from me to Jennifer and then back at me. “This envelope was propped up against the door to the office downstairs.” He held up the parcel. “It was marked urgent, so I thought I’d ring the buzzer and see if anyone was in.”

“Um. Yes. We’re in. I mean, I’m in. I’m here.” I chuckled and fidgeted with the corner of my blouse.

Wow, wasn’t I a smooth operator? Maybe it wasn’t a curse that was my problem, but my inability to speak coherently to members of the opposite sex when they looked as smokin’ hot as he did.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you. I thought I’d committed a crime the way she came after me.” Jack chuckled and pointed at Jennifer.

She turned a bright shade of scarlet and said, “We thought you were someone else.”

“Did you think I was the lady with the sign?” He inclined his head toward the window.

Had he managed to read the sign with her waving it around? I prayed he hadn’t.

Jennifer continued to blush and flutter her eyelashes at him. “Yes, perhaps.” She tilted her head and shuffled a foot. She’d be embarrassed when she remembered Todd, her adoring non-committal boyfriend. Maybe she wanted to replace him. Wait a minute. What did I care, anyway? Love was not in the cards for me.

“Anyway, here’s the envelope.”

My gaze tracked the full length of his lean, muscular arm as he held the parcel out. The desire to reach out and touch, lick, sniff, or nibble his arm nearly overwhelmed me. It was so smooth and tanned. One stroke was all I needed. What had gotten into me? Why was I drooling over a complete stranger? Like a dog slobbering over a bone. I needed to snap out of my lust-induced fog immediately before I embarrassed myself. I grasped the envelope and looked down to avoid his sparkling blue eyes. They were as clear as the summer sky. Not that I’d noticed.

The white padded envelope had Cruz scribbled across the front in black marker. Whoever wrote the letters must have been in a hurry because the writing was sloppy.

“My name is Jack Chandler, by the way.” He held out his hand and my stomach flip-flopped. I shook his hand, and I won’t lie, my body tingled. No joke. His touch was tender. I had a feeling he knew how to treat a lady. After all, I was a matchmaker—it was my job to read people.

“I’m Rylie Cruz. I own Get a Mate.” I felt heat rise in my cheeks.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rylie.” His gaze held mine. I wanted to say the pleasure was all mine, but I was not nearly bold enough for such a comment. Not to a handsome stranger. Why could I play Cupid for everyone but myself?

“Aren’t you going to open the envelope?” Jennifer interrupted my trance, and I released his hand.

Jack parted his lips and looked as if he wanted to speak—probably to say goodbye. I wasn’t ready for him to disappear yet. I wanted to know what he was doing. Where he came from and why he was here. Was he really moving in? Please God, let him be moving in.

“This is my impatient roommate, Jennifer Matthews.”

“Pleased to meet you.” She grinned like a Cheshire cat and twisted a blond curl around her finger.

“Likewise.” He nodded. If he’d had a cowboy hat, he would have tipped it to her. He kind of had a rugged cowboy vibe going on. Jack wasn’t a cowboy, though—I guessed that much.

I suppose he could’ve been, but he wasn’t wearing boots. My interest mounted and I couldn’t wait to find out exactly who he was.

I fumbled with the envelope and said, “Are you moving in next door?” I slid my finger along the seal and glanced up at him, waiting for an answer. Please let the boxes he carried in be his.

“I rented the office and apartment next door.” He motioned with his thumb across the hall.

I had to keep myself from doing a fist pump and yelling. “Really?” I continued fumbling with the envelope, hoping I appeared nonchalant. Jennifer stood in the same spot, a silly grin still plastered across her face.

“Yes, started moving in this evening.” He gave a devilish smile.

“What kind of business do you have?”

“I’m a psychiatrist,” he said in a sexy drawl.

He didn’t remind me of a psychiatrist. He wasn’t wearing a suit or smoking a pipe. He wore jeans and a faded blue t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders.

“Wow, that’s wonderful. What in the heck is this?” I held up the letter I’d just extracted from the envelope and squinted at Jennifer, forgetting my conversation with Jack.

“What does it say?” Jennifer finally pried her body from Jack’s side and dropped her giddy smile.

“Here, take a look for yourself.” I shoved the paper at her.

Jack stood in the same spot. The delicious scent still emanating from him reminded me of his presence. I offered a bashful grin while Jennifer examined the letter. Now I acted almost as giddy as she did.

“”You’ll be sorry”? What’s that supposed to mean?”

I smirked. “I wonder. I don’t have to tell you who wrote the note.” Stomping over to the window, I tapped on the glass and waved at Lily—as if she’d oblige my shooing hand gesture and go away. Speaking of gestures… She pumped her fist at me, flipped me the bird and continued marching.

I heaved the window up and yelled, “Your behavior is not very ladylike.” She sashayed past again. Somehow I knew she didn’t give a rat’s patootie.

“Why didn’t she hand-deliver the note to you?” Jennifer asked.

“She’s not that brave. She’s all bark, er, I mean talk.”

Lily was unreasonable. The hairs on my arms pricked up, and sprouted on my legs. Breathe in. Breathe out. Slow and steady breathing was the trick I had figured out worked best in order to calm my nerves. It was either calm down, or scare the heck out of the hot man standing in my doorway, and I couldn’t have that.

Controlling my temper had always been an issue for me. Not that I had a short fuse or anything—everyone gets upset occasionally. The problem for me was losing my temper even slightly meant growing a natural fur coat, and I did not need that. Don’t get me wrong, I’d never gotten steamed enough to change over while angry—yet—but I knew it was possible. Like I said, I only transformed during a full moon or when I absolutely had to. My poor Uncle Ernie had lost his cool and shifted many times, so I’d seen it happen. I shuddered to think what might have happened to him in the long run if not for the anger management classes. Yes, I came from a long line of werewolves, and not one of them had taught me a darn thing about practical werewolf skills. They were all bad influences. Every one of them either tried to ignore the little hairy secret, hoping it would go away, or ran around like rogues changing at the drop of a hat. I, however, decided to deal with my hairy situation in the proper manner. Everything I knew about the werewolf lifestyle, I had figured out on my own. Thanks a lot, family.

Way back when, my great-great-great-grandfather went hunting one day and stumbled upon the wrong pack of wolves. That was when the werewolf fate started for us. If only he’d had another hobby, maybe I wouldn’t be in this predicament, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, one day while sneaking his way through the forest, he came upon the mangy beasts. Although he fought them off pretty well, in the end one managed to take a whopping bite out of his leg. The rest is history.

“Looks as if you have a bit of a problem. That’s a client of yours?”

“Yes, she’s a client of mine. Well, not anymore, I guess. In my opinion, I think she needs to be a client of yours. Do you mind if I send her your way?”

He laughed. A sexy laugh. Was there anything about him that wasn’t sexy? Of course—there had to be, right?

“Maybe it’s not the client but your matchmaking abilities?” Jennifer asked, while ogling Jack.

I shot her an evil glare and chuckled nervously at Jack. Touchy subject.

“Anyway, I’d better let you enjoy the rest of your evening. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

I’d be the judge of that. He could take up as much of my time as he wanted.

“Thank you for delivering the letter. It was nice meeting you.”

“A pleasure meeting you too. I’m sure I’ll see you around, neighbor.” He smiled. Still nothing wrong with him—even his chops were perfect. With any luck, I would be seeing him around.

***

All right, so I had thought about the gorgeous Jack a few times since we met. Just a few times. I was embarrassed to admit I’d dreamed about him last night. I was shocked when I woke abruptly in the middle of the night with butterflies in my stomach. That tingling, excited feeling you get when you meet someone fantastic—you know the one I mean—had roused me from my fabulous dream.

I’d never had a reaction that strongly. At least I couldn’t remember feeling that way. And an emotion like that is not something you’d forget. My dream had been surprisingly realistic and quite sexy. I hardly knew the guy and was having passionate dreams about him.

In my dream, he’d come to my door. When I opened it, he grabbed me, whisked me into his arms and planted the longest, steamiest kiss on me I’d ever received. He then proceeded to shower me with kisses on every part of my hot exposed skin.

I didn’t sleep much after that. Who could blame me? I couldn’t stop thinking about Jack sleeping right next door. Visions of him lying in his bed, golden muscles relaxed and comfortable…waiting for me…floated through my head. Okay, I thought about my dilemma with Lily too. So sleep had not come easy. I prayed she would come to her senses when a new day dawned, and this little snafu would be over. Lily could be treacherous. Her world wasn’t filled with thoughts of puppy dogs and kittens, unless maybe she was chasing them. Deep down there was kindness somewhere in her heart. There had to be, right?

Finally, when the sun popped up over the horizon, I dragged myself from bed and started my day. After showering, I picked out my favorite sexy work ensemble in case I saw Jack again. Hey, a girl could dream. I slipped into a black pencil skirt, fitted white blouse and my favorite Gucci pumps, and staggered into the kitchen yawning.

“You’re awfully dressed up today. Special plans?” Jennifer chirped in her singsong voice when I entered the room. She sat at the table with a steaming mug in one hand and The New Orleans Times in the other.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Same old routine.” Did she somehow know about my dream? Was she psychic and I didn’t even realize? Was guilty written all over my face? She eyed me suspiciously.

“I can dress up if I want to. No need for a special occasion.”

“Maybe you’ll run into Jack today?” She smirked.

“Maybe.” I shrugged and avoided her gaze. Instead I poured orange juice into a small glass and took a sip.

“You seem a little flushed this morning. You all right?”

Finally, I glanced at her. She smiled shamelessly. “You need to go to work. Won’t you be late? Isn’t there a kitty cat that needs its shots?” I asked.

“Very funny. Don’t worry about me, I’ve got time.”

“Well, I don’t. I’m off to work. I’ll see you later.” I grabbed my bag.

“Have fun,” she squeaked as I opened the door to leave.

I clicked the door shut before she had a chance to say anything else and peeked around. No sign of Lily. To my surprise, she wasn’t camped out in front of my apartment with a protest sign in one hand and lime beer in the other.

Her expectations in the matchmaking department were highly skewed. I had hoped she’d gone home last night and realized she had seriously overstepped boundaries with her behavior. I’d find another sucker, er, man for her and make things right. But then again, I didn’t want to subject another guy to her wilder tendencies.

Lily had appeared to be a calm werewolf—only transforming during a full moon—at first. But when she told me about how often she changed, I should have known better. That was a clear sign, or should have been, that she was too high strung. The hallway was quiet, but the strange smell still permeated the air. All was normal.

I made it halfway from my door to the stairs, then froze when a low growl sounded. Maybe all wasn’t normal, after all. My ears perked and I listened. The noise came from the left, where the stairs led up to my door. I tilted my head. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, or just a dog on the street. It seemed nearby, though. Taking a few steps forward, I grabbed the banister and peered over the edge. Glowing eyes stared back at me from the corner at the bottom of the stairs.

“Are you friggin’ kidding me? So it’s going to be one of those days again. I’ll have you know I just got a manicure two days ago—a pretty pink color. Now they’ll be ruined when I take your mangy butt out of here by the nape of your ugly reddish-brown neck.”

Tossing my purse into the corner, I stormed down the stairs on a mission. When I reached the bottom, the pathetic excuse for a werewolf leapt out from the shadows displaying its full set of sharp teeth.

“Oh, is that supposed to scare me?”

The beast took a stance as if alerting me that I was in for a fight. “Great. Just what I need—a fight to ruin my favorite outfit. And not to mention, get me all sweaty.”

I had no choice but transform into my werewolf self. That was the only way I could defend myself.

“All right, Lily. You want to fight me? I’ll fight you. Bring it.” I motioned for her to come closer.

Lily growled louder. The fugly gold and rhinestone necklace dangling from her neck that said Martin’s gave her identity away. Lily was petite, but she packed a powerful punch. Anytime she came near it was as if a menacing tornado swirled through and left you dazed and confused.

“Is this really what you want? Do you think fighting will make things better? Somehow all your problems will disappear?”

She smiled, exposing her intimidating, gleaming fangs. I bet you’ve never seen a smiling werewolf before.

“All right, all right. Can’t we settle this like civilized werewolves?” Yes, believe it or not, werewolves can be civilized—not mere wild beasts chasing humans every chance we get. Well, at least the majority of us weren’t unruly—others were heathens. She snarled again, even louder.

“Fine then, let’s at least take it outside. I don’t want to get the foyer messy, because fur’s going to fly, and it won’t be mine. I gotta tell ya, Lily, I hate to take it to this level, but you leave me no choice.” What if a customer came in and saw two werewolves rolling around on the floor? “Let’s take it out back to the fenced-in area. No one will see us there.” At least I hoped not.

The second time I suggested taking our brawl outside was the last straw for her I guess. It really set her off. In one fluid motion she pounced on me. I didn’t have time to shift to defend myself. It would be a tough fight unless I could change over. I raised my arms to keep her at bay while trying to alter myself. She was on top of me and trying to position her head in order to sink her canines into my throat. With her fur in my eyes, I found it difficult to focus. Broken heart or not, I wasn’t such a softie for Lily anymore.

“Lily, you should invest in mouth rinse,” I gasped while trying to push her face away from mine. She let out another deep growl.

Her paws made contact with my neck. Possibly she wanted to choke me before ripping my throat out. Her body felt heavy on top of mine. I pushed at her stomach for leverage to toss her off, but she didn’t budge. The heat from her body made sweat form on my face.

“Have you been lifting weights?” I grunted.

She was tougher than her petite frame appeared. I couldn’t act fearful and give her the upper hand. She needed to see I was just as tough—maybe tougher. But finding my forcefulness proved to be difficult. Being on top of me provided her the upper hand, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Inhaling deeply, I prepared to shove with all of my might. It was do-or-die time.

Bright sunlight flooded the area when the front door cracked open. The next thing I knew, a male voice yelled, “Let her go. Shoo. Let her go. Shoo.” Jack appeared in the doorway.

If he only knew he was shooing a werewolf. He yanked on Lily’s shoulders with his full strength. My knight in shining armor. So brave and good-looking.

Everything at that moment flashed by in a blur. Lily tumbled backward and landed on top of Jack. The next thing I knew, Lily scrambled up. She was skittish around human men, which was why she came to me for help in the first place. Jack stumbled to his feet, swayed and almost fell. He landed against the wall with a thud, but managed to remain upright. After knocking the door out of her way with her paw, Lily scuttled out onto the sidewalk and took off in a lope.

“My God, are you all right?” Jack panted as he gasped the words.

He dashed for the door and peered out looking for the mad dog, but Lily was probably long gone. Jumping up quickly, I brushed off my skirt and blouse. Jack stood, speechless, staring at me. What would he say? Had he noticed the abnormal size of the creature attacking me?

“What the hell was that? A coyote or a dog? It was incredibly big. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dog that big.” He leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. I think the sight of a huge hairy creature knocked the wind right out of him.

“Oh, it was only a really big dog. A mutt. I’ve seen dogs larger than that one.” I tried to brush off his concerns, but I sounded too nonchalant.

“Did it bite you? Do you need to go to the hospital? You seem awfully calm for being attacked by a dog.” He looked me up and down, which made me somewhat self-conscious. He did have a point, however. I was calm for a girl who’d almost been eaten alive.

“No. No. I’ll be fine. It’s only a little scratch. I am a bit freaked, though.” A tiny bit of blood leaked from the scrape on my hand. The last thing I needed was to go to the hospital. Every time the doctor made me open up to say ahh he would comment on my sharp canines. That was more than a little embarrassing. Plus, they’d question me about the mysterious beast that had attacked me.

“How did it get in the building?” Jack asked, still confused.

“I’m not sure. It was here when I came down the stairs. The thing surprised me, or I surprised it, I’m not sure which.” I was shockingly good at the lying thing, which probably wasn’t good. But there was no way I could tell him the truth.

A concerned look spread across Jack’s face that made my stomach twist.

He scrunched his brows. “If you’re sure you’re all right, I guess I’ll get back to my office. We need to make sure we keep this door shut, I guess.” Jack closed the door, jiggling the knob to make sure it stuck.

I nodded, a little bummed that my run-in with Jack had been spoiled by crazy-assed Lily. She was a thorn in my side.

Jack stepped closer. I caught my breath and jumped back. I hadn’t expected him to come so close. “I was going to open the door for you.” A little glimmer flashed in his eyes when he grinned.

“Oh, sure. Right. Right.” I couldn’t believe I’d jumped back like a complete idiot. What did I think? He was going to kiss me or something? I moved slightly to my left and looked down for a split second. That’s when I noticed my hand covered in fur—freaking fur. Loads of awful hair. All right, don’t panic, I reminded myself.

Getting rid of Jack before he saw my fuzzy appendage was now top priority. Apparently my transformation began when he stopped Lily’s attack. It would take a few minutes of no excitement before the fur would go away. And no excitement would mean Jack as far away from me as possible.

I stuck my hand behind my back and said, “I don’t want to hold you up any longer. I’ll be fine. Thank you so much.”

“Here, let me get the door for yo—”

“No.” All right. I had just screamed at him. I hoped I didn’t damage his hearing with my high-pitched squeal.

Jack lowered his hand and backed away. “I’m sorry. I’ll let you get to work then.”

I hadn’t meant to sound quite so panicked. He spun on his heels and hurried across the foyer, but not before looking back. He gave a confused stare, then disappeared into his office. I entered my workspace and let out a deep sigh. With my shoulders slumped, I leaned against the door and stared down at my hand. I should have known better than to think I could possess any interest in a human. While I stood there savoring some tasty self-pity, a loud knock came at my door. Then a huge thud, followed by rattling.

“What the hell?” I screamed as I fell to the ground, pushed forward by the blast of the opening door.

Chapter 3

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 3:

Never underestimate the strength of a werewolf.

“Where the hell is he?” a deep voice bellowed.

There I was minding my own business, trying to calm down from the disastrous events of the morning. Then some burly hoodlum burst in from out of nowhere, smashing my door down.

I scrambled for the chair, the hardwood planks scraping my legs when I pulled myself up. With my frustration flaring, I glanced down at my hand. The coarse hair that had been fading was quickly returning.

“I asked you, where the hell is he?” He craned his head around, scanning the area. He hadn’t even looked at me. Rude beefy guy obviously had the wrong office.

“First off, who the hell are you looking for?” My other hand tingled with hair growth. The situation might get tricky in next to no time if he kept up his overambitious demeanor. Maybe I should have been more afraid, but my anger won out.

“Well. Well. Well. What have we here?” The rubber bottoms of his big black boots squeaked on the hardwood when he stopped in front of me. He glared and licked his cracked lips.

Mr. Tough Guy rubbed me the wrong way.

He stepped closer, then hesitated before releasing another wicked leer my way. “You sure are a pretty young thing.”

Rage bubbled inside me. There was no way I could hold back what was about to happen. My mouth felt dry and my teeth grew. Two big canines poked my tongue like pointy daggers. Not that attractive, I know, but a fact, nonetheless.

“What do you want?” I demanded.

He didn’t answer, an iniquitous sneer his expression of choice. Bad news was written all over his wrinkled face.

“Who are you?” I pressed.

“The name’s Charlie, sweetheart. I’m your friendly neighborhood…” He paused and scrunched his face. By the pained grimace, I knew thinking wasn’t something he did often. Did he even know who he was?

“Collector. Yeah, call me a collector.” He leaned against my shelf and curved his lips into a sneer as if he was immensely proud of his clever title.

“A collector. A collector of what? Seashells? Stamps? Dolls?” I smirked. My hands itched as they became fully covered in hair. I had furry gloves. So unattractive.

“Oh, you think you’re funny, huh? A wise-ass.” He reached for me, and I darted to my left, knocking over a table littered with figurines. Why was everyone messing with my damn figurines?

Unfortunately when I knocked over the table, I fell with it. I was a sitting duck—an easy target—and he knew it. I looked up and caught a good glimpse of his face. His beady eyes held not an ounce of empathy. Strands of his greasy dark hair flipped down onto his face. Maybe I should have feared him, but I couldn’t. Would my hairy mitts frighten him?

“Don’t come near me. You’ll be sorry if you do.”

“I’m shakin’ in my boots.” His tone was nonchalant, which made me furious.

He reached down and grabbed the front of my favorite blouse. I didn’t think it possible, but this day was beginning to be worse than yesterday.

“Now are you going to tell me where Ernie Cruz is or not? I’d hate to hurt a pretty thing like you.” The big oaf held me by my shirt collar and yanked me to my feet. My heels scraped across the floor making a shrill noise that echoed throughout the office.

“Ouch. Get the hell off me.” My neck burned where the collar had been pulled. It appeared Ernie had made someone extremely angry.

I grabbed his arms, pushing in an attempt to free his hands from my shirt. It didn’t work. My thoughts raced. The idea of spitting in his face crossed my mind, but what good would it do? The action would only increase his anger. Using my werewolf skills wasn’t something I enjoyed, but sometimes it was necessary. There was no need to let this guy bully me. I could give him a preview of my wolfish side and scare the sleaziness right out of him.

“Where is he?” he asked again.

Heat rose in my cheeks, and I sensed the familiar feeling rush through my body. There was nothing I could do to control my temper—not with that kind of pressure—so I might as well scare the bejeezus out of him. My eyes changed colors. I knew at what point in the process that happened.

“He’s not here.” I glared at him. Uncle Ernie was in trouble again. No doubt he was slinking around as a werewolf, wreaking havoc, and now I was involved.

His jaw dropped and he released my shirt. The expression on his face was priceless. If only I had had a camera to capture the moment. He actually let out a tiny gasp—not a noise I would expect to escape the lips of a tough-looking guy like him.

“What the hell are you?” He backed away, stumbling. His eyes grew wide.

“Get out of my office,” I snarled. I had the upper hand now.

“You tell Ernie I want my money.” His voice was almost a whimper.

“You tell Ernie. Now get out of my office before I hurt you.” I pointed toward the door with my furry paw, and he let out another gasp. “And don’t let me catch you here again.”

Wow, how brave was I?

“This isn’t the last you’ll see of me,” he muttered.

“We’ll see about that,” I said.

He scurried out the door, almost falling over his own feet. His departure was a heck of a lot different from his entrance. When Charlie the goon exited, Jack appeared from his doorway and ran smack-dab into Charlie.

“Whoa, buddy. Take it easy.”

“She’s possessed. Something is wrong with her. I think she’s whacked out of it.” Charlie pointed at me.

He ran for the door, clawed at the knob then was gone.

I ran for my desk. Tripping over the rug, I righted myself, rushed the rest of the way in five seconds flat, then collapsed into my soft leather chair. I took a couple of deep breaths to regain my composure. Not knowing what else to do with my hands, I stuffed them under the desk so Jack couldn’t see. Did he have to be as gorgeous today as he was yesterday? He was good-looking and I was well on my way to being a beast.

Maybe my eyes had played tricks on me. Maybe he wasn’t that hunkalicious.

No such freakin’ luck.

He stood in my broken doorway, dressed in khakis and a white polo, starring at the mess. His blond hair was ruffled. Strong, tanned arms were exposed by his shirt.

“Don’t ask,” I said when he looked from the mangled mess of an office to me.

He parted his lips to say something. Then, I guess, he thought better of it. I shifted in my seat, the hair on my legs uncomfortable, and I ached to scratch myself like a dog with fleas. Again, I’m a werewolf, not a dog. Big difference. All right, so I attracted fleas too. No biggie.

I tried to read his expression. If he didn’t think I was a wacko earlier, he had to now. He shuffled his feet, lifting one loafer and then the other. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed as if he wanted to ask me something. With everything weird Jack had witnessed since we’d met, I was afraid to hear what he had to say. Finally, he moved closer to my desk and my heart thumped in anticipation. I think I let out an audible gulp when he drew near. The sun gleamed through the window behind me, bouncing off Jack, highlighting his good looks. His blond hair shone, and his eyes sparkled. I could get used to his face.

“I heard all the commotion and I wanted to check on you. Just wanted to make sure you were all right.” He leaned against my desk, looking so casual, as if he was right at home and entirely comfortable around me. After all the crazy stuff he’d seen, I didn’t understand how that was possible. But I wouldn’t complain.

“You’re so sweet. Thank you. That’s awfully nice of you.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear the door fall.”

“Yeah, I must have had my iPod earphones in.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” He pushed his hands into his pockets. How I wished I had pockets to shove mine into. I was stuck with hiding them under my desk. He probably thought I was concealing something crazy under there—little did he know it was hairy knuckles. I prayed he didn’t want to shake my hand. Any other time, I would be more than happy to shake his hand, hold it or caress it, for that matter, but not at that moment.

“Not really.” My voice had changed back to normal, instead of the low growl that had chased Charlie off.

“I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours…”

I nodded, sensing where he was going with his statement.

“Someone protested your office. A wild dog attacked you. Now some brute has knocked your door down.” He ticked each one of the incidents off on his fingers.

I cringed at the thought of how bad my life must look to him. Everything had been so normal forty-eight hours ago. Well, except for the werewolf part. Minor detail.

“Looks kind of strange from an outsider’s point of view, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled and nodded. “Yes, kind of strange, to say the least.”

“My life isn’t normally this chaotic, I promise.”

“Okay.” He stared at me, and I felt my face heat up again. This time it wasn’t anger warming my cheeks, but desire.

“You have very interesting eyes. They look strangely familiar.” He studied me as if trying to place the familiarity.

“Really?” Wow, I had a way with words when in the vicinity of Jack Chandler. Not. One-word answers were all I could muster. Surely I could do better than that.

“You know, now that I think about it, your eyes look exactly like the woman who was protesting you yesterday. Are you related?”

Remain calm. There was no way he knew what werewolf eyes looked like.

“No, we’re not related. She’s just a customer. Or was.”

“I can’t imagine your eye color is all that common. Is it golden? It looks golden from here.” He ran a hand through his hair, showcasing his abundance of muscles.

“Hazel. They’re hazel.” I pointed to my eyes. “There are a few specks of gold mingled in.” I waved my hand dismissively. The fur was gone. “Sometimes the light makes them appear golden.” Looking down to hide my eyes, I wished he’d drop the eye color chitchat.

After a second, I glanced at him again, and the expression on his face let me know he was suspicious. I could tell by the lifted eyebrow. I’m not sure he bought the hazel explanation. But it wasn’t a complete lie. When I wasn’t halfway into werewolf form, they were hazel with little gold specks. But he was correct—I was sure at that moment my eyes were a glowing buttery yellow hue.

“Hazel. Um. Okay, hazel it is. You should know. They are your eyes.” He smiled that perfect smile, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He let out another hearty laugh.

I nervously chuckled with him, thankful the awkward conversation was over.

“Whatever color they are, they’re beautiful. Your dark hair really sets off the tint of them.”

I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. After all the crazy antics, he’d complimented me. Me. Was he flirting? I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t want to be presumptuous. But it sure as hell sounded like an admiring comment. My insides did a little jig.

He walked away. “I need to get back to my office. Are you sure everything is all right in here?” He hoisted the broken door off the floor. Thankfully, he didn’t notice the table knocked over in the corner. Then he would have known there had been a struggle.

“Can I help you repair the door?” He leaned it against the wall.

“No. No. You have work to do. I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’ll call someone to fix it.”

He paused and stared at me with that seductive look that he so obviously had down pat. “I know I don’t know you, but I’m worried about you. You have to admit someone knocking your door down is a bit odd. That sort of thing doesn’t take place every day. Are you sure this is just a dating service?”

Oh God. What did he think I was doing? Running a prostitution ring? Selling drugs? Making moonshine in the hall closet? Producing counterfeit cash under my desk? I was so embarrassed I was sure my face was the darkest shade of red possible. I wanted to crawl under my desk and hide. And I had thought he was flirting. How stupid could I be?

“It’s merely a dating service.” I tried to sound confident. I think it sounded as if I was hiding something that would only add to his apparent doubts about me.

“All right. Get a Mate, right?” He pointed a finger at me for confirmation.

I nodded my head. “Yes, Get a Mate.”

He shuffled backward a few steps. “Come and get me if you need me, all right? Don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I will. Thanks again.” I gave him a wide grin.

He hesitated and opened his mouth once more to speak, but didn’t. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode out the doorway. The echo of his shoes bounced off the old walls as he ambled away.

I collapsed my head onto my desk. If it hadn’t been for the headache I already had, I would have beaten it against the hard surface. The door in the foyer that led outside was open. The hooligan hadn’t shut it in his frantic departure. After my wild dog attack, I was surprised Jack hadn’t noticed and shut it. A light wind slipped through, a welcome reprieve, even if warm and only for a moment. It was late September, but the days were still muggy and I was sweating after wearing furry gloves.

The traffic picked up. With it, exhaust fumes wafted through the open door mixed with a faint scent of the remaining late-blooming flowers outside. In front of my office I had a little patch of concrete. A tiny space. But enough for a few planters and such. I’d placed the rosebush close to the door so every time I walked in I would smell the roses. Even in the city, one should never be without flowers—they always lifted my spirits. And my spirits could use a lift.

People walked by and I lifted my head to stare at them, wondering if their worlds were as crazy as mine. Somehow I doubted it. I looked down at my hands, making sure the fur was gone. Whew. I was back to normal. At least what constituted normal for me. It was at times such as this that I wondered about my career choice.

I’d put everything I had into Get a Mate. Not to mention my parents’ retirement money. I couldn’t fail—I just couldn’t. Day after day, my customers said the same thing: finding a soul mate when you were that hairy proved to be extremely difficult. Try explaining to your new boyfriend why you grow outrageous amounts of hair and bay whenever the moon is full. Being a werewolf should not kill your social life, and my job was to lend a hand. Granted, I only turned into my complete werewolf-self during a full moon, or when completely stressed or very angry, but I sympathized with their pickle. Thankfully, I looked as normal as anyone else the rest of the time. As long as I didn’t forget to use depilatory on my knuckles, I was good to go.

I switched on the computer and checked my email. The usual penis enlargement spam and a reminder for the monthly pack meeting. Nothing important.

“Oh, my lord and Taylor. What the hell happened?” Jennifer’s scream broke the silence, interrupting my reverie. I forgot she hadn’t left for work yet. Now I would have to explain everything to her, reliving every agonizing detail.

“Rylie, are you all right?” She ran to my desk. “Are you injured?”

“Calm down, I’m fine. Do not panic,” I said. “You’re such a worrywart. That’s why I don’t want to tell you when something’s wrong.” I noticed my purse in her hands. I’d forgotten I’d thrown it on the floor while fighting with Lily.

“You’re fine? Fine? Do you want to explain why your door is off its hinges? That doesn’t look like fine.” She set my purse on my desk.

“Do I want to? No. Will I? I guess I have no choice. I know you’ll badger me until I do.” I stared at her.

“You’re right, I will. I’m waiting.” She tapped her foot.

“Are those my Prada pumps?” I’d saved forever to buy those.

A sheepish grin curved her lips. “You don’t mind.”

“Um, it wasn’t a question. It was a statement. It would be nice if you’d ask, but you never do.”

She grinned again.

“Okay, you’re right. I don’t mind.”

She plopped down in the chair. Her blond curls bounced with the movement. She looked so stylish in a black wrap dress and my black sexy heels. A bit on the diva side, but stylish, nevertheless.

“So, spill it. Did a tornado blow through while I was upstairs? How in the heck did your door get like that?”

“Won’t you be late for work?” I shuffled a few stray papers on my desk.

“I’ve got time. Now quit stalling and tell me what is going on around here.”

“Some crazy man knocked it down.”

“What? Shut up. Are you kidding? I can’t believe my ears.” Her mouth gaped open.

“Close your mouth before you catch a fly. After Lily attacked me and I ran Jack off, a man burst through my door, knocking it down and me with it,” I said, looking her right in the eyes.

“Stop.” She made a time-out signal. “What? Either my ears are filled with wax and I heard you incorrectly or you’re pulling my leg. Seriously, what happened to the door? And, oh my God, you shunned Jack? Are you insane? Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind? He’s gorgeous. Delicious. Irresistible.”

“I get it. Enough already. I told you. A man knocked it down. And no, I am not insane.”

Her brown eyes were wide like saucers with shock.

“My gosh, Rylie. What is going on? Is it safe for me to be here?” She glanced over her shoulder.

“Don’t be silly. Of course it’s safe. The man was looking for my Uncle Ernie, that’s all. He wants him and nothing else. I’m not sweating it.” Not much.

“And he can’t knock like a normal person? I’m beginning to wonder if you know any regular people besides me. Ever since you opened this business the crazies have come out of the woodwork.”

“No, apparently he can’t knock.”

She did have a point. I had met a few people who were less than sane.

“I guess that explains why I found your purse on the floor.”

I nodded.

“So what happened with Jack and Lily? She attacked you?” She fidgeted with the tie on her dress.

“She was in werewolf form when I came down the stairs. Growling at me, baring her shiny fangs.”

I’d never forget the day when I told Jennifer I was a werewolf. I thought for sure she wouldn’t be my friend anymore, that she would call for the men with the little white coats. To my relief, she hadn’t. Although I feared she never believed any of the tales from my supernatural life and was only humoring me. She had never seen me shift before. I didn’t like to change in front of humans.

“Are you all right?” She frowned.

“Oh yeah. She only scratched my hand. When Jack came in, she ran away like a scared little girl. It’s not serious. She’s all bark.”

“Oh my God. Hot guy saw Lily as a werewolf? What did he say?”

“He thought it was a huge dog or coyote attacking me.” I giggled.

“Rylie, your life is like a movie. No, it’s better than a movie.”

“My life is like a horror movie that never ends.” I clucked my tongue and eased my head back to rest against my chair.

“Oh, come on. Your life is great. Well, except for the werewolf thing. But that seems to be working out all right for you, I guess. You have a great business, a family who loves you, and you live in a great apartment with a fabulous roommate.” She gave a wide grin.

“You’re right. I suppose it’s not so bad. I mean, business is so-so. That’s a plus, right?” I tried to remain optimistic. Jennifer nodded. “You’d be surprised at how many single werewolves are running around this town.” Sounded more like I tried to reassure myself.

“Speaking of single werewolves.” She focused on her newly manicured nails, trying to appear casual. As if at the very mention of unattached lycanthropes I would run like a wild animal. (I am not wild—I may be half animal, but I’m not wild.)

I knew where she was going with the announcement. Jennifer wouldn’t give up about the me-being-dateless thing.

“What about single werewolves?” Getting this conversation over with was the best thing I could do, I figured.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh.”

“Hey. I do think about things other than when Todd will ask me to marry him. Don’t you realize I have other things on my mind?”

I wanted to say no to that, but refrained.

“Here’s the deal. It’s about this curse thing. Have you ever thought that maybe there is no curse? I’ve never actually known anyone with a real curse before.”

I couldn’t lie—the thought had crossed my mind. I wished it didn’t exist, but it did. My love life served as proof.

“A real curse? As opposed to a fake one? Listen, Jen, why can I not find a boyfriend if there is no curse? Why do all the guys I go out with disappear after the third date faster than an American Idol cast-off’s career?”

“Maybe it’s all in your head? You know, when you think something will happen, eventually it does. That kind of thing.”

“Believe me, I thought that at first. But you know how it is. You’ve seen with your own eyes. You can’t deny the facts.”

“I guess…” She frowned. “But sometimes you sabotage dates.”

“I do not.” Ever since that lake incident, she says I purposely ruin my dates. Long story, but it wasn’t my fault my date couldn’t swim. The lifeguard saved him, so everything worked out. He wasn’t my type, anyway, but Jennifer constantly threw that one little snafu in my face. “Enough about me. What’s going on with you and Todd?”

“Honestly, Rylie, I have no idea. He doesn’t really talk to me anymore. We don’t argue. We don’t communicate at all.”

“I’m sorry, Jen. You know you can talk to me anytime.”

“I know. Thanks for always being there.”

“You do the same for me. Maybe you need to tell him how you feel. Get everything out in the open.”

She let out a deep sigh. “I know I do, but actually doing it isn’t easy. Taking that first step is so hard. We’ve been together so long. It’s familiar, you know?”

I shook my head. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Enough of that. You’re not getting off the subject that easily. Nice try, though. Maybe you should give one of these werewolf guys a chance. How bad can they be?”

“If I found one I liked I would, but it wouldn’t work. It’s the curse. The curse, you know.”

“You’re too picky.” She scowled.

“Maybe,” I said, taking in a deep breath.

“I bet I know a guy you wouldn’t mind doing a little bedroom tango with. A little mattress stomp, the down-and-dirty deed.” She wiggled her hips.

“Oh, stop it. Don’t embarrass me.”

As if on cue, Jack walked in. My jaw must have dropped to the floor. Did he hear our conversation? I needed to get that door back up pronto.

“I gotta run. See you later.” Jennifer scrambled for her purse and flounced out the door.

“Bye.” Jack smiled and she giggled.

I couldn’t believe she left me to explain the conversation he had probably overheard. There I was, once again, all alone with Jack Chandler. Four times in less than twenty-four hours. Not that I complained about seeing him again, just that I’d have to clarify things.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” he began. “I wanted to before, but the door thing threw me for a loop. I can imagine you were quite upset about the dog, or coyote, or whatever it was. Then I come at you like some dimwit. I’m so sorry I scared you like that. I was only trying to open the door for you. My mother always taught me to be a gentleman. At least I sure try to be one.” The words spewed from his lips in a hurry.

“Oh no. I didn’t think that. I was just…” How would I explain to him? I had no idea what to say. I was just hiding my fluffy mitt. No, I couldn’t tell the truth.

His intoxicating aroma swirled around the room again, and I was on a lust-induced high from it. There was no telling what I would say with that smell in the air.

“There’s no need to explain. Please accept my apologies for acting like such a lout.”

If that’s what he thought a lout acted like, what would he think of some of the customers I had?

He picked up a book from my desk. “You like Stephen King?”

“I do. What about you?”

“I’ve read every one of his books at least twice,” he said.

“Really? Me too.”

Another reason to like Jack.

“There was one other reason I stopped in.” He returned the book to its spot.

Oh no. Perhaps he wanted to tell me he thought I needed antipsychotic medication. After all, that was his job.

“Yes.” I used my best business voice. At least, I hoped I sounded professional.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out on a date.”

“With you?”

“Yes, I hope with me. I’m not asking for anyone else.” He laughed.

Why did I not think before I spoke? That was such a stupid question.

“Yes, sure, I’d like that. Sounds fabulous.”

“Great. How about tonight? I know it’s short notice, but are you free?”

Was I free? Yeah, you could say I was free. Free would be an appropriate term for it. The only dates I had were with clients, the non-romantic kind. So, yes, I was completely available.

“Wait a second, let me check my schedule.” How cliché was that? But at least I wouldn’t appear to be a complete loser.

A knock came on the doorframe. The UPS man stood there holding a package.

“I have a package for someone by the name of Cruz. I can’t make out the first name.” He squinted and attempted to read the name again.

“I’m Miss Cruz.” I waved my hand.

He shuffled over, promptly plopping the box on my desk. After punching information into the electronic device, and without uttering a word, he thrust it in front of my nose, demanding a signature. He must have been in a hurry. I scribbled my name on the screen. Or at least I attempted to write it—those things never worked right.

“Have a nice day.” The man eyed the broken door on his way out and gave me an odd glance.

“You too,” I mumbled, wishing he’d stop staring and get the heck out.

Jack nodded at the man and then looked at me again.

“Do you need to open that? I can help if you want,” Jack said.

I glanced down at the package for the first time. It was a small white box with my surname and address across the top. But there was one small detail that made my heart lurch, and I knew there was no way I could open the box in front of Jack.

In the corner where the return address should have been was a little sketch. The artist wasn’t that talented, but it was good enough for me to discern. A werewolf head was drawn and beside it was a gun—a cryptic message for some, but not for me. I knew exactly what it meant.

Chapter 4

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 4:

Avoid giving silver jewelry as a gift.

Jack peered at the box. He stared wide-eyed at the meticulous sketches, then lifted his gaze, focusing on me. Damn. I thought I’d get lucky and he wouldn’t notice the weird drawings. Rather than wait for him to ask, I’d offer an explanation. Not that he would ask.

He furrowed his brow. Fantabulous. More weirdness for him to contemplate. He already had suspicions about my involvement in illegal activities. I didn’t need to add fuel to the paranormal fire. But why did he want to go on a date with me if he thought I was involved in shady behavior? Possibly he thought he’d catch me in the act.

“My cousin, Maria, she’s a real cut-up.” I attempted to cover my nervousness with laughter. “She’s an art student and constantly doodling.” I giggled more. If I didn’t stop, he’d think I was drunk.

He quirked a brow and I prayed he believed my fib. It wasn’t a complete lie. Maria did attend art school. Again, my lying abilities had improved, which, quite frankly, scared me slightly.

“So, tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven?”

I melted a little every time the sexy drawl oozed from his lips. “Sounds perfect. At least you don’t have far to travel.” I smiled. If I was dreaming, I prayed I wouldn’t wake up before the good part.

“No, I don’t.” He chuckled. “Oh, by the way, do you have a favorite restaurant you’d like to go to? I’m new in town. I haven’t had a chance to explore the city much.”

“You moved here recently? Really? Where did you move from?”

“Houston. Born and raised.” The gleam in his eyes said “proud Texan.”

“What brings you to New Orleans?” Before he answered, the phone rang. Damn. Why did I actually have to work?

“I’ll let you get the phone. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yes, tonight. And I do have a favorite.”

He winked and waved before strolling out.

“Get a Mate, may I help you?” I studied Jack as he walked out my door-less office. Who knew khaki pants could look so good?

“Ry, it’s Mama.”

Uh-oh. My mother calling before noon could not be good. She had never been a morning person. Usually she didn’t speak in complete sentences until after one in the afternoon. Growing up, she would drive me to school asleep. Many a morning I grabbed the wheel in the nick of time when she nodded off. No doubt trouble had to be the basis for her call.

“What’s up, Mama? Everything all right?”

“Your father wanted me to ask if you’ve talked to Uncle Ernie. He hasn’t spoken to him for several days and some rude man called here early this morning looking for him. It really ticked me off because you know how I like my beauty sleep. After his call I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

How could I forget she turned into a wild beast without a restful night’s sleep? No pun intended.

“Plus, I don’t want you to forget about the pack assembly next Friday. It should be one heck of a meeting. You won’t want to miss it.”

“Meeting? Don’t you mean party?” My pack—all werewolves belonged to one—had monthly gatherings. And let me tell you, they always turned into one heck of a bash, especially when they switched the karaoke machine to the on position.

“It’s a meeting and you know it.”

“All I’m saying is those crazy lycanthropes can put away some barbeque ribs and beer. To be honest, it’s a little scary to watch.”

My parents forced me to attend these wacky get-togethers, and I begrudgingly obliged. The event was supposed to be a time when we discussed concerns and issues within the werewolf community, but that rarely happened.

“But you’ll be there?” She produced a sniffle.

“I got the email reminder this morning and I’ll be there.” The sniffing stopped. “Do you and Dad need a ride?”

“No, actually, I forgot to tell you…Your father bought a new motorcycle, so we’ll be riding the bike to the meeting. It’s a brand-new Harley and so cool. The helmet messes up my hair something fierce, but your daddy looks so sexy on that bike, I can’t refuse.”

“A motorcycle? Cool? What is wrong with you people?” I snapped.

“Us people? First, remember we are not people. We are werewolves, and we’re your parents. So watch your tone, young lady.”

“Don’t get technical, Mother. You know what I mean.”

“Your father always wanted one.”

“I always wanted a pony, that doesn’t mean I need one.”

“Everything will be fine, Ry. Don’t fret too much. Worrying causes wrinkles.”

“To hear you tell it, everything causes wrinkles. Remember when I was sixteen and you tried to convince me sex caused wrinkles?”

“Don’t be sassy.”

“Apparently that hearsay isn’t true. I’ve met a few people who would look like raisins if it were. Of course I’m not naming names.” I laughed.

She stifled a giggle.

“Both of you are worse than teenagers, you know? You’re driving me insane.”

“Sweetie, I think you’ve been working too hard. I’m serious about the wrinkles. You let the least little thing bother you. Whatcha need is a vacation. Oh, I know. Come by for a massage. I bought a fabulous new table.”

If she only knew the half of it. I wouldn’t mention my visit from the burly dude who rearranged my door. No need to worry her.

“Oh, I need a vacation, all right. The fact of the matter is: I can’t take one. This business can’t run itself. Plus I have to keep an eye on my batty parents.”

“I’m going to ignore your nasty comment.” She paused a moment. “So how is business?”

I couldn’t tell her a jilted client might ruin everything I’d worked for in the blink of an eye. Her money was at stake. I didn’t want her to think I was a failure.

“Fine.” My attempt at being cheery didn’t sound convincing.

She hesitated, then said, “I’ll see you next Friday at the party, er, meeting. And don’t be late. You know how they hate tardiness.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you. Hopefully not in a full-body cast due to a motorcycle crash, though. Oh, and before I let you go, I want to talk to you Friday about the curse.”

She paused again. Her steady breathing drifted across the line. Finally, she responded,

“What about the curse? I’ve told you everything I remember. There’s really nothing left to say.”

“I know, but I wanted to ask a few more questions, that’s all.”

“All right, dear. Whatever you want, but like I said, I’ve told you everything I recall.”

“Thanks, Mama. I’ll talk to you later. And please be careful.”

“Tootles,” she chimed.

“Yeah, yeah. Tootles to you too.” I clicked the off button, shaking my head in amazement. Why didn’t I have normal parents? A mom and dad who played golf all day and harassed me about getting married, or giving them grandchildren. They were, indubitably, not interested in my dateless life. I guess with the curse and all, they knew not to expect reproduction and family life to happen for me. Their one ray of hope lay in my brother’s hands. Well…maybe not his hands. Accidents do happen, and with his behavior, it was a distinct possibility.

Setting down the receiver, my gaze wandered to the mysterious parcel. Why Lily hadn’t put her name on the return address was beyond me—it was obvious the package came from her. She loved drama like supermodels loved diet pills. In order to put her out of my mind and place the whole mess behind me, I decided to open the box. Self-control was not one of my strong points. I prayed a bomb wouldn’t explode the minute I tore into the darn thing.

Rummaging through the top desk drawer, I dug out the letter opener. With one large sweep, I sliced through the tape, then pulled back the top. Pink tissue paper popped up like a perfect birthday present. Only it wasn’t my birthday. The shininess appealed to my eyes, and I couldn’t help but place my hands on the glossy, colorful tissue. I eased the paper from the box and began unwrapping. It was so light it seemed empty. When I finally reached the bottom, I saw it: a shiny silver bullet positioned in the middle of the pink tissue.

A warning—she wanted me aware the slug would be used on my body. A pathetic attempt at scaring me. Would Lily’s behavior worsen as the full moon approached? All werewolves became feistier during that period, and she was no exception. But how much more unscrupulous would she become? I threw the scare tactic back in the box, then chucked the whole thing in the wastebasket. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

With my client meeting still thirty minutes away, I busied myself with paperwork. Checks needed to be written, client files organized, and other mindless details. I took advantage of the few minutes of peace and quiet to take care of them.

My office was in the middle of the oldest neighborhood in New Orleans, the French

Quarter. Surrounded by such beautiful architecture on a daily basis reminded me how lucky I was. The building was 170 years old and had one of those cute iron balconies on the second floor overlooking the street. Of course during Mardi Gras my parents commandeered said balcony with about twenty of their werewolf friends. I skedaddled out of town during the celebration. Craziness ensued during the merriment and I didn’t want any part of their festivities. It was like the pack meetings times ten.

As I scribbled in the account ledger, a rap on the doorframe echoed across the room. My pen scratched across the paper when I jumped. Damn. I needed to call the handyman and get the door back up.

“Hi. You must be Anna Primeaux? Please come in.” I stood and gestured for her to enter.

“Hello.” Anna nodded while studying her black Mary Jane’s. She looked up at the busted door.

Was it too much to ask for everyone to ignore the minor flaw?

“Please take a seat.”

Anna sidled over to the leather chair placed in front of my desk and slid down. She looked like a cat ready to run at the first sign of a canine.

“I’m so happy you decided to go with Get a Mate.”

She didn’t comment, but a slight smile twisted her mouth.

“Can I offer you something to drink?”

She shook her head. She couldn’t say I hadn’t tried to be hospitable.

“I have a few forms for you to fill out, then we’ll get started. I won’t take up much of your time, I promise.” I reached for the newly created file and handed it to her. She flinched and lowered her gaze to the papers. No wonder she couldn’t find a date. She seemed so bashful that a guy probably couldn’t get near her. Tapping my fingernails on my desk, I contemplated whether I’d ever find a mate for timid Anna.

She filled out the forms, the steady rasp from her breathing and the pen scrawling across the paper as she scribbled away filling the silence. She must suffer from asthma or something.

“I think I’m all finished,” she whispered.

When I took the papers, her eyes widened. She stared over my shoulder. I held my breath for a second, almost afraid to turn around. What was she was gawking at?

I took in a deep breath, then turned my head to the window. I wished I hadn’t. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled to attention. A sign bobbed up and down past the window.

I watched in dismay as Lily paced back and forth. In one swift movement, I lifted the window to tell Lily to take a hike. Big mistake. Her rant peppered with expletives reserved specifically for me wafted through the office.

I shoved the window down before my customer heard the next colorful phrase Lily had carefully chosen to describe me. Lily’s attacks were relentless. Worst of all, she harassed me in front of a customer.

“Do you need to speak with her?” Anna asked meekly. What a time for her to decide to get chatty.

“No, no. I’m not sure what that’s about, but it’s nothing to worry about.” Again I had lied—how terrible was I?

“It looks as if everything is in order.” I said, scanning her forms and ignoring the scene outside.

“Okay,” she mumbled while she continued watching over my shoulder.

“I’ll call you soon and let you know how things are going. I’ll find you a date in no time. And thanks again for choosing Get a Mate.” The words rushed out as I stood and ushered her to the door. All the while, I swayed my upper body back and forth, blocking Anna’s ringside view.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she strained to look over my shoulder. Let it go, woman. Nothing more to see.

After she’d exited, I ran back to the window and pulled down the shades. Suppressing a growl, I breathed in deeply. Did Lily have nothing better to do with her time?

Several hours passed. I sat, tapping my pen on the desk, and watched while the handyman hung the new door. He eased the hinges into alignment, then popped the screws into place.

“Do you want me to install an extra lock for you, Rylie? It’ll only take a second.”

“Sure, Joe. Why not? It can’t hurt, right?”

“Nope. It pays to be safe.”

He could say that again. I had no idea when the rogue might return looking for Uncle Ernie. The thought of the thug showing up at my parents’ house ran through my mind and I shuddered. My dad kept a baseball bat as his weapon of choice in the hall closet. Tough guy would break the bat over his knee like a used toothpick. Then Dad would want to use his werewolf skills and sink his teeth into the guy’s neck, which Mama never liked. Another reason I didn’t tell my mother. Dad would have shifted and hunted the lowlife down. No, the best thing to do was to let sleeping werewolves lie. Ernie needed to deal with his affairs and leave me out of it.

“I’m all done here. Both locks work as smooth as a baby’s bottom. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how it came down in the first place? I know a tornado didn’t come through, so don’t give me that excuse.”

I shook my head. “Nope, I won’t tell.”

Joe flashed me a sad-eyed look and then turned to grab his tool belt from the floor. He paused, turned to face me again and said, “I was wondering…”

Uh-oh. I knew what he was about to say. I’d heard the words from his mouth before.

“I know you said last time you were really swamped with work. I thought I’d ask if things had slowed down any and if possibly you’d like to go out to dinner with me some night?” He fidgeted as he ran his hand through his dark hair. He then shoved his hands in his pants pockets, probably because he didn’t know where else to put them.

I hated to turn him down, but zero chemistry existed between us. Joe was a handsome guy, but we had nothing in common. He likes wrestling. I don’t. He enjoys skydiving, and no way would I ever try jumping from a plane. The diverse list of our hobbies and likes never intersected. Not once.

“I’m sorry, Joe, but I already made plans with someone else.” I frowned.

“Oh. Oh. Well, all right. I’d better get going.”

My stomach twisted into a knot when I saw the sad look in his eyes. He turned and walked out the door without as much as a glance back. Maybe I needed to find him a date. Then it hit me. I had someone for him. Anna, my newly acquired, shy customer, would be perfect. I made a mental note to work on their match-up. They’d be ideal for each other.

I locked my new door and headed upstairs to prepare for my evening on the town. So much time had passed since I’d gone on a date, I’d forgotten the dating ritual to-do list. Besides the obvious shower and dress, of course.

Would we have things to talk about? What if I sounded stupid?

Jennifer would be more than happy to lend a hand in the picking-out-an-outfit department. She didn’t know I had a date with sexy-new-neighbor-guy yet. If I had told her earlier she would have nagged me about it all day. She would have wanted us to stop what we were doing and spend the day planning the evening—what to wear and say.

When I entered my apartment, I expected to find Jennifer lounging on the sofa with her bunny slippers propped on the coffee table, but she was nowhere in sight.

Instead of raiding the refrigerator as I normally would have done, I decided to search the dark caverns of my closet for something to wear. I wanted an outfit that would knock his socks off. Shuffling through the hangers provided zero prospects.

As I continued poking around in my closet, the sound of voices came to me. I emerged with several blouses, flung them on the bed, then moved to the bedroom door and listened. The mumbled conversation wasn’t distinguishable. I eased out the bedroom door. As I moved down the hall, I recognized one of the voices, and curiosity gnawed at me. Who was Jennifer talking with? I pressed my ear against the door. A man’s laugh vibrated through the wood. I opened the door a crack.

Jennifer stood next to Jack, engrossed in a heart-to-heart. She touched his arm and fluttered her eyelashes. Crap. My lipstick faded hours ago and, no doubt, I looked like hell. I only prayed he liked the natural look.

Who was I kidding? My appearance went well beyond the natural look. I opened the door wider and cleared my throat. I had no idea what they were discussing, but I intended to find out. Both stood in the middle of the hall, still laughing.

Finally, Jennifer stopped, and between snorts, said, “I just told Jack about the time you fell down the stairs and broke your nose. Remember that?” She snorted again.

Um, yeah, I broke my nose, how could I forget?

“You were more worried about your Gucci heels than your bloody face.” She turned her head, trying to conceal a giggle.

Yay. My best friend was trying to help the Cruz curse along. Instead of getting to three dates, I wouldn’t get past the first one.

Jennifer had adopted that doe-eyed look again. It seemed to come around only when Jack appeared. Good thing she had Todd or I’d have some serious competition. Wait a minute. She was having problems with Todd. Maybe I should worry. No, no. Jennifer was my friend. She wouldn’t do that.

“Jack was telling me you two have a date tonight.” As usual, she sang the sentence.

If I knew her, and I think I did, she probably wanted to sing Rylie has a boyfriend.

I nodded. “Yes, as a matter-of-fact, we do.” I raised my eyebrows, code for shut up.

“I need to change my clothes and I’ll be ready, if you are?” Jack asked.

“I’ll be ready.” My stomach tingled and I shuffled my feet with uneasiness.

“See you in a few.” Jack flashed his bright smile and turned to his apartment door.

“Oh. My. God.” Jennifer almost knocked me down as she shut the door behind her. “What happened? When did he ask you out?” She grabbed my arm and whirled me around.

I laughed. “You are such a goofball. He walked into my office and asked me out. That’s it.”

“That’s it, you say? No. There’s more to it than that, but…whatever. I’m so excited. Are you excited?”

“I’m thrilled.” I rolled my eyes.

“What are you going to wear? Where are you going on the date?” She had more questions than a Trivial Pursuit game.

“Breathe, Jennifer. Calm down.” You’d think she had a date with Jack the way she acted. “I don’t know what I’m wearing. I need your help picking out something. And I think we’ll go to Emilio’s for dinner.”

“I’m getting something to drink and my bunny slippers and I’ll be right in. Now get in your bedroom and start rummaging through that sorry closet of yours. With your wardrobe, it’ll take us a while to find anything suitable.”

“It’s not as if I dress like a homeless person. If you don’t simmer down, I’ll need a shot of tequila before I leave the house.”

“I’m calm. Now go get ready for your date. I’m so excited.” She pushed on my back, prodding me down the hallway toward my bedroom.

By the wistful appearance on Jennifer’s face, I wasn’t sure which one of us seemed more excited about an evening with the delicious Jack Chandler. I took off my work outfit and laid it on the chair next to the bed, then began sorting through my closet as instructed. After a few seconds, Jennifer returned with drink in hand.

“My God, what are you wearing?” Jennifer stopped in her tracks as soon as she entered my room.

“My underwear?”

“No. No. No. Just, no. You’re hurting my eyes.” She screeched.

“What is your problem? Do you mind if I finish dressing?”

“You cannot, I repeat, cannot wear those granny drawers out with a man like Jack Chandler.” She frowned in disapproval.

“What do you mean? What kind of woman do you think I am, anyway? He’s not seeing what’s underneath. Not this soon.”

“Hey, he may not see them, but you’ll realize they’re there. Do you want the fact you’re wearing bloomers my grandmother would love nagging at your subconscious all night? Do you? I mean, he’ll be sitting there wondering what kind of lace number you’re wearing and you’ll know the answer isn’t lace at all, but in reality is one hundred percent pre-shrunk cotton with a wide waistband.”

“Well…I guess I hadn’t thought about it.” At that moment, I felt a little self-conscious standing there in my bra and panties.

“Gosh, Rylie. You of all people should know the rules of dating. Your career depends on it, for pity’s sake. Underwear is like number three on the list. Good thing this is a first date.” She shook her head, exasperated.

Nope, there was no way I would ask what numbers one and two were. I didn’t want the answers. I knew how Jennifer’s brain worked and, trust me, if you knew her like I did, you wouldn’t want to know, either. Did Jennifer doubt my ability to do my job?

Jennifer pulled all of my unmentionables from their drawer. Undies flew through the air.

“What the hell? Are these leg warmers?” She frowned. “Never mind. Does any of your underwear coordinate? Please tell me somewhere in this mess something matches.”

“Don’t be silly. Yes, of course. What about the pink ones with little bunnies? Right over there. See them?” I pointed to the spot. “You just threw them on the floor.”

Another glare from Jennifer. “What are you? Four years old? That’s it. Tomorrow we hit Victoria’s Secret.”

“So I got a package from Lily today.” I pulled a black blouse over my head.

Jennifer stopped midair with a pair of my panties around her finger.

“Give me those.” I yanked them from her hand. “Stop worrying about what I’m wearing underneath the outfit. Get your mind out of the gutter and help me with the outer layer. It’s what’s on the outside that counts.”

She ignored my comment and said, “She sent you another package? What the hell is wrong with her? She is certifiable. You need to do something before the situation gets any more out of hand.”

“I try to curtail my agitation with her, really I do. But it’s becoming increasingly difficult. The fact that Lily had the nerve to send me something like that astonishes me.”

Jennifer tossed multiple pairs of jeans onto the bed, forming a crumpled mountain. It actually looked more like a volcano ready to erupt at any second, sending shirts, socks, bras, and no telling what else, flying through the air.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what the package contained. A dead cat? It’s a good thing you don’t have a pet, or she’d boil it in a pot.”

“It was a silver bullet. By the appearance of the package, I think she spent a lot of time wrapping the thing in pretty pink tissue paper like it was a real gift.”

“How thoughtful of her. So silver is bad for you, right?”

“Yeah. I think she sent it to imply she’d shoot me with it.”

“You need to call the police. At the very least, you should talk to her about her actions. I mean, attacking you is not cool, and sending you things in the mail is a federal offense. What she made, basically, was a death threat. Call her on the phone, though. Don’t talk in person.”

“To be honest, I’m not looking forward to having another conversation with her. I think I’ll continue to ignore her. She’ll get sick of the shenanigans before long, right?”

Her mouth dropped in a gape, then she asked, “You call threatening letters, trying to eat your head off and sending you silver bullets ‘shenanigans’?”

“Oh, she just wants to frighten me. That’s her modus operandi. She wants people to think she’s a big bad scary wolf. I still don’t think Lily could hurt a fly. All right, perhaps a fly, but you know what I mean. I don’t think she wants physically to hurt me. Now my business, that’s another story.”

“What did you do with the bullet?” she asked with a look of horror on her face.

“I threw it away, what else?” I wiggled into a pair of jeans and grunted as I fastened the button. Too much red meat made them a little snug. Time for a diet.

“You’d better watch your back tonight. She might follow you. Maybe you should have kept the silver bullet and used the thing on her ass.”

“Lily is not worth jail time.”

“You’d better hurry. He only lives next door. Not a long commute to pick you up. Go put on your face before you scare him. And do try your best to forget about the awful underwear you’re wearing.”

“Funny.” I smirked.

I did need to hurry. Although I’d saved a few minutes by wearing jeans, which meant I didn’t have to shave my legs. Again. I hated doing it twice in one day. By five every day, I sprouted some serious manly hair.

I swiped one last coat of gloss across my lips and headed out to the living room just in time. A knock came at the door and my stomach did a somersault. I’d been so busy getting ready that I’d forgotten my nerves for a bit. I took a deep breath, let it out and opened the door.

Jack let out a long, low whistle and said, “Wow, you look fantastic.”

The compliment made me blush. I knew because I felt the heat in my cheeks.

“Are you ready for a fabulous evening?”

“Wow, a fabulous evening? Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I am.” I grabbed my purse and glanced back at Jennifer. She beamed with pride.

As I shut the door, she sang out, “Have a good time. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Curse her, I thought about those damn granny panties.

Jack glanced back at the closing door and chuckled. At least he seemed to have a sense of humor. That was another check in the pros column for him. Zero checks in the cons.

Jack’s elusive scent embraced me as we descended the stairs. As the reality that I was on a date with a human struck me, I wondered what I’d gotten myself into this time. Maybe I should never have agreed to go out with him. Nothing would come of us, anyway.

No, I mentally shook off the thought. I needed to relax and have a good time. One date wouldn’t hurt.

Jack was ever so chivalrous and held the door open for me as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. The muggy evening air hit my face like a blast from a spray water bottle. Steamy and sultry—sounded sexier when I described it that way, versus the truth. The reality was it was just plain hot. Melt-the-makeup-right-off-of-my-face hot. I hoped the sweat covering my face gave me a glistening sheen instead of just looking plain gross.

Sliding into Jack’s Lexus, I ignored the werewolves peeking out at me as they hid behind a Dumpster in the alley. I couldn’t believe werewolves stalked the French Quarter at that time of the evening. They could have easily been seen. How careless of them. And what the hell did they want, anyway?

Chapter 5

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 5:

Kindly don’t point out a female werewolf’s five-o-clock shadow.

My preferred hangout to relax and munch on the best food in town is a little Mexican restaurant a couple of blocks from my apartment. When Jack asked me if I had a favorite place, Emilio’s came to mind right away. It’s a perfect setting for a casual first date. Since it was unlikely I would get another date with Jack, the need to make the most of my time with him seemed important. Damn, the nasty curse.

“Hola, Rylie. Cómo estás?” Emilio greeted us with a smile on his round face.

“I’m fantastic, Emilio. How are you? How’s your wife?”

“She’s due any day now. We’re really excited.”

“That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to see the baby. Tell her I’ll stop by and visit soon.”

Emilio beamed with pride as he picked up menus from the nearby stack and motioned for us to follow him. “I will.”

“You must come here often.” Jack guided me by placing his hand on the small of my back.

I nodded. “This restaurant is one of my favorite places in the city.” I sniffed the air when we walked through. I couldn’t help myself with the smell of tacos whirling about.

Emilio positioned us at my favorite booth nestled in the back of the restaurant. The spot had a fabulous view of street activity from the side windows. I liked people watching, and Emilio’s provided me with the perfect place to do just that. Except on this occasion, there was only one person I wanted to keep my gaze on, and his name was Jack.

The crowded restaurant buzzed with activity. Glasses clanked noisily, and servers glided around the room with trays full of steaming food. My nose sniffed as if on overload. The scent of steak wafted from the kitchen.

People milled around on the sidewalk. I’d hoped it wouldn’t be so jam-packed, but that was out of the question in a place like New Orleans. Everyone talked, laughed, and seemed to be enjoying the fall evening, including me. Emilio slipped us our menus and headed back to greet the folks who had trickled in behind us.

Jack slid into the booth across from me, then reached out and squeezed my hand. “I can see why you come here often. This place is perfect.” He released my hand. It tingled from his touch.

“You think? I hope you like Mexican fare. I just love the atmosphere and, of course, the food.” I glanced at him from beneath my lashes. That was my attempt at seduction. Pathetic attempt, actually.

“I’m a burrito fanatic. I could eat one every day. Lots of cheese and meat.”

“I picked the right place then.”

“You sure did.”

Gazing at his gorgeous face, my body screamed everything would work out with him. My mind, however, wandered back to the dreadful fate bestowed upon me and said No way. To say my senses were heightened when I was around him would have been a vast understatement, and it bothered me. Instead of deliberating over tacos and tequila, all I could think of was the touch from Jack’s hand. One fantastic night with him could quell the desire running through me, right? Perhaps pouring the pitcher of water on the table next to us over my head would be a better solution to cool me down.

“Tell me what’s good here.” Jack peered at me over the top of the menu with his dazzling azure eyes.

“Everything. My favorite is the steak fajitas.” What else would I like besides steak, right?

“You know I have to ask. How are their burritos?” He grinned.

“They’re the best in town. Maybe even the nation. They’re really big, with loads of cheese, and their sauce is to die for.” My mouth watered just thinking about the tasty morsels.

“You should be a spokesperson for this place. You could do a commercial.”

My gaze slid down to his succulent lips as he formed a smile.

I looked away, trying not to stare. “Yes, maybe I should. Or stop coming here so often.”

An employee popped out from the swinging kitchen door and hurried over to our table. He placed glasses of water, a big basket of greasy tortilla chips and three different varieties of salsa on the table.

When I looked back at Jack, I realized he barely noticed the waiter’s presence. Instead he studied me. Which made me happy. I could get accustomed to being the object of his attention.

“All right, a burrito it is for me. You persuaded me with your strategic selling techniques.”

“Yeah, right. I doubt your arm needed twisting.” I laughed.

“Do I need to ask how the margaritas are? Or is it a given?” He put the menu down.

I shook my head. “Nope. It’s a given. They’re the best I’ve ever tasted.” I flashed him a grin. His gaze held mine, and I soon realized his eyes were filled with hunger. But not just for Mexican food.

Somehow all the noise seemed muted, even with the mariachi band playing “La Cucaracha” in the background and the voices of the crowd. What seemed like an eternity slipped by as our gazes held. I couldn’t have stopped myself from grinning if someone had a gun to my head. Visions of our bodies intertwined and our clothes scattered around my bedroom floor flashed through my head.

The heat from his stare was enough to make me melt. I had to break the gaze, or we needed to leave the restaurant. Unfortunately, I had to opt on staying and devouring fajitas instead of consuming Jack. Don’t worry, I didn’t mean actually “devour” him, as in making him a werewolf snack. I may be a lycanthrope, but I’m not that gross.

“So tell me, what brings you to New Orleans? What made you leave Texas?” I had to break the intense silence between us. If I didn’t, I’d jump across the table and tackle him.

“Actually, my mother lives here.” He let go of my gaze, grabbed a chip, dipped it into salsa and popped the salty treat into his mouth.

“Really? That’s great. Is she the only family you have in the city?”

“Yes, she’s the only one. Everyone else is back in Texas. She moved here after she and my dad divorced. She just packed up one day and took off. I suppose to get away from my father. Soon after she got here, she became lonely and depressed, so I decided to come and be near her. I couldn’t let her deal with the loneliness on her own.”

Aw, how sweet was he? Unless he was a mama’s boy. Then that wouldn’t be so cool. Uh-oh. I’d have to keep an eye out for any clingy behavior with his mother. Who was I kidding, though? It didn’t matter if he was latched on to her apron strings. I had to remind myself that three dates, maximum, was all I had.

“Where’d you go to school?”

“University of Houston.”

“What made you decide on your profession?”

“I was always fascinated by the human mind. Doesn’t sound great, I know, but I wanted to know more about behavior and why we do the things we do. You know, I’m the only one in my family to attend college. Naturally, my mother is ecstatic that she gets to introduce me as her son, the doctor. My mother worked hard to provide for me, but her one regret was she couldn’t afford to send me to college.”

“What about your dad?”

“He didn’t work much.”

“Oh. So what did you do?”

“I can’t believe I’m telling you about this.” He paused. “I was a stripper. So I, um…” He cleared his throat. “I performed a dance with you know, a female audience. It allowed me to pay for college and make it on my own without adding a burden to my mother.”

I stuffed a couple of chips in my mouth, then gulped my water. “So you, um, were nude?” I stuffed another chip in my mouth.

“Oh no, it wasn’t full nudity.”

Oh dear. Please let him show me his dance moves. Where was that pitcher of ice cold water when I needed it? I wondered if he wore a bikini or thong.

“How does one get into something like that?” I asked.

“I saw an ad for auditions and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well, I guess it was a good idea. It paid for your college, right?”

“It did.” He nodded.

If I didn’t change the subject soon I’d overheat.

“Do you miss Houston?” I munched on a chip while eyeing him.

“Sometimes, but so far I’m really enjoying New Orleans.” He gave me a look that made me want to melt into the vinyl seat. Heat from his sexy gaze created a warm feeling that easily spread throughout my body. I didn’t need a road map to read his signs. He might actually be enjoying my company. Yes, by the smile on his face, I’d say he might even like me. Crazy behavior and all.

“Are you originally from Louisiana?” he asked.

“Can’t you tell by my accent?” I busied my hands with my napkin.

“Yes, now that you mention it, I guess I can. What about your family? They here in New Orleans too?” He popped another chip.

Five minutes into the first date and I was already reminded of my dysfunctional family. There was no way I wanted to get into that topic. What was I supposed to say? My family comes from the old country where they enjoy frolicking madly by the light of a full moon while covered in hair? My immediate family lived here, and that was all he needed to know.

“My parents are here, and I have a brother who lives in Baton Rouge as well. Then an uncle and some cousins.”

“Are you close with your family?”

Closer than I wanted sometimes, but I wasn’t telling him that. No need to share every abnormal detail.

“Yes, I guess you could say we’re close.” Where was Emilio, anyway? I needed an escape from the topic. “What about you? Are you close to yours?” I’d throw the ball back at him.

“We’re close. I still talk to them often. What do your parents do?”

Ugh, what was with the twenty questions? If he expected my parents to be normal, then he would be greatly disappointed. Other people had normal parents—doctors, lawyers, dentists, and such. Me, not so much.

“Um…” I sipped my water. “My mother is a massage therapist and my father owns a little art shop.” In other words, they were eccentric. I knew what the next question out of his mouth would be before he even spoke it.

“Art, really? Wow. What kind?”

Nope. No way would I answer his question. What was I supposed to say? Werewolf paintings? Wolf sculptures and other weird supernatural stuff? My parents were paranormal freaks to the human world. Heck, and maybe to the paranormal world too. Thankfully, Emilio approached the table before I had to reply. I’d have to leave an extra tip for his perfect timing.

“Ready to order? The usual for you, Rylie?” Emilio asked in a chipper tone.

“Yes, please.” Maybe I did eat at Emilio’s too often.

“And for you, señor?” He placed two cocktail napkins on the table.

“I’d like the smothered burrito. And can you bring us two margaritas?” Jack held up two fingers and glanced at me for approval. I signaled yes with a grin.

“Two of our best coming up.” Emilio grinned devilishly and scampered off to start the drinks.

After he left our table, I didn’t want the conversation to turn back to my parents, so I excused myself to slip off to the restroom. Changing the subject wasn’t the only reason for going. I wanted to check out what damage the humidity had done to my makeup and freshen up a bit. Plus make sure I didn’t need to shave. Sometimes I get pesky whiskers without warning—not sure why. I learned the hard way that makeup won’t cover a five o’clock shadow. Glancing over my shoulder, I spotted Jack watching me as I walked away. He was checking me out, and I decided to give an extra sway with each step—no harm in showing off my assets. No pun intended.

Passing several booths, other couples appeared to be on their first dates too. I wondered if Jack and I had the same gushy-eyed look. I hoped we did. On the inside, I certainly felt all gushy and stuff. As I made my way to the back of the restaurant toward the ladies’ room, I noticed the side door to the alleyway was ajar.

That wouldn’t have been a big deal normally, had it not been for the bushy, ugly-brown tail almost hidden beyond the trash can right next to the exit. The fact that Lily had followed me on my date astonished me. She had some nerve.

Jennifer had warned me to watch my back, and I’d shrugged off her advice. I could almost hear her “I told you so” rant from where I stood. I had a quandary on my hands and needed to make a decision, pronto. I could ignore the problem and go to the powder room like I’d originally intended. I knew I’d come back to the table to find Lily in a cozy conversation with Jack. That was at the bottom of the list of things I needed or wanted.

My only option was to confront Lily Friedman once and for all. She needed to understand the little games she played had gone far enough. I had visions of my customers rushing away with each stunt Lily performed. Sometimes people had a change of heart. Surely she’d listen to reason this time.

I glanced over my shoulder. No one watched me. Please let that extra-large margarita keep Jack entertained until I kicked Lily’s ass.

“Lily, get your butt out from behind there right now. I can see you. Your ugly tail is sticking out,” I whispered. I tapped my foot, signaling my impatience with her.

Nothing. No movement, not even a twitch of her tail. She had a lot of nerve to show her shifted form in the daylight like that, and not to mention in the middle of a busy restaurant.

The space was small, without a lot of room to move, but I walked forward and peered
down. Lily wasn’t alone. Huddled behind the trash can were two hairy beasts. They whispered to each other while I watched. Probably plotting their attack against me.

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me. I said I can see you. Don’t ignore me.” I spoke through clenched teeth. “You’re not very good at this game.” Trying to keep my voice to a whisper wasn’t easy. My anger escalated.

In that moment, both of them stood, and I stumbled backward a couple of steps when I took in their size. For a second, I wobbled on my feet until I finally righted myself. Something was different.

The Martin necklace was missing from around Lily’s neck, and her eyes glowed a different hue. Her usually shiny fur wasn’t clean and pretty as it normally was. The other wolf had an overbite and wore a thick gold chain around his neck. Yes, the beast was a he—and don’t ask me how I knew, because I don’t want to talk about it.

All right, if you must know, one word would describe it. Eww. He seriously needed to wear pants. And how the hell he got a necklace around his thick, hairy neck I had no idea. More than likely I wouldn’t want to know.

Anyway, like I said, a different vibe came from them, and I got the sinking sensation Lily wasn’t one of the mangy mutts standing before me. I never thought I’d be happy to see her, but this was one time when I would have welcomed a visit from Lily instead of the scruffy animals facing me.

We stared at each other for a few seconds and I worried Jack would come to find me. Undoubtedly, he wondered what could be taking me so long.

“What do you want? I don’t have time to play these silly games.” I sure as hell wasn’t going to let them spoil my date.

Overbite-wonder-wolf winked at me and stared as if I was the only steak in a vegetarian restaurant. My stomach churned. The other one with short, multicolored fur let out a growl and in a split second slashed the front of my shirt with a claw.

“You stupid…” Temper. Temper. I had to control my temper. After all, I was in a restaurant. Breathe in. Breathe out. Apparently they wanted to rumble, but I wasn’t looking forward to explaining to Jack why my clothes looked like I’d shoved them through a paper shredder, then put them back on. There was only one thing to do: I’d have to duck into the ladies’ room, take off my clothes—fighting lupines would ruin my outfit—and change into my werewolf-self. Then I’d kick some werewolf butt, put my clothes back on and continue my date. Easy peasy. But if I didn’t get busy, that margarita glass would be dry before I could even say Wolfman.

I dashed toward the ladies’ room, hurried in and slammed the door shut behind me. With fumbling fingers, I locked the access. Thankfully, I moved too quickly for them. They scratched at the wood as I secured the latch. The knob jiggled. Drawn-out scratches echoed from the other side, down the length of the door. More jiggling, followed by pounding. Would anyone hear and come save me? I moved away from the door, staring at it and wondering if they’d knock it in. Then silence. I needed to hurry.

I pulled my ripped blouse—I’d get them for that—over my head, and then shimmied out of my jeans. Scanning the room, I didn’t see anywhere to stash my clothes. Finally, I settled on stuffing them under the sink and prayed no one would steal them before I annihilated the dirty wolves. Jennifer had been right about the matching underwear thing—a werewolf in granny panties wouldn’t be cool. Another “I told you so” could be heard in the distance. I had no alternative but to strip off everything.

So there I stood in the middle of the women’s restroom of Emilio’s Mexican Restaurant without a stitch of clothing on—what had happened to my life? Where had things gone so terribly wrong?

I had thought running a matchmaking service would be a stress-free career. At least I thought finding people’s soul mates sounded like an easy, fun job. Possibly I was wrong. I tallied the figures in my head. Yep, a lot of money to lose just because Lily wasn’t happy.

And being involved with the paranormal world was chaotic. My business had gone from werewolves and normal people to all sorts of supernatural beings. I had vampires, aliens, psychics—you name it, they came to me for help. Of course the normal folk were oblivious to the otherworldly things going on right under their noses, and at that moment I wished I was one of them. I should have been a dog trainer as my mom suggested. Other beasts sit up and take notice of me, you know. I’m practically the Dog Whisperer.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I tiptoed to the door. The thought of how nasty my feet were from the dirty floor made my skin crawl, but there was no way to avoid it. I’d begun my transformation to wolf. Hair developed over my body, and I felt my eyes change. My plan was to run out of the restaurant and into the alley, because the dimwits would follow me and we could fight there. Even though my nerves seemed to be a bit on edge, I felt the wolves were no match for me. No matter there were two ready to wrestle me. I was strong for a she-wolf. Plus, I had no other options. Jack would be looking for me soon.

I pressed my ear to the wood and listened. Silence. I unlatched the lock and grabbed the door handle.

As I swung it open, I said, “Hasta la bye-bye, fellows.”

A loud screech echoed through my head, making my teeth chatter. I screamed in return at the old lady standing in front of me. She clutched at her chest. Her mouth dropped open. Thank heavens for denture adhesive. Her face blanched. I feared she was having a heart attack as she stared at my lycanthropic-ness, among other things. I prayed she wouldn’t die. I could never forgive myself for that.

Slamming the door shut, I locked it in a hurry. Scurrying back over to my clothing, I pulled out my jeans and blouse and yanked them back on. Stripping down to my birthday suit in a public restroom, now that I thought about it, had been a bad idea. In the brief moment the door had been open, I noticed the werewolves must have fled the scene. I never figured they’d give up that easily, just by me retreating to the washroom. Hell, if I’d known, I could have avoided terrifying a grandma.

As I stood in front of the mirror, my reflection appeared more than a little scary—fur covered half of my face and most of my hands. The old lady probably thought I was some kind of circus freak. Emilio needed a marquee in front of the door: Come one, come all and see the bearded lady. I turned the faucet on and splashed my face with the cool water. The only thing I could do at that moment was calm down and pull out the trusty razor from my purse.

So there I was in the middle of Emilio’s Mexican Restaurant, shaving my face. At least I had my clothes on this time. I guess you could say I’d dodged a silver bullet with that one. Not being caught in a rumble with the hairy hooligans was a blessing, but having the woman see me nude was a bit embarrassing, to say the least. Another thing that sucked: I had to explain to Jack why my shirt was torn, which wouldn’t be easy considering it looked as if a claw slashed it. Okay, so a claw had slashed it, but he didn’t need to know. Maybe if I held my purse strategically in front of me no one would even notice. I would give it a shot. It was my only option.

Someone rapped on the door. Probably the frightened woman wanted me to come out.

The way she ran off, though, she looked like a track star trying for a gold medal, and I doubted I’d ever see her near that restroom again. Which was fine with me, by the way.

“Is anyone in there?” a female voice said, followed by more knocking.

“Give me one minute. I’ll be right out.” Figured someone would want in just as I started my shave. I glided the razor over my foamed face. Being in such a hurry, I nicked myself and ran over to grab a piece of tissue paper. After I shoved the razor and shaving gel back into my purse, I checked my reflection. My eyes appeared to have returned to their hazel state—a good sign. I dabbed on a bit of foundation.

“Come on. I don’t have all night. What are you doing in there?” I heard the urgency in her voice.

“Coming,” I said in my sweetest voice. Apparently someone had to pee-pee badly.

As soon as I opened the door, the woman hurried past with a nasty look. I smiled in return. After all, I didn’t have to brawl with my furry friends or anyone else for that matter. At that moment, life wasn’t all that bad, especially considering Mr. Yummylicious waited for me. I’d erase the Lily dilemma from my mind.

Amid some eyebrow-raising glances, I slithered back toward my table. I scanned the space, looking for the dirty werewolves, but didn’t spot them anywhere. Lucky for them. I’d hate to have to go all kung fu on their asses. Jack remained at the booth with a half-empty margarita in front of him. He didn’t seem to notice my minced blouse. How I would finish the date without him noticing, I had no idea, but I’d worry about that later.

“Are you all right? I was beginning to get worried. I thought about finding a woman to go in there and check on you. I also thought for a second that maybe you’d ditched me.”

The thought never crossed my mind that he’d think I’d run out on him. I was lucky he hadn’t left.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry. I ran into a couple of friends.” The lie slipped out so easily, I surprised myself. I needed to stop lying. I didn’t like the way it made me feel. Technically, it wasn’t a complete lie, I guess, but still…

“Really? Are they still here? Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Jack craned his neck and scanned the room looking for my buddies, never mind he had no idea what they looked like.

Ugh, I prayed that my friends weren’t still lingering.

“Sorry, they left already. They were in a rush and were just leaving when I bumped into them. Otherwise, I would have introduced you.” Not a lie—they were leaving.

“You have something on your face.” Jack scrunched his brows and pointed to my face. “It’s right there on your chin.”

Someone kill me now. Reaching up, I felt the damn tiny piece of toilet paper stuck to the dried blood on my face. I yanked it off. Despite how hard I tried, I somehow always ended up looking like a total freak.

“Oh, I hit my face on the restroom door and it bled.” I chuckled. My nervousness drifted in the air.

“Wow. Are you all right?” Concern edged his voice.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit clumsy. The door jumped right out in front of me.” I giggled. “These margaritas are great, huh?” I took a gulp, and it felt superb going down. I needed the smooth liquor to ease my tension.

Jack took the bait and glided smoothly into my conversation direction. Nice change of subject, I thought.

“The best I’ve ever had,” he said.

To avoid staring at him too much, I scanned the restaurant. No werewolves in sight, only authentic Mexican décor. Sombreros and tile murals.

“There she is.” The garbled voice sounded from across the room.

Uh-oh. The petite, gray-haired lady pointed me out to Emilio from the other side of the room. Couldn’t she just let it go? What did she think? I was a pervert? So what if she’d seen an au naturel hirsute woman. She needed to drop it.

There was nowhere to hide—no menus left on the table, no huge plants to scurry behind. Just a single red rose dropped into a crystal vase sat in the middle of the table—hardly enough to conceal my appearance.

“There’s the woman I saw in the restroom. She didn’t have a stitch of clothing on, I tell ya. You need to call the police and have her arrested for indecent exposure. I won’t stand for that sort of public display. We don’t need her kind gallivanting around.” She pointed her bony finger in my direction.

Many times in my life I’d wished I possessed magical powers, but never more so than at that moment. If only I could have twitched my nose and erased the situation.

The only course of action I could conjure up was to ignore them and pray they went away. The glistening margarita in front of me called my name and I took another huge swig. Maybe tequila would numb the pain of humiliation. The liquor burned slightly going down, but the lime taste made up for it. If the woman didn’t go away, I might have to move on to a shot of tequila instead. It would work faster.

“Rylie, I think they’re talking about you. They’re staring at you and pointing. And now they’re headed this way,” Jack said.

“Hmm?” I skimmed over the advertisement tent on the table, not looking at him. “Oh look, its half-off margaritas night. What a bargain.”

“They’re coming this way. I think they want to talk to you, Rylie.”

Emilio approached our table with the geriatric in tow. Why couldn’t the old biddy, er, sweet elderly woman mind her own business? So what if I flashed her in the ladies’ room?

“Rylie, I’m sorry to bother you. This lady here says you may have had a problem in the ladies’ room?” He pointed to her. “She wants me to call the police. I’m sure it was just a complete misunderstanding, right?” Sweat beaded on his face. He brushed the dark hair off his forehead. The old lady moved closer to Emilio, nudging him to take action against me, I suppose.

My gaze met Emilio’s, then I tilted my head to look at the blue-hair behind him. There was no need to look at Jack. I felt his stare boring into me.

“I’m really sorry. I’m afraid I’ve had my clothing on the entire evening. No problems there.” Finally, I looked to Jack and laughed.

Hiding my nervousness behind laughter was particularly difficult under the scrutiny of all three of them. Other customers nearby watched as well. It seemed as if all eyes in the place were on me. Jack returned my laughter, and then Emilio joined in the revelry.

The spry senior citizen hovering over him did not find the situation quite as amusing, however. But luckily, it was her word against mine, and evidently being a regular customer had its perks, because Emilio believed me. There was no way I would tell the truth. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.

“I’m sorry if we disturbed your evening. Please forgive me. I’ll let you get back to your conversation.” He held out his hand to Jack.

Jack gripped it and said, “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

A young man appeared from the kitchen delivering our steaming plates perched precariously on one arm. That was the cue for Emilio and his shadow to leave us alone. As she spun around in her black orthopedic shoes, she flashed me an evil glare and followed in Emilio’s footsteps. He whispered her meal was on him. Heck, I would have paid for her dinner if she’d kept her trap shut.

“Wow. That was incredibly weird.” Jack stared at me, his blue eyes wide.

“Yes, it was.” I raised an eyebrow to emphasize my shock.

“Do you have any idea what she was talking about? Did you see her in the ladies’ room?” he asked.

“No. No, I don’t know what she was talking about. The first time I saw her was right now. Maybe she has early stage dementia.” I shook my head and frowned. “So sad.” I gazed thoughtfully in her direction, thankful she’d let the matter drop.

He nodded.

“It is a terrible illness that strikes with a vengeance. I bet she saw me go into the restroom. It probably triggered some memory in her mind.” I guess I forgot I was talking to a psychiatrist. Yikes.

Fortunately, he seemed to have forgotten the incident as we enjoyed our food. However, I couldn’t stop glancing over my shoulder, looking for my lupine assailants.

During dinner, we discovered we had several things in common. We both enjoyed a variety of music from classical to country. He loved chocolate cupcakes as much as I did, and both of us played trumpet in our high school band. I’d be willing to bet he was better at it than I was, though.

“How long have you been in the matchmaking business?” He brought my attention back to our date.

“Not long, actually.” I wiped sour cream off my mouth. Thoughts of my new business woes reemerged. “I was an administrative assistant at a company here in Orleans for a few years after college, but that was going nowhere fast. Every day the same routine. I didn’t look forward to work, at all. About the only thing I did well during my time there was fix up other employees on dates. They called me Miss Match.”

“Cute. The name suits you.”

“Thanks.” I took another bite of my still steamy food.

“Sounds as if you found your calling.” With my current upset client, that was questionable. “You’re lucky, some people never do. Where did you go from there? After fixing up co-workers?” He appeared genuinely intrigued.

“Well, after one long terrible day at work, the idea to start my own business popped into my head on the commute home. I have no idea what came over me, or why I felt I could do such a thing. But the next thing I knew, Get a Mate opened for business. The rest is history.” I took a big bite of steak, then smiled. Not a bad date after all, steak and Jack. What more could I ask for?

“You make it sound easy. It takes a lot of nerve to start a venture like that. I’m impressed.”

“To be honest, everything I have is invested in my business. I have to make it work.”

He stared at me for a few seconds. “I’m sure you will. You know, I feel so lucky I found the office and apartment to rent. Not only is it a fantastic location, having met you is certainly an added bonus.” He grinned.

My cheeks flamed with heat. I seemed to embarrass easily since Jack showed up at my door. “You’re right. It is a great location and I’m glad you found it too.”

He held up his glass. “Cheers to a great building and to my luck in meeting you, the wonderful and talented Miss Match.” His eyes twinkled under the low-hanging light above our table.

“Salud,” I said with a bashful grin. Normally I wasn’t as timid around the opposite sex, not in my business. Jack, however, made me tongue-tied and flushed. The chemistry was there for us, I couldn’t deny that. It zinged around the table, bouncing off of us as if we played a game of Ping-Pong.

“Speaking of our office settings, you know, actually, we have a great mixture of services that are all related on that little stretch of street. That’s what makes it such a great location.” I took another bite of my food. Sadly, my plate was almost clean.

“What do you mean?”

“People come to me first to find a date, of course. Then, when the date doesn’t work out, they travel to the voodoo shop next door for a doll to seek revenge or something. When that inevitably backfires, they finally realize they need a therapist and make their way to you.”

He let out a hearty laugh. “I never put that much consideration into it. Although I thought you got it right the first try?”

“Oh, so you read my brochure?” I dabbed at the corners of my mouth, still savoring the tasty morsel of juicy steak fajita. “You’re sneaky. Have you been checking up on me? Or were you looking for a date?”

“I might have looked at your website once. Or twice. But the only date I’m interested in is you. Maybe you’d get more clients if you put your picture in there.” From across the booth, his hand found mine.

I blushed yet again. “That’s what Jennifer said.”

“Jennifer’s a smart woman.” A few strands of hair fell haphazardly over his forehead, and I couldn’t help but want to run my hands through it. Damn, he was fine.

“Tell me, Miss Match, what makes your service different from those online services or the singles classifieds in the paper?” Jack rested his chin in his hand, waiting for my answer.

“Well…I think for several reasons, but number one is I use my instincts. That’s not something other services can boast. I’m not trying to blow my own horn or anything…” I dropped my napkin across my empty plate.

“Of course not.”

“I have a bit of a sixth sense about people. Except for that one little snafu, but we’ll leave that one out of the conversation for now.”

“Intuition, huh? Do you have instincts about me?”

Did I ever. Instincts that he’d look darn good without his clothing.

“Maybe. But anyway, I hate those online sites and the stupid classified ads. A person could sort through those ads for years and never find someone special. Everyone uses words like candidate and domesticated. I’d never want to date anyone who referred to me as a candidate or bragged that they are domesticated. And they all promise that the lucky ladies who respond won’t be disappointed.”

“You have a very good argument. I’m sold.” He leaned back onto the faux leather seat. “Are you ready to let someone else have our table?”

“Sure.” I drained my drink before jumping up. Eyes from the front of the restaurant had been on us for some time. A few people tapped their feet and paced while watching us. They didn’t understand how hard it was ending a date with Jack.

After two plates of food, four margaritas and one embarrassing confrontation, we said our goodbyes to Emilio. I felt bad because he apologized profusely for the incident of the mistaken nakedness no fewer than ten times. Little did he know there had been mucho nudity.

Jack and I made our way onto the sidewalk, my purse still acting as a shield to conceal the damage to my blouse. Darkness had fallen, night settled around us, the partial moon shone in the cloudless sky, and I made a conscious effort to avoid looking at it. Even a little peek made me a tad frisky, and I didn’t need the temptation around Mr. Gorgeous.

Jack slipped his arm around me as we strolled toward his car. A man dressed as a vampire brushed past and watched us out of the corner of one eye. A wannabe vampire—not the real deal. Creepy all the same, though. Jack quickened our step by guiding me along the sidewalk. I wanted to let him know the faux vampire wouldn’t suck our blood, but I remained quiet. As we slipped by yet another doorway, jazz music flowed from inside, intensifying the feelings I had for Jack. I felt alive like never before, and my heart danced in time to the music.

“Tell me, what was the deal with the woman and the sign? Does she do that often?”

“Oh, Lily. She’s fastidious and hard to please. I try to ignore her.” I gave an undaunted wave of my hand, although I started to get hives every time I thought of Lily.

Luckily, he didn’t ask for any further details, but a change of subject was in order, just in case he did. “What do you do in your spare time?” I asked.

We inched closer to his car, so I wanted to make the most of the time and ask as many questions about him as I could. Soaking in every last tidbit.

“I’m kind of into photography.”

“No kidding? I often thought I’d like to try that, but I don’t have a steady hand. I have a small camera, but my thumbs always end up in my pictures.”

He laughed.

“You don’t believe me?” I asked.

“They can’t be that bad. I bet your pictures are great.”

“I’ll show you sometime. I’m not making things up. Thumbs in every picture.” I held one up and wiggled it. The sound of his hearty laughter made me tingle all over.

“What do you take pictures of?” I shifted my purse for maximum coverage.

“Anything, really. Nature. People. I’d love to have you as my model,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll consider posing for you. How about like this?” I stopped and propped one hand behind my head.

“Perfect. I wish I had my camera. You’re a natural—beautiful, just like a model.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” I laughed. “But I’ll leave modeling to the professionals.”

Jack removed his arm from my shoulders, stepped up his pace and turned in front of me. He backpedaled just a few steps ahead of me.

“Tell me, Miss Match, why haven’t you played matchmaker for yourself? There must be an endless number of men after you. I bet they’re lining up to take you out.” He locked gazes with me and fiddled with his hands. His eyes sparkled under the glow of the streetlight as he awaited my reply. He looked so adorable with his naughty, lopsided grin. My heart rate increased.

“Maybe because I haven’t found what I’m looking for yet.”

“Fair enough. So tell me. What is it you’re looking for?”

I was about to say “you” when he stopped abruptly and I almost ran into his broad, muscular chest. There were far worse things to run into, that was for sure.

He stood in front of me and reached out, fingertips barely touching my skin as he eased his hands along my arms. He put his hand against the side of my face and traced with his finger. Then he tilted his head down and ever so gently pressed his lips to mine.

His mouth felt soft, the kiss the most tender I had ever experienced, yet the most powerful at the same time. It might sound corny, but it was true—his touch felt nothing short of passionate as he traced the curves of my lips with his tongue. The feel of his skin mesmerized me and I wanted to savor every moment of his sweet kiss.

He pulled his lips away and I wanted to tell him not to stop.

“I couldn’t resist you. The moon shining across your face like that, I don’t know what it is, but I had to kiss you.”

He slid his arms around my waist as we stood there, and in one fluid motion, drew me into his hard chest. I pressed my body closer to him and became entranced by his wickedly delicious scent. He placed his lips against mine again and slid his tongue into my mouth. Jack’s body was warm, and I was completely lost in the moment. Well, as much as I could be with my handbag poking me in my stomach.

Until…

The sensation of being watched came over me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a faint glimmer of something gold. Then a quick whiff of unknown origin that, quite frankly, wasn’t pleasant. It overpowered the fabulicious fragrance of Jack and made me want to upchuck.

I glanced in the direction of the shiny object and found the source of the foul odor. I saw overbite. Fan-flippin’-tastic. And his partner in crime stood beside him.

Both sported matted hair and devilish grins. Damn them. I didn’t know who they were, but they messed with the best date I’d ever had, which made me less than happy. One thing was for sure, I had to get Jack out of there before he saw them.

How these characters could slink around as their furry selves without people noticing, I had no idea. If I did that, I would have been in the dog pound faster than I could utter “put to sleep.” I refused to let their antics ruin my evening.

“I’m a little chilly,” I whispered into Jack’s ear. I shivered for emphasis.

Even though the night air was still warm, he didn’t question me. He smiled and ushered me the few remaining steps to his car. As he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side, I stuck my tongue out at the hairy scoundrels peeking out from the alley. Thank goodness Jack didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. The one who had torn my shirt exposed his fangs and pumped his paw in disgust as the car zoomed away from the curb. Sucker.

A few minutes later, we drove up in front of the building we called our home. It felt strange saying that. Living in the same building as my date was a little odd for me. Jack jumped out and ran over to hold the door open as I stepped outside.

The coast was clear, as far as I could tell. The sleazebags hadn’t followed us. I wondered if they knew where I lived. Since they appeared to be stalking me at the restaurant, anything was possible. We moved inside the building, climbed the stairs and came to a stop in front of my door.

“I had a wonderful time.”

“Me too,” I said, still clutching my handbag in front of me—it had to look as if I took a somewhat guarded stance with him.

I gazed into his eyes. I wanted to invite him in and rip his clothes off, but it was too soon. I couldn’t jump into bed with him without a chance for a relationship. And he must have felt the same way, because he didn’t ask me to come to his place, either. Moistening my lips, I waited for the goodnight kiss I hoped would soon come. I’d had a taste of how delectable Jack was, and I wanted another sampling.

“Thank you for tonight. For picking out such a terrific place. The food was great.”

“Thanks for dinner.” How long could we stand like that, staring and offering cordial exchanges? Finally, he leaned in and fixed his lips on mine, giving me another taste of his sweet mouth. He wrapped his arms around me, rubbing the small of my back, tracing tiny circles over my skin. My entire body relaxed against his as I ran my hand through his hair. It would be hard to fall asleep after tasting him and feeling his body pressed to mine.

After he moved away, I bit my lip to keep my excitement at bay. His kisses could quickly become addictive.

On the other side of my door, Jennifer talked to the television. At least, I guessed the TV. Whatever she watched must have been good, because her voice became louder by the second. Unfortunately, Jack took her conversation antics as a cue to let me go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, neighbor.” He leaned in and gave me one last delicious kiss. The tingle from his lips lingered.

A besotted giggle escaped me in spite of my efforts to hold it in.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Did that mean another rendezvous? He watched as I stepped into the apartment and closed the door. Maybe I should have invited him in and shown Jennifer I didn’t sabotage dates. Only two more left. Bummer.

Chapter 6

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 6:

“On the prowl” isn’t a good way to describe looking for a date.

“Oh, oh. Come here quick. You gotta see this.” Jennifer waved me over to the spot next to her on the sofa and patted the cushion.

“What is it? A natural disaster? A fire? A terrorist attack?” I hurried over.

“Look how cute Jason is. He’s adorable. Isn’t he the best? I love him.”

“What?” I plopped down beside her and curled my legs up under me.

“You have to see the ghost footage they captured too. It’s amazing. Anyone who says there is no such thing as ghosts needs to watch this. They caught an apparition on their infrared camera. What more proof does anyone need?”

“What? I thought you had something serious to tell me.”

“It is serious. It’s a flippin’ ghost, is what it is. This is important stuff.” She poked me with her elbow. “Ghost Hunters is on, you know… Ghost Hunters with Jason and Steve. Jay is so cute with his bald head. Makes me just want to rub it for good luck, or something.”

“Or something? I hope you mean rub his bald head.” I snorted.

“Of course. Get your mind out of the gutter. He’s married.” She shot me a dirty look.

“You have a little pet name for the guy on TV? You really need to get out more. He’s not your type. I thought you said you liked short guys. Jason is not short.”

“I like tall, bald guys too.”

“So what you’re saying is all men are your type.” I snickered.

She stuck out her tongue. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Be quiet, I’m missing the show. Oh, oh. Look.” Popcorn spewed from her hands and scattered about as she flailed. “That is a ghost. Did you see that? There’s no way they could fake that footage.” She pointed to the television.

“Technically they could fake it. I’m just sayin’. I saw something like a blob. Was that it?”

Another dirty look from her. “They would never fake evidence. No, not Jason and Steve.” More popcorn landed on the floor. If that show was on for much longer, she would need a drop cloth.

“Do you know those guys personally? Unless you do, they could fake it.” I knew that would get her goat. She was fun to mess with sometimes. Of course I believed in ghosts too, but I enjoyed teasing her on occasion. Especially when her favorite show was involved.

“Well, no, I don’t know them, but I know they wouldn’t do that.” She smirked.

The “Viva Viagra” commercial appeared, breaking her attention from the show.

“So how was the date? I want to know everything. Did you kiss? Give me details. Is he a good kisser?”

The television show looked better than ever to me now. At least when it was on I didn’t have to go into the details about my evening. I wasn’t looking forward to telling her about the incident at the restaurant.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” I said.

“Since when? I’m waiting…”

I might as well get it over with, I thought. It didn’t appear she would drop the subject anytime soon. “I was caught unclothed in the women’s restroom at Emilio’s.”

Jennifer started choking, and I pounded her on the back. Those darn popcorn kernels can be a real pain.

Jennifer’s eyes brightened with a curiosity like I’d never seen before. “Did you say you weren’t wearing clothing? As in nude? Because I think you said unclothed, as in bare with no clothing on.”

“Yes, last time I checked that was the definition.” I popped one of the kernels in my mouth. It needed more butter.

“I don’t know what to say. Where do I start?”

“I’ll save you the energy. Our date moved along perfectly fine until I decided to check on my hair and makeup. You know how frizzy I get in this humidity, not to mention my makeup glides right off my face as soon as I step outside. I looked like hell.”

She gestured for me to get on with it. “I don’t care about your frizzies. Get to the good stuff.”

“Okay. Okay, I am. Anyway, I went to the ladies’ room and two werewolves were waiting for me. They were hunkered down behind a couple of trash cans next to the door that led into the alley.”

“How do you know they were waiting for you? Maybe they just needed to use the restroom.”

I raised an eyebrow and gave her an “oh, please” look. “Trust me—I knew they were waiting for me. Why would they be hiding if they weren’t waiting for me? They were hiding behind a trash can, and not doing a very good job of it, I might add.”

“So one of them was Lily, right? I told you she would follow you. I warned you.” She propelled more popcorn into her mouth.

“See, that’s the thing. Neither one was Lily. I don’t know who they were, just some repulsive-looking weirdos.”

“Eeeks. They don’t sound nice. Why would someone do such a thing?”

“I’m sure Lily is involved somehow.”

“What did they look like? Well, besides hairy and such.”

“Dirty.” I grimaced. “They had matted fur and were kind of stinky.”

“Yuck. So then what happened?”

At that moment, she glanced down at my shirt and noticed the claw marks. Her eyes grew wider, even though I didn’t think that was possible.

“They wanted to fight, of course. I didn’t want to mess up my clothes, so I ducked into the restroom. When I was undressed and ready to rumble, I opened the door. I was half-werewolf at that point, mind you. A little old lady stood there, right in front of the door, and I almost gave her a heart attack. What are the odds she’d show up just when I opened the door? She almost got me kicked out of the restaurant.”

“Almost? I can’t believe you weren’t kicked out on your naked butt. I’m surprised you weren’t arrested. Maybe you should be more careful with your so-called werewolf activities.”

So-called? What was that supposed to mean? It’s not as if I did it for fun.

Before I had a chance to ask what she’d meant by the comment, she shushed me the second the show returned. Apparently my playtime with werewolves was far less interesting than Ghost Hunters. Oh well.

We watched in silence until the next commercial. Jennifer was mesmerized, and I knew better than to speak until another break.

“By the way, did you talk to your mom?” I asked.

She swallowed her bite and then said, “I did. She’s still in remission.”

“Oh, Jen, that’s great. I’m so glad. I can’t imagine the relief she must feel. And you too. Did you tell her I said hi?”

“I did. She wants us to come to dinner soon.”

“I’d love to. Did you talk to Todd?”

“I talked to him, but not about our relationship. I’m working up to it. I will, though, I promise.”

“You’ll work things out. I know you will.” The show returned and I lost her focus again. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.” I stood and yawned.

“Goodnight.” She mumbled my sendoff with a mouth full of buttery treat and eyes intent on the program. At least the show distracted her from extracting details of a goodnight kiss. I glided into my favorite gown and slipped into bed with thoughts of Jack racing through my mind.

***

Jack stood in my room. From the foot of my bed, he looked down at me and, without saying a word, moved closer to where I sat. My senses were on overload from watching him gaze at me with what I knew was longing.

Jack reached for my arms and then pulled me with him as he fell back onto my bed. He moved his face close to mine and began softly kissing me. Jack slid my gown over my head and immediately began gently caressing my body, mapping out the shape of my hip with his hand. I tugged at his clothes, yearning to feel his skin pressed against mine.

After I removed the shirt, I traced the outline of his chiseled abs with my finger and he moaned in approval. Just as he stood to remove his jeans, I jerked up in bed. It was the middle of the night, my legs were tangled in the sheets and my heart raced. I felt a bit confused. My dream had felt so real, and it saddened me to discover it was nothing more than a fantasy. It felt so lifelike I could still taste the sweet flavor of his mouth on mine. I wanted to hang on to every detail so I wouldn’t forget. The dream would be the closest thing I got to actual sex for no telling how long. I couldn’t just let it float away from my memory.

Probably a noise from the street below woke me, and I cursed under my breath at whoever made it. Needless to say, I tried to drift off again. I wanted to pick up where we’d left off, but no such luck. It always turned out that way. Just when I’d gotten to the good part.

The next morning, I reflected on my glorious dream and the previous evening. The date had turned out all right, I thought. In spite of the ripped-shirt, naked-woman calamity. Granted, that old lady gave me the evil eye all night, but other than that, things worked out fine. The werewolves hiding in the alley and then following me spooked me a bit. But what could I do? With no clue as to who they were, I wouldn’t know how to make them stop.

Jack hadn’t specifically asked me out again, but he had hinted. At least I read the signs as allusions to another date. I was almost afraid to agree to another outing, for fear of the curse taking over. It was a lot of fun with him and the thought of not having the opportunity to do that again was not a pleasurable one.

Without knocking, I slipped into Jennifer’s bedroom, thinking she was still asleep. I wanted to borrow her black wrap-dress. I’d already seen what it looked like with my Prada pumps. To my surprise, however, Jennifer wasn’t in her bed. In fact, she wasn’t even in the room. Her bed was already made with her pink floral comforter, and placed safely by the door waiting for her arrival home, were her coveted bunny slippers. Rarely did she beat me to work. I grabbed the dress from the hanger, snatched my shoes up from the floor of the closet and went to my room to slip into my clothing.

As I put on the dress, securing it around my waist, the faint sound of voices wafted in from, I thought, just beyond the front door. With a swift brush of my hair, then slipping into my shoes, I hurried from the room. My guess was correct—there were voices. But it was way too early to deal with Lily, I thought, as I poured myself a cup of coffee. Wait. What if Lily was in the hallway having a one-on-one with Jack? I spit my coffee into the sink, tossed the mug down, grabbed my bag and made a leap for the door.

It didn’t budge when I yanked on it. I pulled again, and the door flew open. Two sets of eyes looked back at me as if I were insane.

Chapter 7

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 7:

Don’t give your date a bouquet of wolfsbane.

Jennifer and Jack were once again having what looked like a lively conversation in the hallway. All right, I wasn’t the jealous type, but I did have a tinge of some strange feeling in the pit of my stomach and I didn’t like it. Jennifer was my best friend, for heaven’s sake. There was no need to be mistrustful of her, or was there? No. She probably just ran into Jack on her way to work.

“Oh hi, Rylie. I just bumped into Jack on my way to work.”

Phew. See, nothing to worry about. I could send that green-eyed monster packing.

“Hi, I didn’t hear you leave.”

She eyed her dress that clung to my body. If she said anything about my borrowing it, I might have to make her eat it. But Jennifer wasn’t the only one eyeing me in the dress. Jack drank in every ounce of my appearance and I loved each second of the attention.

“I was quiet. I thought maybe you needed to sleep in. You know, after last night.” She winked at me, then glanced at Jack. What was wrong with her? I needed to remind her to stop with the teasing looks and tones. We weren’t in eighth grade anymore. Feeling fidgety, I smoothed the front of the dress.

“We weren’t out too late, you know that. I have a client at nine, and I need to do some work before then, so I didn’t sleep in.” My gaze flicked to Jack. I probably had Jennifer’s doe-eyed look after his kisses and my dream last night. Thank God he couldn’t read my mind.

“I have to get going too,” Jack said. “Can I walk you to work?”

Once again, he looked utterly delicious. I loved his style. He was a casual kind of guy—just the way I liked them. His navy chinos were a perfect fit, and his rugby shirt was untucked. I swear if I knew psychiatrists looked like him, I would have made an appointment years ago. Heaven knows, my parents provided me with plenty of reasons to need one.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“I’m off.” Jennifer moved around us and bounded down the steps. Her curls bounced with each step. She was always a bundle of energy. Like a cheerleader chugging a can of Red Bull.

“Again, Emilio’s is delicious. I had a great time last night.” He held my arm as I stepped down onto the first step. He was such a gentleman.

“Me too.” There I was, making a great impression again with my vast vocabulary.

When we made it to the bottom of the stairs he said, “Before I let you get to work I wanted to ask you…”

Yes, yes. That’s what I wanted to hear. Or did I? I was torn apart on the inside. Did I want to date him or not? One step closer to the curse, I reminded myself. Oh well, did it matter anyway? I’d probably discover some serious flaws—like he secretly wears women’s clothing.

“A client of mine runs…well, er, has access to tickets for one of those walking ghost tours. He insists I can’t live here without doing it at least once.”

“He’s right. You have to do it no less than one time, preferably several. It’s a part of the city. Practically a requirement.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to do something like that alone. I’m afraid of ghosts.” He wiggled his eyebrows. He didn’t seem to be the type to believe in the supernatural, which was unfortunate for me.

“I’d love to,” I said.

“You would? It wouldn’t be too boring for you?”

He had no idea. Working with the supernatural world on a daily basis made me somewhat blasé about the whole ghost story thing. Yeah, there are ghosts. Everyone should know that by now. But I wouldn’t let him know my feelings on the subject. I’d go on the tour and pretend I had the time of my life. With Jack by my side it wouldn’t be a stretch.

“I wouldn’t want you to be afraid. I can handle the otherworldly creatures for you.” He thought I joked—little did he know I was completely serious.

“Great. I’ll call and let him know we’ll be there. It’s tonight, a special nighttime tour. Is that all right? You didn’t have other plans? I know I haven’t given you a lot of notice for our dates.”

“Sounds perfect. I don’t have anything planned for this evening, so don’t worry about it.” Perhaps I was too available for him. I needed to be vaguer, more mysterious.

“I’ll pick you up at seven thirty? The tour starts at eight. Maybe we can have dinner afterward?”

“I’d like that. I’ll be ready. Should I bring a crucifix?” I laughed.

“Maybe. You’ve got a great sense of humor, you know.” He chuckled as he walked backward toward his office. He was so cute when he did that. Of course he’s cute all the time, but I really liked it when he did that. I was halfway serious about the crucifix, though. Those vampires can be vicious.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

“Me too. I’ll see you then.”

I stepped into my office. Someone had slipped a present under the door. It wasn’t chocolates or diamonds, though. The scribbled writing across the envelope let me know my diva-wolf was at it again. Cussing under my breath, I picked up the white envelope. It was like the one before with the black marker text scrawled along the front. Cruz was scratched across the front. I tossed my purse on the desk and plopped down in my seat. Might as well see what threats this one had.

The seal was partially open, so I easily slipped my finger through and tore it open. Another thing to stew over, just what I needed. Sure enough, the package contained a single piece of paper with the words Watch your back. If Lily had been watching me, I would have let out a huge yawn to let her know I wasn’t impressed. But a trickle of doubt washed over me. Perhaps I should be more concerned. After a short time passed with my frustration at an all-time high, I picked up the phone and punched in Jennifer’s work number. I prayed I didn’t disturb her from one of her furry patients. Too-loud Muzak played in my ear, then relief when she picked up.

“This is getting out of hand. I really need Lily to stop. She’s out of control,” I said as soon as she said hi.

“Oh no. What happened this time? Another silver bullet?” Jennifer asked.

“Another envelope. This one has a little love letter in it.”

“A love letter? Is it from Jack?” She sounded confused and maybe a little hopeful at the same time.

“No, I was being facetious. It says, watch your back.”

“Oh my God. She’s threatening me now? What do I do?”

“No, you nincompoop. She’s telling me to watch my back. I’m just telling you what the note said.” Jennifer could be so ditzy sometimes. Although I guess I hadn’t made it quite clear when I explained to her what the letter said.

“Do you still think it’s only Lily sending those? Maybe it’s someone else. I mean after last night and all.”

“Who else could it be? Those sleazebags from last night don’t know where I live. Besides, now that I think about it, they probably just caught a whiff of werewolf and followed me into the restaurant to harass me. That’s what thugs like that do. There’s no one else mad at me, as far as I know. Everyone else seems to be more than happy with my work.” Did I really believe that? “I have a couple getting married next month, for heaven’s sake.”

“All right, calm down. It just all seems so weird. Maybe its Lily and someone else, like the goon looking for your uncle. I’m just sayin’…”

“Yeah, I know. I guess anything is possible. But I think it’s her and it’s high time she quit. Enough is enough. I can’t stand silly games. I owe my parents and if I lose my business because of her, they’ll never get their money back.” I flipped the phone to my other ear and cradled it with my chin.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. A dog yapped in the background. I hated to disturb her when she was working.

“I was hoping you had some ideas. A bit of helpful advice, perhaps?”

“Why don’t you start with talking to her? These things can be resolved with open communication.”

I snorted.

“That, or you could make her eat her words, literally. Stuff those envelopes down her throat.” She yelled over the loud howling in the background.

Jeez, remind me never to make Jennifer angry.

“If I talk to her, more than likely I’ll end up losing my temper. Then I’ll have to change into a werewolf and that messes up my hair and nails. I try to change over as little as possible. Any other suggestions?”

“The police.”

“Well…I guess I can call the pack police, but I hate involving them, unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’d only call them if I felt my life was seriously in danger. There’s so much red tape involved. And honestly, how much trouble can little Lily Friedman cause, anyway? Besides scaring away potential clients.”

“Look, Rylie. You never know how wacky people can get. Or werewolves, or whatever. The point is, she is making your life uncomfortable, at the least. You have to do something. I know you have a big heart, and you want to help everyone. But you can’t let people walk all over you all the time.”

“You’re right, just some of the time.” I laughed, trying to make a joke. The other end of the line remained silent. Even the dog had stopped barking. Tough crowd. “I know. I’ll talk to her, I promise.”

“Sometimes you have to take a stand.”

“Thanks for listening, Jennifer.”

“You know I’m always here for you… I worry about you. Remember, anytime you need to talk.” She paused. “Now listen, let’s lighten the mood. Victoria’s Secret after work, right?”

“Do I have a choice?” I groaned.

“No, you don’t.”

“Then I’ll see you after work. Should I meet you there?”

“I’m coming home first, so I’ll see you upstairs. We can leave from there. Can you take off a little early?”

“Sure, shouldn’t be a problem. How about four?”

“I’ll see you then. Oh, and no backing out. You’re going shopping, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I let the sarcasm ooze.

I hung up knowing what needed to be done, but I didn’t know if I could do it. Regardless, it would have to wait. I had a meeting in ten minutes.

Someone knocked on the door. My appointment was ten minutes early. Great. I hadn’t even put on my matchmaking hat yet.

“Come in.”

Perhaps I shouldn’t just blindly invite folks in—especially considering present Lily-fraught circumstances—but wasn’t that what appointments were for? You got who you expected when you were expecting them. At least that was the way it was supposed to work. Living my life in fear was not an option.

The door creaked open and a dark head popped through. Martin Blake stood in the doorway—Lily’s ex-love. The true beer expert and notorious real-lime lover. “Hi, Miss Cruz. Can

I speak with you? Is this a good time?”

“Oh hi, Martin. Please come in and have a seat.” With a wave of my hand, I motioned for him to sit in front of my desk. The same chair in which Lily had been crying over him a short time ago. “It’s fine, I’m not expecting a client for a few minutes.”

If he was here to chew me out like Lily had, I would scream. There was no way I could keep my cool any longer if that happened. One jilted customer at a time was all I could handle.

“Is everything all right?” I asked in my best business tone. Grandma Cruz always said you could attract more werewolves with honey BBQ ribs. I never said her advice made sense.

By the pained look on Martin’s face, I wasn’t sure. More than likely, this was a visit to complain about his ex. An ex whom I had matched him with—my responsibility.

“Not exactly.” He paused. With a serious tone evident in his voice, he continued. “I need Lily to leave me alone. She is driving me crazy. When I signed up for your service I had no idea it would be like this. She’s everywhere I go. When I go to the grocery store, she’s there. When I hit the tanning salon, she’s there. I mean, everywhere I go.”

Bingo. Another unhappy customer. I guess with all my success of late I had to expect some negative experiences once in a while. It was bound to happen. A flash of my parents’ money circling the toilet bowl and then sucked away ran through my head.

“I am truly sorry, Mr. Blake.” I steepled my fingers to let him know I was all business. At least that’s what I’d seen businesspeople do on television when they were in serious negotiations. I hoped it worked for me.

“Please, call me Martin.” He showed a toothy smile. His green eyes reminded me of two pools of stagnant water.

“Martin, I do a thorough screening of all clients, but sometimes it’s inevitable that a relationship won’t work out. I can offer assistance with obtaining a restraining order. Other than that, I don’t know if I can help.”

He rested his chin in his hand and mulled over what I’d offered. “I’m not sure I want her to get in trouble.”

“I don’t know that she would get in trouble. It would just keep her from having contact with you.”

“I’ll think about it. I hate to see someone go to jail.” He shifted in the chair and pulled at the collar of his slightly wrinkled striped shirt. It was the best I could offer him. I couldn’t blame him for not doing it, because I hadn’t, either. I wasn’t taking my own advice.

“There was one other problem,” he said, adding to my surprise.

Things kept getting worse by the minute. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say.

“Yes, what’s that?” I forced myself to ask.

“I don’t have a mate now.”

Whew. That I could fix, or I thought I could. Maybe he was unmatchable. No, everyone had a mate. “Oh right. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Would you like me to find someone else for you? There wouldn’t be an additional charge, of course.” It was the least I could do.

“Actually, I already had someone in mind.” He fiddled with his hands.

“Wow, good for you. Well, that does make my job easy. Is it someone I know?” He didn’t waste any time getting over Lily. I hoped the next one liked fresh limes.

“Yes, you know her.”

Hmm. Who could it be? He had me curious. I placed my hands on my desk and waited. He watched me, but didn’t say a word. We were at an impasse. Who was going to talk first?

“Do you want to tell me who it is?” I pressed.

“I’m a little too embarrassed to say.”

Now he did really have me intrigued. Who could the mysterious woman be?

“Don’t be shy. Maybe I can help set up a date. I can’t help you if I don’t know who she is.”

“It’s you,” he blurted.

Oh God. The walls closed in on me. My throat tightened. The air zapped from my lungs—I couldn’t breathe. Martin wanting me as a mate was the last thing I needed.

“It’s just that I watch you move and you’re so eloquent. And you smell like cookies. Cinnamon cookies no less, my favorite. Not all werewolves smell that great, ya know?”

“I’m aware.” What was I going to do? If Lily found out she’d go even more bat shit crazy than she already was. She’d have my head on a platter. I felt the overwhelming urge to get him out of my office in a jiffy. I glanced over my shoulder out the window to see if Lily was anywhere in sight. Thankfully, there was no sign of her. At least I had an easy way out. “I’m sorry, Martin. I don’t date my clients.”

His face drooped. “I could not be your client. I mean, technically, since things didn’t work out with Lily, I’m not a client anymore.”

Where the hell was my appointment? Of all the times to be late when I needed them the most. Someone save me from the insanity.

“I’m sorry, Martin. It just wouldn’t work. It’s my policy, you understand.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

The bummed look on his face was not fun to see, but there was no way I could or would date him. Besides, I had Jack to think about at the moment, and all my spare time was filled with thoughts of his hot body and gorgeous face.

“Sorry for bothering you.” Martin jumped from the chair and dashed to the door. He stumbled on the rug on his way out, but managed to remain upright. Before I could say another word, my next client walked through the door, and Martin was already on the street. Maybe I’d find someone for him, anyway, or at the very least I’d try. I scribbled a note down to remind myself to find a replacement for Lily. If I did that, maybe he’d never ask me out again. Hell, maybe if I found another love for Lily she’d leave me alone too.

***

Hours passed—only a few minutes remained before time to close up for the day when another unexpected knock rattled the door.

“Come in.” Again, it was risky for me to keep allowing people to enter. I needed a better system. After so long without having to worry about who came in, it took getting used to. It was hard being guarded.

A man dressed in jeans and white t-shirt with long hair appeared in the doorway. In his hands he held the most beautiful bouquet of red roses I’d ever seen. Red was my favorite.

“Delivery for Rylie Cruz.”

“I’m Rylie, thank you.”

“Where do you want them?”

“On my desk, please. Thank you, again.” I rummaged through my drawer and found cash stuffed between a Milky Way bar and a marker.

He set the vase on my desk and I handed him the few crumpled-up dollars.

“Have a good day,” he said.

I really would now. Maybe things were turning around. I had Jack—even for a short time—and I was sure the roses were from him.

“Thank you. You too.” I waved. With that, he was gone.

I didn’t waste any time pulling at the note on the pick like a kid on Christmas morning ripping into a package. I sniffed the flowers as I opened the envelope.

No signature was on the note and it simply read: I’m thinking of you. Until we meet again…

Chapter 8

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 8:

Werewolves need to feel sexy too.

“If he sent you roses, things are getting serious. Guys only send roses when they are into you. He’s really into you. Damn it. I bet you’ll be married before I am.” Jennifer sat in front of my desk with her arms crossed, pouting and waiting for me to finish up my work so we could trot off on the little shopping excursion she maintained was completely necessary.

The way she behaved, she’d be planning my wedding soon. She already had me buying the honeymoon lingerie. She needed to spend more time with Todd, or I needed to find her someone new. I didn’t care which. Especially since she already had me getting married to Jack after one date and a bunch of roses.

“I am not marrying him. I just met him. It can’t be getting serious. We’ve only been on one date. Plus, there’s the curse thing.”

“Ugh. If I hear about that stupid curse one more time…”

“Fine. I’m just sayin’. This thing with Jack can’t be serious.” I shoved a file in the cabinet and grabbed my purse.

“Let me be the judge of that. You’re obviously in no shape to make such decisions.”

“What do you mean I’m in no shape to make a decision? I’m the one dating him. You act as if I’m a mental patient. I’m a werewolf. Big difference, thank you very much.” We walked to the door side by side. I motioned for her to go out first, then locked the door behind us.

“You also think there’s a curse on you,” she said as we trailed down the sidewalk toward the car.

“I’m beginning to think you don’t believe what I tell you.” I climbed in her car and slammed the door.

“No, it’s not that. Look, let’s not fight.” The pink Bug purred to life and she steered onto the street.

I buckled my seat belt. “I’m not fighting with you. When I fight, I grow hair. See, no hair.” I held up my hand for her to examine. “You’ll be the first to know if it gets serious with him, I promise.”

Jennifer glanced at me. I smiled and she grinned back. We couldn’t stay mad at each other for very long.

The nearest lingerie joint was a short distance from the French Quarter at the local mall. We pulled onto the highway. It would be eight miles of congested traffic. This allowed Jennifer plenty of time to question me about any little particulars I may have left out about my date with Jack. I hadn’t divulged how fantastic a kisser he was, nor was I going to share that juicy tidbit. She’d have bridal magazines, honeymoon locations and a gown under my arm before I could say annulment. Nevertheless, somehow she knew I kept something from her.

“So is there anything else you left out about last night? Are you withholding important information from me?” she asked as she navigated the streets heading away from the city.

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I think that’s about everything. Nothing left to share, sorry. I have nothing more to say.” I examined my nails.

“Do you want to tell me about the werewolves again?”

“Not so much, no,” I said.

“Come on. You’re no fun.” She puffed out her lower lip.

Turning my gaze to the window, I studied the crowded streets and passing cars. All the while Jennifer chatted about Todd. About how she’d stopped trying to get him into a jewelry store, blah, blah, blah. I halfway tuned her out.

When I flipped down the mirror on the visor to reapply my lip gloss, I noticed a car following dangerously close to us. It was practically on our bumper.

“I think someone is following us.” I whipped my head around so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.

“What? What makes you say that? Are you sure?” She glanced in her rear-view mirror.

“Yes. Unless you’re towing a car and didn’t know it. Or they’re a seriously bad driver. I’ve never seen a car follow that closely before.”

“I can’t breathe,” she said.

“Wait. I’ve seen that car before. That’s the same black sedan from across the street when we left the apartment. I remember noticing how nice it was.”

Other cars flanked us. We had nowhere to go.

“You’ll have to speed up. We’re boxed in.”

What would happen if we stopped at a light? Would the driver jump out and attack us? Shoot us? Who was the lunatic behind the wheel?

“I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do. Please tell me you don’t see a crazed werewolf behind the wheel. I don’t think I can deal with that like you can. I can’t handle it.”

“No, I don’t think so. Of course I can’t see all that well. The windows are tinted almost black. If only I could get a better look.”

“What do we do? Where do I go?” Jennifer bit on her lower lip.

“What else? Lose them.” I pointed toward the road in front of us. “Punch it.”

“What? What the hell? How am I supposed to lose them? We’re not freakin’ Cagney and Lacey. We’re on a very crowded street. I got cars on every side.”

A flash of us with guns and badges ran through my head. I giggled.

“This is not funny,” she snapped.

“Would you rather pull over and invite them to dinner? We can do that if you’d like. If not, I say lose the suckers.”

“Smartass. I knew I should have made you drive. I’m not equipped to handle pressure like this. I cave under extremes such as this.” Pressure didn’t suit me, either, but did she hear me complaining?

“Listen, just calm down. Make a left at the next light and see if they really are following us. Maybe they just happened to be traveling the same path as us and they suck at driving. You know, road rage and all,” I said. My gaze remained glued to the mirror.

“Oh, good idea. I bet they’re just going to the mall too.”

A strange vibe hit me that that wasn’t the case, but I didn’t tell Jennifer.

I peered in the mirror again and let out a gasp. My fear became reality. Up ahead the light switched to red. Dear God, please don’t let this be the end.

“What? What happened?”

“Okay, don’t panic, but they have a gun.”

“A gun?” Jennifer screeched.

The weapon poked out from the window, only showing a small portion of the black steel. We waited for the light to change to green.

“Try to act calm. We won’t let on that we saw it. Take deep breaths.”

“I might pass out. How do you know it was a gun?”

“The person shoved it out the window just for a second, but I saw it. They’re trying to scare us.”

“It’s working. Oh, Rylie. I don’t want to die today. I want to be married first.”

“We have to remain calm. Breathe in. Breathe out.”

“What do they want? It’s you they want, you know.” Before I answered she continued. “You’re the one with people busting her door down.”

Neither one of us turned our heads, though I couldn’t help but glance in the mirror a few more times. All right, every second.

“If Lily is in that car, I swear I’m going to kick her skinny, furry butt. She’ll be sorry for messing with me. She’s really trying to push my buttons. I don’t care if she does have a gun. All right, I do care, but I’m still furious.”

When the signal turned green, Jennifer punched the accelerator and cut the steering wheel. For a brief period, I think we might have been on only two tires. Seriously, I’m not kidding. A teenager on the sidewalk had been happily scooting along on his skateboard when we turned the corner and came through in a blast. By the look on his face, he needed to change his underwear after that. Poor kid—he was minding his own business, and now he had dirty underpants. He held his skateboard to his chest, a look of terror flickering in his eyes.

“How much gas do you have in this thing? We could always drive to the police station. They would never follow us there.”

Jennifer swerved in and out of traffic like a lunatic. “I’m trying to lose them. You told me to. That’s what you said, lose them. Remember?” Her eyes were wide. I’d never seen her quite so determined.

She was right, though. I had told her to ditch the car behind us, but I didn’t want to die in the process.

“What the hell? If I told you to jump off a bridge, would you do that too? Do you do everything you’re told?” I grasped the dashboard, trying to hold on. Buildings swooshed by in a blur.

“I wouldn’t jump from a bridge, silly.”

“How did you learn to drive like this?” I asked.

The car followed still. There were no doubts—the vehicle was definitely tailing us.

“I took a defensive driving course once. It was a long time ago, but worth every penny, don’t you think?” She panted while sharply turning the wheel again.

“What was the final exam, jumping your car over fifty other vehicles?” I huffed. “It must have been one hell of a course. If you don’t slow down we’re going to crash. The police will probably arrest us for reckless driving. Someone probably already called them.”

“Good, then they can arrest the person following us,” she barked.

“I should start praying now.” My hand grasped the door. I held on for dear life.

Jennifer yanked on the wheel again and made a sharp right.

My pulse hammered. “If I wasn’t so scared I’d be mad at you for driving like a crazy woman.”

The faster we drove, the faster the car behind us moved. Nudging us.

“I don’t like to speed, but we really have no choice right now. I like to take my time and cruise around town. But, oh no, now we’re traveling at warp speed.”

“Apparently this thug doesn’t enjoy going out for a joyride,” I said.

Jennifer punched the accelerator again, but with the traffic, there was only so far we could go. In front of us was a delivery truck.

“Hold on,” Jennifer snapped.

“If I hold on any harder my hands will bleed.”

“There’s just enough space for my car between that truck and the SUV in front of it. If I hurry, and the lunatic behind us doesn’t change speed, I think I can slip in between the two vehicles.”

“Are you crazy? You’re going to kill us.”

“I don’t have any other options. The person behind us is going to kill us if I don’t.”

The driver behind us was in serious need of some meds.

I glanced in the side mirror. The car followed so closely it felt as if we were on a racetrack. If it had been any nearer, they would have been in our backseat. I glanced at the speedometer. With the posted speed limit of twenty-five, Jennifer drove slightly over the limit. Okay, a lot over the limit.

A car horn honked as Jennifer swerved to the left. She overcorrected and almost veered off the road and into a parked car.

“Driving under pressure isn’t easy.” Her voice grew louder.

She switched to the other lane. Thank goodness no oncoming traffic came our way. She sped up and in one swift move jerked the Bug over to the correct lane. The car practically moaned when she hit the accelerator. The truck behind us honked, but I figured even if we pissed him off it couldn’t be any worse than the nut chasing us.

I glanced in the mirror again. The car was right behind the truck, swerving and looking for an opportunity to get behind us again. The burly guy in the truck seemed to notice them too. He pumped his fist out the window, then honked. If they didn’t ease off his ass, he’d probably take care of them for us and our problem would be solved. The SUV turned off and it looked as if we now had an open opportunity to get away. But alas, the truck turned off too, and the sedan was once again on our trail.

Cars honked. Jennifer punched the gas. The sedan still tailed us, but had lost some momentum thanks to her insane driving ability.

“Oh. My. God. You’re going to kill us. As sure as I’m a werewolf, we’re going to die this afternoon. That was a red light.”

More honking. The black car attempted to run the light, but was forced to veer off to miss oncoming traffic. It narrowly escaped crashing with two vehicles before coming to rest on the sidewalk.

“It did the trick, though. Look, we lost them.” She smirked and her mouth curved at the sides, exposing her bright white teeth.

“I think I might have peed my pants a little.”

She chortled, then let out a snort. “Me too. I think you enjoyed that just a little, even though you probably would never admit it.” A totally new side to her had emerged.

“Good thing we’re headed to the mall so I can buy new underwear,” I grumbled.

Was there any other person in the world who got into a car chase while on their way to Victoria’s Secret? Leave it to me.

After our near-death experience, if I didn’t calm down, I’d surely sprout a furry tail. And I’d have to ask the sales consultants if they had panties to accommodate it. Thankfully, the rest of the drive was smooth sailing—although we were on high alert.

“I think you should contact the police, Rylie. If you don’t,” she paused, “I’m afraid I can’t drive you anywhere else. Hell, I’m afraid to be your roommate.” One little car chase and she was up in arms, sheesh. Granted, they did have a firearm.

“I don’t know what you’re grumbling about. You seemed to handle it quite well. As a matter-of-fact, I think you enjoyed it.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes at my comment. “Rylie, they had a gun.”

“Well…it looked like a gun.”

“So was it a gun or not?” Jennifer asked.

“It looked like a gun, but everything happened so fast.” I let out a deep breath. “Let’s just put the incident behind us, all right? We lost them, it’s over. We’re safe now.”

“I’m scared for you. For us. You need to contact the police.”

“I’ll think about calling the cops, all right?”

“Are you afraid of the police?”

“No, of course not.”

Within a few seconds, we made our way to the parking lot of the spacious mall that housed Victoria’s Secret. Jennifer whipped the Bug into a space. Breathing a sigh of relief, I jumped out. We’d be safe in the mall. But beads of sweat trickled down my forehead, and I knew without looking the hair on top of my head was wildly out of control. One thing, though. I had managed to keep my cool and not let hair spread all over my body. If my locks were a mess after that ride, imagine what my tail would have looked like.

“You think you can hook me up with that defensive driving course?” I panted as we marched toward the mall. We both scanned the area. My heart rate still hadn’t reached normal. People moved about, but no one seemed to be paying attention to us.

“I’m sorry I can’t disclose the info. It’s top secret.” She laughed.

“Gotcha.” I nodded and smiled.

Jennifer scanned one section of the lot and I watched the other as we hurried along. I weaved in and out of cars like a stealth ninja warrior. All right, I kid, but I watched my back nonetheless. No signs of the car around. So far, so good. My stomach gnawed at me with the mere thought of the mystery vehicle popping up out of nowhere. Maybe it would run over us right there in the middle of shopping suburbia, or the driver would pull out the gun and shoot my ass on the spot.

“Under the circumstances, maybe we should just forget about this shopping thing?” I glanced over my shoulder one last time as we entered the glass doors. “My date is in a few hours, and I still need to shower. And pick out my outfit. Let’s just go home. We’ll shop for underwear some other time.”

“It won’t take long. Besides, we’re already here now. And I’ll help you with an outfit. You’ll regret it if you go home now, trust me.” She adjusted her purse to the other shoulder.

She mumbled the rest of the sentence, something about granny panties. Whatever…

“I guess. But let’s hurry, okay? I want to get in and get out as quickly as possible, so no browsing.” I let out a sigh and followed her into the massive pink store. Either my eyes were playing tricks on me or there was an abundance of one hue in the place. Not that I have anything against pink. I rather like it, actually.

Jennifer grabbed bras, panties and heaven knew what else off the racks. I followed along like an impatient two-year-old shopping with her mother. The store had so many items my eyes couldn’t focus on all of them. A sexy lace demi-cup bra captured my attention. I reached over, touched the fabric and examined it.

“I need more padding,” I said.

Jennifer didn’t answer. She was in a zone.

Hanging it back, I rummaged through the rack for my size. Finding the correct one, I held the bra up to my chest and daydreamed about how I’d look wearing it.

Someone tapped my shoulder. If I’d been a cat, I’d have jumped onto the ceiling. Thankfully, I’m not a werecat—we don’t get along. Although, I guess if I were a werecat I’d get along with them then and not werewolves. But, anyway. I needed to focus on the danger at hand.

“What the hell?” Turning around in a single fluid motion, I flung my hands out in a karate stance. No, I didn’t know karate. But put me in a life-or-death situation, and I’d go kung fu on your ass. Or at least die trying.

Jennifer jumped back, tossing bras right and left as she let out a high-pitched shriek.

An arm grabbed mine.

“Shhh. Not so loud. People will stare,” the baritone voice said.

“You think? Uncle Ernie, what the hell are you doing here? You scared the bejeezus out of me.” I stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Hi, doll. How’s my favorite niece doing? How’s about a kiss for Uncle Ern? Lay one on me.” He pointed to one cheek.

I ignored his offer. I was too frustrated for affection.

“How am I? I’m confused, that’s how I am. People are looking for you, Ernie. Do you realize that?” I shoved the bra that dangled from my hand behind my back. I didn’t want him looking at my underwear, even if it wasn’t on my body. There I was, in the middle of Victoria’s Secret, bra in hand, talking to my were-uncle who was clearly on the run from some not-so-nice people. How did I get myself into this situation?

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. Listen, um, if anyone asks about me, tell him, or her, I left the country, all right? Tell them I’m backpacking across Europe.” He scanned the store, then looked over his shoulder. I didn’t know what kind of people were hunting for him, but I didn’t want to find out, either.

“Look, I don’t know what mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time, but I’m a little nervous about the goons who are slinking around my business and apartment. One of them smashed down my door looking for you,” I whispered.

“Oh God. He broke the door down?” His eyes widened. “I’m really sorry about that. Was there damage? I didn’t think they’d go that far,” he said under his breath.

“What did you say?” I asked. I knew what he’d said, but I wanted him to repeat it.

“Nothing. Um, nothing, dear.” Being truthful never had been one of Ernie’s strong suits.

“Anyway, yes, you could say there was damage. I had to replace the door.”

“I’m very sorry. I’ll pay you back for that. Just give me the total.”

“Are you working?” I asked.

“Not exactly. I’m kind of in between jobs at the moment.” He shuffled his cowboy-boot-clad foot.

“Right. Look, Uncle Ernie, I’m not trying to lecture you, but…” All right, so I’d been known to offer a lecture or two in the past. So what? This time he deserved it. “You need to get your act together. There’s a lot at stake for me. I can’t have my customers thinking I run some sort of illegal business, and that’s exactly what they will think.” Or good-looking neighbors might start thinking something shady was going on with my life.

“Everything will be fine. I promise, doll.” He fiddled with his graying ponytail. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” His amber-colored eyes danced under the lights. He held my chin and a smile yanked at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, Ernie. I worry about you.” I embraced him. He hugged back.

The woman behind the register eyed us between checking out customers. Her sleek blond ponytail pulled at the skin around her eyes, adding emphasis to her annoyed expression. Jennifer hid behind a rack of panties, waiting for the commotion to quiet. The pink hue of her cheeks matched the store, and let me know she was embarrassed by the attention Ernie had attracted.

“By the way, did you just follow us here in a black car?” I pulled away from our embrace. That was a stupid question for me to ask. Of course he hadn’t. Uncle Ernie wouldn’t be brandishing a gun. Unless I’d only imagined a gun. The mind can see funny things sometimes.

“No, I’m in my truck. The big red one, you know.” He glanced over his shoulder and blew a kiss in the general vicinity of the area outside the store.

I looked over his shoulder for the recipient of the air kiss. “Yeah, but did you follow us?” Maybe the black car tried to chase Ernie when he followed us. Everything seemed so confusing. My head spun with the mayhem.

“No, I just happened to be in the mall and I spotted you. I’ve been meaning to stop by and see you for some time now.”

It was better that he didn’t. I needed his drama around me like I needed a bottle of Rogaine.

“See that woman out there?” Uncle Ernie pointed toward the front of the store.

A tall, lanky woman with multicolored hair stood outside the door and picked at her nails. Was her hair mostly blond, red or brown? I had no clue. All colors mingled throughout her mane. Oh well, it didn’t matter, because Ernie seemed pleased—based upon the expression on his face. If he liked her, then I liked her. She was fine by me.

“Yes, I see her.” How could I not with her rainbow hair.

“She’s my lady friend. She works here at the mall, over at Bath and Body Works.”

Hmm, I wondered if she could get me a discount. They had an incredible lotion that helped with razor burn.

“I’m very serious about her. She might be the one. And the sex is—”

“Please. I feel queasy as it is. I’m thrilled to hear she might be the one. But I just don’t need the details. I’m very happy for you.” I frowned and took another long look at the woman. More details about her, other than the sex, would have been nice because lord knows my mother would ask, but I didn’t feel like going into that discussion. Not to mention, I didn’t have the time. My hot date would be waiting.

“Listen, I’ve got to skedaddle. Tell your dad I’ll call him soon. And you take care, sweetheart,” Ernie said.

I nodded as Ernie squeezed me in another big hug. “Be careful,” I whispered.

Ernie scampered out of the store while I glanced around the space to see how many frowning faces watched.

When the excitement died down, Jennifer slid back over. “What was that about?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” I really didn’t want to talk about it. If we could just pick out my underoos and get the heck out of there, I’d be one happy camper.

“All right. Now that that’s over, let’s find you some sexy little things that will blow Jack’s mind. You’ll look so hot he won’t be able to resist.”

“I still don’t know why I let you talk me into this. He’s not going to see anything under my clothing.” Although, if my dream was any indication, maybe soon he would. That was one dream I wouldn’t mind coming true.

“Rylie, Rylie, Rylie.” She shook her head in pity. “Are you serious? I’ve seen the way you look at him. If I poured steak sauce on him, it would be all over. Drool leaks out of your mouth whenever you catch a glimpse of him. And he ogles you the same way.”

“He does not.” I chuckled. “What kind of steak sauce are we talking here?”

Jennifer rolled her eyes, then swept me over to another display and snatched up coordinating lacy garments. I had a feeling I wouldn’t get much say in what I chose.

But things were moving along nicely, and I figured in no time at all I’d be out of there and on my way to dream-date time. Until, in a flash, that all changed.

Chapter 9

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 9:

“Big Bad Wolf” is not a pet name.

So many styles and so many sizes. With my head buried under a rack, I searched for my size, then Jennifer screamed.

“Oh. My. God. Is Lily wearing a t-shirt that says Get a Mate Is a Fake?”

“What did you just say? Ouch.” I whacked my head on the display on my way up. A nice goose egg would be an attractive accessory for a lovely evening. Maybe I could disguise it as a hat.

“You heard me. Look. I can’t believe it,” she said.

I scanned the area for Lily. My mouth fell open.

“Unless my eyes are seeing things, yes, she is wearing the extremely clever expression across a shirt. I need to make her eat that shirt.” Lily wore a very noticeable bright pink shirt.

“Do you think she copyrighted that slogan?”

“Ugh. Very funny. Why is everyone following me while I’m trying to buy underwear? Couldn’t they at least do it when I’m buying, oh, I don’t know, say laundry detergent?”

“I’ll say one thing, she’s clever. I’ll give her that. Maybe she should be in the marketing business. What did you say she does again?” she asked.

“She’s a nurse.” I smirked.

“What? She treats sick people? I hope I never end up in her hospital.” She winced.

“I can’t believe her.” I threw down the bras. “She’s officially stalking me. Is she looking at us?” I diverted my eyes so she wouldn’t know I had spotted her. “Try not to let her see you looking her way. Please just let her go away.”

“Oh, she just saw me eyeing her,” Jennifer whispered.

“Damn. I hope she doesn’t cause a scene.” Lily had to be the person who followed us earlier. It wasn’t a coincidence she was here at the same time. It wasn’t as if she lived close by. No, I was convinced she had been in that dark sedan, following us all the way here. But did she really have a gun? My imagination had probably played tricks on me.

Lily had a bitter smile plastered on her face. If the store employees thought my Uncle Ernie was bad wait until they got a load of Lily the Lupine.

“You think she was the one following us?”

“Had to be.”

Lily strolled around the store, acting as if she didn’t know we existed. My gaze followed every move she made, since she now knew we were aware of her presence. I’d have to be on guard. She could make a move at any moment.

She picked up a bra, set it down, then picked up a lotion from the round table in the middle of the store. She studied the lacy unmentionables with a menacing smirk on her face and, all the while, watched me from the corner of one evil little eye. Then she strutted to the back of the store, apparently ignoring us. I didn’t know what her next move would be, but it couldn’t be good. What did she want from me? I felt as if she wanted me to suffer, maybe feel her heartache.

“Come on, we’ll ignore her. If we don’t acknowledge her, she’ll leave. You need to try on these bras. Now march to the fitting room.” Jennifer had amassed bras in her arms, one of each color and style.

“What for? I told you my size. I don’t need to try them on. Plus, we don’t have the time. I want to get out of here.”

“I know for a fact you say you’re a B cup when in fact you are an A cup.” She grabbed my arm and escorted me toward the dressing room. Lily was in the back of the store at that point, pretending not to notice us. She knew where we moved, though, as if she had eyes in the back of her head. Hell, for all I knew she did.

“I’m a full A. Thank you very much. And I don’t even want to know how you know that little detail.” I pretended to be offended. To keep my delusion of being a B cup alive, I puffed out my chest. We’d been best friends for too long for her to not know my real cup size, and I knew it.

She pushed me into the tiny dressing room and tried wedging her body in next to mine.

“It is too small in here for you too. Wait outside,” I said as I shut the door in her face.

She stuck out her tongue as the door shut. I shimmied out of my blouse and bra.

Stuffed into the garments Jennifer chose, I yelled out to her. “Hey, this black one with the little pink ribbons really makes my boobs look bigger.” I studied my reflection, admiring the pretty black and pink bra. I didn’t have much to work with, but every bit of help I could get I’d take.

“And, boy, do you need that.”

“Argh.” I jumped back and hit the side of the little partition, almost falling down. “What the hell? What are you doing?”

“That bra doesn’t help you much. The only help for you is a surgeon.”

“You’re crazy, do you know that?” I held my shirt over my chest.

Lily’s face peeked down at me from over the top of the adjacent dressing room. How the hell she’d slipped in there without us noticing, I’d never know.

Jennifer burst through the door. “What the heck are you screaming about in here?” There was no need to answer her when she looked up to see Lily’s wild eyes staring down at us. Lily glared with her usual devilish smirk, clearly very proud of her feat.

“Shoo. Shoo.” Jennifer swatted in the general direction of Lily’s face with a thong. She tiptoed, trying to reach the top, stretching as high as she could. I didn’t even want to know how Lily managed to climb up there.

“Is everything all right in here?” The woman’s name tag read Beth and underneath Manager. Uh-oh. We would surely be kicked out of the store faster than I could say Miracle Bra. Beth tapped her foot and eyed us like we were insane. Heck, we probably were. She frowned and placed her hands on her narrow hips. She wore black pants and a black low-cut V-neck blouse, apparently the store uniform. Her hair and eyes matched the dark shade. Beth’s mouth was set in a thin line as she waited for an answer. Lily slinked away as if nothing were out of sorts.

“Everything’s fine. I’ll take everything. And this one too as soon as I change into my clothing.” I pointed to the bra that I wore and then handed her every other garment in the room. Jennifer couldn’t complain about my lack of intimates now. I had plenty, thanks to nuttier-than-a-pecan-pie Lily.

The door to my dressing room was wide open, and several people gawked. One woman grabbed her husband and escorted him away from the scene. Lily waltzed out of the store as if she never gave her actions a second thought—her mission accomplished. Apparently, she was on cloud nine after having embarrassed me. Jennifer looked down and walked to the other side of the store. Far away from me.

The manager rang up the items and stuffed them into a bag. I hotfooted it out the door.

“Jen, wait up. It was your idea to go shopping in the first place.” I sprinted to catch up.

She was already at the glass doors. She mumbled something and shook her head.

Every noise or person made me jump. I expected Lily to pop out at any moment. To my surprise, she was nowhere in sight. It wouldn’t be long until she came prowling around again, though. I needed to be ready for her next time. I made my way out the door and smacked right into Martin’s chest.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Jennifer turned around and watched us.

“Hi, Rylie. What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Um, shopping.” I gestured toward my bag.

“Duh, of course. It’s just I’m surprised to run into you here.”

“Yeah, well, I was doing a little shopping.”

He looked down at the pink bag and I could have sworn he tried to sneak a peek at my lingerie purchase.

“It was nice seeing you again,” I said.

He beamed and I hoped he didn’t take the last part of the conversation literally.

“It was nice seeing you too,” he said as I walked away.

I waved over my shoulder.

“So that was Martin,” Jennifer said as she opened the car door.

As I plopped down in the car, I said, “Yes, that’s him. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. He came in to see me today.” I threw my shopping bag in the backseat.

“Who?” Jennifer climbed behind the steering wheel.

“You know, Martin. Lily’s ex-main squeeze for all of two weeks. He asked me out.”

“Get out. No wonder she’s following you. You’ve been trying to steal her man. What did he say?” She guided the car back onto the road.

I looked around. So far no one appeared to be following us. “I am not trying to steal her man. I don’t think Lily even knows he was there to see me and ask me out. But, if she does, it’s because he told her. Or she has a wiretap in my office. Which, actually, wouldn’t surprise me.”

“So he asked you out? What did you say?” Jennifer had resumed her mild-mannered driving persona. She steered the car onto the highway.

“I declined, of course. I told him I couldn’t date clients. He wanted me to pretend he wasn’t a client anymore.”

“Ouch. I can’t imagine being in your shoes. That’s a sticky situation,” she said.

“Tell me about it. Poor guy. I offered to fix him up with someone else.”

“Good luck with that,” she said.

“Okay, I’m going to ask again, and don’t tell me it’s top secret. Why did you take a defensive driving course?” I asked.

“Court ordered.” Jennifer didn’t take her eyes off the road.

“And you didn’t share this little tidbit with me because? When did this happen?”

“I was too embarrassed to tell anyone at the time. But I don’t care now, I’m over it. It was the last time my dad was in the hospital. I was trying to get there quickly like a good daughter. I should have known he was faking again. When someone expects responsibility from him, bam, a heart attack comes along.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.

Jennifer’s father was the reason she and I met. He took off when she was fourteen, leaving Jennifer’s mother to raise a teenager. That was the year we met. We attended different high schools, but met at summer camp when we shared a cabin. Even though my parents were still together, they were out there on a planet of their own sometimes, so I sympathized with her problem.

***

After an uneventful trip home, we pulled into the parking spot next to our apartment. I fumbled with my cumbersome pink bags, and crawled out of the car. With any luck, Jack wouldn’t see me sneaking in with my sexy merchandise.

Slamming the door, I moved around the car. A voice echoed down from a nearby balcony. I wished I didn’t recognize it.

“Hey, Rylie. Did you buy a sexy little number to model for me?”

The mere thought made my skin crawl.

Our creepy neighbor, Phil, who always seemed to lurk around corners watching for any woman in sight, leaned over his balcony and ogled us. He was one strange character, and that was putting it mildly. One minute we would be alone, the next thing we knew, he would be there, leering and waiting with an offensive comment. He picked his teeth with his pocketknife while staring.

“They make toothpicks and dental floss, you know?” Vile creature.

“Don’t acknowledge him,” Jennifer said, slamming her door shut.

I quickened my step and avoided additional eye contact with him. “I thought you liked bald guys? There’s your chance.” I twisted my lips into a sly grin.

“Oh God, the thought makes me want to bathe in a tub of bleach. I like bald guys fine, just not that one.” She cringed.

“He even dressed up for you. He only has one stain on his t-shirt.”

“Sick. Not in a million years. I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. I don’t want to think about it.”

We turned the corner. He whistled as we moved out of sight.

“All right, but if you change your mind, I’m sure he’ll be waiting for you.”

Jennifer scowled. “All right, I’m changing the subject. You know a few witches. How about putting a love spell on him?”

“Why does Phil need a love spell?”

“No, silly. Jack. Place a spell on him, maybe then this curse of yours wouldn’t matter.”

The emphasis on curse sounded condescending.

“Yeah, I know a few witches. But a gypsy witch is what caused the curse in the first place. I don’t want to get involved in anything like that, thanks. Let’s change the subject. I have to get ready, you know. I need a lot of primping time. A girl can never primp too much.”

She grabbed my arm and steered me toward the street.

“Where are we going?” We passed the door to the apartment, and without saying another word, Jennifer guided me down the street.

Finally, she said, “Well…I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“Uh-oh. You have wild ideas when given ample time to think things over.”

“We are right next door to a voodoo shop…”

“What does that have to do with anything? Oh God. Tell me you don’t want to have a spell cast on Jack or put a curse on Lily? I won’t do it. I will have no part in it.”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” She waved off the notion. “I was just thinking if there is a curse on you, maybe the voodoo priestess can help. You know, get rid of it. She has to know about curses.” She swung her pink shopping bags merrily as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

I was glad one of us could be worry-free. I’d just been attacked while wearing my underwear, and we’d been chased by a mysterious driver—whose first name was probably Lily—who needed his or her license revoked, and may or may not have had a gun. Again, how she could be happy, I didn’t have a clue.

“No way.” I shook my head to let her know her idea was out of the question. I broke free of her clutch and turned on my heel to make an escape. A couple passed and gave us funny looks.

Before I could move more than a few steps, Jennifer jumped in front of me, blocking me. “At least try it. Walk into the shop. What can that hurt? Think of it like any other part of this fantastic place we call home. Like Cajun food or jazz music. You’re going on a ghost tour, for heaven’s sake. What’s the difference?”

“It gives me the heebie-jeebies, that’s the difference. I’ve got plenty of supernatural things in my life—I don’t need to add another.” I snorted.

“Voodoo is a religion, it’s not supernatural.” She held my arm again. “Rylie, you of all people should know these things. It’s your job.”

“Is that right? Well, please forgive me for not knowing my job. When did you become an expert?” I pulled free from her tight grasp. That was the second time she’d questioned my expertise.

“I’m not an expert. I’ve just heard, that’s all. I can’t believe you spend your days around vampires, psychics, witches, and who knows what else. You’re a friggin’ werewolf, yet you won’t set foot into a voodoo shop? Stop being such a crybaby. Chicken.” She scrunched her eyebrows together, then smirked and I knew what was next.

“You look ridiculous. Don’t even start doing that silly chicken dance. Actually, now that you mention it, you do kind of resemble a chicken.” As the words left my lips, Jennifer stuck her hands under her armpits to form wings.

“All right, all right. I’ll walk in there and that’s it. Please just don’t do that stupid dance. And I’m certainly not performing spells or anything. So you can flush that notion right out of your little head.”

“Thank you. I thought you’d see it my way.” She grabbed my arm yet again and yanked me back down the sidewalk. Her comment, although audacious, made me smile.

Within seconds, I confronted my voodoo phobia and was in front of the slightly rundown building. I think the neglected look was mostly to set a mysterious vibe for tourists, and it
worked. I’d always been a part of the dark side of the city, but I’d never messed around with voodoo. To be honest, I didn’t know a thing about it—only what I’d heard on television. Obviously, I believed there were those who possessed spiritual gifts, but there were also those who were crazy nut jobs. I was somewhat (okay, a lot) gullible, and didn’t want to become a victim of one of the frauds.

Old, battered shutters enclosed the entrance and I paused before stepping through the doorway. Jennifer pulled me the rest of the way in. Chipped paint dotted the walls, and the hardwood floor planks creaked under my feet. Voodoo dolls, beads, candles and masks adorned the space. Books and other thingamabobs, their use I had no idea about, were displayed everywhere. The room was filled to the brim. I barely saw a vacant spot on any of the walls.

Out of the corner of my eye, a beautiful woman appeared from the aisle next to us as if out of nowhere. Her wrinkle-free face concealed her age, yet she had the air of confidence and wisdom only age could bring.

“May I help you, ladies?” She eyed both of us.

A trickle of sweat ran down my neck.

“My name is Jennifer and this is Rylie. My friend here has a curse on her.” Jennifer inclined her head in my direction.

So much for just walking in and looking around. She didn’t waste any time. I’d get her back for that. Maybe I’d hide her bunny slippers.

“Please follow me.” She turned and walked toward the back of the store without uttering another word. As if someone came in every day claiming to be cursed.

I didn’t want to follow her anywhere. “Is it only me or is it really hot in here? I can’t breathe very well. It seems so stuffy,” I whispered when Jennifer slid along beside me. I pulled at the neck of my shirt. It suddenly felt so restricting I contemplated ripping it off right there. My stomach churned.

“Come on. Stop complaining and don’t be silly, everything is fine.” Jennifer clucked her tongue, grabbed my arm and led me to the back of the store, trailing the path of the woman before I could protest.

We didn’t even know who the enigmatic female was. For all I knew, she could have been a mad killer luring us to our untimely deaths. We walked down the aisle, and I saw there were even more peculiar objects in the place than I’d thought. A picture of the strange woman we were following hung on the wall. By what was written underneath, I gathered she was a priestess.

We followed her through the bead-hung doorway. Swallowing through the tightness in my throat, I poked Jennifer to go first, in case I wanted to run. After crossing over to the other side (no pun intended), I almost jumped out of my skin when I came face-to-face with a skull. Perhaps the remains of the last customer?

“Tell me, what is the problem? Why do you think there is a curse?” She spoke with a heavy accent. Maybe French? I wasn’t sure. I knew I should have taken French in high school.

“Go on, tell her. Tell her everything.” Jennifer nudged me. If she elbowed me one more time, I was going to make a hat for her out of my pink lingerie bag. I’d like nothing more than to get out of there. I didn’t even know the name of this so-called priestess. Yet I was supposed to tell her my life story.

“It’s nothing, really. Nothing significant. We should just go. I—I know you’re busy,” I stuttered. The spicy smell in the air made me want to sneeze and I felt a little dizzy.

“It is too something. We didn’t come over here to waste her time. Now spill it.”

I was going to let Jennifer have it when we got home. Her bunny slippers would disappear for at least a month, or even better, meet an untimely demise. I jumped when I saw Jennifer’s elbow coming at my side again.

“All right. All right.” I scowled and pointed at her, warning her to stop. The woman’s brow creased, and I knew she grew impatient with us.

“There is this family curse, blah, blah, blah. I can’t keep a date, blah, blah, blah.”

“What is this curse?” She looked concerned as she studied me. “I need more info than blah, blah, blah’.”

Jennifer smirked. Touché.

“Okay. The curse is I will never find true love. And so far that has held true. I never get past the third date.”

“That is true.” Jennifer nodded.

“Who has placed this curse upon you?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure. A gypsy witch, many, many years ago.” In a galaxy far, far away.

“I see.” She paused. “You don’t give me a lot to go on, but perhaps I can assist.” Without saying another word, she reached around and grabbed a couple of items. I had no idea what she was going to do. I wanted to scream and run for my life.

“I can’t believe you got me into this,” I whispered to Jennifer.

She turned and faced us again. “I suggest this amulet and gris-gris bag at the very least. If there really is a curse, these will help.” She handed me a necklace.

If there really was a curse? Why did everyone question me? My mother stated without a doubt there was a curse and I didn’t have a boyfriend. What more did they want? The evidence didn’t lie, and it was enough proof for me. Maybe Jennifer was right, though. Instead of accepting it, I needed to do something to get rid of it. If doing away with a spell was even possible. Self-doubt had always gotten in the way of that thought in the past, but I could at least take a crack at it. I studied the necklace. It was quite pretty with red, black and opaque beads. A silver pendant with intricate details dangled from the middle. The design was almost like a snowflake. I had no idea of its meaning.

“Can I get rid of the curse?” I asked with some trepidation.

“Yes, it’s possible. If you do as I say. But only if you carry out the tasks as I instruct you.” She cast a steely gaze.

A small lamp in the corner let off a faint glow, but with no windows for natural light, the dimly lit space added to the macabre sensation. “What do I do?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Here.” She handed me a black velvet pouch. “This will help reverse and send back any harmful spells that may have been cast upon you. It’s handmade and very powerful. Take the instructions too. Follow them carefully and don’t lose them.” Her hand lingered on mine for a second.

Jennifer stood still beside me, taking in the scene.

“Here is the powder and oil that goes with the bag. Please let me know if you have any questions, and I will help as much as I can. Wear the amulet. It won’t work if you don’t use it. It’s not unusual to experience a surge of energy.” She paused a moment. “It is possible this negative force is on you because you’ve placed it there out of fear.”

Her comments weren’t suggestions, but orders. The energy I could use, but I didn’t understand her last statement. I tried to grasp everything she said, but it was hard. I had too many thoughts floating around. I felt overwhelmed as I held my anti-jinx supplies. I didn’t know what the hell to do with any of it. What if I didn’t execute the tasks correctly? If I screwed something up, things could get even more problematic. The thought of things getting worse didn’t appeal to me the least bit.

Our surroundings made every word from her seem more mysterious. I was almost afraid even to breathe in her presence for fear of doing it incorrectly. Thank goodness she didn’t make me use the stuff right there in front of her. I would have been screwed. My hands shook, even though I tried to steady them. I was such a scaredy-cat—a lousy werewolf.

“Thanks.” The moment seemed to hang in the air and I was ready to leave.

“Yeah, thanks.” Jennifer moved past me through the beads.

I hugged the items in my arms and rushed out of the cramped space. The priestess followed me out, too close for my comfort. I felt like a mouse chased by a cat. Heaven help me if I turned around to see her licking her chops. Jennifer stepped onto the sidewalk, leaving me alone in the store. With my still wobbly hands, I paid for my goods and tossed the change into my purse.

As I placed my foot on the threshold to walk out, the priestess grabbed my arm and pulled me back. If her touch hadn’t been light and somewhat gentle, I might have screamed.

“I know what you are,” she whispered out of earshot from customers.

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?” I jerked my shoulder back.

“Don’t worry—I’m not going to tell anyone.” She moved back a few steps. The motion was so fast—she might have glided.

“I don’t understand.” A nervous grin curved my mouth. I didn’t know if I should believe her.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re a werewolf.” She spoke softly.

I searched her eyes for an answer as to how she knew. But I realized I didn’t want to know. Some things are better left unspoken.

“Beware of those who lurk in the shadows. Things are not what they seem. You are too trusting.”

“Um… Thank you. I’m going to skedaddle now.” It was all I could say. She had delivered a puzzling message, and to be honest, I wasn’t all that surprised. She was enigmatic, her movements and presence. Although, what I’d expected to find in the voodoo shop hadn’t been there. Yes, the place oozed with a scary vibe, but there wasn’t a fire with zombies dancing around with snakes and so on. God, I hate zombies. But that was a whole other topic.

A man brushed past. He turned his head my way. With dark sunglasses covering his eyes, I couldn’t be sure if his gaze followed me. But a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach told me he monitored every move I made. My mind said don’t stare, but I couldn’t help myself. I inched away from the priestess, wanting to exit immediately.

If I’d felt strange before, I felt downright sick when the man walked in. His suit looked somewhat wrinkled. Despite that, his expression read all business. He marched down several aisles, but didn’t look at any of the merchandise. He kept his head angled in my direction—all the while, I watched him.

The priestess nodded, and without hesitation I stepped out onto the street where Jennifer waited for me. “What took you so long?” I didn’t answer. “See, that totally helped. I bet this curse business will be over in no time.”

“Yeah, maybe.” My mind swirled with thoughts about the strange-looking man and how the priestess knew about me. Her words left me scratching my head. I’m sure she knew there were vampires and werewolves around her, but how did she know I was one of them? And what did the warning mean?

Nonetheless, she had offered advice about my curse problem. And if I believed what Jennifer said about voodoo and religion, then I guess she was a spiritual person in general. So her knowing I was a werewolf wouldn’t be completely out of the question. Her advice, what little I could interpret, made me not as fearful to return to her store, regardless of the perceived creepiness. I’d been in a voodoo shop and survived. But the man who just so happened to step out from the shop behind me mere seconds after I left increased my trepidation all over again. He fell in sync with our pace. Not too close, but enough I knew his moves were calculated. With the entrance to our apartment in sight, I grabbed Jennifer’s arm and hurried her along—increasing our stride.

“What’s the rush?”

If I told her a man was following us, she’d turn around.

“I have a date. Gotta hurry.”

“Wow, you are excited.”

“Yeah, yeah. I am.” I practically pulled her down the sidewalk.

We reached the door. I turned around for a quick glance and he was gone.

Chapter 10

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 10:

Going for a moonlight stroll is strongly discouraged.

After showering, dressing in jeans and a billowing white blouse, then spraying on my favorite perfume, I considered myself ready for an evening of ghouls and guys. All right, one guy, but he was all I needed. And not too many ghouls, I hoped. The amulet and gris-gris bag set on the nightstand. I stared at the necklace, contemplating whether I should really wear it. There was no time to think about it now, though, so I left it beside the bed.

“What are you wearing?” Jennifer inquired from the hallway.

Had I suddenly slipped back in time? Was I living with my mother again?

“Jeans, Ma.”

“Very funny.” Jennifer peeked through the cracked door. She scanned me from the tip of my freshly painted toes to my somewhat frizzy head. Sizing my outfit selection up and down.

“Why is it you seem to think I’m always on the cusp of being a fashion disaster? One of those makeover shows is gonna show up any day now, huh?”

“No, don’t be silly.”

“Have I ever given you reason to feel this way? Have I?”

“No. It’s just…” She fidgeted.

“It’s just what? You’re worried something I wear will screw things up with Jack? Let me tell you I have bigger problems than what to wear. When it doesn’t work out—and it won’t work out—it won’t be because of my outfits.”

“Well, you look cute, so that outfit will be fine.”

All righty. In one ear and out the other with her.

The sun would set soon, and the time to meet Jack quickly approached. The moon would pop up, almost completely full, only two days left until the wolf inside me emerged. Lily too. Would her behavior become even worse?

I made a mental checklist of items needed in my handbag for the evening: new razors, shaving cream, aftershave balm, and Moon-over-Miami lipstick, my favorite shade, purely a coincidence the title held the word moon, of course.

“Have fun. Be ready for some chick-chicka-boom,” Jennifer sang. Her hips swayed, and I prayed I’d never see that little jig again.

“All right, I’m gonna have to ask you to never utter that phrase again. Oh, and never do the dance, either,” I said with the most serious expression I could muster.

Jennifer tossed the pillow from my bed. I ducked and laughed.

“You’d better be wearing some of the new merchandise. None of those granny things,” she warned.

“Yeah. Yeah. Whatever.”

A rap came from the front door. My heart thumped as I opened it. Jack stood with a huge smile on his face. He looked great as usual—wearing jeans and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, exposing his tanned, muscular forearms.

“You look better every time I see you,” Jack said with a wink.

“Thank you.”

Funny, I thought the same about him. Every time I saw him, I had to try to stop myself from picturing him without clothing. My imagination would often drift to scenes of us tangled between sheets. Reminded me of a dog in heat. No pun intended.

“Are you ready for this?” I asked.

Jack guided me to the stairs. “I’m ready. What about you? How do you feel about ghosts and other spooky creatures?”

If he only knew.

His spicy scent played with my mind yet again. I should have grabbed him right then and there and placed a fat, wet kiss on his lips.

“Um. I believe in them. What about you?” If he knew he was dating a spooky creature, what would he do? Probably run for his life. Or would he embrace the existence of another world?

“I’m not sure. I’m a bit of a skeptic,” he said, his voice warm and soothing.

I wanted to melt into his arms. But it was just hormones talking, I reminded myself.

He held the door open, and I walked out onto the sidewalk.

Since the tour started so close to where we lived, walking was ideal. We fell into a nice pace and Jack’s fingers brushed against mine. He then gently clasped my hand. Somewhere in the distance, blues music played and the sound swirled in the air, circling us. The scent of jasmine wafted from nearby courtyards, adding to the southern ambiance. And for one brief moment, it made me forget who I really was and why love couldn’t be mine.

The night was sure to be both mysterious and romantic. The French Quarter holds a definite mystique, and I let that magic take hold of me. Nothing would get in my way of spending a glorious evening with Jack, and I’d think about the future tomorrow. Tonight, I wanted to enjoy Jack’s company. Nothing more. Certainly not the mattress stomp like Jennifer suggested. Or was that mattress romp? Whatever. I would erase all thoughts of making love from my sex-starved brain.

After a couple of minutes of walking, we made our way to the starting point for the tour, located in front of a quaint coffee shop. It was a picturesque place with small tables and wrought-iron chairs to match. No matter how long I lived there, I never tired of seeing the fabulous architecture through the narrow streets of the Big Easy.

“Wow, this building is amazing.” Jack pointed and we peered up at the old building beside us. Its intricate ironwork adorning the windows called our attention.

“We’ll pass a ton on the tour. All just as striking as that one,” I said.

Folks had already gathered, killing time until the start.

The small group consisted of people from all walks of life. An older couple stood nearby. The man held a map and the woman had a camera dangling from her neck.

“Where y’all from?” the man asked.

“Oh, we’re from here,” I said. “What about you?”

“Kentucky. We’re here on a second honeymoon,” the lady said. They glowed like newlyweds.

“How romantic.”

I prayed I’d look as good in thirty years as they did. If my mother’s wild story about sex leading to wrinkles were true, I’d be good to go. The couple snuggled up.

Another couple held hands, while waiting for the tour to begin. They whispered in each other’s ears, which made me a tad bit jealous of their obvious true love. A group of three teenagers, all girls, wide-eyed and ready for the spooky activities, paced along the front of the building. The girls all had the same long brown hair. For all I knew, they were sisters. One nibbled at her nails—the other two smacked gum. Our tour guide, a youngish guy probably in his early twenties, bounded toward us full of energy, and I wondered if I’d be able to keep up with his pace. His rumpled black hair and pale skin added to the mysterious image he apparently wanted to present. Very vampirish.

“Welcome to the Ghost Tour of New Orleans.” He waved his arms in dramatic emphasis. “We’ll be taking a walk back in time this evening. Exploring the history and sinister secrets of New Orleans. We’ll be visiting many sites around the French Quarter.” He’d obviously recited the words a few times before.

Our guide passed out flashlights as he continued the monologue.

Jack winked and squeezed my hand. “Are you scared yet?”

Um. Sure. I’d go along with the game. Maybe I’d get some extra snuggling out of it too. “I am. This is so scary. I hope a ghost doesn’t get us.” I shivered for emphasis.

The sun still gleamed down on us, but before the tour ended it would be dark. I wondered if any supernatural creatures really would make an appearance. I’d heard all the stories before, so I wasn’t completely paying attention to everything. Jack listened, but made comments and chitchatted along the way. The girls giggled. Out of fear, I guessed.

“Don’t be afraid…Vampires…” The guide continued to narrate the scary legends as we neared yet another romantically foreboding building. The girls let out a gasp and giggled more when he lurched at them to add a spook factor to their tour. Jack chuckled, and I took advantage of the situation and moved closer to him. He snuggled me into the crook of his arm a little tighter. Dusk settled around us with lavender streaks lining the sky. Our guide flicked on his flashlight and instructed us to do the same.

We made our way to the cemetery. I lost count of how many blocks we traveled. With Jack beside me, how could I pay attention to my location? Huge iron gates stretched open, welcoming us to the subdivision for the dead. We filed through and waited for our guide to start again. The group nestled so closely they looked as if they could have been from an episode of Scooby Doo.

Aboveground crypts filled the space around us, which to me seemed eerily beautiful. The guide began to recount stories of the deceased, and each one of us hung on to his every word. We weaved in and out of the gravestones, and I scanned the area for any sign of ghosts. We eased our way through, careful to avoid the jagged, torn-up pavement. The guide’s stories I’d heard many times, but never grew tired of them.

“Look around and you can see why New Orleans’s famous cemeteries are called Cities of the Dead. To this day, over ninety percent of New Orleans’s graves are aboveground, some in family crypts. And now we’re at the most famous tomb in the entire city—”

“Oh, I’ve heard of this. It’s Marie Laveau,” one of the teenage girls said.

He didn’t appear bothered by the interruption. “Yes. The Famous Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. Her tomb is located right here and it’s haunted.” He paused for reaction.

Their eyes widened, but no one said a word.

“Rumor has it the queen’s secret voodoo society is alive and active, in spite of her death. As you can see, loyal devotees regularly visit her tomb.”

He pointed at the shrine around her vault. Burnt-out candles sat in front of the crypt along with other voodoo paraphernalia and offerings.

After everyone studied the grave, we moved on again. About midway down the paved path, as I stood between a couple of ornate vaults, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a shadow zip by. I didn’t mention the sighting to Jack. I’d wait for him to witness the ghosts on his own. A few seconds later, it happened again, and I knew I wasn’t imagining things. I’d seen ghosts before so I shrugged it off—no biggie. At least I assumed ghosts were responsible. Bloodsuckers could very well have been to blame. Vampires were known for their practical jokes.

More giggling ahead and the spooky stories continued. The girls would jump out of their skin if they actually saw a ghost. Jack and I moved along the passageway that meandered through the cemetery. We trailed behind the others just a few steps. After a brief pause in front of one of the many vaults, the rest of our group moved forward. I stayed back to tie my shoe. Jack stepped a few feet forward to keep an eye on which way the group headed.

As I knelt with shoestrings in hand, in one blurry moment, a large furry mitt wrapped around my mouth and the creature attached to that paw pulled me back, dragging me behind one of the massive graves. Screaming was not an option—his appendage muffled my efforts at making any sound. Until I could shift into my werewolf-self, the only defense I had was to kick. So I did. With all my strength, I kicked. He had an advantage over me, though, and thrashing got me nowhere.

As I struggled and made my best attempt to transform, the mangy mutt hauled me farther away. Across the graveyard we went, past the lonely homes of the deceased. Tombs stood as reminders of what once was. I was yanked around one of the crumpling stones.

Jack’s voice carried across the warm night air. He called my name, but I couldn’t answer. Which was just freakin’ great, because there was no way I would be able to explain my disappearance—if I survived.

As the beast carried me away from the group, his helper loped beside us in the darkness, nothing more than a shadow in the night. The faces of my assailants weren’t visible in this murky corner of the graveyard, but I felt the fuzz on my attacker’s paw. The back of my legs scraped against the concrete sidewalk. Thank goodness I wore jeans. It still burned, though.

My natural instincts took over, my eyes changed, the transformation took place and fur covered my body. Claws protruded from the tips of my fingers, the points of which were pink. Remnants from the manicure of my human nails. I continued struggling as my abductor pulled me farther away. Kicking and pushing, nothing worked. His hold felt like a vise squeezing as tightly as possible.

Where were they taking me? Would they kill me right in the graveyard? They laughed, mocking me. No doubt, they were proud of their feat. My claws gouged at my attacker’s paws. If only I could reach his head, I’d jab his eyes out.

I finally managed to move the paw from my mouth enough to speak. Luckily, werewolves’ vocal cords weren’t altered with the change since we kept some human features, enabling us to retain our speech. “Your breath smells like you ate a tuna and egg sandwich, then chased it with a tall glass of buttermilk. Ever heard of a toothbrush? Perhaps a doggie dental bone?”

The other one lumbered along beside us, but he slipped on a stray rock, distracting my captor, and I took that opportunity to break free from the stinky fiend. I shoved the beast until he was forced to release his grasp, then I lurched forward, falling. My body hit the ground with a thud, but I quickly righted myself. My claws held a death grip on my purse—no way could I lose it. Soon my transformation would be complete, so I draped the bag around my neck while I still could.

I turned to face my attackers. They shifted to the left. The moonlight filtered through the trees, giving me a full view of their repulsive faces. Both bared their long, razor-sharp, yellowish fangs, tilted their heads back and let out ferocious howls.

Jack’s voice echoed in the distance, urgency in his shouting—I had to hide from him. If he discovered us, he’d think more wild dogs were on the loose. Except for one teeny, tiny problem: one of the dogs would be wearing jeans and a silky white blouse. There had been no time to strip, and my clothes were ruined.

One of the beasts stepped closer, exposing his fangs in a mocking smile. He licked his lips as if to say I’d be tasty even without ketchup.

Jack’s voice neared—I ran out of time. Letting out a growl, I slashed my claws across the front of my attacker’s face before he thought twice about pouncing. He fell back. But how would I fight two? Without a lot of options, I took off in a lope to escape them.

Both rushed behind me, nipping at my feet. I didn’t know how long I could keep up the pace. The whole disgusting scenario should be a lesson to me: fit visits to the gym into my schedule more often. Oh, and don’t bother dating—it never works out.

“Get away from me, you dirty bastards.” I huffed with undisguised anger.

More howls escaped their lips. Then they snickered to one another as they loped along behind me. Apparently, they were having the time of their lives chasing me. I seriously doubted they were telling knock-knock jokes—no, they were definitely laughing at me.

Power surged through me as I made my way to the opposite side of the cemetery. About fifty feet away, a fence outlined the perimeter. If I reached it, I figured I could easily jump over and maybe lose them.

Crypts whizzed by in my peripheral vision. The wind whipped through my hair. The uneven ground along with my clothing made running difficult. My tail was stuck inside my jeans, making them even tighter. Jack’s frantic shouts became fainter as I ran.

I glanced over my shoulder to gauge how much distance I’d put between us. There was some but not enough, because their yellow glowing eyes loomed dangerously close. Picking up my speed, I darted to my left. Skirting around a tree, within seconds I made a huge leap and scaled the iron fence. I made little noise as I landed on the pavement with ease, a nifty trick I doubted they could accomplish.

“We’ll get you.” The voice echoed from some distance behind me.

A decision needed to be made: which way to turn? There was not enough time to mentally debate. Without giving it another thought, I made an immediate left. My abrupt turn and the fence, luckily, delayed the response time for my friendly canine escorts. Much needed seconds that gave me a chance to escape.

After hopping the fence, I knew I could outrun them. Not to mention they looked as if their gym memberships had been stamped invalid years ago. With my heart hammering in my chest, I ran as fast as I could down the uneven sidewalk. It was dark in the vicinity of the cemetery, and I didn’t want to bump into a dogcatcher, or one of the little old ladies who carries around mace and a big club and beats the hell out of any dog who remotely looks as if it might come near her. On the other hand, seeing a dog wearing ripped clothing would probably make them run the other way. Werewolves move so quickly, so far we’ve never been caught. Knock on wood.

The cemetery was on the outer edge of the French Quarter, so smaller crowds and fewer buildings. But at that moment, I needed a building or two—I needed a safe hiding spot. Running was getting the best of me. A couple of groans and thuds sounded behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. The two stumbled to their feet after scaling the fence. I didn’t dare turn around again. It would only slow me down.

Up ahead, I spotted a church, big columns spread across the front. The air was still and not a single soul was in sight. A few more buildings appeared. I stayed close to them, trying to blend with the shadows. I figured I was safe enough, and the aroma from a nearby restaurant would block my scent.

The area surrounding the church loomed shadowy and I was thankful for the darkness. I hid behind one of the large columns. My panting grew louder, amplified by the silence. I prayed the crazy werewolves wouldn’t hear me. Sucking in a mouthful of air, I tried to slow the hammering of my heart against my ribs. They approached, their heavy breathing giving them away. They panted worse than I did. I heard the sound of their paws hitting the pavement as they sprinted past. Wow, they really were kind of dumb, I chuckled to myself. Dumbasses. They didn’t have a clue.

After a couple of minutes, I figured they were gone for good and poked my head out of the shadows. I glanced around, wanting to make sure they weren’t hiding right around the corner waiting to pounce, but the coast appeared to be clear. A couple in the distance entered an apartment building, but no one else was in sight. I inched away from the church columns, attempting to brush the accumulated dust and dirt from my pants. Not that it mattered—I looked like hell. With the pads of my feet striking the concrete at a steady pace, I ran back toward the cemetery. My thoughts raced just as quickly as my heart. What must Jack think? His date had
disappeared into thin air. Chalk it up to another wacky adventure in the recent life of me.

As I drew near the tour group, voices chattered, so I paused to listen and catch my breath. “She’s got to be here somewhere.” Jack’s voice filled with urgency wafted through the night air.

My stomach churned. I had no idea what my excuse for running off would be. With the beasts chasing me, I hadn’t had time to think about it much. My heart rate lowered slightly and my panting became less noticeable, but my stomach churned. I was a nervous wreck. What a sight I must have been. A werewolf with a handbag hanging from its neck, loping down the sidewalk like a half-crazed woman headed to a Black Friday sale. As far as I knew, no one had seen me, thank goodness. I imagine if someone had noticed a huge creature running down the street wearing jeans and a blouse, I probably would be aware of the fact they saw me. They wouldn’t have been able to stop themselves from screaming or something.

My mind whirled with thoughts: I could tell him I’d been kidnapped and escaped—nope that wouldn’t work. Or I could tell him I got lost. Hmm. Maybe that excuse actually would work. Someone could easily get lost in a place like the cemetery. To add to the story, I could paint a picture of the whole scene by saying I fell and became disoriented. That would explain my dirty clothing.

Jack’s voice reached panic mode, breaking me from my musings. “We need to call the police now.”

“Maybe your date just left, man. Chicks are like that. If they don’t like you, they’ll dump you with no warning.” Mr. Theatrical needed to keep his two cents to himself. He seemed bitter. He should’ve made an appointment with Get a Mate.

Poor Jack—I would never do something so nasty to him. Time was running out and I needed to do something—anything. So I made my decision. I picked my story and I was sticking to it. The lucky winner was: I’d tell him I got lost in the cemetery and tumbled over a grave, hitting my head on the way down. Would he buy it? It was worth a shot.

With all the crazy shenanigans that had happened lately, I didn’t know if he’d believe my tale or simply turn around and walk out of my life forever. But I’d have to take my chances and find out. I couldn’t keep him waiting forever. However, one teeny-tiny problem remained: excess hair still covered my body. Some had faded, but not all. Thank goodness for the cover of night, because what I was about to do would get me arrested if anyone saw. Arrested for pure freakiness.

My transformation back from wolf began. I pulled my purse from around my neck and placed it on my lap. Hair from my hands vanished, but from my face, not so much. From the confines of my purse, I whipped out my trusty razor and shaving gel, then went to work. I didn’t have time for all of my hair to fade. I needed assistance. So there I sat, scrunched down on the dirty sidewalk in the French Quarter next to a cemetery, shaving hair off my face. Could things get any worse?

Actually, things probably could, but I prayed I wouldn’t find out. Trying not to cut myself, I glided the blade across my face. As quickly as possible, I finished shaving and stuffed the razor back into my bag. I pulled my compact out and studied my reflection. Dirt smears marked my cheeks. I stuffed the mirror back in my bag. Any further attempts to improve my appearance would be wasted.

Getting up from the pavement, I eased closer to the cemetery. The group hovered by the entrance and debated over my whereabouts. I’d have to tell them where I’d been—whether I wanted to or not.

My heart pounded again and I felt a lump in my throat larger than I’d ever felt before. Maybe I inhaled shaved hair. A hair ball? Nope, just the words I needed to tell Jack stuck in my throat. It was now or never. I trudged toward the entrance, smoothed out my torn, dirty shirt and forged forward, not looking back. If I’d looked back, I’d probably have skedaddled and never returned.

When I approached the cluster of people, all talking ceased. Everyone grew silent and gaped in amazement. Jack’s back faced me, but within mere seconds, he spun around. I had captivated the audience. Too bad I hadn’t intended to.

Jack’s mouth gaped and his eyes fell to my clothes. As I ran my hands through my hair, tangles stopped my fingers—the knots would take forever to comb out from my curls. No doubt I looked like hell. A hole gaped on the front of my shirt and moss from one of the old oak trees adorned my head.

“Oh my God, Rylie. What happened? What happened to your clothes? Where have you been? Are you all right?” The group stopped staring and stepped out onto the sidewalk to give us privacy. I was left alone to face the inquisition.

“I fell. The sidewalks are very uneven.” A pained grin curved my mouth. Could he sense my nervousness?

“You fell?” Jack scrunched up his gorgeous face.

How many lies did that make that I’d told him? I’d lost count.

“This place is so big, I got completely turned around and didn’t know where you were. I stumbled over a gravestone and hurt my leg.” The leg part popped into my head as an afterthought. Too bad I hadn’t thought of it sooner. I could have limped in. I shuffled my foot a little to highlight my injury. He raised one eyebrow and frowned. I don’t think he bought my performance. An actress I was not.

“Where are your shoes? You were lost? It’s not that big in here.” He paused for a quick breath, then continued drilling me with questions. “One minute you were right behind me, the next thing I know, you’ve vanished into thin air. And falling wouldn’t explain the condition of your clothing.”

“It is big here, huge, actually. You’d be surprised how easy it is to become disoriented. And I lost my shoes when I fell.” I batted my lashes to play damsel in distress. If he’d seen me moments earlier with hair and fangs, he wouldn’t think I was so helpless.

He held my arms, then releasing his grip, pulled my face up to look at him. An overwhelming and suffocating feeling washed over me for a brief moment, but I shook it off.

“I was scared for your safety.”

I nodded. “I can see that. I’m sorry about the mix-up.” I looked away. “You’re a very sweet guy, Jack.”

Most men would have assumed I’d ditched them and stopped looking for me—if they’d even look at all.

“Didn’t you hear me calling for you? The whole tour group calling for you? I shouted your name. I think all of New Orleans heard me, for Pete’s sake.”

“Like I said, I fell. It was hard to call out when I was in pain.” Where was the sympathy? Why didn’t he offer any compassion for my injured leg? Apparently an Oscar with my name on it wasn’t in my future.

“Are you in pain? Do you need to go to the hospital?” His frown eased up.

“A little, yes. It hurts right here.” I pointed to my ankle and made a sour-faced grimace. What was one more lie? I already had a mountain of fibs. One more wouldn’t hurt.

“Here, sit down.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me to a nearby bench. “I can’t believe we didn’t run into you during the search. I looked everywhere in this place. Twice.” He held my arm while I sat down.

“Well, you must not have looked everywhere, or you would have found me.” I smiled.

“I guess you’re right.” Jack scratched his head and looked around, as if trying to spot the location where he could have missed me. “Wait. How did you end up outside the cemetery? You just came through the entrance.” His frown returned.

Busted. Heat rushed to my cheeks. My mind raced for an answer. “I thought the tour had finished and looked for you guys out there.” I tilted my head toward the gates. Damn, I was getting good.

“Oh yeah, um, okay.” A dazed look spread over his face. “I wish we’d brought my car now, so you wouldn’t have to walk home. Maybe I should call a cab. You need to rest your ankle.” He pulled out his cellphone.

His way of letting me know our date was officially over. The curse was worse than ever, not even three dates this time. Kapoohy. Stick a pitchfork in me, I’m done. Lily was hell-bent on taking Get a Mate down, and the curse kept me from finding my own mate. Life really was a bitch sometimes.

“No, don’t call for a ride. I’ll be fine. I’ll put some ice on it when I get home. I can walk. No biggie.” I waved it off, brave in spite of my pain. “See, I can even put weight on it.” I eased my foot up and down.

“We’d better get going then, so you can get off it as soon as possible. Here, let me help you up.”

Oh yeah, the date was over. Jack remained a gentleman, even though I felt he continued to be unsure of me and my madness. He led me out onto the sidewalk, thanked the tour guide and we moved down the sidewalk. No doubt, the stares of the group bored a hole in my back as we moved away. Jack didn’t offer to hold my hand. I felt like a monster or a leper or something even worse.

“Rylie, I don’t know what to think. Either you’re incredibly unlucky, or you’re into things I don’t think I want to be a part of—things I can’t even understand.”

Yikes, his words hurt—they literally stung my heart. He was right, though. I couldn’t blame him. I was a freak—a big hairy freak. It not only meant he was taking me home, but I probably wouldn’t be getting a goodnight kiss, either. No more kisses ever.

“I’m not sure what to say, Jack. I realize things look bad. I suppose I’ve had a run of bad luck lately. Everyone has bad days occasionally.” I turned to watch a group of tourists pass by. I kept up with his pace, in spite of my fake ankle injury.

Jack took a deep breath, then released it with a deep sigh. “You’re right. Everyone has bad luck.”

I glanced at him, and he gave a lopsided grin.

“Let’s just hope tonight was the last of yours for a while.”

“I think I’ve met my quota for the year.” I chuckled.

He ran a hand through his hair. “You really do have a great sense of humor about your misfortune. Most people would’ve lost it after just one incident. But not you. You’re resilient, to say the least.”

“I try my best.” I sighed.

We walked in silence for the rest of the short trip home. Words failed me. Sometimes keeping quiet is the best thing you can do, and this was one of those times.

When we neared the building, I caught a glimpse of the moon, and my heart did a little dance. As much as I wasn’t looking forward to the full moon, my body let me know it was. That whole natural instincts thing, I guess. Come the evening of the full moon, it would be me and a big, fat juicy steak boarded up in my bedroom. After so many years dealing with my little problem, I’d learned the best way to get through it was to hide. Take cover from the world. Jennifer didn’t come anywhere near my bedroom on those nights. I had ordered her to stay away. I didn’t want her to see my furry condition. It would only scare her.

Jack escorted me up the steps and through the entrance. I left him to his own thoughts. If he needed to think about what had happened, then it was better to let him do it in his own way.

Once inside the foyer, he placed his hand on the small of my back and helped me onto the first step. I’d forgotten about my supposed injury. I limped a little going up the stairs. But who was I kidding? My act was as see-through as Lily’s favorite blouse. After all, Jack was a psychiatrist. Did I think I was fooling him?

When we reached my door, he paused and gazed into my eyes. His expression held a look of concern, as if he tried to read my thoughts. I wished he wouldn’t. It made me uncomfortable, as if I were being interrogated or analyzed. All he needed was the bright bulbs shining down on me.

“Thank you for going tonight. It was entertaining.”

He really shouldn’t have said that. I knew it was a lousy evening and it was entirely my fault. The worst part was there was no way I could have avoided the outcome. Nothing would stop the crazy werewolves from chasing me. One thing was for certain: I needed to find out who followed me and what they wanted.

“I’m really sorry for everything. For scaring you. The ghosts were supposed to scare you, not me.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just forget about it. All right?” A crease of worry remained between his brows.

I nodded in agreement. “It’s forgotten.”

Jack leaned in and kissed my cheek. It felt as if I stood on an iceberg in the middle of Antarctica, instead of a steamy night in New Orleans.

“Is your ankle all right?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.”

“Well, I’ll see you later then.” Jack tilted his head.

Sure, he’d see me, because he lived next door. I knew I shouldn’t get involved with a neighbor.

“Yeah… I’ll see you.” I trudged inside my apartment like a chicken with an egg broke in it. I never looked back to see if Jack watched me. I already knew the answer.

The only noise in the apartment was the ticking of the mantel clock. Jennifer’s door was closed and the lights were off. At least I wouldn’t have to tell her what a rotten lousy evening it had been.

My feet throbbed, my back ached and my eyes stung. The day seemed endless and the evening even longer. I needed rest. Tomorrow would be a dreadful day at work, especially thinking about how close I’d come to Jack being mine for one brief moment. One short-lived flash and the next he was gone. The curse had ruined it. I needed the hex gone in the worst way.

I took a shower and slipped into my nightgown. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I padded into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of milk. I grabbed a plate and piled it with several gooey chocolate chip cookies. The pain coursing through my body was the type even steak couldn’t fix. The only remedy anywhere near close enough to making things better was chocolate and lots of it. I leaned back into my favorite chair, curled my legs up beside me and peered out into the dark street, all while stuffing my face with sweets.

A fog clogged my brain as I stared out the window for the longest time in a zombie-like state. After cramming my stomach to maximum capacity, I placed the empty plate on the table beside me and glanced up in time to catch a glimpse of movement just beyond the patio area.

The yellow streetlight glow broke an eerie path through the darkness, and the luminosity cast a shadow along the edges of what appeared to be a human figure. A tingly feeling crept up my spine. Someone watched me.

I jumped to my feet, reached for the shade, pulled it down and scurried over to turn off the lamp beside the bed. I raced back to the window and pulled a sliver of shade to the side. The area loomed empty. Apparently, the figure had skedaddled. Maybe my mind played tricks on me. Just the stress fooling around with my head.

After a couple of minutes of not spotting anyone, I tossed the idea and climbed into bed. The little black bag and amulet from the priestess sat on the nightstand. I still didn’t know quite what to do with the stuff, but I positioned the amulet around my neck. I should’ve taken it on my date. Maybe things wouldn’t have turned out so badly if I had. Was I starting to believe in that voodoo stuff? Surely if a curse was real, so was voodoo.

Letting out a deep breath, I snuggled a little deeper under the covers and tried my best to slip off to la-la-land. Thoughts about my whacked-out life raced through my mind, and I worried about my future—a nonexistent future in the love department, and a career down the drain. Would no love be so terrible, though? Too bad I didn’t get along with cats—or they didn’t get along with me, rather—I would have made a great old cat lady. I’d have to find another animal to hoard.

Even if I did manage to break the curse someday—and that was a big maybe—it seemed inevitable I’d end up with another werewolf, and the sooner I realized that the better off I’d be. But none of the werewolves I’d met had been right for me, and trust me, I’d met a bunch of them through my matchmaking business. Yes, I realized the only option I had was to settle. The next halfway decent wolf that came along, I should try him out for myself instead of mating him with some other unsuspecting soul.

Growing up as a werewolf had been no picnic, let me tell you. My mother always had to hide my hairy outbreaks. Thankfully, I attended a private school just for werewolves, Loup-Garou Academy. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes my life could be fun, like the year I won the contest for best Halloween costume. The judges said my getup was the most realistic they’d ever seen. Being a werewolf was a lot of pressure for a little kid, though.

I flipped to the other side of my bed, fluffed my pillow and snuggled down again. I tried counting sheep, but that didn’t work, either. The scene of werewolves attacking me played on a loop through my head. Along with the way Jack reacted to my brief disappearance. I tossed to the other side of the bed, and more thoughts rushed through. Could Lily singlehandedly put me out of business? All because of one bad match-up? Others had had bad dates and not complained, but they weren’t Lily. She was special, and not in a good way.

Finally, the racing thoughts eased from my head. An hour passed with me twisted in my sheets. Sleep had almost taken over when a loud crash ricocheted up into my room from below.

Chapter 11

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 11:

Don’t ask if having sex with a werewolf will make you a werewolf. It won’t.

I listened for the noise to repeat. Silence filled the room except for the faint dripping from the bathroom faucet. Seconds slipped by with no other sounds. I closed my eyes, attempted to forget the distraction and catch my forty winks. But another thud made my lids shoot open.

It could have been movement on the street below, but I didn’t think so. The bang sounded as if it had come from downstairs, smack-dab in the middle of my office. My pulse raced. I lay as motionless as possible, hoping the racket had been a car door slamming and nothing else. Thump. There it was again, and this time I was positive it came from my office.

A niggle of fear inched up my spine. Something had fallen over with a crash—someone was down there messing around, and I had a sneaking feeling I knew who it was.

The moon shone through the sliver in the window shade—it would be full soon. I’d have no choice but transform then. One bout as a werewolf a month was more than enough for me, and I exceeded my quota already. And tonight I decided to make an effort to avoid it, even though Lily tried her best to get me to come to blows with her. I had to conserve my energy.

At least I thought it was Lily. The two idiots chasing me around weren’t Lily, but they didn’t know where I lived. Unless of course they’d followed me home. Why couldn’t other werewolves be like me and never want to change? This whole town was full of werewolves who had nothing better to do with their spare time than sprout hair, bay at the moon and chase people. Heck, sometimes they chased cars too.

Hooligans. Couldn’t they take up hobbies—like golf or tennis? Bowling, maybe? Then, the thought hit me. Maybe it was the same goon looking for Uncle Ernie again. He had ripped my door down looking for him. Possibly he’d returned after all. He said he would. It was time for another chat with Ernie.

Jumping up, I dashed across the floor. The scraping sound of something dragged across the floor underneath my room sent my apprehension on overload. I slipped out the door and hurried down the hallway, trying my best not to wake Jennifer—if the noises downstairs hadn’t roused her already. She’d only get hurt dealing with a situation like this.

The old stairs creaked with almost every step, so I tiptoed. I flipped the wall switch to the overhead light. It didn’t work. What a time for a blown bulb. Creeping my way down to the foyer wasn’t easy—the area remained cloaked in darkness, but the banister helped guide my way.

My heart thumped loudly. I had no idea what would be waiting for me on the other side of the door. My body stiffened and I forced myself down the stairs. The main door leading to the sidewalk was ajar. My heart pounded. Who or what waited for me in the darkness?

When I reached the office door, it was open. I gasped. I couldn’t help myself. The room was still and dark. A light shone faintly from a building across the way. Half-broken blinds on the partly open back window flapped in the wind. I assumed the intruder had entered that way—I knew I’d left it shut—then exited through the door.

I scanned the darkened room, praying the boogieman wasn’t in there. Then I eased in, hoping not to bump into anyone, and flipped the switch, allowing overhead light to flood the room. It was a mess—papers strewn about the floor, more figurines broken. Chairs flipped over and cabinets turned on their sides made tears form in the corners of my eyes. A draft rustled papers on the top of my desk. I knelt to retrieve one of my collectibles, but holding the pieces made me want to cry even more. Someone had taken a nocturnal romp through my office. The lunacy was getting old, quickly. Between the notes, the stalking and the destruction, I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle.

My hands trembled. I teetered on the verge of full-fledged sobbing. Someone had invaded my space, and that really pissed me off. I stood, then backed up next to the wall. Whoever did this might still be close by, so I switched the light off again. I’d be an easy target in the bright light.

In a corner, a small lamp had been knocked onto the floor. If it still worked, I’d use that instead. I eased over, weaving through the mess, recovered it from the floor and plugged it into the wall. The lamp let off a soft glow, just enough for me to see and clean up the mess. First, I’d close the window, then gather the papers scattered about.

Jack cleared his throat. Damn. He’d found me down on all fours, my nightgown riding up my thighs. Better than finding me as a four-legged beast, though. I hoped he didn’t ask about my on-again off-again ankle injury. I should have dressed, but I hadn’t been thinking straight when I heard the noise. All my attention had been focused on finding out who was in my office.

Somewhere deep inside, when I saw the mess, I thought I could clean it up before Jack or anyone else saw it. Because there was no way to explain this one away. Our date in the graveyard, combined with everything else he’d seen, and I knew he’d had enough of me. The curse had worked its magic and managed to chase the best one away, just like I told Jennifer it would.

“Sorry to interrupt. Are you okay? What the hell happened?” He stood in the doorway and ran a hand through his hair. He stared around the room at the mess before fixing his gaze on me again. I jumped up and tried to pull my nightgown down, but there just wasn’t enough fabric. I turned to face him.

Jack had a sexy glint in his eyes. He drank in the full length of my legs, and I couldn’t deny that I wanted him any longer. To hell with the curse and to hell with whatever he thought of me. So what if I was a werewolf? So what if he was human and he’d seen me in more mishaps than an all-day marathon of I Love Lucy reruns? I wanted to feel his chiseled abs under my tongue and his hands gliding over every inch of me.

“I’m fine. I was just cleaning up. It’s kind of a mess in here as you can see.”

“Yes, you could say the place needs tidying up. I’m afraid to ask what’s going on. Please tell me you’re doing a very late spring cleaning.” His tone was tinged with something between bewilderment and concern.

His eyes made me melt every time I looked at them. Even when I should have been embarrassed and crawled under my desk to hide, I couldn’t peel my gaze from his.

“Not exactly a spring cleaning, sorry. I heard a noise and came down to investigate. That’s when I found the mess.”

“I’m taking a wild guess, but it looks as if someone broke in,” he said as he looked around again.

Torture would have been less painful than telling him about the latest addition to my messed-up life.

“Whoever was here must have just taken off because the window was open and I didn’t leave it that way.” I pointed to the gaping window. I swallowed hard against the tightness in my throat. In that instant, I felt a terrible sense of dread. I wanted him, but surely he wouldn’t want me.

He rushed over to peer outside and scanned the darkness. After a couple of seconds, he made a dash for the front door and vanished into the night. Dressed as I was, I decided to stay put. If I heard him scream, or the sounds of a scuffle, I’d try to help, but in the meantime I wasn’t setting foot out there. I listened closely for signs of distress. Jack looked more than capable of taking care of himself, although he might be no match for a rogue werewolf.

The only sounds came from traffic and a few people talking in the distance. People were always outside no matter what time of night, but they usually remained at the front of the building on the sidewalk. Not in the back alley. I stood by the window and watched as Jack surveyed the area. After a few minutes, Jack returned, thankfully unharmed.

“There’s no one around. I didn’t see a sign of anyone or anything out there. I’m sure he or she ran off after they destroyed the place. Did they take anything?” He blew out a breath.

“Not that I can tell. But it’s hard to judge right now with things in such disarray.”

“Rylie, you want to tell me what is going on? I mean, really going on? It looks as if they were looking for something. Whoever they are. This is more than just bad luck. Breaking a mirror is misfortune, this is much more. Why would someone want to destroy your office? Do you have any idea?”

“I told you, nothing is going on. There’s nothing more I can say. I don’t have any answers.” I wanted to cry, run or something. Escape. Anything but tell Jack the truth. Although, other than being a werewolf, I wasn’t sure what the truth was. Lily had to be involved to some capacity, but had she hired thugs to chase me down and do God only knows what with me? That didn’t seem like her character, but it was the only explanation. Unless the thug looking for Uncle Ernie had returned. But he wanted Ernie. Why would he do this to my office? My temper flared at the thought.

“You need to call the police. Something should be done.”

I didn’t want the law involved, but it looked as if I had no choice this time. The expression on Jack’s face spoke volumes. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. And in my heart, I knew he was right. However, I couldn’t tell the human police the whole truth. As in: the fact that possibly a lupine was responsible for the mess.

“I guess you’re right. I’ll call,” I said softly.

Before I had barely agreed, he reached over and grabbed the phone from the floor, checked to see if it had a dial tone and punched in 911.

“I know I’m right, look around you. Now call.” He shoved the phone into my hand and I pressed the Call button.

After explaining to the operator what the problem was and where we were located, I hung up and avoided eye contact with Jack. We would probably have a lot of time to kill, and with him staring at me, waiting for an answer or an explanation that I didn’t want to provide, it wouldn’t be a comfortable situation.

“So you have no idea who would do this? Or why they would do something so destructive? Does someone hate you?”

My face remained turned away from Jack. I paused before answering and then said, “I think it’s the client you saw with the sign. The one picketing me on the first day we met. I’d say she hates me.”

How embarrassing. Thanks a bunch, Lily. I just had to admit I was a failure at my job.

“Oh yes, her. She seems relatively upset with you, doesn’t she? That makes sense.”

I nodded. What more could I add? He’d summed the scenario up nicely.

“I’ve never seen a customer so unhappy before. You’re definitely on her least-favorite-person list.”

Yeah, well, he’d probably never run into a werewolf with an attitude like Lily’s. If he had, he’d understand.

“I guess a disgruntled patron makes sense. What could you have possibly done to make her that upset? Did you fix her up with a dud? Or a serial killer? Someone who was married?” Jack moved closer to me, bringing his sexiness with him. Damn.

“No, he wasn’t married. I guess dud would be an appropriate term to describe him. The guy I set her up with didn’t pan out. She claimed to love him but the feeling isn’t mutual. So of course she blames me. I can’t make him have feelings for her.”

“That is a problem. You’re right, if he doesn’t like her, that’s not your fault.”

“I guess I underestimated her agitation with me.”

“I guess you did,” he concurred.

“Jennifer said I should talk with her. Maybe I do need to talk to her, convince her that what she’s doing is completely loco.” I laughed, but Jack’s mood was too serious to join me in my amusement.

“Does this sort of thing happen often? People being unhappy? I mean, do you have a lot of unhappy clients? That’s not very good for business, huh?”

He’d asked a legitimate question, I suppose, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

“No, actually, it doesn’t happen often. This was the first time.” And the last, I hoped. “I agree, though, she could be bad for business.” That was an understatement.

Jack stepped toward me again. I couldn’t avoid his eye contact any longer. “I worry about you, Rylie. You need some sort of security or bodyguard.”

Perhaps he’d like to volunteer?

“It’s not safe for you to let this continue. Don’t you worry about getting hurt? I’m not sensing that you feel as if you’re in real danger. But this is a genuine threat, Rylie. You could be injured or, even worse, killed.”

“I know—”

“I don’t think you do. Please, don’t be so blasé about what’s happened.” His brows pinched together.

Once again Jack moved closer and stopped mere inches from me. He was so close that in some cultures we’d be considered legally married. His expression was worried, as if he was mulling over his next move, and it would be the most important one he’d ever make.

I continued talking, trying not to let his proximity distract me. God, he smelled good, though. “I promise to be more careful. I’m watchful of my surroundings, honest. I told you the other night: my customers would probably end up seeing you when all is said and done. Maybe I’m not such a good matchmaker after all.”

Nervousness always made me too chatty.

He chuckled. “Don’t say such a thing. It’s only one customer. I wouldn’t throw in the towel just yet.” His drawl was more pronounced and sexier than ever. Thankfully, his mood had lightened.

“I guess you’re right. But if it happens again I may close up shop. Actually, I may be forced to close. I’ll try a less dramatic venture next time—like dog training.”

“Hmm. Dogs bite, you know.” Did I ever.

Jack’s eyes were fixed on my legs, making me even more self-conscious in my short nightgown.

“I’m sorry about my appearance. I didn’t think to dress when the racket started. All I wanted to do was catch someone in the act.”

“Don’t apologize, please.” His gaze locked with mine. “You can wear that around me anytime you want. You look amazing as usual, by the way. You look amazing in everything.”

“I need to change into real clothing before the police come. I don’t think they’ll be pleased with my attire.”

“Are you sure you need to?” he asked in a low, husky voice—almost a whisper.

His words made me tingle all over.

“No, er, I don’t know.” I couldn’t think straight. I moved my hips, trying to entice him. Sure things in my life were in disarray, but I was only human, er, werewolf. I had needs and desires like everyone else. And Jack defined my needs and desires.

With the way he stared at me, I didn’t think I could suppress those needs any longer. He leaned in close. My personal space had been invaded long ago, and I didn’t mind one bit. Heat emanated from his body. My pulse increased. Jack pulled me against his chest, wrapping his tanned, toned arms around me, his warmth enveloping me. Pressed against him, I felt his excitement.

“Rylie,” he whispered, “in spite of everything, I can’t seem to stay away from you. My head tells me not to get involved, but something keeps pulling me to you and I can’t help myself. Even after the crazy stunt in the graveyard.” His lips brushed against my ear. Not being able to help himself was good in this instance, but earlier had been no stunt.

All I could do was moan in response. Thank God it wasn’t a howl. He gazed into my eyes and lowered his lips to mine. My pulse quickened with every touch of his tongue. As his mouth moved to my neck, I inhaled his electrifying scent. My legs went limp like cooked pasta, and I leaned into him for support. I’d imagined a scene such as this ever since I laid eyes on him.

Jack planted tiny flutters of kisses on my neck while his fingers grazed the side of my leg. Suddenly I felt his hands move up my body, lift the silky fabric of my gown and come to rest on my hips. The feel of his skin against mine set me on fire. I was glad I wasn’t dreaming. His lips found mine again and his tongue traced my lips. I loved the feel of his skin and the touch of his hands. A warm feeling shimmied in the bottom of my stomach. As much as I hated to, however, I knew I had to make him stop. The police would be here soon, plus I didn’t know how involved I should really become with the sexy Jack Chandler.

“I need to—”

Jack stopped me with a kiss. Pressing my hands against his chest, I managed to break free from his mouth. “I—I need to dress before the police arrive,” I stammered.

Jack groaned. “I’m sure they won’t care what you’re wearing. They’ve seen it all before.

I think what you’ve got on is perfect. You look beautiful.”

“All right, then, I feel uncomfortable. And you’re naughty,” I said. He gently held on to my arm until I moved farther away and he was forced to let go.

“I’ll be right back.” The police might not care, but I sure did. What kind of illegal activities would they think I was involved in with a wrecked office and dressed like this?

“If you have to…” His eyes glistened with lust. “I’ll eagerly await your return and make sure whoever broke in doesn’t come back. However, I’ll watch you go back upstairs. Purely for safety reasons, of course.” He moved to the hallway.

“Of course, safety first,” I said. “If they arrive before I return, let them know I’ll be right back.”

Jack might have thought I was into weird crap, but he couldn’t resist my body. He thought I was sexy. I liked the sound of that. In spite of my situation, I felt a little giddy at the thought. Crazy, I know.

I dashed up the stairs, aware of Jack’s eyes firmly planted on my legs and backside. Slipping into the apartment, I tiptoed toward my room, careful not to wake Jennifer. The fact she was still sleeping amazed me, but I’d let her rest. The hallway remained dark, and as I made my way through, I tried to keep from bumping into the wall.

Thud.

No such luck.

“Ouch. Damn,” I cried under my breath as my foot made contact with the wall.

After hopping up and down for a minute to ease the pain in my big toe, I jumped into jeans and a t-shirt, slipped on sneakers and headed back toward the door. As I hurried past Jennifer’s bedroom door, I noticed it was slightly ajar. It hadn’t been that way when I left. I poked my head into her room and saw she was asleep. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t roused when the crash sounded. All the noise down there had been enough to wake the dead. Snuggled in the blankets, she really could snooze. Maybe I just hadn’t noticed the door open when I went out. I’d rushed past in a tizzy.

Easing Jennifer’s door shut, I slipped back down the stairs to my office. When I reached the doorway, I stopped just short of entering, uncertain of what I saw.

Chapter 12

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 12:

Don’t remind your date what big teeth they have.

Jack hovered over my desk, staring down at the few stray files that remained on the top—most had ended up scattered haphazardly on the floor. Watching him made me uneasy. What if he saw the word werewolf somewhere? My heart rate spiked. I remained quiet. Jack hadn’t heard me enter the room. Was he looking for something in particular? I made a noise with my foot and moved forward, pretending I’d just arrived. By the look of guilt on his face, he knew I’d seen him, I guessed.

“I was just tidying up a few things around the desk. I was bored…” His voice trailed off.

My eyes searched his. “All right.” I was a little suspicious, but I shook the feeling off.

“It’s none of my business, but I have to ask. Why do all of these people have ‘wants werewolf’ beside their name?”

I had to think quickly.

“Um, that’s code. Yes, that’s my code. It means they want someone very hairy.”

“Hairy?” His expression was nothing short of shocked.

“Yes, hairy.” I went for a nonchalant look.

“I can’t believe that many people want someone hairy,” he said.

“You’d be surprised. People have strange fetishes.”

“Right. Okay. Well, what about vampire?”

“Oh, that means someone who’s clingy. You know, they just suck the life right out of you.” Where did I come up with this stuff?

“There are actually people who want that?”

“Like I said, there are some weird people in this world.”

“You have a strange way of organizing your clients.” He scratched his head.

“It works.” Big fat liar. I was going to hell. Why couldn’t I just tell him the truth? I told Jennifer. Of course I’d been young and stupid when I told her, but it had worked out. Just then I heard the door of the foyer open and turned to see the uniformed men enter.

“Someone phoned the police?” The short, pudgy man surveyed the room.

“Yes, officer, I called the police.”

Acknowledging their presence made me edgy. I hadn’t wanted to invite them.

“I’m Officer McDonnell and this is Officer Doody.” He pointed at the other man in uniform standing in the doorway.

Did he say Doody? I tried to keep a straight face as I nodded and said, “Hello, I’m Rylie Cruz and this is Jack Chandler.”

Jack shook their hands. They didn’t offer to shake mine, which was fine by me. They took their businesslike persona to the next level.

“Whoa. You got a real mess on your hands. Did you have a lovers’ spat?” Officer Doody pulled a pad of paper from his pocket. He took in my appearance with his beady, chocolate-colored eyes. Something was odd about his face, and at first I couldn’t put my finger on what seemed off about his appearance. Then I realized he had nearly nonexistent eyebrows, which kind of creeped me out. From the looks of both men, we could be in for a long night. They seemed to move in slow motion. Maybe if I offered to pay for doughnuts they’d hurry it along.

“No, it’s not a lovers’ spat. This is my office. Someone broke in and destroyed everything. I think they came in through the window.” I waved my hand to point out the destruction.

“Uh-huh. Did you leave the window open?” Officer McDonnell scoffed. His dark hair appeared wet from what I assumed to be sweat. Taking in his appearance, I wondered if his shirt buttons might zing across the room at any moment. They strained under the pressure of his bulging belly.

“No. Of course not. I distinctly remember closing it.”

“Did you lock the window?”

“I don’t remember. It was shut, but I don’t know about locked.”

“Uh-huh.” He scribbled something down. “Is anything missing?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Of course I haven’t looked closely. That will take some time.”

“Did you touch anything?”

“Yes.” Jack had a guilty face and I suspected he wished he hadn’t touched my desk. Either that or he wished he hadn’t gotten caught touching possible evidence. “I moved some papers.”

“And I moved the lamp and the figurines. Oh, and I touched the light switch over there on the wall too.” Maybe my confession made Jack less troubled by his snooping, although that hadn’t been my intention. Let him sweat it out for poking around.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Officer Doody wiped the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief he’d pulled from his pocket. It wasn’t even that hot, but both men were perspiring as if the room was a sauna.

“Sorry, I didn’t know. I’m not familiar with break-in etiquette,” I said.

“What made you come down here in the middle of the night to discover this?” He ran his eyes along my body, stopping at my chest.

“I was in bed and heard something crash down here.” I folded my arms across my chest to block his view.

“When do you think this happened? About what time?”

“About an hour ago, I guess.”

“Did you hear anything?” Doody gestured to Jack.

Jack shook his head. “No.”

“With all of this mess, I would think you’d have heard more than one crash. This would make a lot of noise.”

“I don’t know. I heard a couple of crashes, I guess. Plus, the walls are thick,” I said through gritted teeth. I felt as if I was the criminal.

“And you didn’t hear anything? Sorry, what was your name again?”

“Jack Chandler. I was in the shower and didn’t hear anything.”

“So I assume Ms. Cruz came to you for help?”

“No, sir. I did hear her down here after my shower and came to investigate.”

Officer Doody frowned and then said, “We’ll dust for fingerprints, but it’ll be moot now with a contaminated crime scene. We’ll look for prints along the points of entry, though.” He seemed overly dramatic in my opinion. “Can you have a seat and tell me who you think did this?”

Why did he assume I knew who did it? Wasn’t that his job to find out? People break into places all the time. It could just be a random act. The pudgy one commenced gathering evidence. It looked as if he was doing a half-assed job of collecting it from my perspective.

I parked my rear in the leather chair while Doody hovered over me, drilling me for information I wasn’t willing to provide.

“You have no idea who did this or why?” By the arched eyebrows, I assumed he didn’t believe me.

Jack approached and instantly took away my option of lying about Lily. Silence loomed.

“There might be one client who isn’t all that pleased with me at the moment.”

My shoes suddenly became extremely fascinating. Staring at them was better than looking at Officer Howdy-Doody—or Jack.

“All right. Can you write down everything that’s going on for me? Give me as many details as you can. I want names and addresses. Don’t leave out anything.”

“Yes, sir.” I saluted half-heartedly behind his back. Maybe I’d give them the wrong number for Lily. I didn’t want her to go to jail or anything.

When she discovered I called the cops, she’d probably make things even worse for me. I still wasn’t convinced she meant me any real bodily harm, although I was going to make her pay for any damages. And replace my figurines.

After Doody questioned me like a common criminal, he turned and swaggered away. I watched as he moved into the hallway outside and spoke to Jack. I couldn’t hear what they said.

Officer McDonnell wrapped up his little CSI project and said, “Call if you need us.” He paused, looked me up and down, then pivoted and marched out. Not sure what that was all about. Leave it to me to get the worst policemen on the force.

“Thanks,” I mumbled dryly. The uniforms skedaddled and I was left with cleaning up the mess. The bastards had destroyed my damn figurines. Breathe in. Breathe out. I’d been collecting the knickknacks since I was sixteen, and now most of them were smashed into tiny pieces scattered about the floor. The only thing getting me through the moment was the fact Jack was still there and had given me the best kiss of my life moments earlier. Just when I didn’t think he could make me feel even better, he did. I still felt flushed from it.

“Let me help you clean up. It’s too much to handle by yourself.” Jack stood in the doorway, his beautiful blue eyes shimmering in the dim light. He’d finished discussing my little snafu with the police. I wondered what he’d told them. Of course I didn’t offer a lot of details about Lily in my verbal statement. And, needless to say, I couldn’t tell them about the werewolves. If they found the person responsible, I’d be happy, but I’d lay odds they wouldn’t uncover the culprit.

“You don’t have to do that. You have to work tomorrow and need to get some sleep. I’ll be fine, really. It’s not as bad as it looks,” I said as I flipped over a small table.

“I’m not sure how much sleep I’ll get after all the commotion. Also I need to listen and make sure no one comes back.”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t let you do that. Besides, I doubt they’ll return to the scene of the crime tonight.” I never intended to drag Jack into the craziness I call life. Now he felt as if he needed to be my watchdog. “I’ve already decided I’ll have a security system installed tomorrow.”

“It’s an excellent idea. I’m glad you said that. As a matter-of-fact, I was going to suggest it. In your apartment too?”

“Yes, in the apartment too,” I reassured him.

He moved closer, kissed me lightly on the lips, lingered for a moment and said, “Let’s clean this mess up then. What do you want me to do?”

“Well, I keep a broom and dustpan in that closet over there.” I wiggled my eyebrows, hoping he’d take the hint that I wanted him to sweep. I hate sweeping with a passion.

Jack sauntered over to grab the broom—he looked so delish in his jeans I practically drooled—and I felt relieved. Not just because I hate sweeping, but also because I didn’t want him perusing the files as he picked them up. Jack began rescuing pieces of my figurines while I stuffed all the documents securely away in the filing cabinet away from prying eyes. He watched a few seconds as I hurried the files away.

“Tell me about these porcelain figures.” He picked up the head of an elephant.

“They’re not worth anything. Sentimental value to me, really. I started collecting them when I was sixteen. It started with that frog over there, and it’s grown over the years with friends and family members giving them to me.”

“Maybe we can repair them. I think they’re salvageable.” He held another one in his hands. Its arms were broken off—it was one of my favorites, a monkey.

“I’m not so sure that’s possible.” I shrugged. “I’m terrible with glue. I always end up with my fingers stuck together.”

He chuckled. “How about you let me take a stab at repairing them? I’ll test my skills and see if I’m any better. Let me grab a box from my office to collect them in. I’ll be right back.” Jack disappeared around the corner and I surveyed the room. Most of the mess was gone. The only thing left were the window shades that were torn and lying in a crumpled mess on the floor. I’d have to buy new ones tomorrow.

“Got it. I’m just going to put all of the figurines in here and see what I can do to mend them. They’ll be safe with me, don’t worry.” He gently placed the pieces in the box.

“Do you have tiny little bandages for them?”

“I can make some.” He smiled comfortingly.

My head swirled thinking about the comments Jack had made earlier. He couldn’t resist me. In spite of thinking my life was crazy after our ghost tour, he couldn’t fight his feelings for me. I really didn’t know what to think. I thought he’d never speak to me again, and the next thing I knew he kissed me. Although, now that he’d seen the files, he might have changed his mind yet again.

“Thank you for everything.” Suddenly my voice sounded shy.

“You’re welcome. Now go get some rest. And promise me you’ll never come down here alone if you hear something again. I’m right next door, remember? Come and get me first.” Would he offer help if he knew my werewolf status?

Jack kissed me ever so lightly on the lips and then guided me back up the stairs to my apartment door. I couldn’t help but feel his kiss had cooled after reading my papers. But then again, he didn’t run away as if I were nuts, he’d stayed around to help clean up and offered to repair my figurines. So maybe I jumped to conclusions.

“You could have been killed,” he warned.

“I’ll never do it again, I promise.” I said it, but I wasn’t sure it was a promise I could keep.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I offered a wave and closed the door. I could smell his scent in his wake.

As I made my way across the hallway, this time making sure to feel for walls, Jennifer popped her head from the door of her bedroom. “What’s going on?” she asked sleepily.

“Someone broke into my office. Messed everything up. They even broke my figurines.”

“You’re kidding. Lily?”

“I guess.” I shrugged. “Everything is just so strange lately. Between the people looking for Ernie, Lily and the strange wolves attacking me, I don’t know what to think anymore.” I didn’t tell her about the latest attack. It was too late to describe the abhorrent details. I felt on the cusp of a nervous breakdown.

“So what happened with the office? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Everything happened so quickly I didn’t have a chance. I heard noises coming from downstairs, so I jumped from bed and ran down there. Jack heard it and helped me. He called the police.”

Jennifer’s mouth formed a fanatical smile. “That explains why you didn’t wake me.”

“That’s not the reason, and stop smiling at me like that.” I gave her a lopsided grin.

“Whatever you say. Tell me. What did Jack think about it? He must have been surprised.”

“Not much, really. Surprisingly he didn’t offer medication, or hospitalization. Considering the other things going on around me, I’m shocked he didn’t. He saw papers on my desk with the words werewolf and vampire.”

“What? And he didn’t say anything about it?”

“I made up a silly story about the words being my code.”

Jennifer swayed slightly as if she might faint. “That’s not good.”

“Easy, girl, everything is fine. If it’ll make you feel better, he did mention he can’t resist me.” Adding the last part nonchalantly was a lot of fun. I’d have her salivating for details in no time.

“What? Oh my God. Well, that’s wonderful. So he believed the crazy story? I knew he was really into you. I could tell by the way he looks at you. What happened? Tell me every single detail.” She yanked me over for a hug. Her hair smelled like strawberries.

“Breathe, Jennifer. Breathe.”

She waved a hand, telling me to get on with it.

“He kissed me. And his hands went places… His butt is fabuloso, by the way. He told me he couldn’t resist me… Oh wait. I already mentioned that part, didn’t I?”

Jennifer practically swooned.

“Anyway, enough about that right now. I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.”

“And Jack isn’t joining you?” she singsonged.

“Not yet. I’m not rushing anything.” Like the curse.

“So what did the police say? Do they know about Lily and the werewolves?”

“Nada. Nothing. They asked me if I had enemies. I mentioned Lily. They half-ass dusted for fingerprints. Said they’d be in touch. Blah, blah, blah. Since nothing seemed to be missing, I doubt I’ll ever hear from them again. Tomorrow I’m having a security alarm installed in the office and in here too. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh no. Does that mean I’ll have to remember a code or something?”

“Yes, or something.”

“I’m not good with codes.”

“So I’ve heard. But it’s for our safety.” I stretched and let out a yawn. “I’m really tired. I’ve gotta get some sleep.”

“Goodnight.” Jennifer paused at her door. “Rylie, do you think were safe here?”

The knowledge of what I put her through made me ill. I turned to study her and offered reassurance. “Yeah, Lily is just messing around, that’s all. It’ll blow over soon enough.”

Jennifer arched her brow hesitantly. “All right. I’ll take your word for it. I hope you’re right.”

“Goodnight.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Jennifer sang.

I closed the door, slipped off my clothes and jumped into bed. Snuggling down under the sheets, I stared at the ceiling. In the distance I picked up a wolf howl. I wondered if anyone ever questioned how he or she could hear a wolf baying in the middle of the city. Then again, they probably thought it was one of the many revelers on the streets. The talk of werewolves had always just been gossip fodder around these parts. What with the tourists and all.

***

I woke up the next morning to the sound of Jennifer stirring in the kitchen. My stomach rumbled and the leftover steak in the fridge flashed through my mind. Yum. Steak and eggs for breakfast. If today was anything like yesterday, I would need the energy a juicy piece of steak could provide.

As I slipped into the kitchen, I caught a whiff of freshly brewed coffee. I hoped the aroma would wake my senses. Jennifer spotted me and immediately folded her arms in front of her chest and said, “I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh no.” I couldn’t handle hearing her wild ideas this early. Her wacky ramblings were too complicated to start the day with. What could it be this time?

Chapter 13

How to Date a Werewolf Rule #13:

Don’t suggest eating meat off the bone.

Jennifer munched on a bowl of cereal, slurping the last bit of milk from her spoon. When the utensil had been licked clean, she tipped the bowl to her mouth and gulped down the remainder of the milk. She looked like a stray cat that hadn’t eaten in days.

“Hungry much?” Mouth full, she didn’t answer, so I continued, “I would ask what you’ve been thinking about, but I’m sure you’ll tell me regardless if I ask or not. So…”

Placing the bowl on the table and wiping the drops of creamy liquid from her mouth, she said, “You really need to do some research into this whole curse thing.”

She used air quotes for the word curse. She knew how to push my buttons lately.

“I have tons of questions like: where did this magic spell come from? Who performed it? And can it really be reversed?” Her eyes fixed on mine, hopeful and waiting.

I pulled a pan from the rack above the stove. “Jen, I’ve told you everything I know.”

“That’s my point. You don’t know anything. Some crazed woman who claimed to be a gypsy witch cursed your ancestors. What the hell? That’s it? All you have to go on is some wild story. You have to admit it sounds a little bit crazy. Can’t your mother tell us more? Somewhere in the back of her mind there might be snippets of info she forgot.”

“I don’t think she likes to talk about it.” I poured my egg substitute into the hot skillet.

No real eggs for me, I needed to watch my she-wolf figure. Plus I wanted to be heart-healthy. For an added treat I put in fat-free cheddar cheese and then smothered them with ketchup.

“Don’t give her a choice. Force her to talk about it.” She pounded her fist for emphasis.

Such a drama queen. I admired her tenacity, though.

“Hello? Have you met my mother? You do remember her, right? She’s not like other mothers.” I snorted.

“I know she is somewhat strong-willed…”

I shot her a glance.

“All right, a lot strong-willed, but she’ll give in to you. She can’t say no to you. You’re her baby.” She stood and then marched over next to me.

“Wanna bet? I may be her baby, but if she doesn’t want to talk, nothing will make her.” I added the steak to the other pan on top of the stove, and my mouth watered just looking at its juicy goodness.

“I still think you should ask her,” she mumbled.

“Growing up, I believed my mother knew everything. She was smart, and if she said she didn’t have more particulars on the matter, then I knew she spoke the truth.”

“At least give it a shot. Any new details we discover we can research. I love research.” She placed her dishes in the dishwasher.

At least she hadn’t left them in the sink as she usually did.

“You’re such a geek.”

“Yeah, but a geek you love.” She grinned.

“Yeah, yeah.” I shooed her off with a dismissive hand. “What research do you think you can do? Are you going to hit the library and look up curses by crazy gypsies?”

“Well, no. But we can start with what country it happened in and look from there. You’d be amazed what you can uncover on the internet.”

“I can only imagine what you can uncover. I don’t even want to know.” I rolled my eyes. “I doubt I’ll find the answers to all my problems on the internet. And I can’t afford a trip to Spain for more research, so don’t even ask.”

“You’re sure you don’t want a trip to Spain? It would be fun.”

“Are you paying?” I asked.

She stuck out her tongue. “Whatever. I think it’s a good idea. So…tell me what happened on your date. I never got a chance to ask. Did any ghoulies come for you?” She wiggled her fingers and made a spooky sound. “Did a vampire try to suck your blood?” Jennifer held her index fingers to her mouth, making fangs.

Yikes. Did she know? I swear it’s like she’s psychic sometimes. Did she know the werewolves ran after me like dogs chasing a car? I was thankful she’d changed the subject away from the curse, but I’d hoped for a different topic. There was no way I wanted to get into the details of the werewolf chase with her. I wanted to talk about it, but not at that moment. I’d let it go for now and wait until later. Jennifer would be ticked at me, but that was a price I was willing to pay.

“Nope. It was uneventful. If you’ve been to one of those tours, you’ve been to all of them,” I lied.

“Are you sure nothing happened?” A strange look flicked in her eyes.

“Nope. Nada.”

“I swear, Rylie. Ever since you started dating Jack you’ve become so secretive. It’s as if you don’t want to tell me anything. I have to pry details out of you. What gives?” She frowned.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing like that—I’m not being secretive. You’re so paranoid. Nothing interesting happened, I promise. We took a boring tour and then came home. He kissed me good night and we went our separate ways. And then of course the break-in when he kissed me.” I figured if I threw in the reminder of his kisses after the break-in that would satisfy her thirst for juicy information.

“When things stress you out, you have a tendency to shut people out. Admit it.”

“I suppose I’ve been known to put up a wall or two to keep people out. But that’s not the case this time.”

She tossed an apple into her bag and let out a huge breath. “Whatever…doesn’t tell me then. I still say you’re being secretive.” She stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

“I’m sorry,” I pleaded. And I was. Wow, what was her problem? Jennifer was like a sister to me, and I hated for our friendship to be strained.

The vase on the table beside the door rattled, almost falling over. Jennifer was theatrical, I had to admit. She should have been an actress. Her debut performance would have resulted in an Oscar, no problem. I decided to ignore her hissy fit and put it out of my mind. I had enough problems, and I didn’t want to add to them. Even though I didn’t want her mad at me.

As I scarfed down my breakfast, I did give some thought to what Jennifer had said. Besides me being guarded, maybe she did have a point about finding more information about the curse.

Maybe at the monthly pack meeting on Friday my mother would remember something more that had long been forgotten and, in turn, would produce a clue about the curse or the woman behind the spell. As in: who she was and how to make the hex go away. But surely if she knew how to make the curse go away she would have done so ages ago. She wanted me to find love. Everything was so confusing.

I rinsed off my dishes, placed them in the sink and grabbed my purse. If anything else outrageous happened today, I might find myself in the mental hospital. When I stepped into the hallway, there was no sign of Jack, which, to tell the truth, disappointed me.

On the upside, there was no sign of Lily, which made me extremely happy. To say I was suspicious of her silence would be an understatement. It was about time for her to make her presence known again. And, if she’d sent the furry creeps last night, she would be none too happy to find out I’d eluded them. I was on full alert, watching my back. Every little noise made me jump—always looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next disaster to strike. Being on edge was no way to live. Perhaps I did need to contact the pack police after all. Last night, I hadn’t given the human police any names other than Lily. I just couldn’t do it in front of Jack. How would I ever explain werewolves chasing me or a messed-up uncle? To Jack or the bungling Five-O? If anyone could help, it was the pack police. But I didn’t have a lot of confidence in their abilities, either. Plus what did I have to show them? A couple of notes? I threw the bullet away. I had to think of a way to stop Lily, though. What did I have if not my career? Thankfully, I had a full day of customers to keep my mind off all the problems racing around in my head.

I needed to call John, the handyman, and Anna first thing when I got to the office. My next victims, er, clients. They’d be perfect for each other. Aww, the sweet, awkward beginnings of new romance sure made my job worthwhile. Happy couples were good for business. My office remained unharmed, thankfully, no mess when I stepped in. The vandals hadn’t returned. Walking over to the window and peering out, I studied my surroundings. Perhaps paranoia had set in, but the need to check for strangers lurking outside overwhelmed me. A man walked through the alleyway. He didn’t appear suspicious, dressed in jeans and a plain pullover shirt. I couldn’t help but stare and wait for him to make a move in my direction. He never glanced my way. He walked by and no one else was in sight, so I plunked down in my chair. It let out a swoosh as my weight hit the leather. Leaning back in the seat, I picked up the phone and placed the first call right away before any other busywork distracted me. After John happily agreed to the match-up, I rang Anna. All went well, she approved too. At least I think so. I barely heard her meek little voice. So the happy couple approved of my handiwork. See, I knew my job…sometimes.

After making the calls to John and Anna, I felt excited. Invigorated. My job was rewarding, even if a certain someone remained unhappy with the results of my matchmaking expertise. I wouldn’t let her dissuade me. No business was perfect all the time. I sat alone in my office, the only sound came from the clock. Click, click. In a daze, I stared at the spot where Jack had passionately kissed me the night before, my emotions on overload. Even staying busy with work didn’t keep my mind from wandering to Jack. One question always plagued the back of my mind: what if the curse didn’t exist? Even if, I’d still be faced with the fact Jack was human and I was a werewolf.

We came from two different backgrounds. How could we work out? If something became of our dating, how would I tell Jack the truth? Leaving out the tiny tidbit that I was wolfy wasn’t exactly a great way to start a relationship. Our love would be based on one big fat lie and a secretive lifestyle. It was something he would have to know eventually if I wanted to keep seeing him. And did I even want to continue seeing him? No, right now, there was no way I could tell him about me being a werewolf. My dark secret would have to remain hush-hush.

I detected movement descending the steps. My heart raced and my palms became clammy.

As if Jack had read my thoughts, he bounded down the stairs. I recognized the sound of his footsteps. A quick kiss before he started his day would be nice. The heat from the one last night lingered. His footsteps drew near. Without glancing my way, I saw him march past. My door remained open, so I had no doubt on whether he would look my way. He walked to his doorway, stooped to pick up a package delivered and went inside, swiftly closing the door behind him. He never looked in my direction. And he knew I was in my office—he had to.

My heart sank a little, and disappointment collected in the pit of my stomach, churning away like the choppy sea. Maybe he thought I was with a client, I rationalized. Yes, he thought I was busy, that was all. He had acted a little strange last night after I caught him looking at the files, but he didn’t exactly let on anything was wrong. Now that I thought about it, he hadn’t offered any hot kisses after that, though. Only a light peck. And he had given me a few strange glances. I brushed off the notion. My mind was on overload. There was no need to make it worse.

The phone rang, startling me. I yanked the receiver up on the first ring. Before the conversation ended, Jack appeared in the doorway. He clutched a box and flashed a weird stare my way. Could it be he brought me a gift?

“All right, thank you for calling.” I hung up the phone and met Jack’s gaze.

“Hi. Do you have a minute?” The tone in his voice sounded serious. My heart sped up.

“Sure, come in and have a seat.” He walked over and sat in front of my desk. I cleared away some of my files. No need for him to see the words vampire and werewolf again. Quietly, he placed the box down in front of me.

“Do you know what this means?” He motioned to the box.

Was his question a trick? It sure as hell seemed like an odd way to give someone a gift. My mind wandered from his gorgeous face to his chiseled abs hiding under his shirt just waiting to be touched. Someone needed to smack me and snap me out of my lust-filled daydream. The situation was clearly serious, and I owed it to Jack to pay attention.

“I’m sorry?” I arched my eyebrows. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“The box. Take a look inside,” he prodded. Somehow I didn’t think the box contained a present.

His urging made a knot form in the pit of my stomach, and his words set me on full alert. I lifted the box and set it on my lap. Inside blue tissue paper poked up. The problem wasn’t the paper, but what was on top of the paper. Two silver bullets, neatly lying side by side. I knew they were silver, just as I had when I received one. It was more than the color. A shiver tingled through my body whenever I was near the metal. Both had notes taped to them. One said his and the other was marked hers. Crap. Crap. Crap. This was getting ugly—a whole different ball of wax. It was one thing to send warnings to me, but I wanted Jack left out of the chaos.

“There’s a note inside.” His eyes searched mine, and I quickly turned my gaze back to the package.

My eyes truly were the windows to my wolfy soul. I feared he’d somehow see right through me.

I glanced to the side of the box and saw a piece of paper sticking up. I was almost afraid to read it. Did I really want to know the grim details? Jack watched my face, so any sign of recognition of the note would be a dead giveaway. With slightly trembling hands, I unfolded the paper and my stomach sank at the words.

Leave her alone, or you both die.

“Rylie, I’m calling the police and reporting this.” He ran his hand through his thick hair.

I felt dizzy. Sweat began to form on my forehead and above my upper lip.

“Jack, please,” I said as I returned the box to my desk.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m trying to protect you. It’s obvious you won’t protect yourself. And I really don’t want to die just yet, so I’m afraid I have no choice. This is directed toward me. I’m now involved in whatever this is. Someone wants to use these on us. At the very least, they want to scare us. In either case, both offenses are illegal.” Last night…now this.

Somehow I knew there was no way to convince him to drop the subject. Although he was right. Lily had played her games too long. It was one thing for this werewolf chick to take shots at me, but not at Jack. With any luck, she would seek professional help if I turned her in. I wouldn’t offer too many details about her beyond what they already had. I wasn’t a snitch. The werewolf community didn’t like tattletales.

I’d breathe a sigh of relief if the police could make her stop. Maybe, somewhere deep down, she didn’t mean any real harm. Lily cried for attention, that was all. Besides, if she attacked, I could take her. She was all bark. But another thought ran through my mind. I needed to find the two mangy wolves. Maybe they were responsible and this had nothing to do with Lily.

“I don’t know why anyone would do something like this,” I said.

“Are you sure about that?”

Damn. Things were getting uglier by the minute. He wasn’t buying my act.

“Jack, in this business some people end up unhappy. I told you that. It’s inevitable.”

“This is a little more than unhappy.” He picked up the box and then tossed it back again. “Exactly what type of business do you run, anyway?”

That question again.

“I’ve told you what type of business. Exactly the business that’s listed on the door, a matchmaking service.” He offended me.

He raised his eyebrows and frowned. “Be honest with me, Rylie. I’m worried. Is this an escort service?”

The room seemed smaller. My chest felt tight, and I found breathing difficult. At that moment, I had to control my temper more than ever.

“No, I most certainly do not run an escort service.” Did I look like Heidi Fleiss to him? I’d never been more insulted. The thought made my skin crawl. Hadn’t he ever heard of
matchmaker-whatever-dot-com? I was just like them, only better.

“Look, Jack. Do what you have to do, I guess. I told the police what I know.” I was at a loss as to what else I could say. I didn’t mean to sound snippy, but it was hard to control my frustration.

“Don’t be mad at me, Rylie. I’m doing this for your own good. You should thank me.”

“I understand that.” I didn’t offer thanks, though.

“Do you understand? I’m only trying to help. You seem upset with me, don’t deny that. It’s written all over your face.”

“I’m not upset, honest. I didn’t mean to get you involved in anything weird. It’s probably Lily just goofing around, nothing more. I don’t take it seriously because it’s not. Look, I don’t want to end toes-up in a morgue any more than you do. Everything is fine.”

“I really wish you’d let me help you, Rylie. This is serious and I wish you’d see that.” His voice held a bit of a snap.

He had taken on a doctor tone. Did he think I needed his help with my mental health? Wonderful. Now I was sure he thought I was a mental patient.

Before I could say another word, a knock came at the door. Martin Blake once again stood in my doorway. Lily probably sent him a package too. Great. And I didn’t think the day could get worse.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Martin asked.

“No, I was just leaving.” Jack stood. Suddenly I wished he wasn’t leaving, in spite of the heated topic. I didn’t want to finish our conversation with a negative ending. I should have told Jack the truth. It couldn’t be any worse than the way it was now. So I grow fur and eat a lot of meat, was that so terrible?

“I’ll be attending a conference later today. I’ll be gone a couple of days.” Jack studied me. “I really wish I didn’t have to go, but I don’t have a choice in the matter. What I need is someone here to keep an eye on you.”

Martin entered the room and stared at us with interest. He wore dark jeans with a seam starched precisely down the front. His white shirt appeared equally stiff. How could he move? I’d prefer if he hadn’t heard Jack’s statement. By the glint in his eyes, I knew he would readily volunteer for the job.

Chapter 14

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 14:

Don’t refer to your date as a beast.

“Everything okay?” Martin looked to Jack. They had their own macho-man code thing going on as each one eyed the other. Except Martin wasn’t all man, but werewolf too. Jack might freak out if he knew the truth. Heck, it would probably freak him out to know he’d kissed a werewolf. No doubt he’d run off and never look back.

“Who are you?” Jack asked somewhat politely. But his defenses were up. After the special package he received, he was being vigilant, and rightfully so, I suppose.

“Oh, sorry, man. My name’s Martin Blake. I’m a client of Miss Cruz.” He nodded toward me.

“Jack Chandler, my office is next door.” He held out his hand. “Sorry if I came across as impolite, but Miss Cruz seems to have a stalker. I’m trying to watch out for her.”

I supposed I should tell Jack that Martin in a roundabout way was the reason behind some of the madness. If Lily hadn’t fallen madly in love with Martin this mess never would have happened. No packages. No demonstrations outside my office window, or car chases, either. I needed to tell him instead of letting Jack go through all of the details with Martin, which seemed about to happen.

“This package was delivered—”

“Um, excuse me, Jack?”

Jack turned. “Yes?” He had a wide-eyed, excited look.

“Martin was Lily’s date. Lily, the one harassing me, she’s bothering him too.”

“Oh. Really? What kind of lunatic is she, anyway?”

A hairy one?

“Martin, won’t you have a seat?” I offered, albeit I’d rather he disappeared.

I was glad Jack didn’t know about Martin asking me out. Talk about awkward. Although, I felt a bit uncomfortable, anyway—having my matchmaking blunder on full display wasn’t fun.

“Jack received a package today…with bullets in it.” I left out the silver part. Jack would wonder why I felt the need to mention it. Heck, I doubt he even noticed the objects were shiny and silver. They probably looked like plain old bullets to him—bullets that killed.

“You’re kidding, so did I.” Martin leaned his lanky body forward in order to hear every juicy morsel.

“Oh, Martin. I’m so sorry.” So my suspicions appeared to be correct—it was Lily. “When did you get it?” I felt awful for involving him with a lunatic.

“Just this morning, actually. I came here right after.”

“Was there a note attached?” I asked.

“No, no note.” He shook his head, the dark hair touching his collar waving with the motion. “Why, did his have a note?”

That was odd. I guess Lily ran out of threats when she got to Martin’s. “Yes, it did.” I rubbed my temples.

“Probably she couldn’t think of anything clever enough to say to me.” He snorted.

He read my mind. “I’ve never known her to not have something to say. Even if it wasn’t clever. Heck, I’ve never know her to be witty.”

“That’s true,” Martin said.

Jack watched our discussion. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open. He rubbed his face. “The two of you seem to take this a bit lightly. Aren’t you worried? She’s a stalker. She could storm in here at any moment and kill all of us.”

Martin glanced over at him. “Aw, Lily’s all right.” He waved a hand.

That was not what Jack wanted to hear, I knew by the look on his face.

“If she were sane, she wouldn’t send threatening letters and bullets,” Jack huffed.

Time for a topic change.

“So, Martin. Is Lily the reason you stopped in today?” Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. What if he asked me out again in front of Jack? Too late, the words were out there.

Martin looked from Jack to me and said, “Um, yeah. That was it.”

I prayed he was too shy to make a move in front of Jack. The room fell silent for a moment. We gazed from one to the other.

Jack broke the silence. “Listen, Martin. I’ll be out of town for a couple of days, and I’m concerned for Miss Cruz’s safety in light of the recent activities.”

Why did he feel the need to share those details with Martin? If I had tape, I’d wrap his mouth with it.

“Would you be able to keep a close eye on her? Make sure nothing happens to her.”

Oh, that’s why Jack offered the info. What was he doing? What the hell made him ask Martin of all people? Martin’s face lit up like a neon wedding chapel sign in Vegas. A huge smile spread across his face, and I thought I detected hearts in his eyes. I knew what his answer would be.

“I’d love to. No problem whatsoever. You go on your trip and be secure in the knowledge she is safe with me.” Martin’s chest puffed out.

No friggin’ way this guy was hanging around with me, and if he thought he was, then he had another think coming.

“I’m fine on my own. I can take care of myself. I’m a big girl now,” I snapped, maybe more than I had intended to. It’s hard not to react that way when treated like a child.

“I’d feel much better if someone helped watch your back,” Jack said.

Yeah, Martin would watch my back, all right. By the giddy look on his face, it would be my ass though, and not the area above. Lily and Martin were perfect for each other, I knew that from the start, and his behavior now only confirmed my thoughts. Perhaps I needed to convince him the new lime beer was the best thing since buttered bread. Maybe he’d leave me alone and head back to his were-soul mate.

“I can take care of myself,” I repeated. Were they not listening to me or just ignoring me? Whichever one, it was annoying.

Jack pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and handed a business card to Martin.

“Look, I have to go. Martin, it was nice meeting you. Take care of her. Here’s my number, call if you need me.”

Jack paused and gave me a puzzled look I couldn’t quite read. There was no goodbye kiss, which sucked.

“Rylie, please be careful.” He paused, then turned and walked out the door, taking the box of bullets with him. More than likely to hand over to the police. If they called, I would avoid them. I’d thought it over and decided there was no need to involve the law—they would only complicate matters in my life. I’d take care of this on my own. I was werewolf, hear me roar.

Martin nodded and smiled at me. Kind of a creepy smile, actually. But, whatever, he was apparently proud of his assignment. “So do you want me to, like, hang around your office? I’ll just chill out here on this comfy leather chair.” He patted the arm.

“Look, Martin, I’ve got everything under control. You can leave.” I gave him a stern look.

“You know, the package from Lily wasn’t the only reason I stopped by today.”

No kidding. I wasn’t stupid. I guessed as much by the devilish smile on his face when he arrived.

“No? You don’t say.” I arched a brow. How was I going to get rid of this guy?

“Nope. Rylie, it’s just the other day, you seemed stressed. I wanted to offer my help. Maybe a shoulder to lean on. I’m a great listener,” he said.

Oh dear heavens. Why me? Why was I being punished? I mean, his offer was nice and all, but I had a feeling he wanted to give me more than his shoulder.

“It’s nice of you to offer, but I’m fine, really.” I shuffled papers to make it appear I was swamped with work. I didn’t glance up to see if lust filled his eyes.

“Talk to me, Rylie. I’m here for you. Tell me your deepest, darkest problems. I want to help.”

The day from hell, that’s what this was.

“Martin, I really need to get work done. I have no deep problems to share.” Not with him at least. “I’m swamped here, plus I have clients coming in soon. Thanks for stopping by.” Why couldn’t my phone ring now that I needed it to?

“Were the bullets silver?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Um, yeah, they were silver. All three of them,” I blurted out.

“Three? I thought he said two?”

“I got one the other day before Jack did.” Why was I telling him this? It would only prolong his stay.

“I had no idea. No wonder he wants someone to watch after you. Anything else going on you’d like to share?”

Ugh. What the hell, maybe if I told him everything he’d go away. That, or for sure he’d stick around. I couldn’t win. Possibly he’d have some idea about whether or not Lily, in fact, would send minions to try to scare me.

“Lately, a couple of thug werewolves have followed me around, and last night they chased me. I outran them, though.”

“You’re kidding. How terrible. Do you know who it is? It’s Lily, isn’t it?” He scowled.

“That’s the thing. She came here as a werewolf the other day and attacked me, but the others, they are definitely not Lily. It’s probably someone she knows, though.” I rushed the words out.

“Probably. How do you know it’s not Lily and a friend of hers?” He shifted in the chair. It wasn’t easy with his over starched jeans.

“They’re male, both of them.”

“I’m so sorry you have to deal with this. You poor thing. How can I make it better?” He fluttered his lashes and displayed an aww-poor-baby look.

Martin Blake made me want to lose my breakfast. His presence alone made my stomach turn. There was no way in hell he could stay in my office all day. I needed to eighty-six his ass, pronto.

“Martin, you know, it will be hard for me to get any work done with you in my office all day, leering at me. You’ll be in the way too.”

He looked as if I’d just told him his mother died.

“How about I hang around out front? I can do some sort of undercover surveillance. You know, keep my eye out for anything strange. And I’m not leering, by the way.” He shifted in his chair again.

Great, he wanted to be my very own personal stalker and hang around the building all day. Probably all night too.

“Whatever. I need to work. Vamoose.” I was more than a little tired of talking to him. I shooed him off. I probably was being rude and he could very well sue me for the Lily mess, but I didn’t care at that moment. What was one more client suing me, right?

“How about I buy you a drink after work? I won’t take no for an answer.”

He hadn’t listened to a word I said, and it was really irritating. Whatever he wanted to hear, I’d tell him in order to get rid of him. Well, almost whatever. At least if I said yes I would get rid of him for now, then I could cancel later. I needed to be alone to think about the mess with Jack. Alone to my own thoughts and without his creepy sneering.

“Sure, a drink.” He had to notice by the tone of my voice I was less than excited. How could he not?

“All right. Tonight. Drinks. Seven? It’s a date.” He almost did a little dance as he stood.

“Let’s get something straight. It’s not a date,” I snapped. If he didn’t leave soon, I felt I might explode for sure.

“Sure, okay. Right. Right, not a date. Got it.”

I seriously doubted he did.

“So, seven then?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure, seven.” Again with my less-than-exuberant tone, which didn’t seem to deter him.

Martin backed out of the office, smiling at me like a schoolboy with a crush. Honestly, I had no idea how I got myself into such messes.

“Bye, Martin.” I shooed him out yet again. I didn’t want to personally escort him off the premises, but I would if I had to.

“Bye, Rylie,” he said.

His tone equaled little hearts in his eyes. He left and I almost expected him to do a cartwheel on his way out.

If Lily saw me having drinks with Martin, it would be sudden death for one of us. There was no way I could meet with him. I’d think of some excuse later.

Chapter 15

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 15:

Be nice to your date and there’ll be no need to worry about your personal safety.

After Martin tucked his tail and ran—he didn’t literally have a tail, yet—I had an uneventful morning. At lunchtime, I decided to grab a bite from the café down the street, maybe a beignet. As I headed down the sidewalk, allowing the scent of coffee to lead the way, I passed by the voodoo shop. Through the open door, I saw the priestess. She waved, giving me a knowing smile. I still didn’t understand how she recognized my condition, but she did. She didn’t ask if I’d followed the directions she’d provided for the gris-gris bag, and I was thankful. Honestly, it was on my list of things to do. I needed to give it a shot. I’d ask Jennifer to help later. After all, it was her idea in the first place. The priestess stepped out from the shop.

“You’re not wearing the amulet.”

Busted.

“Have you used the gris-gris bag?”

The expression on my face probably gave her the answer without me saying a word. “Not yet,” I managed.

“I know you didn’t want to come into my shop, but you should try the items I gave you.”

“I will. Nothing against you or your store, but I accepted the curse years ago.”

“No, not really.” She moved her hands when she talked. The bangles on her wrists rattled. “You believe the curse can be broken and that’s half of your battle. Now you use the gris-gris bag and amulet, you hear?”

I nodded. “You said to beware of those who lurked in the shadows. Do you know who is following me? The werewolves?” I whispered.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. This person you shouldn’t trust watches you. Use the gris-gris and it will help.” She nodded, then turned and entered the shop, leaving me standing on the sidewalk. I watched her walk away for a second then hurried on past.

Martin sat across the street in his car. I glared at him, warning him not to come near me. He opened his car door and climbed out, but then stopped in his tracks halfway across the street.

The death stare apparently worked in letting him know he wasn’t welcome on the trip. I took my time strolling down the street, studying the buildings and contemplating the priestess’s words. I saw them every day, but I never grew tired of their beauty. Overhanging balconies spilled pools of mysterious shadows along the old street. I weaved through the crowd, soaking in the details and the magical feeling around me. It was nice to have time to reflect on the madness in my life. Okay, perhaps nice wasn’t the right word. I wished the madness wasn’t there, but it did allow me time to ponder the situation, nonetheless.

As I continued down the sidewalk, I glanced over my shoulder. Martin followed a few steps behind. Apparently my evil glare wasn’t so intimidating after all.

“I thought I told you not to follow me,” I said over my shoulder.

“Just doing my job.”

“Can’t you do your job from a distance?”

“I thought this was a distance.”

“You’re practically riding piggyback on my shoulders. Back off. I don’t want to see you on my walk back to the office. If you must follow me, hide.”

He stopped on the sidewalk and held his hands up in surrender.

“Thank you,” I said and kept walking.

People sat at the little wrought-iron tables in front of the café. I maneuvered around them and entered. My stomach rumbled as I perused the menu. I picked up a roast beef on rye sandwich with a Diet Coke and headed out the door back toward the office. With my little bag of food in hand, I made my way down the street.

A strange sensation washed over me. You know the feeling you have when someone is watching you? I felt as if eyes scrutinized me. I continued on my way without panicking. Martin was probably staring. My muscles tightened—the feeling wouldn’t go away. I became aware of footsteps behind me. That alone wouldn’t be strange, but when I turned around to see who had the squeaky shoes, the two men following me gave me the heebie-jeebies. They seemed to be trailing dangerously close. Too close.

With my senses on full alert, I couldn’t help but pick up my pace. The sooner I got back to my building the better off I’d be. Their black suits matched. Both with crisp white shirts and dark ties. Their tinted sunglasses concealed their eyes so I couldn’t read their emotions. I couldn’t discern if they meant me harm—but I was guessing yes. They picked up their pace when

I did. Moving with purpose, they fell into synchronized step behind me. I sure as hell didn’t want them following me back to my place. But did they already know where I lived? The clickety-clack of my heels, mixed with the sound of men’s dress shoes on the pavement, only served to increase my apprehension. In a panic, I began to sprint—or attempt to sprint—in my twist-my-ankle pumps. I put all of my effort into it. What possessed me to wear heels that high, I had no idea. I trudged on, in spite of the searing pain the shoes inflicted. I glanced back several times. By the looks of the two, I swear they could have passed for the men in black. Holy mackerel. Were the feds following me?

The government knew all about us werewolves, but they tried to hide it from the public, just like the UFO business. Why in the world would g-men follow me? I had nothing to offer them. No. No. I needed to calm down. The men were of average height, one with salt-and-pepper hair and the other with strawberry blond. The redhead looked familiar. They walked in unison—a steady rhythm to their footfalls.

I panted. I ran. Then I panted and ran some more.

Glancing over my shoulder, I watched the men hurry to keep up. The suits restricted their stride. They were having a tough time sustaining my pace.

Schmucks.

Then I remembered where I recognized the redhead from: the voodoo shop. What the hell?

People stared as I zigzagged through the street, trying to lose the strange men. An elderly man stepped out in front of them. His cane swooped out just as they passed by, nearly knocking the heavier one down. He scrambled to his feet, and the other suit pushed the old guy down in retaliation. The bastards. My arms flailed about as I sprinted along. I might run fast, but I never said I looked good while doing it. I managed to keep my bag of food clutched securely in my hand, which made me happy. I needed beef, quickly. Much more at my current pace and I might as well head straight to the hospital. My energy was drained.

In the distance, I recognized the alleyway that led directly to my office. One thing I knew for certain before turning onto the street, I had to gain distance and hide from the suits. If only real life were like the movies, I’d have had a few trash cans to throw into their path, stopping them from laying their dirty hands on me. What the hell could they want, anyway? Just my luck, I probably had been tagged for some sort of crazy government experiment. They’d have to kill me first.

A group had gathered on the street just ahead. The small crowd was my only chance to lose the suits and I had to go for it. I ran toward the group. Moving as fast as I could. I reached into my purse and grabbed the first thing my hand found—a tube of lipstick. Looking over my shoulder, I tossed it toward the redhead. Missed. What can I say? I didn’t have any other weapons—it was lipstick or nothing. My breath came in quick pants.

“Hey, slow down,” I heard as I whizzed by.

People stared. I guess it’s not every day you see a woman in heels running away from two men. Didn’t anyone care to help me? Passing the group slightly, I slowed to a walk right in front of them. Wow, did I ever get some strange looks with that move. My heart lodged in my throat. I couldn’t handle stress of this magnitude. When the group made it to the alley, I dashed to the side and ran like hell. One lady in the group asked another if I was nuts and what was wrong with me. If she only knew. The pain radiating in my side let me know my running would have to end soon.

My ears picked up echoes of what sounded like footsteps nearing the alley. They were hot on my trail and not far behind, at all. One misstep on my part and they’d catch me. Gauging their distance, I didn’t think I’d make it to my apartment in time, so I did what I had to do—what any girl would have done.

I ran up the stairs. The door sat wide open to the cave-like space that creepy-neighbor-guy called home. All right, the place wasn’t literally a cave, but it was definitely disturbing—to match his personality. A serial killer wouldn’t want to call this place home. I wasn’t sure which was worse, being chased my men wearing dark glasses and evil smiles or the numb-nut next door. But without another thought, I jumped in, slamming the door shut behind me. Outside the sun shone brightly, inside his space loomed dark and dreary. In the tiny living room sat an old sofa and one small table with a lamp. A faint glow emanated from the otherwise dark corner.

“Well, well, well. Come on in, sweetheart. It’s about time you came around to see your sweet daddy. You’re looking mighty fine today.” My neighbor appeared from his hallway.

Sweat glistened from every pore on his face and even the top of his bald head. I could see it from across the room. Slimeball.

“Shut up. You are not my sweet daddy, as you so eloquently refer to yourself. I just need to hide out in here for a second and then I’ll be gone.”

“Hey. Is that any way to treat someone in his own home? You came here and I expect to be treated with respect. You’re not being very neighborly.” He moved closer to where I stood.

As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. I was in his house. Although that didn’t change the fact he was a sleazebucket.

“Sorry, you’re right. But I’ll be out of your hair in just a second,” I said through gritted teeth. Bad choice of words on my part as I reevaluated his baldness.

“You can stay in my hair as long as you’d like, baby. And any other place you’d like to stay, for that matter.” He leered at me with his dark-as-coal eyes and licked his dry, cracked lips.

I felt my gag reflexes kicking in. Good thing his carpet already looked nasty, because I might hurl any second, adding to the stains on the rug.

He inched closer, and in one swift shove of his arms, pushed me against the door. Fan-freakin’-tastic. His fat belly protruded, unintentionally reaching out and touching me. Thankfully, I hadn’t eaten my lunch yet. My stomach churned with the slightest touch from him, but I was able to control my queasiness. As he pinned me against the wall, I realized he was stronger than I expected. But I didn’t worry. I could take him down if I had to—one kick to his nether regions would do it. When backed into a corner, I’d come out fighting. His breath drifted across my face, worse than anticipated. His smell percolated in the air—a mixture of oil and skunk.

“I suggest you back away from me right now unless you want to lose your balls.” My tone remained calm and unruffled.

His fat cheeks hovered millimeters away from my face. I enjoyed being near him like I’d take pleasure in a colonoscopy. He clenched his fists at his sides.

“And you can unclench those paws of yours too.” With both hands, one clutching my food bag, I shoved using the full force of my body. His eyes widened. I guess he was surprised I had that kind of strength. He landed on the wall across from me.

When he regained his footing, he held up his hands in surrender. “No need to fight, babe. I’m a peaceful kind of guy.”

Moving to the other window, I ignored his confused stare. I wasn’t sure which was worse: Phil or the unknowns outside. Pulling the dingy curtain back just an inch, I looked for the men. The alley remained empty. I prayed they were gone, because I needed to get away from skunk breath. Giving one last look, I let the fabric slip from my hand and made my way back to the door.

“Thanks for the hospitality,” I snapped.

“Anytime, babe. You’re always welcome in my home.”

Gross. He still didn’t get it. The fact that I shoved him clear across the room did nothing to stop his advances.

I looked both ways before stepping from his doorway back into the alley. I stepped into silence. The coast appeared to be clear. My shoes echoed through the alley, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. A strange vibe circled me. Were they hiding? Watching me? I ran the rest of the short distance, looking over my shoulder every few seconds and then slipped into my front door, slamming it shut so hard the wood rattled. I collapsed against the wall, letting out a breath in relief.

My breathing came out in short pants. I eased the door open just a smidgen to search for any signs of the suits. A few folks strolled by unaware of the lunatics in their midst. I scanned the area and then, as if out of nowhere, they appeared, marching past my building. I didn’t have time to shut the door before they noticed me. Much to my relief, they made no offer to come toward me. Instead, they lowered their sunglasses in unison and glowered at me. Their gleaming eyes glinted in the sun like shiny pennies. Their faces were as cold as stone. Blondie was definitely the one from the voodoo shop. The pair continued on their way, fading into the crowd, not looking back. Without a doubt, this was one of the weirdest experiences I had ever encountered. The people on the street never lifted their heads to notice them. How could they be unaware of the strangeness? My hands trembled as I slammed the door.

The foyer was empty. I leaned against the wall and gazed over toward Jack’s office door. It remained closed. Sadness washed over me and replaced the panic. Maybe a couple of days away would give Jack time to sort through his thoughts. He’d realize I was the best thing that ever happened to him and forget all about those pesky threats. All right, perhaps that was a stretch, but it was my fantasy and I was sticking to it. At least he’d wanted to protect me, even if he used Martin to do it. And apparently I needed protection.

With heavy feet, I trudged back to my space. Before I did anything else, I peered out the window. No one lingered outside. A lot of protection Martin had offered, he was supposed to watch out for me. Although I had warned him off. I didn’t need him, anyway. In spite of my nerves, I needed to eat—my energy was drained. My hand trembled still as I unpacked the contents of my bag and spread them out across the desk. I unfolded a napkin and placed it on my lap. How I hadn’t lost my bag of food on my little jaunt through town, I had no idea. A miracle, I guess. I sat at my desk and munched on my sandwich. It felt good to have peace and quiet. My breathing became normal once again.

As I took a sip of my drink, a shrill yell bellowing from outside jolted me. I nearly spit out my soda. The voice sounded familiar and I was almost afraid to look for fear of coming smack-dab, face-to-face with her. The voice within my earshot was Lily’s. I’d recognize that sharp tongue anywhere. I set my drink down and moved into the foyer. The ruckus echoed from the front of the building. As I inched open the door, I saw Lily in all of her full-rage glory. She stood in front of Martin’s car, her hands waved like mad, and she barked at him to get the hell out of there.

Hell’s bells. Please don’t let her come after me next, I prayed. One confrontation for the day was all I needed. I’d already ruined too many of my clothes because of her. Enough was enough. Lily beat on the window of Martin’s shiny black Porsche. He did have a nice car, although that sure didn’t count for much as far as I was concerned. Too bad he didn’t have a personality to match his fancy ride. His face gaped in horror as Lily lashed out blow after blow to his pristine auto. Unless she had a weapon, he’d be all right. How much damage could her fists do? She couldn’t pack a very powerful punch.

Maybe I spoke too soon, because at that moment, Lily appeared with a crowbar she had hoisted from the trunk of her car. Why the police hadn’t been called yet, I didn’t know. I couldn’t pry my gaze away from the scene long enough to call, and I guess no one else could, either. All I needed was popcorn and soda. The show had started, I could kick back and watch. As she turned toward him, her eyes seemingly on fire, Martin twisted the ignition on his car. With a huge screech, he peeled away from the curb, leaving Lily in his dust.

As she made a swing for his passing car and missed, I dashed back behind the door so she wouldn’t see me. She’d be after me with that metal weapon if she spotted me witnessing her hissy fit. I couldn’t fight a weapon. The approaching full moon made everyone rowdy. Me, Lily, Martin—all supernaturals. After Martin screeched off, smoke coming from the wheels, Lily pivoted on her heel and calmly marched back to her car as if nothing had even happened. She placed the tool back and slammed the trunk shut, dusting her hands off on her jeans. She glared at the few people on the street who watched her. It surprised me she didn’t bite their heads off.

I’d give her credit for one thing—she’d gotten rid of Martin for me. Now I wouldn’t have to go for a drink.

As I watched from the little crack in the doorjamb, creepy neighbor, Phil, approached Lily. The guy had no idea what he was getting himself into by coming within an arm’s length of her. No doubt she would let him have it—better him than me. An intense conversation ensued, as if he’d asked her a question. She responded, odd thing about it, without her customary venom. Shocking. I’d kind of wished she had let him have it. If anyone deserved a tongue-lashing, that guy did. They stood for a while chatting. After a couple of minutes, Lily handed him a piece of paper, jumped in her car and drove off. She never even looked my way, which was odd, to say the least. Color me grateful, but surprised.

Phil puffed out his chest more than usual as he strutted back to his cave, er, house. Did he even have a job? It seemed as if he was always home, and as far as I could tell, he wasn’t running a business out of the place, either. He wore a ratty wife-beater and dirty jeans. To say he was in need of a bath would have been a complete understatement. Possibly he needed a flea dip too. As I spied on him, he pulled out his pocketknife and walked away. Apparently the show was over, so I turned to head back to my office. With the action over, I definitely didn’t want to watch him pick his teeth with his trusty knife. So uncouth.

My afternoon passed quickly, a few clients filled my schedule. Where were all my customers? No Lily, no werewolves, no men breaking up my office, no feds. John popped in to repair my shades, and gush about Anna. He said they were all set for date night—dinner and a movie. At least one happy couple, I hoped. I prayed John liked beer with lime already added, or whatever might be the equivalent pet peeve for Anna. I looked forward to a night of relaxing, kicking back and staying home. A glass of wine, good food and not another steamy dream of Jack. I couldn’t handle another one.

Jennifer was in the kitchen when I walked in the apartment. I sniffed, inhaling the savory scent as it lingered in the air. Do I smell steak?

“What’s this all about? You never make dinner. Unless of course you count Lean Cuisine.”

“I thought I’d try my hand at cooking. Maybe then Todd will pop the question. The other day he mentioned that I never cook, so maybe he thinks I’ll be a bad wife. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

I snorted. “Don’t you think that’s a little old-fashioned?”

She shrugged her shoulders and grabbed a potholder. “Not really.”

“A man would be the last reason I’d learn to cook.” There was more to her newfound culinary effort than what she claimed, and I had a feeling I’d find out the reason soon enough.

“What are you cooking? It smells delish.” I moved in closer and hovered over the stove, flaring my nostrils to catch a good whiff.

“What else would I make for my bestest friend but your favorite: steak with olive-oregano relish.”

“Technically, all steak was my favorite. But, oh, that sauce.” My mouth watered.

She was up to something. Why else would she take the time to make my favorite food? This behavior was so unlike her. I would bet my last stash of beef jerky whatever her reason couldn’t be good.

“What are you up to? I know you want something. What have you done? Go on, ’fess up. Did you repaint my bedroom again?”

“What do you mean? Can’t I make my best friend dinner? Do I have to have an ulterior motive?” She continued stirring the sauce, never glancing my way.

“I’d say yes, you have to want something. It’s no problem to make me dinner to be nice, if that’s what it really is.”

She flashed me an innocent stare. “I just thought we could talk, that’s all. I want to help you make things work with Jack. He’s too good to let slip away, at least without trying. If you date him and don’t like him, that’s one thing…but to never get that far is a sin.”

“And there we have it. So I need help now?” I clucked my tongue.

“Maybe a little. Everyone needs help at some point in their lives.” She waved the plate topped with savory steak under my nose.

My juices flowed. The only reason I listened to anything she had to say was because of the food. I couldn’t resist the lure, and she knew it.

“All right, Miss Helper, so help me. Tell me what to do.” I grabbed the plates and set them on the table, then retrieved forks and knives from the drawer.

She didn’t say a word as she brought our drinks over and plopped one down in front of me. I pulled out the chair and sat down. Grabbing my fork, I immediately dug right in. If she wasn’t going to talk, that was her problem. As for me, I needed food in my belly, now.

“Wow, you really must have been hungry.” She gaped at me stuffing my mouth.

“Yeah, I am. I had a long day. This is delicious, by the way.” I pointed to my plate.

“Do you need a drop cloth or something? Perhaps a bib?” She pulled out her chair and sat next to me. She leaned away from me as if I would pounce if she said the wrong thing. I had no idea why she was acting so skittish.

“So now you’re a comedian. Funny.” I shoved another forkful in my mouth. “Hey, don’t let Todd tell you that you can’t cook,” I mumbled with a full mouth.

“I won’t,” she said, still in awe of my eating capabilities.

“You should be cooking this stuff for him and not me.”

“I’ll cook for him later. Besides I thought you said that’s old-fashioned.”

I chewed instead of answering. Jennifer opened her mouth again as if she to say something else, but then shut it just as fast without uttering a phrase.

“Spit it out. Get it over with. What is it you wanna say?” I devoured more of the food while waiting for an answer.

She took in a deep breath, let it out and then said, “I talked to your mother and she said she didn’t know anything about a curse. She acted as if she’d never heard tell of this so-called curse.” The words rushed out.

I hadn’t seen that one coming.

Chapter 16

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 16:

Order your date the biggest steak on the menu.

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. “You’re a real hoot. What a jokester.” I slapped the side of my leg. I knew what was going on—Jennifer always had liked to kid around. “Seriously, did my mom call here or something? What crazy thing is she talking about now? She should have known to call me at work.”

“Rylie, I’m serious. Listen to me.” She set her fork down and stared me right in the eyes. The sides of her mouth fell as a concerned look spread across her face.

“What do you mean? Are you serious? You actually called my mother and asked about the curse? Without telling me first? Without even asking if it was all right with me?” My posture stiffened. She couldn’t have twisted the metaphorical knife in my back any harder if she’d tried. I was in disbelief.

“I knew you might be mad at me, and if I’d asked you might tell me to mind my own business.” She seemed to have a hard time getting the words out, as if they were stuck in her throat. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”

She cast a hard stare my way. I met her gaze. My temper flared. I went from calm to ticked in a nanosecond.

“You didn’t have a choice? You always have a choice, Jennifer. Everyone has a choice. And honestly, what’s the big deal about my dating life, anyway? I’m kind of sick of talking about it, as a matter-of-fact.”

Never had I been so harsh with her, but she’d crossed the line with me this time. I wasn’t sure which bothered me more: the fact Jennifer didn’t believe me or the fact my mother told her there was no curse.

“Please don’t be angry with me. I don’t like when you get mad.” She shook her head.

She didn’t like when I got mad? How did she think I felt about being angry? I just hoped I didn’t grow hair, jump up on the table and howl like a wild beast right in front of her. I stared at Jennifer, my dear best friend. Even though she was meddlesome and downright nosy at times, she was right. I couldn’t stay mad at her for long. I wasn’t going to let her in on that, though. I would make her suffer for a while. Sweat it out. She should believe me as far as I was concerned.

“Can you explain to me exactly what my mother said?” I inquired calmly.

“Well…let me think…I asked her about the curse, and she said she’d never heard of it. After I explained everything you’d told me in the past, she still didn’t understand. Your mother didn’t know what you were talking about. She said you must have been playing a joke on me. Are you playing a joke on me? Because if you are, then you really had me going for a long time.”

“What? I can’t believe my own mother would say such a thing. It doesn’t make any sense. Of course I haven’t been playing a joke on you. I mean, really, for that long? Why would I do something like that? I don’t understand why after all these years you’re suddenly so concerned with the curse. Why not question it when I first told you? Or the year after that? Or five years after? But now?”

“Please, Rylie—”

“Wait a minute. I know why all of a sudden you’re questioning the curse. It has to do with Jack, doesn’t it? None of this talk started until he came into the picture. I think you should just forget about him. That, or date him yourself.” I pushed the plate away and wiped the corners of my mouth.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” she huffed and tossed her fork down.

“Believe it, because I said it,” I snapped. All right, I sounded like a snot, but at that moment I didn’t care. She seemed too concerned about what was going on with Jack. I had only known him for a few days. Repeatedly I told her the curse was real. She should believe me.

“I’m not interested in Jack for myself,” Jennifer cried with a squeal in her voice.

No comment.

She picked up her fork again and idly pushed her food around on the plate with it, avoiding my gaze. I moved from the table into the living room and plopped down on the sofa, folding my arms in front of my chest. It took a lot for me to move away from steak, but this was enough to force me to leave without eating every bite. There was no denying, I felt particularly rowdy and couldn’t fight it. Tomorrow night the full moon would edge into view, and I’d spend my time trying not to howl directly at it. Jennifer’s meddling didn’t help matters.

“You know what,” I pointed at her, “I’ll call my mother right now and ask her. She’ll set this whole mess straight.” I grabbed the phone and punched in the numbers.

Jennifer stared at me, then shrugged. Apparently she had no comment. The phone rang on the other end, and I waited for my mother to pick up the line as I tapped my fingernails on the table positioned next to me. My anxiety increased just thinking about why my mother would do such a thing. She was flaky, but this was ridiculous. One way or another, I intended to get to the bottom of the situation.

“It’s ringing,” I said as if Jennifer had asked.

She nodded, unenthusiastically. I’d show her. My mother would answer and then tell Jennifer what was really going on. It was all just a misunderstanding and would be settled in a matter of minutes. The phone continued to ring, and Jennifer arched her brow while continuing to stare at me. I shot her a sharp look. She still didn’t say a word, although by the look on her face I knew she wanted to.

“No answer. She must not be home. I’ll call her later. I’m sure it’s a misinterpretation and she’ll straighten out the mix-up as soon as we talk to her.” I pushed the button and set the phone down.

Jennifer moved across the floor and sat in the chair across from me. She remained tightlipped. Minutes passed without conversation. Jennifer examined her nails while I counted the fringe tangling from the sofa pillow. The silence was palpable, hanging in the air like thick fog hovering over a lake. The tension was ridiculous, so I made the first move to ease things between us.

“So you want to help me with the voodoo junk while we wait to call her back?”

Jennifer shrugged. “I guess.” With her legs draped over the side of the overstuffed chair, she didn’t look at me, but continued to study her manicure.

I stood from my spot on the sofa. “I’ll get the stuff. I’ll be right back.”

Again, no response.

After a few seconds, I returned with the little black pouch, the instructions and the oils and powder that came with it. Jennifer had moved to the window. She stared down at the street below for a couple of seconds lost in thought, I suppose. She didn’t acknowledge my presence. Moving over to the sofa, I found my comfy spot again. Surely she’d stop ignoring me soon. Stubborn ass. She could be difficult sometimes, to say the least. I unfolded the single piece of paper and examined it.

“The instructions say not to perform spells when in a highly emotional state. That’s practically all the time for me…so I guess now is as good a time as ever.”

“I guess.” Jennifer seemed about as excited as if her dog had just died.

“You know, Jennifer, I just want some semblance of a normal dating life. I don’t want this curse. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it and I’m willing to give this voodoo stuff a try, for Pete’s sake.” I let out a sigh. “Maybe I need to return to the priestess. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Jennifer remained silent. If I was going to get the silent treatment I might as well do the hocus-pocus stuff alone.

“Hmm…it says I need to bathe and do a cleansing before I perform the spell.”

Jennifer didn’t waste any time before responding. “Why don’t you do that and I’ll finish my dinner. I need to run some errands after I eat, anyway.”

It was apparent she didn’t want to help, so I didn’t argue the fact with her. She wasn’t making my life any easier. I had never kept secrets about the supernatural from her. Jennifer had accepted the things I told her as the truth, or so I thought. Lately her attitude had changed, ever since she’d talked with Jack.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you when you get back,” I said.

After a moment’s pause, she wandered back to the table. I gathered my voodoo paraphernalia and stood. I’d flee to the sanctity of my bathroom. A bath would be good for me, anyway. Things would be better later. After Jennifer had time to realize how much of a jackass she was being.

A loud rap sounded at the door, stopping me in my tracks. I glanced over at Jennifer. “Are you expecting someone?”

It was hard to believe, but a simple knock at the door made me jumpy. Things hadn’t always been that way. My crazy life was different now, though. Crazier. I had to constantly look over my shoulder.

She shook her head and let me know she wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Could it be Todd?” I asked.

She shook her head again. “I don’t think so. He’s with his mother. They’re having a mother-son getaway.”

If not Todd, then who could it be? I set the voodoo material down. Apprehension took over, but I made my way to the door, anyway. I never knew what might jump at me when I opened it—more tomfoolery from Lily? Or the other strange beasts that had been following me around the city? Jennifer didn’t offer to get the door. She was probably afraid of what might be on the other side too. I can’t say I blamed her. I was more than a little afraid of what I might find too. With my wolfish instincts turned on high, I forced myself to be brave. After all, I was a werewolf. I could kick some butt if need be. Any number of paranormal creatures could be there. They’d never bothered me in the past, but would they start now?

I opened the door.

“Hello, ma’am.”

Damn. The police. He didn’t wear a uniform, but he had law enforcement written all over him. I sensed it. There was an air about him that gave it away. The man flashed his shiny badge in front of my eyes. The movement was so fast I barely made out what it was. No doubt this had something to do with Jack. Since I hadn’t heard from the police yet, I thought maybe he’d dropped it and would just let it go. No such luck.

“Hello.” At least this time it was a hunk of a man instead of the less-than-in-shape specimens from before. Jennifer peeked around the door to see who the owner of the baritone voice was. Her eyes bugged out when she caught a glimpse of him. She really needed to tame those hormones of hers. Maybe I needed to secretly give Todd a call and ask what was up with their love life. I bet Jennifer wouldn’t like it one bit, and it would serve her right for calling my mother. Payback’s a bitch.

Jennifer stretched her arm up and leaned against the door, propping her hand on the wood in what she obviously thought a seductive pose. She had that giddy look on her face again. Since when had she become so man-hungry? The six-foot full of gorgeous had his eyes on Jennifer too. Apparently the feeling was mutual. I felt like an intruder. As he smiled and continued to eye her, he directed his question at me. He stood rigid and straight, but his gaze never left Jennifer.

“My name’s Detective Peters, and I have some questions for you regarding a package your neighbor received.”

Apparently I was just a “neighbor” to Jack, not a friend and definitely not a girlfriend.

I sighed. “Sure, you wanna come in?” I asked less than enthusiastically. Things were not looking good.

“Thank you.” He let his gaze ease from Jennifer for a nanosecond and entered our living room, scanning the space.

“Would you like to sit down?”

“No, thank you,” he said.

“I’m not sure how much information I can give you. I really don’t know much about it.”

“That’s funny, your neighbor says you know who sent it. That would mean you know quite a bit about it. Are you saying he’s not being truthful?”

“You can call him Jack. I do know his name, you know.”

“I’m aware you know his name,” he said with a slight smirk.

What was that supposed to mean? His words were loaded with innuendo.

“It seems you had another incident the other night. Someone broke into your office?”

“Yes. The police didn’t seem concerned about it then. Why don’t you ask the officers who took the report?” I scoffed. My tone wasn’t polite, but I couldn’t help myself.

He paused, searching my eyes. “Believe me, I have. I want your account, please. And, by the way, I’d say whatever the problem is, it’s escalated, considering you’re now getting death threats.” Detective Peters was all business now.

“Well, technically, I didn’t receive the death threat. Jack did. The box came to him. I don’t know if it was intended for me too.”

I felt Jennifer’s gaze.

“Does that mean you know someone wants him dead?” He scowled.

“No, of course not.” Talk about twisting my words. I needed to watch what I said around him. “I didn’t say that.”

“So you have no idea who’s doing this? Or who would want him dead?” His gaze shifted back to my overheated best friend.

Jennifer cleared her throat. I took the hint. “Sorry, this is my roommate, Jennifer Matthews.”

“Hello, Miss Matthews. It is Miss, isn’t it?” He eyed her intently. His blazer fit snugly over the top of his stiff white shirt. The detective’s blond hair was short and precise. He had neat-freak written all over him. It was my impression he tried to be as charming as possible. He had a long way to go as far as I was concerned.

“Yes.” She blushed.

Oh brother. This guy was impressed with one of us, and it sure wasn’t me.

“Do you know anything about this?” He pointed in Jennifer’s direction and displayed another wide grin, showing his gleaming white teeth.

Her eyes sparkled. She loved the attention. I had to remember to ask her if she’d finally had the talk with Todd. By the look on her face, I’d say she was looking for a boyfriend replacement.

“I know she has a customer who’s been harassing her,” Jennifer blurted out.

She would pay for that statement. I lashed out at her silently with my eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Is that right?” Detective Peters pulled a notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. He clicked his pen and positioned his hand to begin writing. “Do you care to give me the full details, please? I’d like the truth, not the same story you fed the other officers.”

He still didn’t look at me while he spoke. I guess he assumed I wouldn’t give the answers he wanted to hear, anyway, since I didn’t offer them up right away.

“She has a customer who had some problems with a relationship and then blamed Rylie. So the woman protested in front of her office and even attacked her.” The words rushed out so quickly she barely caught her breath. She seemed more than happy to divulge the particulars. Her eyes grew larger and soaked in every ounce of the detective’s rippled muscles.

“She didn’t attack me,” I screeched louder than I had intended to.

“What exactly happened? The truth please.” He narrowed his wide, coffee-colored eyes. I didn’t like the guy. Jennifer might be drooling over him, but I wasn’t. He scowled at me.

“Yes, she picketed me. No, she didn’t attack me.” I shook my head at Jennifer when he turned to look at her. She needed to keep our furry cover-up a secret. As if a light bulb went off—a very dim light bulb—she realized Lily was in werewolf form when she’d attacked me. And if the police asked Jack about an attack, the only attack he would know about would be from a mangy mutt, not a redheaded ball of fire named Lily.

“Maybe I was mistaken about that part. She only picketed,” Jennifer added quietly.

He scanned our faces as if he knew we were hiding a secret from him. I attempted my best innocent look. By his frown, I knew it didn’t work.

“Well, we take death threats seriously. I would advise if you’re hiding anything…to not,” he said.

“I wouldn’t think of it. I’d never lie to a police officer.” Jennifer giggled and moved closer to Detective Peters. “I’ve been so scared for Ryle’s safety and my own too. We want to get to the bottom of this, really.”

Whoa. She didn’t waste any time getting right down to the flirting.

His face eased back into a smile. “Well, I need to get as much info on this client of yours as possible, so I can question her.”

So much for ignoring Lily. She’d be furious to think I’d called the police on her. No telling what she’d do next.

“Her name is Lily Friedman.” Frustration crept into my voice.

“Can I get a number and address for her? And possibly a description?” Detective Peters still smiled at Jennifer.

A description? How about “short and feisty”? Kind of like a human firecracker.

“Sure, I guess. Her contact information is in my office downstairs. We can go get it.” I motioned toward the door. His feet didn’t move.

“Would you like some coffee while Rylie gets the info? I have decaf,” Jennifer said coyly.

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you.”

Hmm. Something was definitely going on with her. She never made coffee for anyone. She was the worst hostess ever—even worse than me.

“Yes, I think we still have some instant coffee, and Jennifer would be more than happy to stir you up a cup. Say, Jen, wasn’t the last time you used that coffee when you started dating Todd?” If looks could kill, I’d be on the floor with a knife in my back—perhaps a bullet to the head. “I’ll be right back.” I dashed for the door before she had a chance to catch me with another evil glare.

They’d probably talk about me while I was gone, but where Jennifer was concerned, I was getting used to it. I almost felt my ears burning. Apparently she’d talked to everyone she could about me as of late. No telling what Jack said to her. And I thought she was my best friend. Best friends didn’t do that, did they?

Chapter 17

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 17:

Ignore other paranormal creatures.

I ran downstairs as fast as my legs would allow and collected the info. I didn’t want to give Jennifer a lot of time with that guy. Something about him rubbed me the wrong way. I didn’t care if he was with the police department. Within seconds, I had the info written on a scrap of paper and trotted back up the stairs. Maybe I shouldn’t have left her alone with him. I could have sworn they were whispering as I made my way back to the apartment. I tiptoed to the door and stealthily opened it. If they didn’t know I was there, maybe I could overhear their conversation.

I peeked in.

Jennifer and Rent-a-Cop stood beside the dining table. She had her tongue tangled with his as he held her in a passionate embrace. Lips moved everywhere.

“What are you doing?” I yelled. At the sound of my voice, they both jumped back and looked at me as if they were teenagers caught making out in the backseat of an old Camero.

“Um…we were…um…” Jennifer stuttered. She backed away from him. Her cheeks flushed. She picked up her mug from the table and gave it a sip, trying to look casual.

“Did you get the information?” Detective Peters asked in his best professional cop voice, turning away from Jennifer.

“Here it is.” I shoved the paper at him. “She’s a bit high-strung, so be careful,” I mumbled. My eyes were still wide from what I’d seen. I didn’t know what to do. Should I act as if their kiss hadn’t happened, or tell the guy to keep his hands off my friend?

He snorted. “Nothing I can’t handle. I’m in the habit of dealing with a lot worse than that.”

I gave a whatever smirk. He needed to leave pronto.

“Thank you for the coffee, Jennifer.”

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised they were on a first-name basis. After all, they had just tongue-wrestled.

“You’re welcome,” she said. She ogled him. Did she bat her lashes?

“If you think of anything else, call me. Or if you just want to talk.” He handed her his card. After a long gaze into her eyes, he turned and furnished me with a card too. With that, he pivoted on his heel and walked out the door as quickly as he’d entered. Good riddance.

“What the hell are you doing? What was that all about? You’ve known that man for five minutes and you’re making out with him? What are you thinking?”

“Oh, Rylie. We weren’t making out…we were kissing, that’s all. It’s not as if you caught us ripping off each other’s clothing.” She stared at her feet, squirmed and refused to meet my gaze.

“That’s all? That’s all? You don’t even know him. And if I had been a few minutes longer, you would have been unclothed. Is he married? Do you even know or think to ask?”

The red sneaked back into her cheeks. “I don’t think so. He wasn’t wearing a ring.”

“He wasn’t wearing a ring? Jen, Jen, Jen. You can’t always tell by an empty finger. Maybe he doesn’t wear one while working, or he doesn’t wear one so he can fondle pretty women while on the job. Plus you should look for a tan line on his finger. I can’t believe you.” I frowned in disapproval.

“Wait a minute. The way you ogled Jack when you first saw him, I’m pretty sure you would have kissed him on the spot if given the opportunity. So don’t judge me.”

“I didn’t ogle him. You did,” I hissed.

“I did? I did?” She seemed stunned I’d accused her of such an act.

“Yes. You did,” I said matter-of-factly. “You were practically hanging out the window. You left drool streaks on the glass.”

“I did not,” she snorted.

“All right, whatever, you didn’t. Is that what you want to hear? I’m not going to argue with you about something so ridiculous.”

She folded her arms across her waist and regarded me with displeasure.

“If you’d accidentally bumped into his chest like I did, and he looked at you with those smoldering eyes, you would have kissed him too.” She pulled out the chair and plopped down.

“My gosh, Jen. If you need a date, I’ll fix you up.”

“No thanks.”

“What about Todd? You’re still in a committed relationship with him, right? At least you were. But when I walked in, I thought y’all were going to do the down-and-dirty right there on the table.” I tried to speak in a calm tone, so the tension would ease.

“It wasn’t that bad. You exaggerate. Like I told you, my relationship with Todd has been going nowhere for a long time. I don’t know about him anymore.” She stared at her plate. “He was gorgeous, wasn’t he?”

“Who, the fuzz? I guess if you like that type.” I shrugged.

“Oh, I like that type, all right. I like it a lot.”

“Apparently. Considering you flirted with him the minute he walked in the door and then I came back from downstairs to find you lip-locked with him, I’d say you more than like him. That’s lust.”

Jennifer giggled.

I wasn’t going to let her off that easy. “Tell me, what happened to Todd? Did you talk to him? Why aren’t you communicating with me anymore? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

A pained look spread across her face and then said, “You haven’t been communicating with me.”

She had a point.

“We’re still together,” she continued, “but a girl can flirt can’t she? Besides, I’m just about sick of waiting for Todd Christian to take our relationship to the next level. I’m thinking of giving him an ultimatum.”

“Just be prepared for what might happen if you do. And by the way, kissing is more than flirting,” I added.

She didn’t answer.

Apparently it took a good-looking cop to show up to get Jennifer to speak to me again. Although I was still mad at her.

“Oh, by the way, what’s this business about Jack and death threats? What the hell is going on? You care to enlighten me?” She straightened in her chair.

“Oh, it’s only Lily and more of her shenanigans.” I shrugged.

Jennifer crinkled her eyes as if she didn’t believe a word I said.

“More shenanigans, huh? I think if the police are involved it’s serious.”

I drew in a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “I’d rather not talk about it right now. Okay?”

“Fine, but you have to eventually. You can’t ignore it forever,” she said.

I nodded, glad she didn’t push the subject. “I know.”

“Thanks for the comment about Todd and the coffee, by the way. You embarrassed me in front of Detective Peters.”

Paybacks. Now maybe she knew how I felt.

“Sorry.” I grinned. “By the way, does this detective have a first name? Did you even find out that much before kissing him?”

“Stephen.” She swooned. “Anyway…” She stood. “I’m not very hungry now. I think I’ll go run those errands.”

“I guess making out ruins your appetite.” I shook my head. “I’ll see you later.”

As she waltzed out the door, I trekked off to the task at hand. Whatever the heck a cleansing bath was, I’d find out soon enough. I relished the silence as I walked through the apartment. It would be nice to have the place to myself for a while. I’d take a long bath, do some waxing maintenance and then test out my voodoo spell. I’d get rid of the curse and then contact my mother to set Jennifer straight with the truth.

Slipping out of my clothes, I added bath salts to the warm water and eased my tense body in. The warm water helped melt away the stress from the last few chaotic days. My thoughts raced. Things were so crazy, I didn’t know where to turn or what to do. I couldn’t begin to imagine why my mother had told Jennifer there wasn’t a curse. Every time I had a date, she reminded me about it, for heaven’s sake. Now she acted as if it didn’t exist. Maybe Jennifer had lied and my mother didn’t say that at all. Possibly she hadn’t even really called her. She could’ve just wanted to see my reaction.

The hot water soothed my knotted muscles and I closed my eyes. My thoughts turned to Jack. What an awful opinion he must have of me. How the heck could I change his impression of me? I just needed to be myself—fur, fangs and all. If he liked me in spite of everything, then fine. If not, still fine. In the end, we’d only just be friends anyway when the curse took hold. Yes, I should come out and tell him about being a werewolf. I’d let him know about all the other supernatural beings around him too. Let the werewolf out of the bag, so to speak. How bad could it be? All right, so it could turn out horribly, but it might be worth it. The flames from the candles around my tub flickered wildly. I didn’t know if that was a sign that my voodoo cleansing was complete, but I decided my soak had been long enough.

I slipped out of the foamy bubbles and wrapped myself in a fluffy towel. I pulled out my favorite pajamas, the ones Jennifer always made fun of with the silly-looking puppies across them. After quickly dressing, I sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed the phone from my nightstand. I would give my mother one last opportunity to explain before I worked the magic. Not that I’d be able to concentrate on voodoo with memories of the last few days racing through my mind. I punched in her number and waited. One ring, no answer. Two rings, no answer. After the sixth, I hung up. Where could she be? Maybe she was avoiding my calls. But she never avoided my calls. She was always more than happy to answer and play twenty questions.

It was dark out and a perfect spooky setting to work magic. The items glared at me as if saying Try me. Dashing across the room, I grabbed the stuff and jumped back onto the bed with all the voodoo ingredients. The use of these items wouldn’t technically reverse a curse, but they’d help protect me from it, at least according to the priestess. Whatever. Protection would work for me. I’d take what I could get.

With the items laid out on the bed, I read the directions carefully. The powder smelled a lot like cinnamon when I popped open the container. Which, when I read the contents, made sense because one of the ingredients listed was cinnamon. Mint and basil also appeared on the list. The oil would add extra strength. By the sound of this thing, I would have more protection than Fort Knox, certainly more than a Trojan condom. I gathered up the small bag, poured in the powder and the oil and then bound it with a piece of red ribbon. Focusing on the bag, I thought about protection from evil. I envisioned it and repeated the words offer me protection aloud several times. The phone rang just as I finished securing the knot, pulling me out of my trance-like state. That voodoo stuff was pretty powerful. I’d been so focused I’d almost felt detached from my body.

Perhaps I did need voodoo for good luck, because when I answered the phone and realized who it was, I knew I had the worst luck of any person, ever.

“How about that drink you promised me, sexy?” Martin tried to make his voice smooth and sultry. Instead, it sounded as if he had gravel stuck in his throat.

“Martin, I appreciate the offer, really, I do. But I would prefer that we keep our relationship purely professional. And I’m pretty sure calling me sexy is not professional. Plus I’m extremely tired.”

“Oh, right, right, right. Well…what about that drink, Miss Cruz? There’s a great bar around the corner. They have the best screwdrivers I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a lot.” His heavy breathing sounded deafeningly loud through the receiver.

“Uh-huh, nope. You’re missing my point. While that is tempting, no thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from my words. “And by the way, how’d you get my home phone number?”

I gathered up the voodoo paraphernalia and stuck it in the corner of my dresser drawer.

“Um, Jack gave it to me. I’ve been waiting outside your office all day, keeping an eye out for you, just like he asked me to. Until Lily ran me off, of course.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be protecting me from her? If she ran you off, then you’re not doing your job, now are you?” It was a good thing I really wasn’t relying on him for protection.

“Well, I knew you were safe in the building.” Uh-huh. I doubt he’d ever get a job with the Secret Service. And I hadn’t been safe, something he wasn’t even aware of.

“Fine, anyway…I have a lot of things to do, so I’ll just have to take a rain check on that drink.” A day from never would be a good time.

“Oh.” He sounded deflated. “Sure, um…some other time. Thanks, anyway. I’ll talk to you later. Tell your friend I did watch after you, would you?”

“I’ll make sure to tell him, don’t worry,” I lied. If Jack bothered to ask, I’d tell the truth: Martin hadn’t been an ideal bodyguard.

After I hung up, I crawled under the sheets. Talk about a bizarre day. I ignored the strangeness of everything as I pulled the covers under my chin. The voodoo thingy hadn’t been completed, but it would have to wait until another time. I’d had all the craziness I could handle for one day.

Chapter 18

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 18:

Don’t mention Zoloft or a mental institution. They are not cures for lycanthropy.

My bedroom always felt like a refuge to me. My comfortable bed with its oversized fluffy comforter made falling asleep easy—most of the time. The cheerful yellow walls and tall window lifted my spirits—most of the time. The place was old, but that only added to the character. It was never easy for me to get out of bed, and this morning, it wasn’t just because of the comfortable room. After everything that had happened as of late, I didn’t know what the day ahead held, and my tension mounted. Without a doubt, things would be better if I hid under the covers for a month. Maybe then everything would be back to the way it was: boring but happy. With the sun pouring through the small opening of the curtains and work waiting for me downstairs, I had no choice but to haul my lazy butt up. Within an hour, I was dressed and ready for the day. Well, as ready as I ever would be.

Since tonight a full moon would make an appearance, and I planned to hide away up in my bedroom, I would have to knock off work early. I didn’t want to scare Jennifer with my wolfy appearance—or my disgusting eating habits, for that matter—while I was in animal form.

As I ambled through the apartment toward the kitchen, an eerie silence filled the air. No singsong voice to greet me over coffee. I grabbed a mug, poured my steaming liquid and snatched my purse. Apparently Jennifer had already skedaddled for the day, because she was nowhere in sight. The thought crossed my mind she was avoiding me. I started out the front door, and had traveled halfway down the stairs when I noticed the main entry door open. I scanned the area looking for a werewolf or some other whacked-out person waiting to attack me.

I eased down the rest of the stairs. Nothing or no one was in sight, only the usual activity of people walking by out front. I did notice the clear beautiful sky outside added a spring to everyone’s step, but not mine. In spite of the picturesque day, I couldn’t quite shake the foreboding feeling nestled deep in the pit of my stomach. Lily must be ramping up her antics as the full moon approached—it figured. I opened the door to my office with caution. The room was still. My gaze scanned the area. No one there. The light blinked wildly on the phone letting me know I had a message. I walked over and pressed the button, then held my breath waiting for bad news. It was nothing more than someone wanting a brochure. Thank God. The wind must have knocked the door open.

The day and work passed by swiftly with nothing abnormal taking place. How that happened, I wasn’t sure. Just the normal matchmaking deals—very few. A witch here, a vampire phone call there, with a few non-paranormal folks thrown in. When the hour hand on the clock finally clicked around to almost quitting time, what I thought was Lily’s voice echoed from right outside my window. The day wasn’t going to be normal, after all. Had she returned with another sign? I hoped Lily didn’t try to attack me again. To be truthful, though, after the visit from the police yesterday, I’d almost expected a little visit from her. No doubt she’d be pissed when they called to question her, and I was sure they already had.

I hurried over to the window and scanned the area below. The usual sights greeted me: random people strolling by and the same old buildings. A young girl struggled to walk her dog as it ran ahead on its leash. After a few seconds, not surprisingly, Lily popped into view. It figured she was lurking. She wore leather pants and a tight red top that clashed with her hair. Once again she was visiting with Creepy Neighbor. What in the heck was going on with those two? This was the second time I’d seen them talking to each other. She gestured with her hands, and by all accounts, he appeared to be intently hanging on to her every word. Yep, Lily felt the influence of the full moon too. Bossier than ever.

As I peeked out the tall, paint-chipped window, straining my neck to see farther, Lily pointed toward my direction. I ducked my head back. She didn’t need to know I’d been spying on her. I leaned my body against the wall, praying she didn’t catch a glimpse of me. She was probably explaining to Creepy Neighbor how I’d called the police on her. Maybe I should talk to her. Explain that it wasn’t my fault the police had contacted her. Although it wasn’t as if she’d listen, because she hadn’t when I’d tried to explain the Martin situation.

Coming to my senses, I thought better of the stupid idea and decided to close up shop for the day. My mind was too distracted to work, anyway. It was five and I needed to get upstairs, prepare my food and lock myself in before twilight faded into darkness. I had plans to watch the latest Drew Barrymore movie I’d rented the other day and never got around to watching. The moon would pop out soon enough. Thankfully, with Jack out of town, I wouldn’t have to worry about hiding from him. Not that he’d want to see me after the weird bullet package fiasco, anyway. Sigh. I missed his kisses.

Not only did I want to lock myself in my bedroom well before nightfall, it was imperative I did. When the full moon edged into view, the weirdos came out from the shadows, and I didn’t want to roam the streets like the rest of those hooligans.

Feverishly, I cleaned off my desk, put away the files and grabbed my purse. That tingling feeling I always got during shape-shifting time was present. Soon my transformation would happen. Hair would grow, fangs would appear more pronounced. My glowing eyes would sparkle. I slipped out the door, making sure to turn on the security alarm and lock it. I didn’t need another break-in, not tonight. Halfway up the stairs, I overheard voices drifting from my apartment. Either Jennifer had the television on again, or she had a guest up there.

Greatness. I felt crankiness coming on. I wanted to get my meat fix and slink off to the safe confines of my bedroom—away from the mindless games of the undomesticated werewolves roaming the city. With a total stranger lounging around, it would be tough, to say the least. I needed to hurry. I hoped Jennifer knew I couldn’t chitchat with anyone tonight. The voices were muffled, but as I inched closer they became clearer. Jennifer was talking with a man whose voice seemed somehow familiar. At first, I thought it was Todd, then maybe the cop from last night. I moved a few more steps, then froze on the spot. I recognized the voice. The tone was as clear as the night sky.

It was Jack.

What was he doing talking with Jennifer in our apartment? He wasn’t even supposed to be in town. From what he’d claimed, I didn’t think he’d be back until tomorrow. Jack being around was the last thing I needed. I couldn’t talk to him, not now, not in my condition. Hair had already started to form on my hands. A little stubble formed on my chin as I raked my palm across it. God, I was so messed up. Jack certainly hadn’t known what he was getting involved in when he stepped into my life. I remained as quiet as possible and listened closely to make out what they were saying. Their voices were still a little muffled, so I inched closer. I leaned up against the door and prayed they wouldn’t open it and catch me eavesdropping.

“I’m so glad you were home,” Jack said.

“I just got here. I was thinking about you all day. How are you?” Jennifer’s voice sounded uneasy.

“It’s hard. My mind has been going over our dates and the time we spent together.” He paused.

What the hell was going on? My nostrils flared. My heart raced. Dates?

“I feel so badly for her,” Jack continued.

Wait. For her? Whom was he talking about? Did he mean me?

“My dates with her were fantastic and I was falling hard.”

“I do too. I had no idea even after all these years how bad she was,” Jennifer pointed out. “It just makes me want to cry. She’s such a nice person, she doesn’t deserve this.”

“Sometimes when you live with someone, you’re too close and it’s hard to see how they really are,” Jack offered his analysis.

I knew it. They were talking about me. How sneaky.

“I guess you’re right. I just wish I could have known sooner. I should’ve, though, I guess. I mean, really a werewolf? I’ve never seen her turn into a wolf. I knew it wasn’t possible. And she mentions all these other creatures too. Like vampires and witches. And she told me her client, Lily, the one who attacked her, was a werewolf too. It was the perfect opportunity the other day for her to pretend that dog was Lily in werewolf form. Heck, maybe she let the dog in herself just so you could see it attacking her.”

They really couldn’t believe I’d do such a thing, could they?

“She has a mental illness and we need to help her. She’s very sick,” Jack said with pity in his voice.

Oh. My. God. I could not believe what I’d just heard. My emotions swirled inside me like an enraged storm. I didn’t know whether to burst in and tell them both off, or never speak to either of them again. I guess I could understand why Jack might think something was wrong with me, but Jennifer should believe me. We were best friends, for heaven’s sake.

“I should have seen the signs. I mean, they were everywhere. I believed her for twelve years. I know it was naive of me. But I was young. Why didn’t I see the trouble she was in?”

“There was no way for you to see the symptoms of her illness. I mean, at first, I thought something was wrong, but I shrugged it off. I was suspicious. But I thought maybe she was just wrapped up with some weird friends. Then, when I saw the papers on her desk about werewolf customers, how she was a werewolf and could help them? It was disheartening, to say the least. And she made up a story about how it was her code.” Jack’s voice sounded so official. I guess this was “official” business for him.

“Yeah, she made up two separate brochures. One for her human customers and one for her so-called supernatural ones. So what can we do to help her?” Jennifer asked.

“I think Rylie suffers from clinical lycanthropy. Have you heard of it?”

“No,” she said.

“Basically it’s a mental disorder where the person believes he or she is a werewolf. As simple as that.”

“Oh. I had no idea there was such a thing.”

“Yes, there’s such a thing. Rylie is experiencing delusions and hallucinations. The lycanthropy could be caused by schizophrenia, bipolar disorder or clinical depression, I just don’t know at this point.”

This was getting serious. My head swirled and rage coursed through my veins. I shook my head to try to clear the thoughts overtaking my mind.

“Is there some sort of treatment? What can we do?” Jennifer asked.

That traitor. Some friend she turned out to be. The nuthouse probably had a room reserved with my name on it.

“Sure, there are medications that can be prescribed. She needs to see a doctor. It would be great if we could speak to her parents about this.”

“Oh, this is so incredibly sad, but you’re right. I think maybe she needs your help on a professional level,” Jennifer squeaked. I couldn’t tell by her voice if she was crying or not.

“I think she is hiding something else from me too. Probably a lot of somethings. All the weird stuff happening to her and around her. I really had feelings for her, but I’m not sure how far our relationship can go with her being so secretive.”

“And the biggest problem, of course, the far-fetched werewolf thing,” Jennifer added.

Far-fetched, huh? I’d show her.

“It’s not far-fetched in her mind,” Jack said.

“Thank goodness you came along when you did. Maybe it was fate. She could be hurt going around town thinking she’s a werewolf.”

Fate, my ass.

“What do you think about the customers she claims are supernatural?” Jennifer chirped.

“All just part of the delusions. There are no such things as vampires and witches or other strange creatures. I should have never taken her on that ghost tour. It probably just added fuel to the fire.”

He thought he knew so much about me. He knew nothing.

“What you did took a lot of courage,” Jennifer continued.

Oh please, they were making me sick.

“We’ll help her, don’t worry. I’m glad you came to me and were open enough to consult me.”

So that’s why they were so talkative with each other. All along they were plotting to take me away to the funny farm. The guys with the butterfly nets would be here soon. Never before had I felt more betrayed. After all those years of friendship, she believed someone we’d only known for a week. I wasn’t sure what to do next.

With the added agitation from what I’d heard, and the fact I was growing hair quickly, my mind felt bogged down. My fingers tingled and I could no longer control what happened to my body. Nature took over, and I sure as heck didn’t want them to see me as a freak. I climbed down the first two steps, trying to ease my way downstairs, but I missed the next stair. In a split second, I stumbled and there was no way I could catch myself. I swiped my hand for the railing, but missed and fell face first down the stairs, bouncing off each side like a pinball in a machine. While I lay there flat on my back, I sensed movement at the door to my apartment. Jennifer and Jack had heard my tumble and were coming to investigate.

My back throbbed and my butt hurt as I scrambled up from the hardwood floor. The door to my apartment opened wide and I made a leap for my office. Damn, I wished I hadn’t locked the door. I fumbled with my keychain and found the correct key to open the lock. As I thrust it in the deadbolt and gave it a twist, I turned my back to the stairs. From that angle, I knew they couldn’t see my hideous appearance: my shining eyes, fanged teeth and hairy hands. My heart hammered in my chest at the thought of being caught. Although, if captured, at least they’d believe I wasn’t some crazy wacko.

“Rylie,” Jack yelled, “stop, it’s me, Jack.” I felt as if he might throw a net over me at any second. Maybe he had one of those tranquilizer guns.

As I scurried through the door, I didn’t answer. The alarm beeped, waiting to be switched off. With the high-pitched noise shrieking in my ear, I wondered why I’d had the stupid thing installed in the first place. I didn’t have anything of value in the place, anyway.

“Wait, Rylie.” I heard Jennifer run along with Jack down the stairs.

I slammed the door shut behind me and flipped the lock. Jack feverishly rattled the knob.

“Rylie, please let us in. We need to talk to you. Just open the door and everything will be fine.” Fine schmine. “We can work this out. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Easy for him to say. No one thought he was nuts.

If I pretended not to be there, they would go away. No, they saw me, I was sure of that. That’s why they’d chased me in the first place. Within a split second, before I could get to the alarm control panel and punch in the code, the loud siren began to wail. The sound echoed and bounced off every wall in the place. There was no way to hide the fact I was in the office now. More attention drawn to me, just what I needed. And unless I switched the alarm off in a jiffy, the police would be there soon. Of course, if I’d really needed the cops, it would take them forever, but in this instance no doubt they’d be there in a minute flat.

I tripped as I ran to the control panel. With my mind still fogged by the chaos, I couldn’t think of the code. The numbers vanished from my mind faster than a plane flying through the Bermuda triangle. It was hard with my hands changing, but I randomly punched in numbers. Two—five—three. Four—six—nine. Finally after several attempts, I got it right. The entire time Jack jiggled the knob, trying to get me to open it for him. Fat chance on that.

My mind whirled and I was almost fully a werewolf. Jack and Jennifer were both at the door trying to persuade me to come out and talk to them. Since they didn’t believe my supernatural tales, there was no way they would go away. Jennifer would stay to help Jack until I finally decided to come out and let them carry me away to the padded palace. As long as I could fight them, it wouldn’t happen. I ran over to the corner of my office, beside the back window. I prayed the two nuts in the foyer wouldn’t do anything crazy like knock the door down, since I already knew it was quite possible to do. I didn’t put anything past those two. They ganged up on me something fierce, and they thought I was the crazy one.

I shimmied out of my skirt and peeled the blouse off my hairy chest. Sick, I know, but it doesn’t happen often, so what could I do? I couldn’t do an entire body wax every time it happened. I just had to let it ride. I couldn’t begin to imagine the pain involved with wax on nipples. Ouch. I stripped off my underwear—they matched, thanks to Jennifer. I pulled out the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet and stuffed my pile of clothes securely inside. The moon wasn’t even out yet and I had taken on my full werewolf form. The stress from Jack and Jennifer banging on the door like mad helped push me over the edge to a complete she-wolf. More talking wafted in through the cracks in the door. Others had joined the two know-it-alls.

“Rylie, the police are here and need to know if you are all right in there. Please let us in so we know you’re doing okay. No one is going to hurt you, I promise. Remember, were only here to help.” Jack spoke in his official doctor-like voice again. Because of that, I felt like a two-year-old who had locked herself in the bathroom. The way he addressed me was absurd, an insult, really. The best thing I could do, I figured, would be to ignore Jack.

“Rylie, it’s Jen. Can you let us in? We’re not here to hurt you.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. It sounded as if there was a standoff going on. Next thing, they’d have a negotiator call me on the phone.

“Ma’am, this is Detective Peters.”

Oh no, Detective Smooch-a-lot was on the scene. No doubt Jennifer had called him. Whispering came from the hall, which sounded like Jack’s voice. I guess he explained to everyone about how loopy he thought I was. Probably using some of his fancy words to define my terrible disorder. I could picture them huddled around planning my fate—deciding which mental institution to stick me in. Well, sorry for them, but I wasn’t going down like that. The knob on the door rattled and shook again.

“Rylie, we’ll have to break the door down if you don’t respond. We need to know you’re all right.”

Great. Another broken door. What had I done to deserve all of this? My life had been so normal before, and now there wasn’t a single normal part about it. Well, werewolf normal. One thing for certain, I needed to get out of there, because I didn’t doubt them one bit. They’d knock the door down in a heartbeat. With the full moon soon to be exposed, I knew it would be a wild and, in my opinion, horrendous night out there. I never liked being a part of the mad world this night brought. That’s why I’d always stayed barricaded in my house. Only coming out for a natural disaster was my policy.

Dusk surrounded me and there was still enough light to see clearly. I didn’t want anyone to see a werewolf roaming the streets of the French Quarter. Most of the time werewolves didn’t come out until dark to keep a low profile. Werewolves end up in the pound by going out in the daylight. Someone had to adopt them just to get them out—kind of like bailing them out of jail.

I couldn’t just get in my car and drive away, either. What would people think when they saw a wolf driving a car? I’d have to hide out until darkness fell, but where, I had no idea. But even after that, I still didn’t delight in the idea of roaming the streets all night.

When the next day spilled over the horizon, I’d be out of my werewolf form and then I’d attempt to think of something—anything to straighten out the mess waiting outside my office door. At the moment, I decided on the only choice I had left: sneak out the window and hide until I could slip away unnoticed. I prayed they wouldn’t snoop around for me and discover a wolf instead. The sounds of even more people carried from the hallway, and I heard them discussing busting down the door. It was time for me to move on. I padded my way back over to the window, unlocked it and gave it a big shove up with my paws. Not an easy feat, trust me. I didn’t have full-on paws, but my hands didn’t work the same. Having werewolf fingers was a bitch.

Grunting as I climbed onto the ledge, I eased my leg over the edge of the windowsill. I crouched my torso under the window and slipped the other leg over. With my head poked out, a noise sounded from my left side. I glanced up in the direction where it seemed to be coming from. Creepy Neighbor was making out with someone on his balcony. How disgusting and vile. If it hadn’t been for drawing attention to my hairy self, I’d have yelled, Get a room. Immature of me? Probably. But someone needed to tell the guy to stop his public make-out session. The guy gave me the heebity-jeebities, there was no denying that. Lucky for me, my office was on the first floor, so a jump from the window would be an easy one, especially as a wolf.

Chapter 19

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 19:

Let your date know you think growling is sexy.

Once I’d landed with my paws securely on the ground, I hopped up in one swift motion and looked around. I didn’t want anyone to see me. When all four feet hit the pavement, and the evening air surrounded me, my skin began to itch even more. I glanced down at my arm and watched as dark hair spread over my once smooth skin. I winced as I ran my tongue across my teeth, and felt the sharp fangs filling my mouth. If only I could put it off and not transform. My bones cracked loudly. Claws erupted from the tips of my fingers. I brushed loose gravel off my fur.

With my senses heightened, I glanced over my shoulder and shook my tail. Yep, it was back, as fluffy and bushy as ever. It would take me forever to clean the grime off my body after a night of prowling the streets. Instead of enjoying a relaxing spa visit, I’d need a flea dip down at the local dog groomers. It was still about an hour until dark and I had time to kill. The fur covering my body grew hot and all the more tingly. I was more than a little crabby. Who wouldn’t be cranky while wearing fur in this kind of heat?

I slithered over to a line of large trash cans and planted my butt behind them. What I was going to do for the next hour was beyond me. I guess twiddling my paws could be an option. Too bad I didn’t have a book to read or something. A newspaper, perhaps. What I wouldn’t do for an issue of US Weekly. Heck, I’d even welcome an Enquirer. Bet you’ve never seen a wolf reading a book before. It’s quite a funny sight, let me tell you.

I devised a plan: when the sun faded over the horizon, I’d scramble out and attempt to find a pay phone to call my parents. Where I’d find one, though, I had no idea, because they were scarce nowadays. Everyone carried a cellphone. Mine rested inside my office, where the police, Jack and Jennifer now looked for me. They were probably going through my purse at that very moment, checking out my razor and shaving cream, without a doubt. That should tell them something. Why else would I carry a razor?

I sat behind the cans for what seemed like an eternity. Creepy Neighbor and whoever was stupid enough to be up there with him were moaning. It literally hurt my ears to hear the sound. I peeked my head over the top of the trash can and caught my breath at the sight: Jack emerging through the window. His arms ripped with muscle, flexed as he hoisted his body out. Even though I was angry with him, I still couldn’t ignore his good looks. The rest of the lynch mob went the long way around, out the door and through the building. All of them called my name. It echoed off the surrounding buildings. It sounded as if they searched for a lost dog. I ducked back behind the can and held my breath, waiting for them to vamoose. I covered my mouth with my paw and hoped they wouldn’t hear or spot me. If they did, I’d probably be sitting in the dog pound within no time. Imagine the pound workers shock in the morning when they found a naked woman in one of their cages instead of a huge, wolflike dog. How would I explain something as wild as that?

Jack roamed around the back courtyard, scanning the area before coming to a rest, standing right in front of the trash cans. He was so close his steady breathing tickled my ears and I sniffed his heavenly aroma too. I sure didn’t want him to find me. He scanned the area looking for any sign of me.

My heart thumped with anticipation. My breathing was so loud, thanks to my muzzle, I was sure he would hear. All grew quiet. Did he sense something? Jack hoisted the trash can away and there I sat, visible to the entire world. But it wasn’t the entire world I was worried about. Jack was the one I cared about. Jennifer stood beside him at that point, and their eyes widened at the sight of a wolf.

“Oh my God. It’s that dog again,” Jack yelled.

“Call animal control!” Jennifer shrieked as she ran along the side of the building away from me. Jack backed away and looked around on the ground, I assumed for a weapon to defend himself from the ferocious dog.

With all my might, I tossed the trash can to the side and ran over to the fence. With one huge leap, I scaled the sucker as they all watched in shock. Never had I wanted to get away from a scene so badly. It felt as if it was a witch hunt and I was in a run for my life. The only things missing were pitchforks and torches. I moved so quickly, darting through the alley, I doubted anyone could see me. To be safe, I needed to stick with the alleyways until complete darkness. The sun had set and it wouldn’t be long now.

After several minutes of running as fast as my legs would allow, I gasped for breath, needing a rest. A few blocks from my place, I sat down behind another cluster of trash cans. The smell emanating from them was rancid. I was filthy and itchy and pretty sure I’d picked up fleas already. How did those little pests latch on so quickly, anyway? My stomach growled. I hadn’t had dinner and turning into a werewolf always made me ravenous. If only I could run through the McDonald’s drive thru. What I wouldn’t give for a hamburger right then—fries and a chocolate shake too.

With visions of steak floating through my head, I somehow missed the fact someone approached me.

“Ouch.” I let out a screech and hit my leg on the trash can when I jumped. “You scared the hell out of me. Who are you?” I clutched at my chest.

You’d think I would have been on high guard and jumpy after recent events. But I guess I was too hungry at that point. I couldn’t think straight.

“Hiya,” the tiny voice said.

Leaning back, I held out my front paws in case I needed to prepare for a fight. A hairy oversized werewolf sat perched beside me, joining me behind the row of trash cans. She wore pink Capri pants and a matching short-sleeved top. The outfit was cute, minus the hair sticking out from her body. My clothes were always ruined when I wore them as a werewolf. This chick also wore these darling diamond hoops in her ears. I’d been longing for a pair like them for quite some time. Why she was in the alley with me, I had no idea.

“My name is Amy Shaw.” She smiled, exposing her short fangs as she spoke.

“Rylie. Nice to meet you.” I stuck out my paw and she smacked it with hers.

“What brings you here?” Amy asked. “I didn’t expect to see any werewolves hiding behind a trash can.”

“I was gonna ask you the same question.”

“It was awful. I had a date with this werewolf dude. He turned out to be a real jerk. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself. I hate the touchy-feely type. So I took off. I needed a place to hide until I could make my way home, you know. So here I am.”

“I was seeing a non-werewolf,” I offered.

Visions of Jack floated through my mind. I was disappointed, to say the least, to know he thought I was mental. There were perks to dating a werewolf: you didn’t have to hide your real self from them. And that’s what dating was all about, being yourself, right? I told everyone else that, yet I didn’t follow my own advice. It was no wonder I had a curse placed on me. I deserved it.

Amy pursed her big hairy lips. “Oh…” She understood what a pickle I was in, and why I hid behind a trash can without me telling her another word. “That sucks.”

“Yes, it does suck. He’s looking for me as we speak. He thinks I’m crazy. He even convinced my roommate I’m nuts.” I wiped a tear from my cheek.

Why was I sharing all this info with her? A complete stranger. I suppose I had nothing else to do. Emotions overflowed and made me chatty.

“Thinks you’re insane, huh? I’ve been through it before. It really sucks. I’m sorry to hear about your roommate too.”

At least someone felt my pain, even if it was a total stranger. Thankfully, darkness finally set in as I sat beside a werewolf in hot pink pants. The moon let off a shining glow through the alley. The smell lingered and made me want to vomit. At least it kept me from thinking about how hungry I was.

“So what do you do, Rylie?” Amy smiled and then brushed dirt off her pants.

“I own Get a Mate dating service. Ever heard of it?”

“Get out of here. I was going to come by there before I met Keith.”

“Really? Is Keith the guy you just ditched?” I turned to look at her.

“Yeah. What a loser.” She held her head down.

“So it sounds as if you need to come by and see me.” I chuckled.

“I do.” She giggled. “As soon as we get out of this hell I’ll stop by.”

“What do you do?” I asked. It was nice to have someone to chat with and waste the time. Even if it did suck, sitting behind a trash can in an alley was better than roaming the streets with the rest of the paranormal riffraff.

“I work at a salon not far from here.”

When I was about to ask the name of the salon, out of the corner of my eye, I saw them approaching us. The glow from the streetlight allowed me to see their ugly mugs.

I leaned closer to my newfound friend and whispered, “It looks as if we have company. And not the kind of company we want, either.”

She whipped her head up to gaze across the alley. I motioned with my head, pointing them out. Without a second thought, I jumped up from my huddled position and poised my body in a fighting stance. Amy followed my motion. Brave girl.

I didn’t want to let the same thugs who had been following me around, for I don’t know how long, see any fear in me. The two goons stood shoulder to shoulder in the alley as if they were blocking us from getting out of there. I didn’t know what they wanted, other than possibly to kill us. Poor Amy, I didn’t want to get her involved. She didn’t know me and didn’t deserve that fate just because she had stumbled into my zany life. It was obvious she had a big heart and was a sweet girl.

“What do you want? Take a hike and leave us alone,” I yelled.

They both had the same smirk on their faces. They made a point of displaying their fangs. Another lame scare tactic. I swear, if I was accosted one more time. Ugh.

“You,” the uglier one with the chains said. He exposed his fangs, making sure I got a nice view of them. They were insanely white and the moon beamed off them. Why they wanted me, I had no idea. And I didn’t know how well Amy could fight, either. I wasn’t sure if I could take both of them on by myself, but it looked as if I was going to have to give it a try.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want you. And I’m so not flattered that you want me.” I smirked.

“Oh, so you think you’re cute?”

I snorted. “Maybe.” I didn’t like their nasty attitudes. Amy stood silent, but she had moved even closer to me, standing behind my back, as if I would be able to protect her somehow. I felt her heavy breathing on the back of my neck.

“Once and for all, we’re going to do away with you.”

Amy let out a little whimper.

“Oh, is that right, toilet bowl breath? I don’t think so. I’m sick and tired of you following me around.” I shot them the most evil glare I could muster. “I’d like to see you try.” Staying brave was the only way to act.

I needed to think quickly. Amy probably wouldn’t be much help I decided, and the best thing she could do was to run.

“Amy,” I whispered, “you need to run. I’ll distract them and you make a run for it. Get out of here.”

“I can’t leave you here to fight these idiots.” Still being brave, how sweet of her.

“You have to. I’m not going to fight them, but the best bet is for you to run.” I prayed she’d listen to my advice. I didn’t know how ugly the situation might get.

“But I can’t leave you alone. Should I—”

“Go now. And don’t look back.” I nudged her and pointed discreetly in the direction she should run. “Just get out of here.”

With a moment of hesitation, she took in a deep breath, then turned and ran as fast as her legs would allow. I barely saw the pads of her paws hit the ground as she loped away.

“Your little friend couldn’t handle it, huh? We didn’t want her, anyway, although she would have probably made a tasty dessert. She’s a smart woman to get out while she could.”

“I can handle both of you by myself.”

The other one laughed, as if I’d just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. A real knee-slapper.

“Come on over here and we’ll see how well you handle yourself.” He cackled.

“You disgust me. You’re a pathetic excuse for a werewolf. You give all of us a bad name.”

“Boo-hoo. Your words hurt me so,” he taunted.

Wiseass.

“You barely escaped the other night. We have you cornered now. There’s nothing you can do and nowhere to run. So give up peacefully, whatdaya say?”

“Why don’t you go back to the rock you crawled out from under?” I hissed.

“That’s not very original.” Werewolf number one with the Mr. T chains thought he was a know-it-all.

I shrugged. “Whatever. I’m only trying to use words you morons can understand. You know, not the big ones.”

He had a point. My comment wasn’t good in the put down department, but whatever… I was so sick of encountering these guys…sick of everything going on in my life. If Lily wanted me out, maybe I’d give her that wish. I just wanted things to be back to normal: changing once a month, munching out in front of my TV with steak and lots of hair. No big deal, really. I’d learned to deal with it over the years. It was kind of relaxing, really. Instead, I was in the middle of an alley with flea bites, stinky trash stuck to my fur and two werewolves who wanted to eat me for dinner. I needed to think of a way to get out of the situation, pronto. If I could distract them, then I could run away. I knew from the other night they couldn’t run fast and would never catch up with me. I needed to think quickly and formulate a strategy.

Lying on the ground next to the trash was an empty beer bottle. The best plan that came to mind was to pick the bottle up and fling it at one of their heads, causing a diversion. Not the best plan ever, but it was all I had. I selected the creep closest to me for the honor of having a bottle tossed at his head. In one motion, I reached down, cupped the bottle with my paw and pitched it as hard as I could. Thud. It hit the one with chains right upside the head. He let out a loud squeal and clutched his head as he fell to his knees. The other one grabbed his partner in crime and helped him on his feet. That would teach them to try that crap with me. They’d pushed me to my limit. When backed into a corner I always came out fighting.

“What is wrong with you? Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind?” he yelled at me, spit spewing from his mouth.

“What do you mean, what is wrong with me? I’m protecting myself, you goon.”

The tough guy whimpered at that point and held his head. I couldn’t believe what I heard, and saw, for that matter.

“You hurt him.” He rubbed his head harder and sniffled.

“You threatened me, what did you expect? I can’t let you get by with your antics any longer.”

“We weren’t really going to do anything to you. We’d never really hurt you. You’re too pretty,” the other one said as he helped his partner.

What pretty had to do with anything, I had no idea. The fact they insinuated they’d have hurt me if I were ugly made me want to kick their butts even more. Maybe they’d like to be kneed in a very special place.

“What do you mean? It sure as hell looked as if you were going to hurt me.”

“I mean, he told us to just scare you, not to really hurt you.”

The uglier one elbowed the other. “Shh. Don’t tell her.”

“What? Who is he? Who sent you? Why have you been following me around everywhere I go?”

The big bad wolf continued to cry and sniffle. His behavior was getting on my nerves.

“That hurt like hell, you know.”

Was he kidding? He was actually crying. Tears ran down the fur of his face. Despite the fact they’d been following me and making my life a living hell, I did feel bad. I didn’t want to see anyone hurt. Why was I such a softie?

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to throw the bottle so hard.” I had, but he didn’t have to know. Maybe it was a stupid thing to do, but I moved closer to them. I prayed they wouldn’t eat me as soon as I got near.

“There, there. Don’t cry anymore. I’m very sorry I hurt you.” I patted his shoulder to comfort him. “Please, don’t be upset anymore.” My fingers stuck to his matted fur, and I gave a yank to free them.

“Ouch,” he yelped.

“Sorry.” I held my hands up in surrender.

His sniffling subsided a teensy bit.

The other one shrugged. I guess he was at a loss for words. Finally he said, “He’s always been a bit dramatic. He’ll get over it.”

I raised an eyebrow and nodded in acknowledgment. Now that I knew they were really rather weak and I doubted they could have hurt a fly, I contemplated playing the tough girl in order to get the info I needed out of them. After what I’d witnessed, I could totally scare them. Mulling it over for a second, I decided to be more nice than nasty. Why, I didn’t know, but I did. Like I said, big softie—that’s me.

“All right, guys. Tell me who ordered you to follow me.” Enough beating around the bush. “I want the truth and I want to know now, or there are more beer bottles where that one came from. Understand?” I poked Overbite in the chest. Okay, so I added a little tough girl at the last minute. Sue me. They glanced at each other, I assumed trying to decide whether they should divulge the info or not.

“We can’t tell you. We promised, and if we tell, he may hurt us. You can’t force us.”

“Fine, I’ll go hunt up a few more bottles to toss at your heads.” I marched back over to the trash can feeling a little feisty. It was a full moon, after all, I was a werewolf and I’d just discovered these guys were chicken shits.

As I started fumbling around in the cans, tossing banana peels and old newspapers everywhere, both of them took off in a lope. On one hand, I was glad they’d left, but on the other I needed to know who had sent them. It was the only way to get the madness in my crazy life to stop. The idea of running the streets, chasing two silly werewolves, didn’t exactly appeal to me, but I didn’t think I had a choice.

To some extent, even though I tried to fight it, the bright moon beckoned me, making me want to run. Without another thought, I took off in a lope, following in the direction they traveled. It wasn’t hard to find them, because about a block away a woman hunkered down with fear in a doorway as they rushed by. Kicking it into overdrive, I picked up my speed. I wasn’t exactly a gym rat, but I could keep up with those two. Werewolves were supposed to be fast, but not them. What I would do with them when I caught them, I wasn’t sure, but I was going to make them talk. I’d get to the bottom of this once and for all. Even if I had to beat the words out of them.

The streets were dark, of course, but I could still make out with the aid of streetlights and the moonlight well enough. The only problem was people could see me too. I hated that. A few screeches echoed as the three of us trotted by, and I heard the words: huge dogs. With my luck, it would be no time before animal control had a net around my neck. We ran past an old jazz bar as a few lounge lizards walked out. One guy tried to kick me as I hurried past. Bastard, what did I do to him? I wasn’t bothering him in any way. I’d like to take a bite out of his ass. All right, so I wouldn’t actually do it, but I’d like to. If he kicked me again, I just might.

My werewolf buds turned down another alleyway and I almost missed it, I moved so fast. I backed up and kicked my legs into overdrive. Being so close to them, I smelled the strong cologne they used to cover their stink. I’d almost caught up with them. The hot night air battered my face, my fur felt sticky and I knew I reeked. I slowed my pace as the wolves backed into a corner. I had them trapped. The one with chains I’d conked on the head plopped down on the pavement. He clutched at his chest with his front paw.

“Tell her, for heaven’s sake. I can’t run anymore and I already have one bruise, I don’t want another one. Plus the pads of my feet hurt.” He panted and brushed a paw through his bushy fur.

“Are you telling me you’re scared of a female? A scrawny one, at that?” The other one tugged on his arm, trying to heave him up.

“Yes, I am. I don’t like confrontations and I never win fights. I just want to go home and rest. Maybe eat some fried chicken or something. I have leftovers from KFC.” He continued to pant heavily, trying to catch his breath. I tried to catch mine too. I’d pushed my aerobic capacity to the limit.

“What are your names, anyway?” I wanted to know.

The one on the ground said, “I’m Tom and he’s Bob.”

Good to know.

The alley flowed into the street behind us, so I hoped they wouldn’t take off running again. That fried chicken sounded good to me too, so I couldn’t blame them if they did. My mouth watered at the mere thought of it. If he mentioned mashed potatoes and a biscuit, I’d cave. I was so ready for this horrible night to be over. Plus I had to worry about getting back into my office to retrieve my clothing in the morning. I didn’t want to be caught outside in my birthday suit when the sun came up. Talk about embarrassing. As a matter-of-fact, with all the stress, I figured a day off was definitely in order. So tomorrow I would relax and recover from this dreadful evening. That was if I could avoid Jennifer and Jack sending me away for a mental evaluation. It was terrible to feel as if I couldn’t go home, but that was exactly how I felt. Life as I knew it was over.

“Tell me who it is who sent you and get it over with. I won’t say anything to the person, I promise. You have my werewolf word on it.” I held my furry paw up to my heart. There was no special werewolf oath or anything, but I figured the gesture looked good, anyway.

“Martin Blake. It’s Martin, all right. Now leave us alone.” A low whimper escaped Tom’s throat after he realized what he’d said.

“What. It’s Martin?” I didn’t know what to say, there were no words. Martin had these thugs follow me. He was the one whom Jack had recruited to protect me. The enemy had been right under my snout the whole time. Why had he done such a thing? Was it because of Lily? Did the two somehow have it out for me? A creepy feeling fell over me. Knowing Martin had been sitting in my office pretending to be a victim right along with me was unsettling.

“It was Martin? He tried to date me, for heaven’s sake. Why would he do something so terrible?” I asked.

“Because…” I heard the deep voice from behind me.

Chapter 20

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 20:

Never piss off a werewolf.

The voice startled me. He stood near—almost close enough to whisper in my ear. I jumped back, and my heart thumped in my chest.

“You scared the hell out of me. What is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind? Why would you have these two chase me around?” I pointed over to the two goons sitting in the corner. They stared at us, dirty and wide-eyed. I took in a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves. “Have you lost your mind? I mean, seriously, have you finally lost your last marble?”

“Rylie…I love you. I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you. You’re a lovely creature, and I want you for my mate. For all eternity.”

My head began to swim. I couldn’t catch my breath, and I felt as if I might lose my lunch. I couldn’t get my eyes to focus. In the distance, I heard a few howls drift through the dense night air. An eerie reminder of who we were and what took place on that particular night all around the city—around the world, for that matter.

“I need to sit down. I feel dizzy.” My appendages shook.

“Oh, let me help you.” Martin came closer. He seemed eager to shower all of his affection on me.

“No, don’t touch me. Don’t come any closer,” I warned, throwing my paws out in a stop gesture. I snarled at him.

“But, Rylie…I love you. Can’t you see my love for you?”

“I heard you the first time. Stop saying that. Why, if you love me, would you harass me like you have? You don’t harass the ones you love.” Maybe where he came from they did.

He gave me a blank stare and then said, “No harm, no foul, right?”

“Wait a minute. Who were the men in the dark suits? Did you have anything to do with them?”

Bob and Tom coughed at the same time. “Um, that’s us. In human form, of course.”

“You’re the men in black?” I said.

“No.” Bob chuckled. “We just thought it would be fun to dress like that.” Both of them snickered.

I was not amused. “Were you the one sending the bullets too?” I asked Martin.

He let a slow evil smile escape his lips. “I did. I’m sorry. I just wanted you to love me. To love me the way I love you. When I first came to see you and you fixed me up with Lily, it was you I wanted. You are mesmerizing. I only went out with Lily so I could see you again. I figured when I came to you and told you it hadn’t worked out with her, you’d want to find someone else for me. Then I could convince you I was the perfect person for you. I am the werewolf of your dreams.”

“Hardly,” I said dryly.

“Then that jerk came into your life, and let me tell you, I was pissed. I figured if I scared you, then I could be the one protecting you and you’d fall in love with me. I just needed to get that loser out of the way. Which, by the way, was easier to do than I thought. Jack and I had a little conversation and he explained how he thought you were suffering from a mental illness. So…I may have let him believe I thought you were responsible for the packages with the bullets. Let me add, he did not find the bullets amusing, not in the least. Plus I told him you broke into your own office. That I saw you do it.”

“I’ll kill you.” I lunged at him in that split second. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted blood. I could taste it, salty and metallic. Martin had harassed me and now he made me appear crazy, there would be no stopping me. My tolerance level was shot. Gone. Flown the coop. I went for his throat. I made a huge leap and straddled him right there in the alleyway, placing my paws around his bony neck. If anyone saw the display, it probably appeared like two dogs fighting to the death. Except I was the one fighting, and Martin was somewhat enjoying me being on top of him. I could tell by the disgusting smirk on his face. The pervert. The two goons scampered over and pulled me off Martin.

“Come on, Rylie. It’s not very ladylike to fight,” Bob said. They held me back, restraining me.

I yanked my arms away from them. “Oh, shut up. What the hell do you know about being ladylike? I am so pissed at you, Martin. I want you to apologize and tell everyone the truth. I’m going to tell Jack everything about my werewolf life. I’m sick of hiding things. I will make it work, somehow. I’ll get rid of the curse too.”

“The curse?” Tom and Bob said in unison.

“Oh, never mind,” I screeched.

“I’m really sorry, Rylie. I never meant for it to turn out like this. I never wanted to really hurt you. My intentions were good, honest. I just wanted to go out with you,” Martin pleaded. He stood against the brick wall, his eyes like saucers. No doubt he waited for me to pounce again.

“Why on earth would I want to date you after you did such a thing to me? You are in so much trouble, buddy. I’m going to the pack police and file a restraining order against your ass.” I stood mere inches from his bony body and poked him in the chest with my finger. “So I suggest you leave me alone. You’ll be sorry if you don’t,” I huffed.

With one swift movement, Martin aimed a gun at my chest. I froze with my hand in midair. His move was not exactly what I had expected. My problems were certainly now bigger than Lily, Jack and Jennifer. My life flashed before my eyes. Seriously. I know people say that all the time, but it did. How was I supposed to react? I couldn’t run—he’d shoot me in the back. I cast my eyes over at Tom and Bob. They stood motionless, their eyes wide.

“Martin, dude, what are you doing?”

“Shut up, dumbasses.”

I glanced at them again. They frowned at the insult.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” Martin growled.

Oh God. My life really was like a bad horror flick. We stood—all four of us—frozen in time. No one knew what move to make next. As I was about to agree to go out with Martin to save my life, Tom leapt forward and pounced on him. Everything moved in slow motion. They fell and the gun flew from his hand. Bob rushed over and retrieved the weapon. Tom and Martin rolled on the ground.

“Stop,” Bob demanded, pointing the gun at Martin.

I guess he wasn’t as much of a coward as I’d thought. They froze. Tom fumbled up and stood in front of me, stretching his hands out. He was protecting me from Martin. I couldn’t believe it. Why would he do that? After all of the harassment, I doubted they’d turned to my side. There was no time to contemplate what their motives were, though. Martin stared. His eyes were frozen like a deer caught in a car’s headlights. His mouth quivered—I knew he was furious. Would Bob shoot him?

I didn’t have to debate that question long. Martin took off in a sprint and neither Bob nor

Tom followed.

“Are you all right?” Bob asked.

“I’m fine other than being stunned. I almost died.”

“We wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Like we said, you’re too pretty.”

Lame reason, but I was thankful they thought so. Otherwise I’d be toast. I looked around for any sign of Martin. I was still paranoid he’d return.

“I gotta get out of here,” I said. “I’ll repay you all somehow.”

“I’m sure we can think of some way for you to show your gratitude,” Tom said, then showed a toothy grin.

Swiftly, I turned around and padded out of the alley, ignoring his creepy comment. I never turned to see if Tom and Bob followed. I felt their eyes boring a giant crater into my back, though. I owed them for saving me, although maybe they were right—we were even. I held back tears—I would not cry. My body trembled as visions of the black barrel pointed in my direction ran through my mind. He’d tried to kill me. And then he just ran off like a coward. I’d come to a decision, though. When day broke, I would tell Jack everything, and I meant all the gruesome details. I’d made up my mind, and I’d take my chances on the outcome. What did I have to lose? There would be no looking back. I was sick of living a lie. The intense heat inside me was almost unbearable—I was livid. If I’d learned one thing from the mess I’d been wrapped up in, it was I didn’t need a relationship to be happy. I had to stop living for others’ feelings and do what was right for me. But in some way, deep down, I realized I was afraid of not being wanted—not being loved. It was better to have a curse than to be rejected. What Jennifer had said about past dates was right—I’d never tried to let them work. I suppose I was the last person who should be offering dating advice—much less running a matchmaking service.

Passing by a café, I noticed the clock on the wall. It was midnight and I still had hours until daybreak. My insides were seething from my recent discovery. Would Martin come after me again? I prayed they’d lock him up and throw away the key. All that time, I thought the harassment was Lily’s handiwork when in reality Martin was the evil one responsible. He’d almost killed me. So many things had happened. I’d considered other people responsible—Lily, and the boneheads looking for Uncle Ernie. I still didn’t know why they wanted Ernie.

After all my walking around the city streets, I still hadn’t spotted a payphone. My stomach rumbled. I needed food, but with hair covering every inch of my body and no money, I didn’t see how that would be possible. The freaks truly came out on a full moon and I was one of them. Werewolves weren’t the only creatures roaming the streets. The vampires were out in full force too, looking for fresh blood.

As I made my way through another dark and narrow alley, headed closer to my office, I passed the back entrance of a small restaurant. On the back steps that led into the kitchen sat a werewolf. He wore an old baseball cap turned backward, and his black fur shone in the moonlight. I bet my fur didn’t look that healthy—stress will do that to you.

“Hey,” he said as I trudged by, “why you look so glum? Things can’t be all that bad.”

“Hi.” I felt a little leery talking to strangers after my awful ordeal.

“Looks like man troubles.” Why did everyone assume I had man troubles? Did I have a sign on my forehead? Although, he was right, my problem was man troubles—and the fact I was hungry. I stopped walking for a second to enjoy the smell wafting from the restaurant’s kitchen. I inhaled the rich aroma of steak, mixed with veggies and cheeses. Oh, I really was starving.

“Looks as if you’ve had a rough night,” he said. Wonder if it was it the matted fur that gave it away or my stinky smell?

“It has been a long night. I’m just hanging out waiting for the sun to come out so I can go home.”

“Someone doesn’t know you’re a werewolf,” he stated. Was he psychic or what?

I nodded. “Yeah, I usually lock myself in the bedroom on full moon nights. I don’t like to get involved in the crazy antics on evenings like these.”

“It’s not all bad. You just have to watch where you go. Say, are you hungry? You look hungry,” he said.

My stomach rumbled when he mentioned food. I didn’t have money, though, which really sucked. I wished I had one of those ugly fanny packs to carry around my waist.

I shook my head and said, “Yeah, but I didn’t exactly bring my purse along, no money.” I held my paws out to show him they were empty.

“I’m the chef here…well, on nights that I’m not a werewolf. Too much hair to cook tonight.” He chuckled. “They don’t make full body hairnets.”

I laughed. I’d never thought of that. “I guess not.”

“I can get the chef on duty to whip something up for you. My treat.” He gave me a lopsided smile.

“I wouldn’t feel right doing that.” I shifted my paws. I really was hungry, but my pride stood in the way.

“Why not? Can’t a guy do a good deed once in a while?” For a split second I wondered why he was being so nice to me, and then I remembered there were still a few nice werewolves in the world.

“I guess so. Please don’t go to any trouble, though. Just a little something will be fine.” He didn’t need to twist my arm much to get me to say yes. My mouth salivated thinking about it, and my pride vanished.

“I think the special of the evening was roast beef with a side of vegetables. Would that work for you?” he offered with a smile.

Anything would work for me. At any moment, my stomach would eat itself. “That would be great,” I said.

“Have a seat on the step here. I’ll tell him.” He jumped up and poked his head in the back screen door.

As he spoke with the man in the kitchen, I took a spot on the steps and waited. After a couple of minutes, he returned with a wonderful-smelling plate of food. A heaping helping too. I could hardly wait to sink my teeth in.

“Here you go. I hope you like peas and carrots.” He handed me the plate and fork as he sat beside me on the step.

“Thank you so much. I really was starving.” I awkwardly took the plate.

“I could tell. Your nose twitched like crazy as you walked by.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. “Oh gosh, that is embarrassing. I don’t hide things very well.”

He laughed. His hazel eyes twinkled when he smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It happens to all of us. Every time I get near chocolate cake my sniffer goes nuts. My name is Dave Fuentes, by the way.”

“I’m Rylie Cruz. It’s nice to meet you, Dave.” I stuck out my paw and he padded mine with his. It’s kind of hard to shake hands with paws. Likewise eat with the fork. Hard to hold it with no thumbs. I’m sure Dave forgot when he handed it to me. How he held it, I had no idea.

As I took my paws and munched on the beef, Dave began chatting away. Everything from the weather, his job to ex-girlfriend, a no-good werecat—his words, not mine. He was a chatterbox.

I cut in, trying to add to the one-sided conversation. I didn’t want to appear rude. “So how long have you been working here?”

“About two years. I came here from Mississippi.”

“That’s cool. Do you have family here?” I asked, wiping my muzzle with my paw.

A sad look drifted across his face. “No.”

I didn’t ask for further details. By the expression on his face, I knew it wasn’t something he cared to discuss.

“What do you do for a living, Rylie?”

“I own Get a Mate dating service,” I mumbled between bites of food. He probably thought I hadn’t eaten in days. Running burns a ton of calories.

“Really. Oh. My. God. Can you fix me up? The last girl I went out with was such a drama queen.”

“Oh no, that’s not good. I’m sick of drama.” I laughed with my mouth full of food. “I can fix you up, no problem. Give me a call in a couple of days.”

“I’ll do that.”

“I’ll find the perfect girl for you.” I stuffed the last bite of food in my mouth. “I can’t thank you enough for the food. I’ll repay you for your hospitality. I’ll find you the best date ever, and I’ll even pay for the two of you to have dinner. As long as it’s any restaurant other than this one.” I inclined my head toward the building. “You need a break from this place. I mean, for heaven’s sake, you’re sitting here tonight even when you don’t have to.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but I want to. You were so kind to give me the food. It was delicious, by the way. Please give my approval to the chef. You’re a nice guy. You didn’t have to help me, but you did. Now, take my offer.”

“All right, if you insist.”

“I do.” I giggled.

“And I’ll make sure and give the chef your message. But my cooking is better, by the way.” He winked.

“I’d better get going.” I glanced at the clock visible in the kitchen behind us. “It’s after one. I’m going to make my way back to the office and hang out there until daybreak. I’ll just hide somewhere. My neighbors have a nice dark patio with a comfy-looking lounge chair.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right? You’re welcome to hang out here with me.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m a pretty tough cookie when I have to be. I really need to get some sleep. And like I said, I’ll find you the most awesome date you’ve ever had.”

After the recent mess, I probably shouldn’t have been so confident, but he seemed like such a nice guy, he deserved a great woman.

“I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Yes, you will.” He nodded. “And take care, Rylie. Be safe.”

“I will.” I waved my paw as I ambled off.

This time I stayed on the back streets and alleys to avoid the stares from humans. They were always shocked at my size, since they thought I was a dog. A couple of werewolves approached me from the opposite direction. If they attacked me, I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to fight them after everything else I’d been through. Their eyes focused on me and I tried to move as far to the other side of the alley as I could. I tried to avoid eye contact. But despite not wanting to acknowledge them, sheer habit made me look over at them.

“Hola, mamasita.” The fawn-colored werewolf licked his lips.

“Looking good tonight.” Both of them leered at me.

Was he kidding me? I was dirty and all hairy. How could he even know what I looked like when in human form? I tried to give them the one finger salute, but it didn’t quite work as well with a paw. Luckily, they passed me by and didn’t harass me any further.

After passing a handful of wild folks, I finally made my way back to the neighbors’ place. I knew they were out of town. I’d rest on their patio until morning, and then I’d be safe to head back inside, I hoped. I needed time to rest and think about what I was going to say to Jack, anyway. I slipped into the courtyard and crawled onto the lounge chair. The cushion felt so good to my aching muscles. I stared up at the stars and wondered if I’d be able to fall asleep outside without a blanket or even a sheet to curl up under. I’d never been much for roughing it. I was definitely getting back to nature tonight. I shut my eyelids and drifted off.

***

“Hey there, sexy. Looking good. Yay, mama.”

The next thing I knew, I was roused from sleep by someone yelling at me. It was Creepy

Neighbor, Phil.

What the hell? Why was he talking to me like that? Oh. My. God. I forgot I was nude. He was ogling me. I covered my chest with my arms and jumped up from the lounger where I’d fallen asleep.

“Stop staring at me, you pervert. I’m going to come up there and gouge your eyes out.” Not being a morning person, I didn’t allow him any leeway in his behavior. I scanned the area and spotted a newspaper on the ground, so I held the pages in front of me.

“Leave my man alone, you bitch. Isn’t it enough you ruined my last relationship? I want you to stay out of this one. If I have to, I’ll make you.”

“Lily? What are you doing up there?” Lily stood, hands on her hips, perched on the balcony with scumbag Phil. Color me befuddled.

She laced her arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. “We’re a couple now. I don’t need your help finding a mate. I have one. You are the worst matchmaker who ever walked the face of the earth.” She glowered at me.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I opened my mouth to respond, but I didn’t know what to say.

Actually, though, now that I thought about it, they were a match made in heaven. I missed my match-up calling with those two. I was slipping in my work—my fear was true.

“And stay away from my Philly Bear,” Lily declared.

All right, I was officially in the Twilight Zone.

“Don’t worry, honey, I don’t want your man. I don’t intend to try and fix you up with anyone else, either.” I yelled, forgetting the neighborhood might hear me and I stood in my birthday suit.

“Then why are you standing there with nothing but newspaper covering you, letting him ogle you?”

Ugh. I couldn’t stand her. She irritated me more than fingernails on a chalkboard.

Not saying another word to Lily, I slipped through the wrought-iron gate and into my courtyard while Lily pulled her new man away out of view. The main problem I had was: how was I going to get back into my office? The window wasn’t terribly high, I could pull a chair up next to it, but considering Jack, Jennifer and other various authorities were in my office last night, they had probably locked the window upon their departure. There was no way I could walk around to the front of the street and go through the main door, not newspaper as clothing. I
dragged the chair over under the window and stepped up. It was so embarrassing to not have a stitch on while doing this. I stood up and prayed no one watched me. Thankfully, it was early and people were still sleeping. I wondered where Jack and Jennifer were. Out looking for me? Maybe they were waiting for me in my office? Or even worse, the police were there waiting with them. I seriously didn’t want to be cuffed and arrested.

With every ounce of my upper body strength, I heaved the window open. Thank God, they hadn’t thought to lock it. I hoisted myself up into the window, my ass sticking up for the entire world to see. Moon over New Orleans, talk about a full moon. Another whistle glided across from Phil’s apartment. It made my stomach turn to know he saw me without my clothes, but nothing could be done. I wasn’t sure why I had been so stupid that I didn’t leave the clothing outside. Although Jack and the police would probably have found the stash.

I shimmied the rest of the way through my office and landed on the floor with a thud. I jumped up, made a dive for the cabinet and pulled my clothes out from the bottom drawer. Thank God, my belongings were still there. Never in all my life was I happier to see my clothes. I slipped into my skirt and yanked the top over my head, then eased across the office floor, tiptoeing so as not to alert anyone of my presence. I poked my head out the door and gazed up the narrow staircase. Not a soul was out there, and I couldn’t tell if the voices I heard were coming from Jack’s or my apartment. More than likely, I figured, Jennifer and Jack were chatting again. Padding along the hardwood in my bare feet, I climbed the stairs. Soft whispers floated down from upstairs. My heart raced—it was now or never. I looked like hell, and it would only get worse.

Chapter 21

How to Date a Werewolf Rule # 21:

Follow rules 1 through 20 and you can’t go wrong. Almost.

When I reached the top of the stairs, my question was answered. The voices came from my apartment. I paused to listen. They were clearer now.

“We have to find her, Jack. I’m worried about her safety. Where could she be?” Jennifer’s voice was edged with alarm.

“I think she’ll come back soon.”

Jack. The two of them were ganging up on me once again.

“I tried her parents’ house but didn’t get an answer. I wonder if she’s somewhere with them?” She sure did love to rat me out to my parents. “I even tried to call her brother and didn’t get an answer there, either.” I seriously needed to delete the contact info in her phone.

“Maybe. If not, where else could she be? She has to come back sooner or later. You said she left her purse, so I’m assuming she has no money. It’s hard to get around the city with no cash.”

“I wish the police could do more,” Jennifer said.

“Considering she wasn’t kidnapped, all we can do is wait for her to come back.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?” At least Jennifer did seem somewhat upset by my absence.

“She’ll be back, Jennifer. Try not to worry.” How could he be so sure? Maybe I’d been kidnapped or murdered. He didn’t know.

“What do we do when she returns?” Jennifer sounded on the verge of tears.

“Try and convince her to get help.”

Just hearing the words made my blood boil. My blood pressure spiked, and at that moment I had no idea what came over me. I couldn’t control myself. Usually I could hold back my temper with my nifty breathing techniques. Tiny gasps of air weren’t cutting it this time. My eyes were changing, fur was sprouting. The tingling sensation crawled up my back. My thoughts moved so quickly they seemed to be stumbling over each other. In that instant, I decided to do
something that I wasn’t sure if I would regret or not. I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, but I did it anyway. No amount of force could keep my impulse under control. Pushing forward, I burst through the door with determination. The stunned looks on their faces were priceless. I knew I looked the worse for wear and I didn’t care.

“Rylie, are you all right?” Jennifer squealed. Her eyes appeared as if they might pop out of their sockets.

“No. I’m not all right. I’m sick of listening to the two of you plan my trip to the funny farm,” I said with a steady voice. I felt the blood pounding through my body.

“We weren’t—”

“Stop, Jennifer. I’ve heard the two of you discussing my illness, and don’t try to pretend you weren’t. I can’t handle it anymore. I spent last night roaming the streets because of you two.”

Jack didn’t say a word. He stood motionless. Without a doubt, his feelings for me were squelched.

Jennifer’s eyes grew even wider as she stared at me. “You…you’re…you’re growing fur.” She stuttered in freaked-out-ed-ness. Her face blanched, I assumed from the shock of seeing my transformation.

“No shit. I told you I was a werewolf. That’s what happens when someone is a werewolf. They grow hair and fangs.” I straightened my back and stood up tall.

She shivered slightly. I knew when she saw me it would freak her out, but she left me no choice. I’d hidden it for years, but I couldn’t do it any longer.

“Your face has hair. Seriously, no wonder you carry those razors around.” Jennifer had never been subtle. “Your eyes have this creepy color glow to them. And your teeth are all pointy. I have to tell you, Rylie, it’s not a good look for you.”

I ignored her and directed my next statement to Jack. “By the way, Martin sent the bullets to us, not me. He’s the one who destroyed my office. He confessed to me last night. He told me what he said to you.”

Jack remained quiet. Instead, he continued to stare at me, I guess in disbelief. Torment twisted his features. Then without uttering a word, he walked past me and left the apartment. It hurt to see him go, I couldn’t lie. But what I did was necessary. Once and for all, he saw I wasn’t crazy and what I said was the truth. I rubbed my face, trying to ease my stress.

“Um. Can I get something for you? A washcloth? A glass of water? A razor perhaps?” Jennifer stared at me in astonishment. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of me. She followed my every move.

With the adrenaline fading, my hair began to fade, my fangs and claws too. It surprised me at how fast it faded this time. I felt an unusual calm and relief wash over me.

“They just go away, huh?”

“Yeah, as soon as I calm down. Except for last night, of course, during the full moon. Then there’s nothing I can do. I just let nature take over. Surprisingly, I’m actually feeling calm. I mean, I feel relieved. Although now, of course, Jack knows about the little paranormal secret, and losing him makes me incredibly sad.” My heart sank a little just saying the words aloud. “There was no way around it, unless I left the country. I like my life, in spite of this little thing that happens. I don’t want to leave. This is my home. We’ll just have to make the best of things. Jack lives right next door, and I can’t avoid him forever. Although this thing with Lily has all but ruined Get a Mate. How will I pay my parents back? Or pay rent here? How will I live?”

“Calm down. We’ll think of something. Do you think it’s really over between you and Jack?”

“Probably. I mean, I’m a werewolf and I’m cursed.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I sorry I didn’t believe you. I let his psychobabble influence me.”

“I think he meant well, really. I couldn’t expect him to understand. I mean a werewolf, for heaven’s sake. That is not believable. I’m not holding anything against him.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Jennifer hugged me. And she didn’t cringe when some of my fur touched her.

“I’m going to take a long hot bath. I spent the night roaming the streets. I did find out who was following me, though,” I said.

“Really? Who was it?”

“Would you believe it wasn’t Lily? At least I’m pretty sure she wasn’t involved. Sure, she was picketing me. That we know for sure. But it wasn’t her doing everything else. Turns out Martin wanted to date me and thought if I was scared out of my mind I would run into his waiting arms for safety. How ridiculous is that? It’s like something from a seventies romance novel.”

“Maybe that’s where he got the idea.” Jennifer winked. Such a simple signal, but I felt relief. She accepted me—hair and all.

“Might be, he’s warped. I’m calling the pack police and reporting him. I don’t think he’ll bother me anymore. He even pulled a gun on me.” I moved into the kitchen for a much-needed drink of water. Jennifer followed.

“My gosh, Rylie. You’re lucky to be alive. How did you get away?”

“Long story, but Martin hired werewolves to follow me around and they turned on him.”

“I’m really sorry about everything. I’m sorry you had to stay out all night hiding from us,” Jennifer said.

“I know, Jen. I’m not upset. You only did what you thought was best. I could use a nice dinner to make up for it, though. Now that I know what a good cook you are.”

“You’re not going to believe this. Come and check it out.” Jennifer had moved over to the back windows, looking out.

“What is it now?” I moved across the floor, practically dragging my tired body.

“Come see for yourself. And hurry, you won’t believe it.”

Reluctantly, I made my way over to the window. One hot guy was all I could handle, look at all the trouble it had caused me. I hoped she wasn’t pointing out another one. When I peeped out the window, I saw Lily and Creepy Neighbor.

“Who is that Lily is kissing? She’s got her hand on his—”

“It’s exactly who you think it is.” Lily was swapping spit with Phil, which made me want to rinse my mouth with bleach just at the thought of it. They sure wanted the world to see their undying love for one another.

“It’s hard for me to see at that angle. If her leg wasn’t draped over the chair like that, I think I’d be able to see his face. I’m not sure who it is…wait…” As Phil turned slightly, that was when she recognized him. “That’s Creepy Neighbor. I can’t believe my eyes.” Jennifer pointed in their direction, her mouth hanging open.

“Believe it. Actually my eyes are burning and I can’t watch their unsettling public display of affection any longer—it might permanently damage my retinas.”

“I need to know how this came about.” Jennifer gazed at me a second and then grabbed my arm. “Come on, let’s go see what she’s up to.” She pulled me with her to the door.

We both ran down the stairs as fast as we could without killing ourselves.

“I don’t want Lily to get away before getting to the bottom of what led to the pairing of this dynamic duo. Not that it’s any of my business, but curiosity will gnaw away at me until I find out. Plus I need to save all of humankind from witnessing the two of them kissing right out in the open,” Jennifer said.

They were all over each other and didn’t seem to care who saw them. We ran out the door and turned the corner to where they stood. Phil and Lily still practically made out, they had moved onto the sidewalk. The sight of them made me want to take my eyes right out of their sockets with a spoon just so I wouldn’t have to be witness.

I cleared my throat to try to gain someone’s attention. They either ignored me or didn’t hear, so I tried again. “Excuse me.” Still no answer. “My stomach feels queasy,” I whispered to Jennifer. She laughed.

Speaking louder, I said, “Well, if it isn’t Lily Friedman. What are you doing down here on the sidewalk?” That finally caught her attention. She let go of Phil’s lips long enough to let out a giggle and turned to look at me. The smile on Lily’s face beamed. I’d never seen her so happy. She rarely ever smiled, and definitely never that brightly. She had a perpetual scowl. When she saw me, for a split second her smile remained, but when she realized it was her nemesis, she frowned.

In true Lily style, she said, “Glad to see you’re wearing clothing, thunder thighs.”

She was lucky she was on the balcony and I couldn’t reach her. But what happened next truly astonished me.

I’ll never understand it, but Lily eased her expression and said, “We’re in love. And we’re getting married.”

Oh, for joy. The mere thought of them procreating made chills charge up my spine. The world wasn’t ready for what they would produce. Although, now that I thought of it, possibly their marriage would last when others failed. There was no denying the fact they would make the perfect couple with a capital P. Like I said before, why I hadn’t thought of fixing them up, I’d never know. My inner matchmaker’s ego was bruised. “Congratulations,” I managed to sputter. “Um…where will you two live after the wedding?”

Please, don’t let them say next door. Anywhere but next to me.

“At Phil’s place, of course. Where else would we live?” A smirk packed with satisfaction spread across her face.

Fantabulous. Now Lily would be a permanent fixture in my life. I certainly could tell her where I thought she should live, but that would only cause a fight.

“Congratulations,” Jennifer said through gritted teeth.

Lily flashed her a disgusted look as if to say Who the hell are you?

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone now. I’ll even tell my lawyer to cancel the lawsuit we planned. Maybe business will pick up.”

Lily grated on my nerves.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” Lily grabbed Phil’s arm and marched him in the opposite direction, leaving Jennifer and me standing in astonishment. Her short legs carried her swiftly, and Phil struggled to keep up the pace. Lily reached up and wiped something from Phil’s face. Ketchup or mustard, I didn’t know. Perhaps it was something much worse. They vanished around the corner, never turning to look at us. Jennifer and I marched back to our apartment, away from the train wreck known as Lily Friedman.

***

The click-clack from high heels echoed in the foyer. With my elbows on my desk and head resting in my hands, I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in this position. My door burst open. I raised my head.

“What are you doing? You’ve got to snap out of this,” Jennifer said, placing her hands on her hips.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

I didn’t answer.

“How long have you been sitting there like that?”

“Is it still morning?” I looked at the clock.

Jennifer sighed. “Come on? What about your business? You can’t let customers see you like this. You’re not a great role model for dating at the moment.”

“At the moment? Try never.” I leaned back in my chair.

Jennifer walked over, wrapped her arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

I patted her on the back. “Thanks for everything, Jen. I’m all right, really I am. As a matter-of-fact, I’ve been thinking…maybe what you said about researching the curse isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

“Now you’re talking. Did you ever finish the voodoo experiment?” She stepped back and watched me.

“No. I figured, what’s the use?”

“Now that’s not positive thinking.” She tapped her foot. “If you’re going to research the curse, you might as well do the voodoo.”

“So you’re trying to say if I’d done the magic weeks ago, I could have avoided this whole mess?” I frowned.

“Well, I do think you should listen to me. I know what I’m talking about.”

I coughed.

“I was right about the underwear, no?” She tilted her head and a blond curl bounced out of place and landed across her forehead.

“Jack never did get a chance to see any of it,” I said in a faint voice.

“He will. Besides, you knew it was there. Anyway, you’re not showing the right attitude. It’s worth a shot, remember.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“What have you got to lose?” She paused. “You didn’t answer me. Have you even talked to Jack?”

“No. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, then I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Stubborn ass. Go get the voodoo stuff. We’ll finish it.” She gestured toward the door.

“Don’t you have to be at work?”

She looked at her wristwatch. “Not for another forty-five minutes. Now scoot.”

I forced myself from the chair and into the hall. I’d stopped even looking at Jack’s door. What was the point? After a couple of minutes, I returned with the paraphernalia in hand.

Jennifer snatched the amulet from me. “I can’t believe you haven’t worn this necklace. The priestess said to wear it all the time. For heaven’s sake, Rylie, do you want this curse gone or not?”

I sighed. “I do, I do. I guess I’d resigned myself that nothing would take it away. But you’re right, I’m ready now.” I held my head high.

Jennifer slipped the necklace around my neck. I lifted the pendant for a closer look, then released it. The red crystals sparkled in the light.

“What about the bathing part? You know, for the voodoo?”

“Well, I did just take a bath this morning. That’s close enough, right?”

She nodded. I placed the velvet pouch, powder, oil and instructions on the desk.

Jennifer leaned over my shoulder and read. “So you did all of this? You know, put the powder and oil in the bag?”

“Yeah, I put some in, but before I finished, Martin called and I think it ruined the trance or whatever I had going on.”

“Let’s try it again. It can’t hurt.”

“No, I guess it can’t.” I untied the ribbon and added more powder, then a couple drops of oil.

I felt a surge of energy. Was it coming from the amulet? I cleared my throat, looked at Jennifer and began.

“Wait.” She grabbed my hand. “Do you really think it will work?”

“What? You’re asking me now? You’re the one who made me go into that shop in the first place. You just said I had to try.” I moved my arm from her grasp. “How am I supposed to know if it will work?”

“Right. Right. But I can’t believe they sell the stuff and just let anyone use it. What if you do it wrong and it makes it even worse?”

I turned and stared at her. “Are you serious? What are you doing? Shut up.”

She blinked. “You’re right. Continue.”

I took a deep breath. “All right. We need to concentrate. Take a deep breath and exhale. The priestess said belief is the key for magic to work. So clear your mind and only think of ridding the curse.”

Jennifer nodded. Her brows pinched together in a frown from concentration.

“This is it,” I said with determination. “I’ll get rid of the evil hex the gypsy witch cast upon my family once and for all. Remove the dark cloud over my love life.”

We stood in silence, both lost in the moment. It was as if I’d left the room and entered a quiet, serene open space. I’d blocked out all noise and only concentrated on my positive thoughts. My eyes were closed. Where was the magical feeling? The only thing I felt was the surge of energy from the amulet. My breathing seemed to be in harmony with Jennifer’s. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. In the movies there was more. A fury wind. Lightning bolts. Something.

After what seemed like forever, but in reality was only a minute, I opened my eyes. I looked at Jennifer, and she opened hers.

“Well, I guess that’s it.” I let out another deep breath. “Now I have to get back to moping.”

In spite of the surge of energy, I wasn’t going to give up the sulking just yet. I needed more time to stew on my predicament and its outcome.

Jennifer frowned and stared. “Rylie. Rylie. Rylie.” She shook her head. “I have to get to work. I’ll see you tonight? I’ll expect you to be in better spirits by then.”

“Yeah, okay, sure. I’ll see you tonight.” I still held the gris-gris bag.

She stopped at the door. “How will you know if it worked?” She pointed at my hand.

I shrugged. “I guess when a man walks into my life and doesn’t leave at the first sign of fur.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, I guess.”

I rested my head in my hands again as she walked out. A new customer would be by soon, and I needed to snap out of my funk. The weird surge-like feeling still ran through my body. Two weeks had gone by since I’d revealed myself to Jack and it was as if he’d disappeared. I hadn’t seen or heard from Martin or Lily. The pack police were on the lookout for Martin, though.

A soft knock came on the door. Had Jennifer forgotten something? Why didn’t she barge in as usual? Maybe she thought I was with a customer already. I’d probably have to reassure her I was all right a gazillion times. Seeing me as a full-fledged werewolf had been a shock to her system, and she’d been acting motherly ever since it happened. Unsure of who could be at the door, I edged over. In case it was a werewolf, I’d be prepared. I prayed my days of skirmishing with furry boneheads were over, though.

Easing the door open with caution, I stuck my head out. Jack stood in front of me with a bouquet of flowers. Beautiful red roses. The scent mingled with his for an overpowering heavenly smell. The aroma tingled my senses. He was still as gorgeous as ever. His blue eyes sparkled, and the side of his mouth tilted up in a half smile.

“These are for you.” He held out the flowers.

I tried to read his eyes and sensed they were inviting me to accept the offering. He watched me. I couldn’t believe he was here. While I was still upset he’d walked away from me in my time of need, I understood what happened was a lot to take in. It’s not every day someone sees another person grow fangs and fur.

“Thank you.” I took the bouquet and sniffed a flower.

He continued to stare. I waited for him to speak. But he kept eyeing me as if he was at a loss for words.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he said.

Considering I hadn’t seen him since the incident, I was sure he was avoiding me.

“I just needed time to think.”

Finally, I spoke. “Had enough time yet?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry. I know an apology isn’t much, but it’s all I’ve got right now. If you’ll give me a chance, maybe we can start over?”

“Can you handle what you saw?” I had to ask, I needed to know.

“I want to try. I don’t fully understand what I saw, but I can’t deny my attraction for you. And it’s not just a physical attraction, either.”

“Well, I guess that’s obvious after seeing me with that much hair.”

His smile widened and he stepped closer. “I didn’t want to believe you were sick. I wanted to help you.”

“Aren’t you afraid to be around a beast like me?”

“I think I can handle it.” Jack’s voice was a whisper. “Rylie, I can’t stay away no matter what. I want the chance to get to know you, all of you. Excess hair and all. Hell, maybe I just need a manual on how to date a werewolf?” The apprehensive emotion in his voice turned playful. He stood in front of me, and I felt the heat from his body.

“Hmm. A manual, huh? It just so happens you came to the right place for that. I think I can get, at the very least, an instruction booklet for you.”

Jack tilted his head back and laughed. His laughter opened the gate to my pent-up emotions. I wanted to cry, but I held it in, even though my tears would have been from joy. I couldn’t allow myself to break down at that minute. There’d be time for that later.

Without uttering another word, Jack scooped me into his arms, just like in my dream, and let his lips glide over mine. His touch sent a jolt through me. Maybe the curse was finally broken, but at that second, it didn’t even matter. Nothing else mattered. The tension eased from my shoulders. Stress that had overwhelmed me seemed to glide from my body. I melted like chocolate on a hot day as he continued to kiss me.

Breaking free for a moment, he said, “Really, an instruction booklet? I’d like to see that.” An impish grin twisted his mouth. He leaned in to plant another kiss on me when the phone rang.

“I’m not answering that,” I whispered.

“Go ahead, answer the call. It might be important. Maybe it’s the police. Did you tell them who sent the bullets?” Oops. I still needed to clue him in to all the developments. Jack still didn’t know the full details of Martin. Maybe he wouldn’t stick around after all when he heard all that craziness, or possibly he’d clobber Martin.

Reluctantly, I reached for the phone, not taking my gaze off Jack. He had a hypnotic element that couldn’t be ignored.

“Hi, Ry. How’s it going, sweetheart?” My mother. Now she calls. Her timing was impeccable. She’d called me back after the incident, but I’d missed her call. We’d been playing phone tag ever since.

“Where did you go for so long? I’ve tried to call you repeatedly.”

Jack eyed me suspiciously.

“Your father and I went to a spa for a little vacation. The one in Baton Rogue, you know the one. They give the best deep tissue massage.”

“And you didn’t tell me…you didn’t answer my calls. Did you ever stop to think I’d be worried?”

“You’re a big girl now, sweetheart. You can take care of yourself. Besides, I called you back.”

“That may be true, but there was a little matter I needed to discuss with you.” I lowered my voice.

“Ask away. I’m here now and all ears. What is it? Is everything all right?”

“You know darn well what I’m talking about. Jennifer called you.”

Jack was getting a glimpse of my dysfunctional family in all its glory. If he didn’t run away from the werewolf thing, surely he would when he met my parents. They were hard to hide. He’d find out how wacky they were eventually.

“Oh yes, that.”

“Oh yeah, that…do you want to tell me why you told Jennifer you didn’t know anything about a curse?” I could have heard a pin drop. No noise came from the other line, which was not a good sign. “Mother? Are you still there? I hear you breathing. I know you’re still on the line.

Did you tell her that or not? ’Fess up.”

After a long pause she finally said, “I did, dear. I didn’t want the family secrets out. We have to keep these things guarded, you know.”

“I’d already told her, anyway,” I said. Again, silence. “Look, Mama, maybe we can talk about this later. I have company right now.” I winked at Jack. How I’d explain talking about a curse I didn’t know, but at this point nothing should surprise him.

“Rylie?” Trepidation dripped from her words.

Oh no. What had my parents done this time? The news couldn’t be good. I probably needed to take a seat.

“I’m waiting.” I wanted to get back to the yummy kiss.

“I just wanted to say…”

“Spit it out, Mama. You’re killing me over here.” I wanted the facts.

Jack eyed me curiously, but didn’t say a word. He might as well get used to the outrageousness of my life. Seeing his face set the butterflies fluttering uncontrollably in my stomach.

“I don’t want you to be mad at me. And I love you. I was only trying to protect our secret.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

“Please don’t be mad, Rylie.”

“I’m not mad. Listen, you only did what you thought you had to. I have to go now. We’ll talk about this later.” I felt dizzy from the confusion. My brain couldn’t absorb everything that had happened.

“And you’re not too mad? Are you never going to talk to me again?”

“No, Mother. I promise, I’ll still talk to you. Now can I go?”

Banging came across the line, followed by loud voices.

“Wait. Oh my God.” Fear and panic sounded in her voice.

“Mama. What’s wrong?”

“Your father is arguing with some men in the living room. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, don’t go in there.” It was too late. She’d thrown the phone down, and it banged against what I assumed was the table.

What had happened this time? Again, why couldn’t I have normal parents? I held up my finger to Jack, letting him know I needed one more minute. He smiled, what seemed like a genuine smile, and sat in the chair in front of me. His heavenly aroma almost made me collapse on the spot. He had a natural scent, not just some cheap cologne. I needed to get off the phone and back into his arms. On the other end of the line, I heard mumbled conversation, and not much else. The words were garbled and I couldn’t make them out. After a second, I heard what I recognized as my mother’s hurried footsteps approaching.

“Rylie, you have to come and help. The thugs who work for the vampires are here.” She kept her voice low.

“What? Why?”

“They’re looking for Uncle Ernie. They say he owes them for a gambling debt.”

“Why did they come to your house?” I fumed. I really was ticked now. Ernie was putting everyone in danger.

“One of the men calls himself a collector, whatever that means,” Mama said.

“Oh my God. The goon who messed up my office. It sounds like the same man.”

“What’s that? What do you mean?”

“Never mind, I’ll be there as fast as I can. Don’t do anything to make them any angrier than they already are. How are you so sure they’re working for the vampires?”

“Because they said so.”

Good enough reason.

“Try to stay calm until I get there. And call the pack police, see if they can help.”

I slammed down the phone. “I gotta go.”

“Where?”

I grabbed my purse. “My parents need me. I’m sorry I have to rush out—”

“I’m going with you. You can’t drive in your stressed-out condition.”

And I thought things were looking up. Now he’d meet my parents and the rest of the paranormal world. Poor Jack had no idea what he was in for. Wait until he found out vampires were real too. I prayed he could handle it. At least he knew about me now. How bad could my wacky life be with him by my side, right?

About the Author

Rose Pressey is an Amazon and Barnes and Noble Top 100 bestselling author. She enjoys writing quirky and fun novels with a paranormal twist. The paranormal has always captured her interest. The thought of finding answers to the unexplained fascinates her.

When she’s not writing about werewolves, vampires and every other supernatural creature, she loves eating cupcakes with sprinkles, reading, spending time with family, and listening to oldies from the fifties.

Rose suffers from Psoriatic Arthritis and has knee replacements. She might just set the world record for joint replacements. She’s soon having her hips replaced, elbows, and at least one shoulder.

Rose lives in the beautiful commonwealth of Kentucky with her husband, son, and three sassy Chihuahuas.

Visit her online at:

http://www.rosepressey.com
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Rose loves to hear from readers. You can email her at: rose@rosepressey.com

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Easy Bake Coven

Book One of the Easy Bake Coven Novels

Liz Schulte

Acknowledgments

I always worry I will forget someone on the acknowledgements so bear with me as I try to remember everyone.

First, there are the people who helped me get the book publishing ready; my editors, Ev Bishop and Michelle Reed at I’m A Book Shark, my fantastic formatter, Julie Titus, and my fellow authors and beta readers, Mandie Stevens, Olivia Hardin, Tawdra Kandle and Amanda Long. I would like to give a special thanks to Stephanie Nelson to creating this beautiful cover and for also being a fantastic beta reader.

Next I have to thank Promotional Book Tours for always hosting the best release day blasts and contests for my readers. You guys are the best!

I want to thank my friends and family for all their love and support. Especially my mom, Kim Lammers, and my besties from the third floor, you know who you are.

Above all, I want to thank you the readers for making this job so much fun. I really do love hearing from you!

Chapter 1

I squared my shoulders, rolled my neck, and swung my arms like I was getting ready for a prize fight. “Gram… I’m a witch!”

Katrina and Devin shook their heads. Jessica leaned back in my armchair and crossed her legs, inspecting me like a judge on American Idol. “Uh, one more time, Selene, only with less enthusiasm. I don’t think the older generation’s that open-minded about the craft.”

“Gram, you know that thing I can do that we don’t talk about.” I took a deep breath. Even though we were just pretending the words were stuck in my throat. “Well, apparently my abilities make me a witch.”

Three of my best friends, and other coven members, busted out in uncontrollable giggles; our fifth member, Leslie, was out of town in my moment of need—she’d have been nicer.

“They don’t make you a witch. It’s your personality that does that.” Katrina continued to laugh hysterically along with Devin and Jessica. I was less amused.

I swung a pillow at them, and they feebly blocked with their forearms. “Quit it. I’m serious. I want to tell Gram. She’s my only family.” I rolled my eyes. “I have to tell her.”

“Selene, I love you, but you’re twenty-six. If you haven’t told her by now, don’t you think she’s better off not knowing? I mean she’s pretty old. She could keel over from the shock.” Devin offered.

They didn’t understand. I was raised by my grandmother, and as scared of her as I was, I hated hiding anything from her—and like they’d pointed out, I’d waited too long already. I had to finally bite the bullet on this one and just spit it out. They’d all told their families in one way or another—it wasn’t a big deal for them. Gram, on the other hand, was set in her ways and a strict Catholic. Let’s just say she was a lot less likely to take this in stride. “Thou shall not suffer a witch to live,” popped into my head and my nerves clenched. This was going to be bad: worse than when she first noticed my ability, worse than when she caught me sneaking into the house three hours past my curfew as a teenager. Gram had always kept a tight rein on my life.

“You guys suck,” I grumbled, annoyed that they weren’t being serious.

“When I told my family, I sat them down and said, ‘I joined a coven.’ My dad asked how much it was going to cost him. When I said, ‘nothing,’ they changed the subject to my cousin who’d gotten knocked up. Maybe you just think she’ll react badly,” Jessica said.

I shook my head.

“I’m serious. She might just take it in stride. You know, maybe she has more perspective than you are giving her credit for.” Jessica was at least trying to be helpful, but our situations just weren’t the same. She’d told her parents when she was eighteen. She hadn’t completely avoided conflict and kept it a secret for the better part of eight years. Even if Gram took it well, I had waited too long. I was going to crush her heart, and I owed her so much for taking care of me after my parents died.

Perspective? Oh I knew what type of perspective my gram had. She made me hide my gifts my entire life. We never spoke about them or acknowledged them in any way. I was just a normal kid like everyone else…except I wasn’t. I played the role of Selene, the girl everyone wanted to be but no one actually knew. I spent years biting my tongue and not saying the words that wanted to spill out. I smiled and was pleasing to everyone around me. I hung out with all the right people and never made waves. I was a blank, pretty, and plastic.

“Cheer up, Selene.” Kat smiled. “What’s she going to do, kick you out of the house? You haven’t lived there since the day you left for college. You need to stop worrying about her and show us what your mysterious ability is.”

For as long as I could remember I was telekinetic, but Kat wasn’t wrong. I should just show them already. Logically I knew it had nothing to do with good or evil, but years of repression was a hard thing to get over.

“I need a drink,” I said, collapsing into my chair. Jessica tossed me a beer.

“We’re witches. I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like we’re sacrificing animals in the bathroom or sticking pins in voodoo dolls. You know, unless you guys want to start.” Devin winked. “Besides your grandma is three hours away. Just let it be,” she suggested.

Devin was absolutely right. Those common misconceptions about witches that plagued society didn’t describe us at all. We were five women, not too long out of college, who happened to have special interests. We were as different as the four elements—Earth, Air, Fire, and Water—and that’s what made our small coven strong. We didn’t advertise and we didn’t recruit. We were just best friends who enjoyed dabbling in a little magic.

The idea of being a witch attracted me because the lifestyle wasn’t bogged down with rules about my behavior. I had enough of that in my life. The two main rules of the craft were do whatever you want so long as it didn’t hurt anyone else, and whatever you send out into the universe will come back to you threefold. I could deal with that. In fact, I hoped it was true. After all, I’d spent so much of my life practicing the first rule without hope of being rewarded threefold.

Our monthly coven meetings were more a girls’ night out, less a casting spells and trying to take over the world thing. Being a witch was a more natural life, paying homage to a time lost with technology and innovation. It wasn’t a big deal.

“Besides, people have been calling us all witches, or other rhyming words, for years. We might as well get the perks,” Katrina added, an amused glint still in her eyes.

I twisted the cap off of my beer and threw it at Kat, hitting her in the forehead. I loved these girls more than anything. We met in college during the first day of our History and Mythology of Witchcraft class and instantly clicked. The study group we formed soon turned into so much more—add in a few natural abilities and voilà—our easy bake coven.

There was a knock at the front door; the cab was finally here. I made my decision: the wimpy one. Again. They were right. Why rock the boat?

“Whatever, let’s hit a bar,” I heaved myself up.

“That’s my girl,” Devin said with enthusiasm. I let my friends go before me and drained my beer and deposited the bottle in the recycling container on my way out. Gram didn’t need to know. It was easier on both of us that way.

“Where’s Leslie? Why isn’t she here?” Jessica asked, frowning.

“She’s at the Beltane festival,” I said as we piled into the minivan cab. Beltane was a festival of fire. I wasn’t too into the whole group festival thing, but I liked hearing about them when my friends came home.

“Damn, I forgot about that. I wanted to go this year,” Devin said.

“Where are we going?” Jessica asked as she slid the door closed.

“Sky!” Devin said immediately. She was a bona fide karaoke junkie and Sky was her favorite hang out. Katrina groaned, Jessica laughed, and I called dibs on Bon Jovi.

A short car ride later we climbed out of the van, giggling. We saddled up to the counter, and the bartender came over. “Ladies, nice to see you again. What can I get you?”

“Cosmo,” called out Kat.

“Miller Lite,” added Jess.

“Ummm, do you have something fruity? Like something that’s sweet, but with no melon,” Devin asked, indecisive as ever.

“A sweet tart?” he asked.

“Sure, that’d be fine.”

“A vodka tonic and a round of Jägerbombs,” I said when it was my turn. The bartender tossed me a wink and knowing smile before he went about making the drinks. The girls groaned.

“Oh my God, I hate Jäger,” Jess complained.

“I thought you have to teach yoga in the morning?” Devin chimed.

Kat smirked with me as the bartender lined up our shots. “Here’s to being single…drinking doubles…and seeing triple!” she proclaimed.

We clinked our glasses, downed the shots, then searched out a table. After a few drinks and a lot of laughing, my small family issues seemed miles away. I easily collected energy in the palm of my hand, enjoying the tingle, and looked at the girls, wondering if I could get away with it just this once. I kicked Kat underneath the table and she glanced over. I nodded toward Jessica’s beer sitting about six inches from the edge. I focused my will and easily slid it to the edge with a flick of my finger.

Kat squealed and Jessica turned toward us, knocking the beer over. It scattered on the concrete floor. Kat and I dissolved into giggles as Jess stared at the table, perplexed.

***

The 7:00 a.m. yoga class came much too soon. It felt like I collapsed into bed only to have my alarm start screeching. I crawled from beneath my covers, blurry eyed and cotton mouthed, downed some Advil, and made a green smoothie before heading for my studio, the Luna Lair.

I began teaching yoga classes while I was in college. I advertised on campus and before I knew it I had full rosters for every class and a waiting list to get in, so after graduation I used the money I had saved for my own studio. Recently, I’d been able to hire three more teachers and expand my operations. My little business venture had paid off, and thank goodness for that. I had no desire for an eight-to-five sort of job.

I unlocked the door and flipped on the lights in the storefront where I sold yoga clothes and accessories, candles, teas, smoothies, and charms. The charms and the candles were my own creation. New age people loved reading my signs about blue candles helping to achieve success and boosting confidence, red candles increasing sexual passion and determination, and green candles bringing wealth and luck. It was all true too, just not brought about quite as easily as burning a candle—but no one wanted to hear that part.

Everyone wanted the easy road without the work it took to get there. You can burn every green candle in the world, but if you aren’t willing to put the work in, no money will come to you. Magic isn’t an easy fix. If anything it’s dangerous in that it gives people an excuse to be lazy. It wasn’t common knowledge that I was the one who made the luck charms or love candles they bought, but they all swore by them and the little directional spell cards I handed out with each purchase. I may not have been completely out as a witch, but I was profiting from it.

Once the candles were lit, the meditation playlist was softly filling the room, and I was sitting on the mat in full lotus position, my head stopped throbbing. I found my center like an old friend and meditated, clearing my mind completely of thought. I heard the faint sound of the door opening. Where had time gone? I should have had at least fifteen minutes before anyone arrived, but it appeared I was wrong. I opened my eyes to greet the first student—but in front of me stood a man I’d never seen before. He was around six feet tall and had a rangy build, disheveled brown hair, and a couple days’ worth of stubble. Attractive, but it was disarming to have a complete stranger walk into my studio before 7:00 a.m.

“Are you here for yoga?” I asked as I stood up, but I didn’t think so. In worn jeans, an untucked collared shirt, and a sweater with the sleeves rolled up haphazardly to mid-forearm, he wasn’t dressed for exercise.

“Selene…” His eyes searched my face, and a wondering smile twitched his lips.

I struggled not to frown as my heart sped up. “Yes, and you are?”

The hint of a smile smiled vanished. He narrowed his eyes. “Cheney.”

Something in me stirred at his name, but I couldn’t say what. He reached to shake my hand, but I locked my fingers behind my back suddenly afraid to touch him. His dark green eyes searched mine for recognition.

I shook my head. Who was this guy, and how did he know my name? “Do you know someone in this class, Mr.…” I trailed off, hoping he would fill in the blank.

“We don’t have time for games, Selene.”

What on earth was he talking about?

He, Cheney, exhaled in a gusty huff. His eyes hardened with irritation and his shoulders straightened. “Hunt. Cheney Hunt. Are you happy now?” He took a step closer, past my comfort zone, and his eyes glinted in a way that didn’t make me feel safe. “You need to come with me.”

“I don’t think so.” I took a couple steps back, plotting how I could escape if he attacked. My eyes flicked around the room. I saw no weapons to speak of, but if worse came to worst I’d use my natural gifts. All I had to do was make it to my office. I could barricade myself and call the cops.

“Do you think you can protect yourself when you’re all alone?”

“What can I help you with, Mr. Hunt?” My voice was icy and my eyes locked on him, waiting for a sign he was about to lunge. Head throbbing again, I collected energy within me. My fingers buzzed and tingled, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. Mr. Hunt had better tell me why he was here and soon or he’d regret the day he tried to kidnap me.

The door opened and two of my regular students walked in, smiling. I greeted them and some of my tension slipped away. Not so for Mr. Hunt. His frown deepened and he kept staring at me.

“Now appears to be a bad time for you,” he said, then turned away abruptly and strode to the door with the long, graceful strides of a dancer. He glanced back over his shoulder once. “I’ll be in touch.”

I stared at the door long after he’d left, hoping I never had to see Mr. Hunt again. Something was off about him, but what was it?

Chapter 2

My students trickled in, laid their mats out, and chatted with each other. Some came up to me to report any areas of stiffness or pain they’d been having so I could adjust the lesson accordingly. We started promptly on time—I never waited for stragglers. If they couldn’t be respectful enough to make it to class on time, then they deserved to miss part of it. Making the rest of the class late wouldn’t be fair.

After the class many of the students stayed around, perusing the shop while I made them smoothies and switched the music to something a bit more upbeat. A typical Saturday morning.

“Oooo, what does the purple candle do?” asked Betsy, one of my most faithful participants.

“It’s supposed to ward off nightmares, help with more peaceful meditations.”

“Huh…Do you have a candle to help me find lost keys?” She laughed, several others joining her.

I smiled. “Try a brown one. After you light it, write ‘keys’ on a piece of paper and burn it in the flame while saying, ‘Bring to me what is lost, without a cost. Help me find, that which is mine,’ three times, then go to the first place that comes to your mind.”

Betsy looked at me with wide eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

“That’s what it says on the box.” I laughed. “It’s worth a try at least, right?”

“Have you ever tried any of this stuff?”

“No, of course not. Magic isn’t real.” I winked and gave what I hoped was a mysterious smile. They each bought a brown candle and laughed as they left about when they were going to try it, faithfully promising to report back on whether or not it worked.

About the time my first class left, the next group made their way in. Kelly, the afternoon instructor, came in before my noon class ended, waving at me from the door at the start of relaxation pose. I smiled at her, but kept my voice low and soothing as I dimmed the lights and led them toward inner stillness. When the room cleared, I straightened the studio, knowing that Kelly had the store taken care of. I restacked the blocks and straps and rolled my mat, depositing it in the storage closet before heading to the front.

“Hey, Selene.” Her exuberant voice made me smile. “How’s the morning gone? You sticking around this afternoon?”

“Yeah. I need to work on inventory and the books.” I made a face. I loved owning my own business, but I hated the administrative part of it. I put a hand on my stomach as it gurgled and glanced at the clock. It was after 1:00 p.m. Leslie should arrive any moment for lunch. I grabbed my bag and slipped into the restroom to change into my favorite maxi dress—white with orange and blue flowers scattered across the top and bottom— and a jean jacket. I ran a brush through my hair before coming back out, rolling the sleeves on the jacket.

I heard Leslie’s joyous laughter before I even saw her leaning against the counter talking to Kelly. “Selene! I hear I missed a good time last night.” Her amusement shook her whole body as she looked me over for signs of a hangover.

“You did. You ready to go? I’m starving.”

“Absolutely.”

I directed my attention to Kelly. “I’m going to lunch. I’ll be back before too long. Do you want me to bring you anything?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks though.”

I started for the door, then remembered the strange man. I held up a finger to Leslie, went back to the counter, and leaned over it so I could talk quietly. “Something strange happened this morning.”

Kelly raised an eyebrow and waited for me to continue.

I wasn’t certain how to phrase it. I didn’t want to scare Kelly, but I wanted her to be prepared if he came back. “A man came in before my 7:00 a.m. class. He didn’t say what he wanted, but he was…weird, you know? Just keep an eye out.”

She looked a little taken aback, but nodded. “What did he look like?”

“He was dressed nice, graceful, medium build…” I brought Hunt’s image back to my mind. “He looked like he probably had money, but it was just strange.”

“What did he say? Did he just stare at you?”

“No, he called me by name—and then he seemed annoyed I didn’t recognize him. He said he would see me soon.”

She laughed. “Are you sure you didn’t know him? Maybe you met him last night.”

I smiled and shook my head. “Just keep an eye open.” I tapped the counter three times before I followed Leslie out the door. We made the short walk to our favorite Spanish restaurant, famous for its amazing tapas and white sangria.

After we settled on the wonderful patio and ordered our drinks, Leslie flicked her stick-straight, dark blonde hair behind her shoulder. “So what was that all about?”

“What?”

“Something scared you. I can still feel your uneasiness.”

I narrowed my eyes. There was no way she heard me talking to Kelly from the doorway. “We don’t use our abilities on each other,” I reminded her as I took a sip of water.

“Yeah, well, it isn’t so easy to turn off.” She played with the knife next to her plate, distracted. “Stop being evasive. It isn’t often anything bothers you. What happened?”

It was hard to hide things from an empath. Leslie could feel the emotions of others if she focused on them. It wasn’t a debilitating gift, but it probably wasn’t a fun one either. I normally didn’t have an issue with it. I believed in thinking through a problem before reacting to it. I wasn’t an emotional woman, so she didn’t have anything to sense most of the time. I sighed and shared the story once again.

“Freaky. I would’ve run away or called the cops.” She laughed. “Probably both.”

I had no doubt she meant it, too. “It was just weird. I’m sure it was nothing. So tell me about the Beltane festival.”

“Oh you know, bonfires, dancing naked under the moon, becoming one with the earth…same old, same old. The enactment of the ritual union was really good this year. You should come sometime.”

I struggled to keep from wrinkling my nose. I wasn’t what one would call outdoorsy. It took a second to get past the idea of willingly spending days in the woods for her words to fully process. “You danced naked with strangers?”

She nodded with a giddy smile.

“Whore.”

We both laughed, knowing I didn’t mean anything by it. The girls and I always called each other mean names in jest. We had that level of comfort with one another that could only be born from complete acceptance. “That’s a Devin thing to do.”

Leslie’s brown eyes twinkled. “You would’ve done it too. You should’ve seen some of the guys there. Um, wow.”

“Huh.” The mental image of unshaven, dirty, woodsy, Unabomber type men filled my mind.

“Speaking of completely hot men,” Leslie grinned, “how’s Michael?”

“Michael’s great. He has something planned for tonight. He’s being all secretive about it, but he says I should dress up.”

I’d been dating Michael Christian for about eight months, and he was perfect. Literally perfect. There was nothing to complain about with him. We never fought, I felt special and adored whenever I was with him, and we had the same goals in life. Michael was the first man I’d dated for more than a few weeks. He owned a jewelry store down the street from my studio. We ran into each other several times before we became friends, and then he asked me out. Being with Michael was simple and uncomplicated, just the way I liked things. I still hadn’t taken him home to meet my grandmother, but I’d met his family and planned to introduce him to Gram when the time was right.

“So are you two ever going to get married, move in together, anything?” She leaned in with girlish glee.

I scoffed. “We’re perfectly happy with the way things are.”

Leslie’s eyebrows pulled together. “You know, sometimes I think the only reason you’re still with him is because you’re comfortable with your life being in stasis.”

“That’s how I like it.”

“That’s no fun. Where is the fun? The surprise? The excitement?”

“I hate surprises,” I said flatly. “Does that make me no fun?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re too serious, Selene. If you’d just let life happen and not plan every moment of it, you might be surprised by what you learn about yourself.”

“Says the girl who’s getting her doctorate while working, what is it, three jobs? Are you telling me—”

Movement across the street caught my eye. Cheney Hunt—if he’d given me his real name—stood leaning against the light post, his arms folded over his chest and aviator sunglasses covering his eyes. He was a bit too far away to be certain it was him, but my gut told me it was. I could practically feel his stare searing into me.

“Am I telling you what?” Leslie asked, taking a drink with an amused expression.

“He’s behind you,” I hissed.

“What?” She jumped, twisting around in her seat frantically.

“Stop making a scene. The man from the studio this morning is across the street. Right there.” I nodded in his direction.

Leslie dropped her napkin behind her. “Whoops.” She turned slowly to pick it up.

If he was watching us, there was no way he’d be fooled by that. Irritation built. Who was this man, and how dare he follow me? I slammed my chair back and stood up. “I’ve had enough of this.”

I stomped back through the restaurant and outside with only my cell phone clutched in my hand. I crossed the street, paying no heed to the oncoming traffic squealing to a stop around me.

As I got close, Hunt’s lean, muscled frame came into focus, as well his high, almost fine cheekbones that seemed incongruent with the wild glint in his eyes. When I reached him, he shook his head in a disgusted manner. “You always did like to make a scene.”

“What are you talking about?” I crossed my arms. “I don’t know you. I’ve never met you. Stop following me.”

He took a slow crunching bite out of an apple that seemed to appear out of nowhere. The shoppers walking down the sidewalk stared and pressed themselves as far away from us as they could. “Stop playing games. There. Isn’t. Time,” he said, punctuating each word with a glare.

“You have the wrong person.”

A slow smile crept across his face. “That’s damn near impossible.”

“Argh!” I threw my hand up in the air. Despite the small, horrified voice in my head telling me to stop making a scene, there was no rational thought in my mind. I was angry and annoyed to my very core at this complete stranger. I took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not whoever you think I am. I promise you, I’ve never seen you before in my entire life. What do I have to do to prove that?”

“You are Selene Warren from New Haven. You are 26 years old. Your grandmother’s name is Edith Meriweather and you haven’t told her you’re a practicing witch yet. You graduated from college summa cum laude in political science. You went to your high school prom with Daniel Waterman and wore a—” he paused for a moment with a faraway look in his eyes, “gray silk and lace gown. You probably would’ve looked better in a warmer, more golden color, but you never really look bad, do you, Selene?”

I sputtered and had no words to counter with because he was exactly right. How could he know that? He didn’t go to high school with me. There was no way I would’ve forgotten or missed him. The only thing I managed to squeak was, “The dress didn’t come in gold.”

He gave me an annoyed, patronizing smile. “A shame.”

“Who are you?” I whispered.

He reached out, but his hand stopped short of touching me and he held it there for a moment before letting it fall back to his side with a sigh. “I told you.”

“Selene!” Leslie’s voice came from across the street.

I glanced over, feeling like a heavy weight was pressed into my chest, but when I looked back Cheney was gone. I searched up and down the sidewalk for him, but there was nothing. A moment later a hand touched on my shoulder. I whirled around.

“It’s okay. It’s me.” Concern colored Leslie’s face. “What are you doing?”

“Did you see where he went?”

“Who?”

“The guy I was talking to. The one from the studio this morning.”

She shook her head slowly. “I didn’t see anyone, Selene.”

Chapter 3

I didn’t go back to the studio after lunch. I texted Kelly that I had a headache and went home. My work could wait one more day. I got in the shower and turned the water as hot as it would go, letting it rain over me until it burned and made me hiss with pain. I eased the cold water on and the temperature reached a relaxing point. I tried to wash away the strange day. Cheney must have gone to my high school. It was the only conclusion that made sense. Maybe he was a nerdy kid who filled out as he got older and I didn’t remember him. But why would he come looking for me now, and what did he mean there wasn’t time? There wasn’t time for what?

When my skin was sufficiently pruned, though I was no closer to answers, I got out and toweled off. Wrapping my gold silk robe around me, I padded through my closet into my bedroom and lay down on my bed, biting the inside of my cheek. I left all of my yearbooks at Gram’s house when I moved away, so I couldn’t look him up, but I couldn’t sit still either. I got up and slipped my cell phone out of my purse, scrolling through my contact list until I came to Emma Ewing, the closest thing to a best friend I’d had in high school. She also never left New Haven and knew practically everyone. If anyone would remember him, it’d be her.

“Hello,” Emma’s clear voice came through the line.

“Hey, Em, it’s Selene.”

“Oh my god, Selene. How are you? It’s been ages. I was just thinking about you the other day.”

“Oh, I’m great. How are you?”

“Fantastic. You know Nick and I got married, right? We’re expecting our first baby.” A shrill, excited sound came through the receiver and made me hold it away from my ear.

“That’s wonderful! Congratulations,” I said with genuine enthusiasm. Emma had dated Nick since the eighth grade. It was amazing it took them this long to get married.

“How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

“Um, yeah. I’ve been seeing a guy for a while.” My mind raced with ways to steer the conversation back on target. I didn’t really want to play catch up, because that’s what Facebook was for. “I ran into someone today. I think he was from high school. Do you remember a Cheney Hunt who went to school with us?”

“Hmmm, Cheney? No, the name isn’t familiar. Did he say what year he graduated?”

“I didn’t even think to ask.” Damn it, damn it, damn it.

“I’ll ask Nick tonight and see if he knows. I saw your grandma the other day. She was giving hell to a meter maid.”

Heh. Gram was a feisty old broad.

“I swear, I thought the poor woman trying to give her a ticket for double parking was going to cry.”

“If anyone could make her, it’d be Gram.”

Emma laughed. “When are you coming to visit again? We should have lunch.”

“Yeah, that would be awesome. I don’t have plans to come at the moment. The studio sucks up most of my time, but soon. I’ll give you a call.” I paused for a moment. “Oh, I have another call coming through. I’ll talk to you later, Em.”

I hung up, feeling slightly guilty about lying and supremely frustrated that I was no closer to Cheney’s identity. Someone had to know Cheney. I didn’t make him up. I couldn’t explain why Leslie hadn’t seen him. She must’ve missed him—maybe I obscured him from her view. I called Grandma. Maybe she’d know something. The phone rang and rang and rang. Grandma refused to get an answering machine, and you’d think voicemail was inviting the devil into your house if you listened to her talk about it. I pressed end again and tossed the phone back in my purse. Foiled.

I tried to distract myself by thinking about Michael—smart, sweet, courteous, responsible Michael. He never played video games and often surprised me with tickets to the opera and theater. We were perfect together; we made sense. On top of all of that, he was also kick-me-in-the-teeth gorgeous. Tall with blond hair, wide shoulders, chiseled features, and cornflower blue eye—just thinking about him made me sigh. I got pretty lucky with this one.

I wandered back to my closet and picked out a taupe sheath dress with a tie waist and a cluster of rosettes on the shoulder that highlighted my naturally gold skin. I let my hair fall in a natural wave, loose and flowing over my shoulders, then applied a mauve tinted lip gloss and a bit of eyeliner and mascara. Looking at the finished product in the mirror, I smiled. All in all the effect was exactly what I hoped it would be: approachable, but mysterious. Touchable, but forbidden. Lips that were utterly kissable. Michael Christian wouldn’t know what hit him.

The door bell rang promptly at eight causing my cat, Stewie, to run and hide because he hated pretty much everyone but me. Michael stood at my door with a bouquet of pink roses and a gorgeous smile.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he said, kissing my cheek and filling my senses with the smell of aftershave and roses. He ran his hands down my arms. “How was your day?”

“Strange. Thank you for the flowers.” I ushered him in and deposited the roses in a vase in the kitchen.

“Strange how?”

I told him about Cheney and how I couldn’t figure out who he was. Michael surprised me by laughing. “Well, what do you think he is, Selene? Obviously one of your friends is playing a joke on you. You weren’t seriously concerned, were you?” He brushed my cheek with the back of his fingers.

I forced a laugh. “Of course not. How was your day?”

“Great. I did a thirty mile ride this morning…” Michael kept talking and my thoughts wandered. I didn’t mind cycling on occasion, but I wasn’t as into it as he was. I paid enough attention as we drove to the restaurant to make the appropriate responses, but my mind was on Cheney again. None of my friends would pull a joke like that. And he knew I was a witch—something only someone in the coven could’ve told him, and that would never happen. Michael didn’t even know I was a witch.

We pulled to a stop outside of Tristan’s, a posh restaurant in downtown Raleigh. The valet opened my door and helped me out.

Michael took me inside with a gentle hand on my back and we were escorted to a table. I looked at him sitting across from me through the candle light. He belonged in a place like this and being here with him almost made me believe I belonged here, too. Michael was without a doubt the best looking man I’d ever met, and he chose me. I was still flabbergasted. He wasn’t arrogant like other handsome men; in fact, he was the most doting and considerate man I had ever met. Guys like him came around once in a life time—if you were extremely lucky.

He caught me staring and smiled, accomplishing the impossible—making his handsome face even more devastating.

“What are you thinking about?”

“How happy I am to have met you,” I answered honestly.

“Just think, you could’ve moved anywhere, but you moved to Raleigh and opened a store on the same block as mine. Now that’s serendipity.”

I flashed my most dazzling smile. “Maybe, or maybe not. I don’t like to think life is a series of accidents.”

“Well, fate or serendipity, I’m glad I ended up with you.” Michael took my hand and rubbed his thumb against my wrist. “There’s something I want to ask you, Selene.”

I met his eyes, an icicle of dread forming in my stomach.

“We’ve been seeing each other for a while, and I know we haven’t discussed this, but my family loves you and I, of course, love you.” He reached into his pocket.

My breath clogged my throat and I had the urge to drop his hand. This couldn’t be happening.

“Will you marry me?” He held out a velvet jewelry box.

I struggled to breathe, and speaking was next to impossible.

He smiled widely and opened the lid. Inside was the most beautiful, perfect ring. If I had a thousand rings to choose from, this one would have been my choice—a diamond encrusted platinum infinity band with a large princess cut solitary diamond on the top. It caught the light and flared in sparkling temptation.

“It’s beautiful,” I croaked. My brained scrambled for an appropriate response to all of this. I couldn’t force a smile though; my mouth stayed stubbornly motionless.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

The sound of my phone ringing completely broke the moment. Air gushed back into my lungs with a surge of relief, and I fumbled for my purse, apologizing. I thought I had turned off the ringer. I wrestled the phone from the pocket in my purse. It was a number from New Haven. My heart sank just a little.

“I think I need to take this.”

Michael nodded, then leaned back in his chair. Sipping his wine, he left the ring box open and watched me.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Warren?”

“Yes?”

“Your grandmother has been in an accident…”

“What? Is she okay? What happened? Can I talk to her?”

“Mrs. Meriweather fell down some stairs in her home. She’s pretty banged up, some broken bones and bruising, a collapsed lung. She’s being taken to the hospital now. Are you still in the area? She’s asking for you.”

“I’m in Raleigh. Who are you?”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. Jasper Hixson. We went to school together…I’m a paramedic now. She kept saying your name, and I saw your number by her phone. I thought I should call.”

“Yes, Jasper, thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I hung up. “Michael, my gram’s been in an accident. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Michael looked very concerned. “Is she okay?”

I waved my hand, dismissing his worry. “I’m sure she’s fine, but she’s asking for me.” I don’t know why I acted like that. I didn’t know her condition at all, but I couldn’t stand his empathy.

“Of course.” He tossed money on the table, scooped up the ring, and ushered me out of the restaurant.

There was a roaring in my ears and my heart thudded in my chest. I felt so helpless and so far away from Gram. I barely heard Michael as he talked on our way back to my house.

He walked me to my door, his blue eyes even brighter with anxiety. “You’re being awfully quiet. Are you worried?”

“Just thinking about everything I need to do.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Thank you for understanding.”

He caught my arm as I started to walk into my house. “Selene, you haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh…” Leslie’s accusation echoed in my mind, but I wasn’t scared of moving the relationship forward. Michael was a good man, and I could do much worse. We just hadn’t discussed marriage before—that was the only reason I panicked. I nodded to myself before I answered. “Of course.” I kissed him again. “We’ll talk more about it when I get back.”

“Are you sure I can’t come with you?”

“No. We’ll plan a time for you to come down and meet her. I don’t want it to happen like this.” I was painfully aware of the minutes slipping by. “I’m sorry. I really do have to go.”

“Drive carefully, and call me when you get there or I’ll worry,” he said softly, holding me close.

I gave him one last chaste kiss. “I will.”

He gave me a half wave and a nod as I closed the door behind me.

Chapter 4

Michael evaporated from my mind as I went into a packing, planning, and phone call frenzy. I called Jessica and told her what was happening so she could let the other girls know. I also begged her to watch my studio while I was gone. Then I called the other instructors to see if anyone could sub my classes. All the while, I threw everything I could fit into a suitcase. I cleared my bathroom counter into a plastic sack, then grabbed my cat and fought him into his carrier. And we were off.

The windows were down, Florence and the Machine blared in my ears, and I raced along with no regard for speed limits. It was just me and the moon tonight. I could feel the bright orb’s pull as it looked down on me and lit my path home.

“You keep her safe,” I whispered, as if something was up there listening to me. “Keep her safe.” I pressed harder on the accelerator.

It was after midnight when I tore into the hospital parking lot with my little red Ford Focus. I strode through the lobby directly to the desk. “My grandmother was brought in earlier tonight. Edith Meriweather.”

“Visiting hours are from 7 a.m. to 8 p.m. You can come back in the morning, dear.”

“You don’t understand. I need to see Gram tonight. She was hurt and asking for me. I need to see her.”

The woman appeared to be wavering slightly, so I went in for the kill, letting my eyes fill with tears as I spoke the absolute truth. “She’s all have, please.”

She nodded. “Don’t stay too long. She needs her rest.”

I nodded to her, wiping my eyes.

“Room 413.”

The hallways were eerily quiet. I eased into Gram’s room. My hand flew to my mouth, and I choked back a cry. She had an IV in her neck, and her face was swollen and horribly bruised. An arm was elevated, as was a leg. Poor Gram looked like she’d been hit by a bus then backed over again for good measure. I touched her free hand. It was cold and still—completely unlike its usual self.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Gram. I love you. I’ll be back in the morning. Be strong.” Energy coursed from me into her.

I forced myself from the room. All of my nervous energy suddenly zapped, I walked slowly back to my car then drove the familiar roads home. I pulled up to the front of the two story brick and shingle home I knew too well. In the dark the house looked creepy because it blended in with the background, and its dimly lit windows were like eyes staring down at whoever dared to interrupt its slumber. There was something unusual about the house tonight though. A soft light glowed from the half-moon window in the attic, welcoming me home.

What on earth was Gram doing in the attic?

I hefted Stewie and my bags up the steps on the porch and sat them at my feet as I dug out my keys to let myself inside. Once the door was securely closed, I let Stewie out of his cage. He took off in an unhappy streak of orange. I surveyed the house. It looked and smelled exactly as it did the first time I’d arrived when I was 7 years old—lived in and fragrant with fresh bread and lavender. Not all was cozy, however.

Blood smears at the bottom of the stairs marked where she had fallen. I went to the kitchen and got a wet cloth. When I was finished cleaning, I dragged my bags to my room in the turret and collapsed onto my bed. The room was peaceful and dark, the moon the only light. I was surrounded by complete and utter silence. It was, naturally, driving me mad.

After a few moments I gave up on sleeping. I walked around the house, taking in every familiar detail and touching objects that held sentimental value. My parents’ photograph, Gram’s quilt, the clay bowl I made for Gram in my first pottery class…Her house was a scrapbook of my life. I walked out the back door to the center of the yard. In the distance, waves crashed against the shore. My friend, the moon, still cast its silvery glow down on me. I held my arms out wide, surrendering to the power it held over me. I spun in a slow deliberate circle, my face lifted toward the pale majestic beauty. I breathed out all my tension, letting the night take it away.

“Gram will be okay,” I said aloud to make sure the universe understood that was the only outcome I was willing to accept. She would be fine and the cosmos better have my back on this one. I’d suffered enough loss for one lifetime. “No more will be taken from me, not now. I’m not ready.”

Peacefulness washed over me with the sounds of the waves. I stopped spinning and lay on the ground with my arms and legs spread out wide. My senses filled with the sound of the ocean, which I’d missed terribly, and the glow of the moonlight. After a while sleepiness found me. I sat up and went to my bedroom, where I slept like the dead until the alarm on my phone brought me back to life.

The sun had barely opened its eyes when I was already on my way to the shore. I spread my mat out on the beach and began my morning routine, the sun salutations warming me from the inside out. I was having trouble focusing though. Something nagged at my consciousness, keeping me from relaxing fully. I glanced at my watch—barely 6 a.m. I couldn’t go the hospital for another hour. The feeling didn’t subside.

I collected my mat and turned to head back to Gram’s. I spotted someone off in the distance and had the distinct impression I was being watched. I was too far away to make out any features or even to tell whether it was a man or woman, yet I felt a steady stare penetrating me to the core.

I backed toward the house, seriously creeped out, but when the figure made no move to follow me I relaxed a little. I dropped my sandy mat on the porch, rummaged up some food for Stewie, and made a mental note to pick up cat food and litter. I showered and dressed quickly, wanting to make it to the hospital right at 7. I gathered my hair into a low ponytail, not bothering to do anything more than towel dry it, and pulled on the first things my hand landed on in my suitcase—olive green cargos and a blue and white striped sweater.

When I got to Gram’s room at the hospital, a nurse was standing next to her bed taking her vitals.

“Has she been awake?” I asked.

“In and out—but that’s normal. She’s heavily medicated for the pain.” The nurse recorded something on Gram’s chart, then turned to me and smiled. “You must be Selene. She has asked for you.”

I walked over to Gram, my eyes filling with tears. “I’m here, Gram.” I took her frail, shriveled hand in mine. “Has the doctor been by yet?”

“Not yet,” the nurse replied, collecting her things. “He should make his rounds within the hour.”

I thanked her, then focused back on Grandma, lightly squeezing the hand I was holding. “Can you hear me, Gram? I’m here now. Everything will be okay. You will be okay, you will be okay, you will be okay,” I chanted, picturing my strength and energy flowing into her.

“Selene?” The weakness in her voice made me gasp.

“I’m here, right here.” I leaned over her, afraid she couldn’t see me.

“Selene, they’re looking…for you.” Gram’s breath was labored, and she seemed to be fighting against falling back asleep.

“It’s okay, Gram, I’m here.” I didn’t understand what she was talking about.

“Don’t. Let. Them. Get. You,” she said before her eyes closed again.

I rubbed my arms, fighting off goose bumps, and reminded myself she’d had a bad fall and probably hit her head. She had no idea what she was saying. There was a soft knock on the door, and it opened. A middle-aged, medium build man with wire-rimmed glasses and a white coat strolled in. The doctor I presumed.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Kennedy. Are you Mrs. Meriweather’s granddaughter, Selene?”

“I am.” Holy geez, grandma must’ve raised quite the fuss about my not being here last night. Everyone and their brother knew my name. I shook his cool, sterile hand. “How is she?”

Dr. Kennedy leaned against the window ledge, sat his clip board down, and crossed his arms over his chest. “It appears your grandma fell down the stairs in her home last night. Amazingly, she was able to get to a phone and dial 911. X-rays show several fractures in her leg–it seemed to have taken the brunt force of the trauma. Her arm has a couple fractures. She has severe bruising on her face, and several broken ribs, resulting in a simple pneumothorax. Right now, her condition needs to be monitored to make sure it doesn’t worsen.” He picked up her chart and flipped through it. “Her vitals are strong—which is great—and your grandmother’s stronger than she looks. Many people her age would not have done so well. We’re waiting to cast her leg and arm until the swelling goes down. Do you have any questions for me?”

Nothing came to my mind, though I was positive I had many, many questions somewhere in my head. “Not at the moment.”

“It was nice meeting you, Selene. I’m sure it’s a great comfort to your grandma to have you here.”

I sat in the chair next to her bed and waited for her to wake up again. Staring out the window into the bright sunlight, I longed for a piece of it rather than the cold fluorescent lighting in the room. My cell phone vibrated against my leg, waking me from my selfish longings.

“Hello,” I said, moving closer to the window in the hopes of getting better reception than the one bar the phone showed.

“Selene? I can barely hear you.”

“Michael, yeah it’s me. My reception is terrible here.” Oh crap, I completely forgot to call him. In fact, from the moment I shut my front door, he never once entered my thoughts. “I’m so sorry I forgot to call you last night.”

“I take it you made it safely. How’s your grandmother?”

“She’s pretty banged up, but I think she’ll be fine.”

“That’s wonderful. Do you know when you’ll be coming back?”

“No. It depends how she does.”

He was silent for a long while. I wasn’t sure if we were disconnected. I started to pull my phone away from my ear to check when he spoke again. “You didn’t take your ring.”

I dropped my head to my hand. I was a horrible person. “Oh. I’m so sorry. It completely slipped my mind.” I shook my head, struggling with the fact that everything I thought to say sounded like an excuse. “The ring is perfect,” I said softly.

“Have you told your grandma yet?” I could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“She hasn’t been awake long enough.”

He made a sympathetic noise. “So it is pretty bad, huh? What happened?”

“I guess she fell down some stairs. Lots of broken bones and a punctured lung.”

“A customer just came in, I have to go. Call me tonight. Or I’ll call you.”

“I will. Talk to you later.”

“I love you. Bye.”

I smiled to myself when I hung up the phone. He was just so sweet.

“Selene.”

At the sound of grandma’s voice, I popped up from my chair and was in her line of sight within a second. “How are you feeling, Gram? Do you need anything? Should I call the nurse?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked me as sharply as her weak voice could manage.

I looked around to make sure no one else was in the room. “Gram, it’s me, Selene. Where else would I be?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. I can see that it’s you,” she said crossly. “Get home and get the book. They’re after you, child.”

“What book? Who’s after me?”

“Don’t let them catch you.” Again her eyes closed and her breathing evened.

Obviously they had her on good stuff. She was downright loopy. Who would possibly be after me? I looked at my watch. It was just 9 a.m., though it felt like it should be afternoon by now. In my rush, I brought absolutely nothing to do. If Gram’s pattern held, she wouldn’t wake up again for a couple hours. I had more than enough time to run down to the gift shop and get a cup of tea.

Chapter 5

The overstuffed shelves in the gift shop were filled with very little that interested me. I considered running back to Gram’s house to see if I could find a book when I came across Little Dorrit. I’d seen the miniseries but never read the book. Seeing as time was plentiful at the moment, it was as good a time as any to read Dickens. After checking out, I crossed the lobby to the coffee kiosk.

“Can I help you?”

“I’ll have a soy iced chai latte, nonfat, no whip.”

Minutes later, drink in hand, I was headed outside for a couple moments of fresh air before I went back upstairs. I sat on a bench as far away from the door and the smokers as I could get. The sunshine soaked into my skin, making me tingle. I took a sip of my tea and cracked open the book, deeply inhaling its scent. There was nothing like the smell of a new book to awaken my mind. Before I could finish the first paragraph, however, someone sat on the bench with me. I glanced over out of habit, then startled at the familiar face.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, not even trying to stop the sharpness in my voice.

“I told you I had to speak with you.”

My mouth fell open. “Mr. Hunt, did you follow me here? I’m not comfortable with that. You have to leave or I’m calling the police.” I pulled out my phone. Hunt snatched it from my hand so quickly it was nearly blur. I jumped off the bench and stumbled away, not wanting to turn my back to him.

He stood, moving towards me with purpose. “Selene, we need to talk.”

“Yeah, me to the cops, and you to a psychiatrist.”

“Stop being stupid. You’re in grave danger.”

“No shit.”

Hunt advanced faster than I could inch away. It was like a bad dream, where I was on a treadmill. I kept walking but got nowhere.

“Just stop,” Hunt said and lunged for me.

I covered my head and yelped, but his hands never touched me. I lifted my hands slowly. He stood too close, a little smile ticking his mouth. “So we’re playing that game?”

I stared at him. What game? I hadn’t done anything—except panic. “I’m going to scream at the top of my lungs if you don’t leave immediately.” I glanced pointedly at a cop car in front of the hospital.

Hunt chuckled, and the sound sent a cold shiver up my spine. “Be my guest, Selene—but first, look around. Has anyone noticed anything happening so far?”

He was right. Not one of the people nearby had glanced in our direction. What was wrong with everyone? I screamed at the top of my lungs until my throat was raw and my cheeks were hot. Not one person even looked my way. He looked at me like I was spoiled toddler. “Satisfied yet?”

“Is this a dream?”

Hunt ignored my words and reached toward me again. I flinched and stumbled—fell hard on my butt. A truly merry laugh erupted from Hunt now. It filled the air like thousands of bells chiming in perfect harmony and washed over my skin like a bucket of ice water. “I’d help you up, but alas I’m prevented from touching you.”

I scrambled to my feet. “It’s not funny, Mr. Hunt!” I snapped. “Oh, you’re a big tough guy following me around, trying to scare the bejeezus out of me. Well, I don’t appreciate it. I don’t know who you are or what you want, but stay away from me!”

“No, Selene. I don’t think this is funny. If you’d stop acting like a scared deer every time you see me and listen, maybe you wouldn’t be so utterly stupid. I have no choice but to be here. Had I any other option, I would have never come to you of all people.” His dark green eyes were almost black with rage, and he inched closer as he spat his words out.

“And damn it all, stop calling me Mr. Hunt! Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?” He threw my anger back at me beat for beat, his eyes blazing as he tried to grab me again. Once again his hands were stopped three inches from my arms, apparently unable to get any closer.

I studied his hovering hands with curiosity that battled the fear and anger away. Why couldn’t he touch me? “What else am I supposed call you?” I asked.

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Cheney. Just bloody well call me Cheney.”

“And not that I’m complaining, but why can’t you touch me?”

“Because you aren’t allowing it,” he growled then strode away. After about five paces, he turned back. “I’m coming by tonight. Be ready. No more games, Selene.” And like that he disappeared into thin air.

Holy shit.

Chapter 6

Cheney had absconded with my cell phone, so I had no way to call anyone and Grandma was in no state to talk. When visiting hours ended, I slowly walked out of the hospital, leery of everything and everyone I passed. The two of them had officially freaked me out. I stopped by a market on my way home to buy food for dinner—for me and Stewie. When I arrived home, I carefully surveyed the yard before getting out of my car.

I hoped rather than believed Cheney didn’t know where I lived. I got out of the car as quickly as possible and opened the trunk. I picked up my one grocery bag and adjusted my purse so I could also grab the cat food. As soon as I had the bags, the trunk shut without me touching it.

“Need a hand?” Cheney’s voice came from behind me.

I turned toward him, adrenaline pumping through my veins as my body readied to dump everything and run, but all he did was take the bag of groceries from my arms.

“How do you appear out of nowhere? Are you magic?”

He cocked an eyebrow and shot me a half smirk that would’ve been ridiculously sexy if I didn’t hate him—and if he didn’t scare the crap out of me. “Shall we?”

I rolled my eyes but led him to the front door. “If I let you in, will you promise not to hurt me?” A fat lot of good a promise would do me, but having one would make me feel better at least.

“If I wanted to hurt you, I already would’ve, Selene.”

The way my named rolled off his tongue sent chills down my spine. It was so familiar, yet completely terrifying. “So why are you here?”

He didn’t reply, only nodded toward the door.

“You didn’t promise,” I said stubbornly.

He looked up at the sky. “I promise harm will not come to Selene Warren this night by my hands. If it does, may the stars rain down fire upon me and may my flesh boil from my body for all eternity.” He looked back at me with a wicked smile. “Happy now?”

“A simple ‘I promise’ would’ve been fine,” I muttered as I opened the door and flipped the light switch. In the kitchen Cheney placed the bag on the counter, then leaned against it and stared at me. Something swam underneath the surface of his calm gaze, but I couldn’t figure out what. He looked lean and dangerous—a predator watching its prey. I tried to ignore him and the nervous energy that swirled in my stomach as I ripped open the cat food bag and poured it into Stewie’s dish.

“Here kitty, kitty.” I had little hope of him showing up with a stranger in the house.

The sound of a phone vibrating practically sent me into cardiac failure. Cheney snickered and pulled my phone out of his pocket, obviously enjoying how jumpy I was.

“Who’s Michael Christian?” he asked, an unfathomable expression on his face.

I met his gaze. He knew everything about my past but not that I’d been dating Michael. Very interesting. It didn’t take long for anger to find its way to the surface though. Was he looking through my phone? “None of your damn business. Give me back my phone.”

“He keeps calling. Rather desperate, don’t you think?”

I reached for my phone. He stretched his hand out of my reach. “Should I answer it?”

“No! Just give me back my phone. You have no right.”

Cheney arched a brow, his finger hovering over the talk button.

“Michael is my boyfriend.” I flinched. “I mean fiancé.” Saying the new title out loud made my stomach flutter. It was going to take some getting used to. “Now for Pete’s sake, give it back.”

Cheney’s eyes hardened, all traces of teasing gone, and he stared at me as if I had just stabbed his mom. We spoke at the same time,

“Why are you here?”

“You have a fiancé?”

We had a standoff, of sorts, in the middle of my grandmother’s kitchen. The tension couldn’t have been hacked away with a chainsaw. It was as if every particle between us waited for something to ignite them. Stewie slithered around my legs. I broke eye contact with Cheney and scooped my cat off the floor. Stewie lounged in my arms like the fat orange hairball he was. He purred loudly and put a soft paw on my cheek. “How are you, pumpkin?“ I asked, glad to have a distraction from the strange man.

Cheney reached his hand toward Stewie.

“He doesn’t like strangers,” I tried to warn him, but he ignored me. I braced myself for the claws and panicked getaway, but Stewie didn’t object. He stayed perfectly content in my arms as Cheney petted him, purring even louder. The little traitor.

“He likes me just fine.”

“Well, at least one of us does.” I could feel Cheney’s eyes boring into me though I refused to look at him. He was standing too close. “Now tell me already—why exactly are you here?”

“What’s your boyfriend like?” he countered.

“Fiancé,” I corrected and he flinched. Curious. I was about to tell him Michael was big and strong and on his way over when the sound of glass breaking came from the living room. Cheney was gone in a flash. I dropped Stewie, and he bolted in the opposite direction. I ran into the living room to see what was going on.

Two men with black hair and all black clothing stood in front of Cheney.

“We’re not here for you,” one of the men said.

“Where is she?” growled the other.

My eyebrows pulled together. Did they not see me? Must have been distracted by Cheney…

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t let you lot have her.” Menace and the promise of pain to anyone who dared cross him saturated Cheney’s voice. The men lunged at Cheney as he pulled a small curved sword from the air. A few quick slashes and turns later, both men were on the ground, vital pieces spread all over the carpet. One by one the pieces evaporated.

I had been a witch long enough to hear the rumors about the Abyss. Stories circulated that the creatures who made up our fairy tales and nightmares lived there, but I never believed it. I was woefully unprepared for them to be in my grandmother’s house, and my brain struggled for a more practical explanation. I met Cheney’s annoyed expression when I looked up.

“Do you see why you need to stop playing games and listen?”

“I’m not playing any games—”

“Like hell you aren’t. It has to stop, Selene.” He charged me, his face inches from mine.

“What sort of ‘game’ do you think I’m playing? I don’t know why you’re here, who you are, or what I could possibly have to do with any of this. Perhaps if you’d stop trying to scare me and tell me what you want, we could get somewhere.”

“Bullshit. I don’t know why I even bother.” He turned away and paced, tossing an occasional glance in my direction.

“God damn it, who are you? What are you doing here? Who were those men? How do you disappear and appear wherever you like? And what do you want with me?” Years of pent up anger suddenly raged through me. I clenched my fists at my side to keep from attacking him.

He frowned. “I’m Cheney.”

“Yes, you’ve told me that, but you act like I know you. I’ve never met you. Aren’t you listening to me at all?”

“You most certainly do know me.”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life!” With this final shout, the wall to the left of Hunt cracked from floor to ceiling, and a tremor ran through the floor. Oh shit. I let myself get too worked up. The last time this happened was the night my parents died. I closed my eyes, trying to stop the energy coursing from my body. The sounds of glass shattering around me only set me more on edge. I couldn’t lose control, not again. My head throbbed with energy, power.

“Look at me,” Cheney commanded softly.

I opened my eyes and met his. “Give me your hand,” he said in the same gentle tone.

The room was shaking, things were flying off the shelves, and everything made of glass had shattered. My head continued to pulse. I put my shaking hand into Hunt’s and sparks crackled the air where our skin met. The next instant I stood on the beach.

“Ground your energy, Selene.” Cheney’s voice was calm and patient as if he’d done this a thousand times.

I looked at him, not knowing what he was talking about.

“Touch the ground. Send your energy into the sand.”

I did as he told me, and my vision went dark. Then there was nothing.

***

I opened my eyes and I was lying in my bed, the moon shining peacefully into my room and Stewie curled into a ball on the pillow next to me. Thank God it was all a dream. I sat up, stretching my arms. What a weird—

My relief stuttered to an abrupt halt.

Cheney, all long, lean muscle and noble bone structure, leaned against the doorframe watching me. He wasn’t just handsome. In an unkempt, wild sort of way, he oozed sex appeal. His eyes darkened with interest when I looked at him.

No, it wasn’t just a dream. Not just a dream at all.

He came toward me like he was approaching a feral animal, doing everything in his power to appear non-threatening, which was impossible since every ounce of his being screamed hunter—just like his name. “Do you know where you are?” he asked.

“In my room.”

He nodded and sat on the edge of my bed. There was so much going on under the surface of his eyes, I couldn’t guess at what he was thinking. “You really don’t know me, do you?”

I shook my head, positive I’d never met him. He wasn’t someone I was likely to have forgotten. Again he was too close to me, and it was hard to breathe.

“Do you want to?” he asked even softer than before.

I didn’t think I could speak, let alone answer that question. I continued to stare into his eyes, unblinking and drowning in their seas. Golden flakes I hadn’t noticed before sparkled in the green depths like sunshine playing on waves. The front door slammed. Cheney scowled.

“Stay here,” he commanded as if I were a soldier. A moment later he disappeared.

Of course I didn’t stay put. This was my house—well, my grandmother’s anyway—not his. I unwound from the covers and crept to the stairs, careful to avoid all of the squeaky boards.

“What a pleasant surprise.” A high voice with a faint accent I couldn’t place drifted up to me.

“Meadow. Bella.” Cheney didn’t sound welcoming, and the two female voices that returned his greeting were equally chilly. “Cheney,” they said in unison.

“I have killed your scouts,” he continued. “She isn’t here. I’ll give you the opportunity to leave now or you’ll meet an equal fate.”

“We have our orders.”

“You can have her over my dead body.”

“If it must be.”

“It must.”

“So be it.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” I could nearly hear the smile tilting Cheney’s mouth.

“We want to check the house.”

“No. The house is mine. Look elsewhere.”

“You have no claim.”

“And I say I do. If you care to challenge me, Meadow, I’ll happily end this all here and now.”

There was a long silence. I thought about moving in closer, but common sense stopped me. Cheney was protecting me from these people. The last thing I should do was alert them to my presence.

“I feel no one else here,” a different female voice stated.

“Another day, Prince.”

“So be it,” he spoke in a similarly flat voice. The front door slammed shut, then footsteps behind me made me jump.

“I told you to stay in your room,” Cheney growled, grabbing my arm with a self-satisfied smile.

“You did, but I don’t take orders from you.” I yanked my arm away from him, not liking the flush coming to my cheeks. “I thought you couldn’t touch me.”

“I couldn’t, but you were obliging enough to break the barrier for me.”

“I—what? How?”

“You touched me.” He squeezed my hand, and my breath caught in my throat.

“I most certainly did not.” As soon as the denial was out of my mouth, I remembered taking his hand when I was having my melt down. “You tricked me.”

“That’s what I do best. It’s open season, princess.” He pressed his nose into my cheek and his lips brushed my face as he spoke, “I can touch you all I want now.”

My entire being burned from the inside out and my heart clamored loudly in my ears. I laid both hands flat against his chest and turned my head slightly toward him. He leaned in, eyes dancing with anticipation. I pushed him with all the strength I had in my body and mind.

He rocked back slightly, giving me enough room to dart down a couple steps and put distance between us. “I may have broken whatever barrier existed, but that was not an invitation. You stay away from me!” I ran down the stairs toward the front door, but Cheney materialized in front of me, blocking my escape.

Chapter 7

I scrambled backward, tripping on the steps.

Cheney held his hands up innocently, fingers spread wide. “I’m just teasing you.”

“Then let me leave.” I continued to back away from him until I was pressed against a wall, my cheeks still on fire.

“I can’t, princess. Right now, I’m the only thing that stands between you and them.”

I swallowed hard. “Who’s going to stand between you and me?”

“You do a fine job of that. I don’t think you need any assistance,” he muttered.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Are you ready to listen?

“It’s really annoying that you answer my questions with a question.” Cheney gave a small sincere smile, but made no comment. “I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He glanced over to the glass-covered living room then back at me. “Perhaps we should sit in the kitchen.”

I took in the house for the first time since I came downstairs. It looked like a natural disaster. I destroyed my grandma’s house. It was filled with cracks and broken glass. She’d have a heart attack if she came home to this. “Did I do all that?” I asked though I knew I had.

Cheney glanced around. “Yeah. You never have been able to control your temper. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it later. Right now, we’re talking, yes?”

I gave him a dubious look. “I’ve always been able to control my temper. I never fly off the handle. If you think otherwise, you don’t know me at all.”

“Whatever you say.” He motioned toward the kitchen. “Shall we?”

I plopped myself down on a kitchen chair and waited for Cheney to start talking.

“What do you know?” he asked.

“I was living a perfectly peaceful, happy existence in Raleigh until you showed up being creepy.” He gave me an impatient look and I shrugged. I didn’t know what he wanted from me. “I was on a terrific date last night with an incredible man, and then I got a phone call saying Grandma fell, so I came here. Now my life has completely gone to hell. I don’t know who you are, who those people were, or why anyone would be after me or my grandma.”

“Your grandma? No one’s after your grandma. They’re after you.”

“Why?”

“You’re a changeling.” Cheney looked at me expectantly, but the word changeling meant nothing to me. “Do you know what that is?” he finally asked.

“Not a clue.”

“It’s a member of one race, normally fae, who’s given to humans to be raised as their own. Just normally not in these circumstances.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the kitchen table. “You’re an elf, like me—well, not exactly like me. You‘re only half.”

I glanced around the room, knowing this had to be a joke of some kind.

“What are you looking for?”

“Gandolf,” I cracked, trying not to laugh.

He pursed his lips. “I’m serious. You need to listen.”

“Oh, I’m listening, but all I hear is crazy.”

“You don’t believe in elves? How do you explain the bodies evaporating? How can I disappear and reappear? How do you explain your own abilities?”

“Magic. I just don’t know how you do it.”

“Do you remember the Abyss?”

“I have heard of it, but, come on, seriously?”

“Why can you believe in magic but not the Abyss? Where do you think your magic comes from?”

I didn’t respond. How could I? I had no explanation. I had heard of the Abyss, but I wasn’t a part of it. It had nothing to do with our innocent little coven. The smile fell from my face. I suspended my doubts and tried to absorb his words in my mind. “So you’re saying as a baby I was switched with a human child? What happened to the child I was switched with? If I’m half elf, what’s the other half?”

Cheney shook his head. “Normally that would be the case, but this is slightly more complicated. You lived as a half-elf for decades before you decided to become a changeling—”

“I don’t understand.”

Cheney sighed and stared at his hands. “You became mixed up with a group who convinced you to become a changeling to increase their power. You were led astray.”

“You aren’t doing a very good job explaining this.” It was hard to hold back my frustration at not understanding. “Who’s this ‘group’ and how does being raised by humans give them power?”

“If you would shut up, I could do a better job.” He glared. “Human magic is forbidden to elves. As a half elf you are also half human, so choosing to honor your human side, you can be born again to humans with a lot of very powerful, very dangerous magic. But if you succeed, which you did, the laws that govern elves do not apply to you. Humans have no laws to govern magic because they don’t believe in it.” He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “As a human, you can practice their magic as well as use ours. The rebels are planning to overthrow the current ruling house—my family. My father is the Erlking, or King of the Hunt. We have been the ruling family for 3000 years.”

“My magic isn’t all that powerful. I can find lost keys, maybe do some minor healing…”

“They don’t want you for what you know. They want you for what you’re capable of doing. You were one of the most powerful half elves I’ve ever known. That magic combined with the capabilities of human magic makes you a force.”

“Okay…so assuming I believe you, believe any of this…Why don’t I want to help them? I mean I understand why you don’t want me to, but obviously, I agreed with them at the time. Perhaps 3000 years is long enough for one family to rule.”

“You think they’d be better than us? Let’s look at what they’ve done so far—not even being in power.”

Cheney was anything but impartial, yet I listened, trying to see how I could possibly be some grand weapon waiting to be used.

“They’ve enslaved trolls and tortured and murdered countless sprites and nymphs for their lack of support—not to mention the threats they’ve made against houses who refuse to support them.”

A small, pained sound escaped me much to my annoyance. I wanted to be convinced based on facts, not an appeal to my emotions.

“My family has peacefully governed the fae community for thousands of years without violence or even the threat of violence. I should be with them now, helping my people, but instead I’m here with you, trying to keep you from doing something stupid—a task I was never successful at in the past.”

Obviously this was a point of contention—at least for him. “I take it you’ve known me a long time,” I said evenly, hoping the anger in his eyes would ebb.

He sighed. “A very long time by your standards.”

“Why did I side against you?”

“You were angry.”

“That sounds rather petty given what’s at stake.”

“Your human half makes you emotional. The rebels used your emotions to their advantage. They clouded the issue and convinced you I was your enemy.”

It was funny to think that my human half made me more emotional when I had led a fairly unemotional human life. “But you aren’t?”

“No, not now. Not ever. You make me angry, and I may yell at you, but I’m not your enemy.” He looked like he had more to say, but he shook his head and quietly stared off into space.

“So those women who came here were part of this rebel group? The one said she couldn’t feel me. What does that mean?”

“The people who came here are bounty hunters. Meadow and Bella are elves though, and they couldn’t sense you because I’m here.” He frowned and paused for a moment. “So far only the elves have made it this far, but I assure you more are coming.”

“How does your being here make a difference?”

“You had second thoughts before you went through with this, and you asked me for help. I wanted to fight them and end the problem, but you refused. You said if you didn’t go through with it, they would get another half elf to. I bound myself to you so I could protect you when you became a changeling.” He stood and prowled around the room.

“But why would you do that if you didn’t want to get involved?”

Cheney sighed and shook his head. “You were placed with your actual human family line. The woman you call your grandmother is really your great, great, great, great—I forget how many greats, but you get the idea—niece and an extremely powerful witch. I explained to her what happened, and she took you in.”

I bit my lip to keep the steady stream of disbelief in my mind from pouring out of my mouth. My gram, a witch? A powerful witch? Her being my great-whatever-niece didn’t throw me at all—but a witch? You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.

Cheney didn’t seem to notice my shock. “You’ve grown up with protection spells surrounding you at all times. Fae cannot touch you, unless you touch them first—as we discovered—and you cannot be seen or smelled as anything other than human by any fae. While I am with you, I can further that protection with my magic and make you invisible to them. The only way they can find you is through your magic. It leaves an imprint that cannot be hidden by even the best spells.”

Oh crap. The one time I use my ability and it destroys my life. Figures. “Wait, so you’re saying the woman, my grandmother, who flipped her lid when she saw me reading Harry Potter is a witch.”

“One of the best.”

I choked on my disbelief. This was all too much. How could any of it be true? “How did you find me?”

“Your grandmother told me where you were.”

“How did you know what I wore to my high school prom?”

A faint smile broke his serious expression. He reached into his pocket and handed me a worn and creased picture. It was of me and my date with the day and our names written on the back in my grandmother’s handwriting.

“Edith kept in touch.” He took the picture back from me and slipped it into his pocket. “I swore to myself when you left I wouldn’t get involved again, but circumstances have changed. When I found out they were looking for you, I knew it was time.”

“How did you know they were looking for me?”

A smirk colored his face and the previous gentleness was gone. “I have my sources.” He cracked his knuckles, his face hard once more.

“If I am who you say I am, why don’t I remember anything?”

“Because your grandmother did a good job. If you knew you were a 150-year-old half elf, do you think you would have listened to her when she told you not to use magic? Of course you wouldn’t. So it was forbidden and over time you forgot, or she suppressed, who you were and where you came from, protecting you from yourself.”

My head was spinning. I had no idea what I thought or what I believed. “So what do you want with me? Are you going to shadow me the rest of my life so I’m not caught by them?”

“If that’s what is necessary,” he said carefully.

“But that isn’t what you had in mind when you came here.” I watched his face, trying to get some clue as to whether I could trust him.

“I hoped you would want to come back with me and help us—but at this point, I’d settle for you just not actively joining them.”

“How could I help you? I’m not saying I’m going to or that I want to, but if I were to help, exactly what would I have to do?”

Cheney stared at me for a long while. “You would have to renounce your human half and reclaim your half elf heritage or…” his voice trailed off.

“Or do what they want me to do—but for your side.”

“Yes.”

“And it’s dangerous?”

“Very.”

I nodded. “Thank you for being honest. Grandma didn’t fall, did she?”

“I highly doubt it.”

“She was attacked?”

“Probably.”

“If I keep hiding, will they keep after her?”

“Possibly.” He tossed me my cell phone.

I caught it and closed my eyes. “It’s a lot to take in. It would be easier if I remembered anything. Right now it all sounds like an elaborate practical joke.”

“Even if you remembered details, it’s complicated.”

I stood up and started walking out of the room.

“Where are you going?” he asked, not making a move to follow me.

“Upstairs. I need to think.”

Cheney didn’t reply and I didn’t turn back. Grandma wasn’t my grandma—and she was attacked because of me. I was supposed to be a weapon of mass destruction in a feud between things I didn’t even believe in. I wasn’t fully human. A person who absolutely terrified me was apparently my only hope…Finally I laughed because my only other choice was to cry.

Chapter 8

I sat on the floor of my room in lotus position trying to find my center, but I was a jumble of nerves, thoughts, and worries. Nothing was settling within me. Gram’s voice rang in my head. “Get the book,” it said. What book? Was that why she was in the attic? My mind was a million miles away from yoga. I was never going to find inner peace.

The light was still on in the attic as I climbed the ladder. I hadn’t been up here in years. It was filled with boxes and odd and ends. How on earth I was supposed to find one book in the mess was beyond me. I pulled a box toward me, knelt beside it, and dove in.

This particular box was stuff from before Mom and Dad died—toys I vaguely remembered, books they used to read to me, and all the things that a seven-year-old treasures. I held my stuffed bunny, Peter, to my face and inhaled deeply. It still smelled like them.

“What are you doing?”

I didn’t bother to look at Cheney. Instead, I hugged Peter a moment longer, then sat him to the side.

“You felt a sudden need to cry over some stuffed animal?”

I huffed in annoyance. “I remembered that when Gram woke up today, she said someone was after me and I should ‘get the book.’ This was the only light on in the house, so I figure she must’ve been up here for a reason.”

“What book?” he asked, fully climbing into the attic.

“I have no idea.”

He looked around with a calculating expression. “Are you going to cry over every box you open? If so, we’re in for a long night.”

A small smile tugged at my mouth. “I just might.”

He picked up Peter. “And who, may I ask, is this?” He held him out in front of him by the arms.

“Peter. My very best friend for the first seven years of my life.”

“Then you abandoned him to a cardboard box? Poor fellow.”

“Most of these boxes are mine. My parents died when I was seven, and I never unpacked anything when I moved here. Gram bought me all new everything so I wouldn’t be reminded of home.”

“So Peter wasn’t abandoned, just forgotten?” Cheney spoke of Peter as if the doll were a real person, making my stomach knot nervously.

I shrugged, feeling awkward. “Anyway, I’m trying to find the mysterious book.”

“Would you like help?”

“Well, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

He smiled and pulled down his own box. I flipped through the books in my box, then grabbed Peter and put him back inside.

“Poor Peter,” Cheney said under his breath, and I pretended not to hear.

Several hours and a few sentimental moments later, Cheney and I had been through every box in the room.

“I thought for sure it would be up here.” Frustration settled in. What book could possibly be so important for me to find? Cheney walked around the attic tapping each floor board and inspecting the walls and ceiling with a narrowed gaze. “What are you doing?”

He shushed me and kept right on inspecting until a cocky smile brightened his face.

“You know where it is, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He rubbed the dust from his hands.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“I’m not sure you deserve it, but what the hell. If we push on this wall here. . .” He looked back at me, and the wall opened. He waggled his eyebrows, making me laugh.

“You’re awfully proud of yourself,” I said as I brushed past him into the small hidden room. I flipped the light switch and was met with what appeared to be my grandmother’s secret room of all things witchy. “What a hypocrite!”

Cheney picked up a plain black leather-bound book with curled edges. “Could this be it?” He cracked it open, and I peaked over his shoulder. It was definitely spells.

“It has to be. Her Book of Shadows.”

“Do you want to go visit your grandma and find out?”

“It isn’t visiting hours.”

“Come on, Selene,” Cheney said in a slow, easy manner. “You’ve never been afraid to break a few rules.” His eyes flashed playfully, making me wonder how well I’d known him. He was daring me and something in me stirred at the challenge.

“Okay, hot shot, get me in.”

“Well, you’re going to have to step a little closer.”

I took a step towards him.

He beckoned me. “Closer. Don’t be afraid.”

“Exactly how close do you want me?”

He arched his brow with a wicked grin. My face got hot and he laughed. “You blush a lot more than you used to. You’re going to have to touch me. I know how much that displeases you.”

“This better not be another trick.” I stepped up against him.

“Put your arms around me.”

My arms wrapped around his waist. He slid his hands around me and pulled me in tighter. I thought of snotty things to say, but I couldn’t speak being this close to him. The way he smelled like sandalwood and 4 a.m. made my heart skip beats. I rested my head against his chest in a spot that felt like it was built just for me. His breath hitched, and he squeezed me a little tighter. Everything went black and the next instant we were in Grandma’s hospital room. Once I no longer felt dizzy, I pushed away from him and went over to Gram.

“Gram,” I said softly, taking her hand.

Her eyes fluttered, but they didn’t open. I was torn. I didn’t want to wake her because she needed rest, but I needed to speak with her. I tried again and received similar results. Cheney moved next to me.

“May I?”

I narrowed my eyes, not wanting to relinquish my grandmother’s hand. “Maybe we should just let her rest,” I said stubbornly.

He gave me an impatient glance. “Step aside, Selene.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, not budging.

“Wake her up.”

“Leave her alone.”

He rolled his eyes. “We don’t have time for this.” He flipped the covers off her leg, clamped his hand over her ankle, and shut his eyes.

“What are you doing, you perv? Take your hands off my grandma.” I let go of Gram’s hand and pushed Cheney. He didn’t budge. He stood like a wall, ignoring my protests. “I said stop. Let her go.” Anger flooded my mind in gushing waves.

His other hand seized my wrist so tightly, my hand immediately started turning red from lack of circulation. “You need to calm down. This is not the place to throw a tantrum. It will be a lot worse than a few cracked walls here.” He didn’t open his eyes or raise his voice while he spoke. His other hand remained on Grandma’s ankle, and I could feel energy crackling beneath his skin. I looked at Gram. She had a bit more color in her face. I stopped struggling against him and his grip loosened enough that my blood started to flow again. I watched as Gram started to look more and more like her old self.

Cheney released us at the same time and stepped back, rolling his neck. “Try again.”

I took grandma’s hand, which was decidedly warmer. “Gram?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Selene.” She smiled at me briefly, but then the happy expression melted from her face. “Selene, you’re in danger. What did you do to draw them here? I thought you would never have to know, but they found you—”

“It’s okay, Gram. I know.”

“No, you don’t. Get my Book of Shadows from the secret room in the attic. Take it and run. Defend yourself. Don’t let them take you back. I can no longer protect you. Your magic is your only hope of survival. The book explains everything. Don’t trust any of them. They just want to use you. Find—”

Cheney appeared on the other side of Gram’s bed. “Hello, Edith.”

Her eyes darted over to him and her hand clutched his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. You were supposed to keep her from coming here.”

Gram said not to trust any of them—and Cheney was most definitely one of them. My stomach sank, and I struggled not to look at him.

“She doesn’t remember me.”

“Oh.” Grandma’s eyes widened slightly, then she nodded. “I was certain she would still remember you—”

“Apparently not,” he cut her off.

“You explained?”

“I gave her the highlights.”

Gram’s mouth fell open and she looked at me quickly, then back at him.

“Not about that,” Cheney said coolly. “I told her who was after her and why they want her.”

“Does she have the support of the King?”

He shook his head, jaw clenched. “Not yet.”

Grandma sighed. “I thought—”

“So did I. He’ll come around.”

It was like they were speaking another language. Obviously I was “her” and Cheney hadn’t told me everything which irritated me. “You didn’t tell me everything? What else did I miss?”

“Lene, mind your manners,” Grandma barked at me.

Out of habit, my mouth snapped shut and I looked down.

Cheney smiled, obviously amused, but answered me. “I told you all you could deal with at that moment, princess. I couldn’t possibly catch you up on 500 years of my family’s personal and political drama in 15 minutes.”

Condescension made me furious. I gave him a hateful look but didn’t comment.

“Without the support of the King what chance does she have?”

“He’ll come around. She has my support. I’ll protect her.”

“But without the King, what will keep your people from killing her? If she’s dead, she cannot be used as a weapon—no more problem.”

He sighed and tightened his jaw. “I will.”

“You’ll turn your back—”

“I’ll do what must be done.”

Deep worry lines etched Grandma’s face. “She needs to awaken her power. You cannot protect her alone.”

“If she does that, she’ll be easier to find.”

“If she doesn’t, there’s little hope.” Gram sighed again. “How did they find her in the first place?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lene, did you use your magic?” She looked at me with those clear eyes I could never hide anything from.

“I didn’t use any of my abilities per se…” I bit my lip, “but I did start a coven.” I was unable to keep a grimace from my face. I’d messed up royally. I knew it.

“Lene! What did I tell you about magic?” Gram’s fury made me want to apologize, but I stood my ground.

Blaming this entirely on me hardly seemed fair. “Absolutely nothing, which is why we’re in this mess,” I snapped at her for the first time in my life.

Her mouth fell open. “You will not speak to me with such impertinence, child.”

Immediately I felt guilty. Here she’d been protecting me and was half killed for her effort, and I blamed her for my mess. “I’m sorry, Gram. But we’re well past finger pointing. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Actually this is a good thing, Edith,” Cheney said. “We need a coven to awaken her powers anyway, and it will be better with people she knows and trusts rather than strangers. Everything happens for a reason. You know that.”

Our eyes met and something other than fear and loathing swirled in me.

“I guess this is between the two of you now. You’re out of my depths, child,” Grandma huffed. “Get her out of here, Cheney. Protect her, but don’t be too easy on her.”

“I will—and I won’t.” he promised, smiling at Gram. “I take it this is the book you wanted her to find?” The black book from the hidden room appeared in his hand. Grandma nodded solemnly.

“We’re not leaving you,” I told her.

“Go with him, Selene. Cheney can teach you, help you protect yourself.”

“Who’s going to protect you?”

“I may be older, but I am not feeble. I can take care of myself. They caught me off guard. Next time I’ll be ready.”

I started arguing, but Cheney cut me off. “She’s in more danger with you here than if you leave. They want you. They don’t give a damn about her. No offense, Edith.”

“None taken.”

“If you honestly believe I’m going to leave my grandmother here completely unprotected, think again. I don’t know what I was like when you knew me, but that’s not who I am now.”

“Lene—”

“It’s okay, Edith. She’s right. We cannot leave you here without protection.” He handed her a small necklace with a green stone that bore strange markings. “Wear this and use it to reach me if you’re threatened. Any time. Do not hesitate.” He cast a meaningful look at me. “Can we go now, princess.”

He called me princess with such bitter mocking that my hackles rose, but I fought against the urge to be difficult. “Fine.”

I gave Grandma a kiss and hug, telling her I’d see her soon, though I wasn’t sure that was true. Then I went over to Cheney and put my arms around him like before. “Don’t call me princess.”

He chuckled and everything went black.

Chapter 9

Cheney took me back to Gram’s to get my things. I collected my stuff and he tracked down Stewie, and we were on the road by dawn.

“Where are we going?”

“Go back to your house.”

“How is that any safer than being here?”

“It’s safe until they find us.” He adjusted his seat back. “I haven’t made other arrangements yet. I’m still hoping my father will come through.”

“Does your father know about all of this?”

Cheney looked out the window. “This is such an inefficient way to travel.”

I didn’t reply. He didn’t seem to want to talk anymore and that was fine with me. I had plenty to think about. They kept saying I had to awaken my power, but I didn’t know what that meant or if I wanted any more power than I already had. After the past two days I was about ready to wash my hands of this whole witchcraft thing. It was more than I bargained for.

From what Gram was saying to Cheney, it was pretty clear he was going out on a limb being here with me. Guilt at the way I’d treated him seeped in. I had actually been acting like a princess. Entitled and spoiled. That wasn’t who I was.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I blurted, “Thank you for helping me.”

Cheney glanced over at me, his eyes crinkling along the edges.

My cheeks warmed, and I cursed myself for saying anything at all. “I figured I should say it now, given how often you make me mad. This might be the only time I’m willing to express gratitude,” I grumbled.

“You’re welcome.” His voice was soft and he looked like he wanted to say more, but he turned his head and stared out of the window again.

I focused on the road. Part of me wanted to know what I was like before, and part of me was scared to hear about it. What if I couldn’t live up to who I was? I battled in my head about whether or not to ask him. Whoever I was then, she was enough to get him to drop everything to help me now. How could I be anything but a disappointment now? I laughed at the irony. I was scared to disappoint the person who terrified me by just looking at him.

“What?” Cheney asked.

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“Tell me about your life, Selene. Or do you prefer Lene?”

“Selene. Lene was my nickname when I was a kid. It doesn’t evoke happy memories. Gram has always called me that though, so she’s grandfathered in on the ‘no calling me Lene’ clause.”

“Does your grandmother know how you feel?”

“No. I mean, I had a good childhood. I was popular and well liked, but—” I took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Something was missing. Lene was the submissive people pleaser.” Why was I telling him this?

“And who is Selene?”

I shrugged and fiddled with the vents on the dashboard while keeping my eyes on the road and my other hand on the steering wheel.

“It couldn’t have been easy. Being a half of something puts you in a difficult position.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you aren’t really either race so it would be difficult to be fully accepted. “

“I never noticed, but I didn’t know I was half anything. People accepted me. Did the elves not?”

“There’s a prejudice against half-elves.” He glanced in my direction. “But not everyone feels like that.”

My laugh was bitter. The idea of people dismissing me for what I was rather than who I was rubbed me the wrong way.

“We aren’t perfect,” he said as if reading my thoughts. “Elves tend to believe they are superior to all other races, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. You tend to let what other people think of you get in your head, but you shouldn’t. You’ve made a good life for yourself—a full life. You have a coven, friends, family, your students—”

The truth of his words rang in my ears but didn’t smother doubt about whether or not I was making the right decision in helping him. “You’re right, I do.”

Cheney’s laughter filled my car. “First you thank me. Now I’m right? Don’t apologize, or I might fall over dead. I might like your human half better.”

I smiled despite myself. The heat in his gaze made my lungs constrict, so I continued to focus on the road. “It was insightful, that’s all.”

“I’ve had a long time to think about it.”

“Am I like I was then?”

“Part yes, part no. You seem a lot more at peace with the world now than you used to be. I don’t see quite as much of the rebel in you these days.”

“If I awaken my power, what will happen? Will I remember everything? Will I change?”

“I don’t know exactly. I’ve never paid much attention to changelings. It’s possible it could all come back to you with the spell—that’s what I am hoping for. Or you may remember things in pieces as your mind processes. Memories can only be suppressed for so long, especially if there are triggers.”

“But will it change me?”

“Everything we do changes us.”

I sighed, hating the political answer. How could I trust anything he said when he just wanted to use my power too? “I’m not sure if I want any of this.”

Cheney didn’t respond, and I didn’t try to keep the conversation going. Instead I thought about what I had learned. The last couple days drifted through my mind.

Oh crap,
Michael.

I was so preoccupied that I’d forgotten all about him—never even called. He probably hated me and would call off the engagement. I ignored the hopeful trickle at the thought. I dug my phone out of my pocket. I had missed calls from him and from the girls. I called Michael back first since he was the one I had promised to call.

“Hello.”

“It’s Selene. I’m so sorry I missed your call last night. Things just…came up.”

Cheney scoffed in the next seat, and I gave him a threatening look.

“I figured you were probably tired after being at the hospital all day. How’s your grandmother?”

Cheney looked at me as if he was going to steal the phone again.

I leaned toward my door. “She’s doing much better.”

“It sounds like you’re in the car.”

“Uh yeah, I’m coming home.”

“Great! Can I see you tonight? We can have dinner.”

Cheney flushed and turned toward the window, his knuckles on his clenched hands turning white.

“Uh, no. I don’t think I can make it. I’m exhausted and I need to work some. Rain check?

“Absolutely. I missed you.”

Cheney’s head swiveled back to me, his eyes drilling holes into me. Could he hear Michael?

My cheeks warmed. The words “I miss you, too” caught on my tongue and wouldn’t come out. “I’m sorry, I really have to go. Traffic is picking up. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

“Oh…Well, talk to you later.”

I ended the call, face still burning. “What’s your problem? I think we need to set some ground rules if this is going to work. You can’t flip out every time I talk to my fiancé.”

“What is my problem? What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem. I forgot to call him back until now. It wasn’t like you were talking to me, and it wasn’t fair to make him worry. Where do you get off looking at me like that?”

“Nowhere, of course. Why should I be allowed to have feelings about anything, princess? We all know the whole entire universe revolves around you and your perfect little idea of how the world should be.”

“Revolves around me?” Both my hand flew up and my foot pressed down on the accelerator, but I didn’t notice. I was furious. “Oh, that’s rich. This is as much about you as it is about me, Cheney.”

He lunged toward me, and I threw myself back so hard I hit my head on the window. I waited for the attack, but it never came. He was steering the car, weaving in and out of traffic as our speed continued to increase. “Do you mind taking your foot off the accelerator?” he asked curtly.

I eased my foot back, rubbing my head where I bashed it against the window. A bump was already surfacing. Cheney directed the car toward a rest stop, and I continued to decrease the speed. By the time we were on the exit, I took over steering again. I pulled into a parking spot and jumped out the car, my entire body shaking. I paced a bit, trying to shake out some of the nerves. Cheney grabbed me by the shoulders, lifting me until my toes barely skimmed the ground.

“What do you mean this is as much about me as it is about you?”

“I don’t know. I just said it. It popped into my head and came out the next instant.”

His eyes searched mine, then he sat me back on the ground. A couple deeps breaths later he asked, “Did you hit your head?”

I pointed to the spot.

“Hold still.” His hand wove through my hair and cupped over the lump. A tingling sensation spread throughout my body. “I won’t hurt you, Selene. How many times do I have to tell you that?” He tilted my face toward him, his other hand on the back of my neck. Nearly all the green in his eyes had gone metallic gold again.

There was something wild and familiar in his expression that made me feel like he was going to swallow me whole. I wanted to run away, but he held me in place.

“Damn it, Selene.” His voice was barely a whisper. His head lowered, inching toward mine. I was powerless to stop him—I wasn’t sure I wanted to. He abruptly let go of me and stalked away from the car, leaving me dumbfounded in the parking lot.

My heart thumped and my thoughts rushed at a dizzying pace. I didn’t know what to do. Should I wait for him to come back? Would he even come back? Why on earth did he just completely blow up? And what had I been thinking? I almost killed us out there. I had known him three days and I had at least as many meltdowns. I was beginning to think it wasn’t my human or elf half that was emotional. It was any part of me that was around Cheney that had a tendency to overreact.

If I left him, he’d probably be angrier, so I waited. I sat on the park table closest to the woods, crossed my legs, and placed my thumb and forefinger together, resting my hands on my knees. I pushed all of the craziness of the last few days out of my mind with each deep breath I took. I listened to the bugs chirp and steady white noise of the highway and the occasional bird. I focused only on these things until I found my center and the tension eased from my body. When I felt more like myself again, I opened my eyes. Cheney sat at the table where I was perched, staring at me. Neither of us said anything or broke eye contact.

“Are you ready to go?” Cheney asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” I replied just as quietly.

“I’m driving,” he said.

I handed him my keys without arguing. Cheney adjusted my seat to better fit him, and I relaxed into the passenger seat, closing my eyes. Weariness finally caught up with me.

Chapter 10

The shower did wonders for snapping me back to life. I didn’t remember getting home or going to bed, so I could only assume Cheney had carried me into the house and settled me in, but I felt rested and more in control. The sun was setting when I came out of the bathroom, and I could hear the gentle hum of the television in my living room. Cheney was lying on my couch watching TV. He looked incredibly normal, like there was no other place in the world he should be.

“Thanks for letting me sleep.”

He shrugged. “You seemed tired.” An empty plate and glass of water sat on the end table.

“I see you made yourself at home.”

Cheney looked toward me with an amused expression. “Does that bother you?”

“I guess not.”

“Good.” His tone clearly said it wouldn’t have mattered if I did have objections.

“What are you watching?”

“Something that claims to be reality. Humans are strange, emotional, violent creatures, are they not?”

I laughed. “Sometimes. Other times we show an amazing amount of love and trust and care for one another.” I picked up the remote and turned off the television. MTV was not the best way to learn about humans. “Haven’t you met humans before?”

“Very few. Many half-breeds, but other than that our two worlds don’t mix as often as you’d think.”

“You mean the Abyss?”

He nodded. “Right now we’re in your world, the human realm. It’s parallel to a magical realm called the Abyss. Most of the time we live our lives and humans live theirs with no reason to interact with one another. Many, many years ago the barrier between two realms was not so heavy and dense. However, corruption and thirst for power grew within the human race. We all banded together, the only time in history when all the different species in the Abyss worked towards one singular outcome—to increase the barriers protecting us from the growing population of humans dead set on hunting us into extinction. Since then there has been little interaction on the part of the elves, faeries, and many other creatures. Some still work closely with humans, but always in secret. The council of representatives who formed the barriers only could agree on one law to govern all those who reside in the Abyss. Humans must never know of our existence.”

“Will you get in trouble for telling me?”

He smiled. “You’re one of us.”

“Debatable,” I said under my breath but continued on before he could argue. “So I can’t tell my friends in my coven about you?”

“They’re witches so it’s fine. Witches are the only fully human creatures who are a little bit of both worlds. They draw their magic from our world and can often see the Abyss in ways normal humans cannot. Your boyfriend is a human though, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t tell him.”

I shrugged. “He doesn’t even know I’m a witch.” Cheney raised an eyebrow that I chose to ignore. “So even if I weren’t half elf, you could still tell me about it.”

“But you are half elf.”

“So you keep saying. Honestly, if I hadn’t seen you do impossible things, I’d swear you were bullshitting me about all of this.”

Cheney rubbed his hand over his stubble. “About what?”

“Being an elf.” I shook my head. Just the sound of the word was stupid.

“Why is that?”

“You look human. You seem human to me.”

His laughter covered me like a caress. “What does an elf look like?”

“Well, I have limited experience, but I can only think of two types. Santa’s elves—so not you—and Legolas. Where’s the long hair, pointy ears, and bow and arrows?”

“Stereotype much?” he scoffed.

My mouth fell open. I hadn’t even thought the popular images of elves might be offensive to actual elves, but then Cheney laughed again.

“I’m teasing. I’ve never had long hair, my ears are a glamour, and I could have a bow in a matter of moments if I needed it.”

“What does that mean that your ears are a glamour?”

“They are pointed, but I’ve given them the illusion of looking like human ears, so I could blend in better while I’m here. I’m also consciously moving slower and less fluidly to not draw attention. However, if I choose, I don’t have to be seen at all.”

“So this is you blending in?” I studied him carefully.

“Can I see them? Your real ears?”

A smile danced on the edge of Cheney’s lips then disappeared into a scowl. “No.”

“Why not? I want to see your pointy ears.”

“When you awaken your other half, you can see them all you like.”

“Oh, so it isn’t something you could just show me then cover back up?”

“I could if I wanted to.”

“Then why not? Do they embarrass you?”

Cheney scowled. “I’m not here for your amusement. I’m not a fun new pet. It’s always like this with humans. Just because we don’t look like you, doesn’t mean we’re less real than you.”

I realized that what was stirring in his roiling gold eyes was irritation. I’d apparently hit a touchy subject. “Whoa, whoa, whoa…I didn’t mean anything by that. I was just curious. I’m trying to understand what you are.”

“Same thing as you, princess.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” he said coolly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m the only thing standing between you and the people who will make you their puppet—and at no small cost to myself, I might add. Show me some respect.” The anger in his voice was thinly veiled.

“You know, just when I think you might not be such an asshole, you prove me wrong.” I grabbed my keys and my mat.

“Where are you going?” he snapped.

“The studio.” I slammed the door behind me.

“God damn it! Son of a bitch!” I beat on the steering wheel of my car. Everything was going so well, and then this man shows up and turns my life into a swirling drain of chaos. Where did he get off being so sensitive? He was the one ruining my life. Telling me I was something other than who I was. Making me leave Grandma alone in the hospital when God only knew what could happen to her. And on top of all of that, I’d lied to Michael, ignored him, and blown him off. Cheney Hunt may have come to protect me, but he was definitely a pain in my ass.

I parked in my normal spot outside of the studio. I flipped the lights in the studio on dim, put my iPod in the player and turned it way up. Ida Maria singing Oh My God bounced off the walls with manic energy. I jumped around the room, arms in the air, dancing out my annoyance, stress and irritation, and singing along to the parts I knew at the top of my lungs. It felt so good to be free, to not have someone watching me constantly. Cheney needed to back off. I would tell him that when I got home. Whether he insisted on protecting me or not, I still needed time away from him: time to go on dates and hang out with my friends. I needed to feel like I still had a life.

When the song was over I went to change it to something a bit more peaceful, and there, leaning against the doorway with a small, sexy smile and the casual grace of a viper, was Cheney.

I rolled my eyes and sighed loudly. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you, you cannot leave me.”

“I need time alone to relax. I cannot relax around you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Fine. You better settle in because I’m not quite done here.”

“More dancing?” he mocked me.

So he’d seen that—of course he’d seen that. I refused to allow myself to be embarrassed. “Have a problem with it?”

“No, I rather enjoyed it.” He flashed another devilish grin and crossed his arms over his chest, nodding for me to continue.

I marched to the counter, turned my music to one of the meditative mixes, and settled myself on my mat. I would not let him bother me. An hour later I finished my routine, throwing in a few extra deep stretches. If he liked to watch, the least I could do was give him a show. I felt great—limber and clearheaded.

“I feel like I should have a cigarette after that,” Cheney said, no longer smiling. “Or a cold shower.”

“No one made you watch.” I brushed past him and went out, locking the door with him still inside. A moment later he pulled on the door. I waved at him through the glass window front, chuckling as I walked toward my car.

His voice sounded in my ear. “Not funny, Selene.”

“I thought it was funny.” A purring voice I didn’t recognize came from behind us. Cheney turned faster than I did. “But what I really want to know is why the Erlking’s only son is slumming with a human?”

A woman with reflective eyes, a purring voice, and tight leather pants leaned casually against the wall behind us, her arms crossed over her chest. Cheney didn’t move, just stared with an unreadable expression.

“What’s an Erlking?” I said with my best innocent expression.

Cheney closed his eyes, and a Cheshire grin spread across the woman’s face. “And how can a human see me?”

I swallowed as she stalked closer. “I’m a witch.” I held my breath as she sniffed the air around me.

“Hmmm. A witch, you say?”

Why wasn’t Cheney doing anything? He was supposed to protect me.

“Convenient.” Her pupils contracted vertically, and I was certain she could hear my heart pounding. She curled her sharpened fingernails around my arm and Cheney sprang to life.

The same thin, curved blade appeared in his hand, and she jerked me behind her at the same time the metallic click of a gun being cocked echoed in the quiet street. “Why, prince, you brought a sword to a gun fight?” She didn’t sound concerned, and Cheney’s jaw tightened.

“You don’t understand what you’re doing, Sekhmet.”

“They all say that.” Her voice was bored.

The shock finally gave way and my brain started working again. Why was I waiting for Cheney to rescue me? I was hardly helpless. I closed my eyes and collected energy in my hands, readying to zap this strange person with an obvious Catwoman complex.

“Don’t do it, Selene. We’ll have to leave if you do.” Cheney’s voice broke my concentration. “She isn’t an elf. We can perhaps reason with her.”

I cracked open my eye, though I held onto the energy buzzing beneath my skin. The woman tilted her head and watched me with curiosity, her gun still aimed at Cheney.

“Sekhmet, I promise our story is worth hearing. You work with Sy, right? Call him. Be reasonable.” Cheney’s sword vanished and he held up his hands in the universal sign for surrender.

“I do love a good story.” She eased her grip on my arm. “Amaze me.”

“Let’s go back inside.” Cheney motioned for us to go back to the studio. He put his hand on my back, urging me forward and relaxing my tense muscles. “It will be okay. I promise.”

I sighed, letting the energy fade, and retrieved my keys. We went into the studio and the woman pulled out her phone, seeming to ignore us.

“We could have escaped,” I hissed at him.

“It’s too soon to run. You haven’t been awakened yet. We need your coven for that.”

“Hey, lover, it’s me.” The woman’s low, sultry voice seemed like a shout in the quiet room. “Heh. You better know who I am. I have a quick question for you. Do you know the Erlking’s son?”

She frowned and walked a couple steps away. “What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m about to collect the bounty on that half elf. No, you can’t talk to him.” She put a hand on her hip. “You know you aren’t in charge of me.” She was quiet for a moment. “Damn right you owe me. I’m putting you on speaker.” She pressed a button and walked over to us, holding the phone out.

“Cheney?” the voice came from the speaker.

“Sy,” Cheney said. “It’s good to speak with you again. How have you been?”

“You know, living the dream,” he said dryly. “How did you get involved in a half-elf bounty? Last I checked, your family wanted nothing to do with us.”

Cheney sighed, pushing his hands in his pocket. “That’s my father, not me. We’ve always been friends, have we not?”

“Not since Selene died.” The woman switched hands holding the phone. “You haven’t answered my question. Why are you involved?”

“She’s not dead,” Cheney said with an odd tone of defeat.

Silence rang back. The woman looked between the two of us. “I don’t have all night, Sy.”

“Just one more question, Femi.”

The woman sighed but didn’t say anything.

“You’ve been hiding her?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t bring her in. She’s in danger. I’m on my way.” With that there was a click, leaving glittering fragments of awkwardness between us in its wake. We all looked at each other, unsure what to do.

Chapter 11

“Well, we might as well sit.” Femi gracefully stretched out on the floor. Cheney and I sat too, no one speaking.

“I’m Selene.” I held out my hand to her and smiled.

She gave me an easy smile. “Femi. Sorry if I frightened you.”

“No worries.” I waved off the apology. “So what are you?”

“Where is she?” The voice from the phone said behind me.

Femi gave a throaty chuckle. “Forget your glasses, old man? She’s right here.”

Sy looked down at me and I looked up at him, but his face was blank. “I don’t see anything.”

Cheney stood up and shook his hand. Sy was a little taller and broader than Cheney. His hair was buzzed close to his scalp and his silver eyes searched the room. With high cheekbones, a straight nose, and full lips, Sy was handsome, too—but where Cheney had a hint of the wild and predator, Sy was familiar and relaxed. “Touch him, Selene.”

“But—”

“You can trust him.”

I hated feeling like I was the only one who had no idea what was going on. Femi rolled her eyes in a commiseration. “Men. So bossy.”

I stood up and touched the back of Sy’s hand. He blinked, scooped me up in a big bear hug, and kissed my temple. A shocked giggle began in my chest and spilled out.

“Come on, people. You know what they say about curiosity and cats. You’re killing me,” Femi called from the floor, still lazily stretched out and leaning back on the heels of her hands.

Sy laughed and set me back down. Cheney’s hand came toward me but stopped short. I glanced at him and he shook his head. Sy sat next to Femi, nudging her with his shoulder and winking.

“Cheney?” I asked.

Cheney’s eyes were gold and swirling with emotion I didn’t fully understand, but he didn’t speak.

“I should have known that if Cheney was involved, you were back,” Sy said. “What happened, Selene?”

I turned toward him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what’s going on. Did we know each other?”

Sy raised an eyebrow. “You could say that. Your father and my mother were siblings.”

I sat down. I had family. Cheney didn’t mention that. “So we’re cousins?”

“What exactly’s going on? Why does she look human?”

I didn’t notice that Cheney had sat down next to me until he spoke. “It’s a long story. You and Sy are related on the elf side,” he said to me, then directed his next words to Sy and Femi. “Selene doesn’t have her memory.” He gave a quick rundown on how I became a changeling and why he was here now.

Sy nodded. “I’ll do what I can to keep the bounty quiet. You know who posted it, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Sy took a deep breath. “And you’ll take care of her?”

Cheney’s jaw tightened and he didn’t look pleased. “I’ll guard her with my life.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Let me see if I have this straight. So you,” Femi poked Sy in the rib with her claw and he jumped, “are related to her.” She winked at me. “And you, how do you factor into this? It’s my understanding half-elves and regular elves don’t mix a lot.”

“Cheney and Selene have history, Femi,” Sy said, not making eye contact.

“What type of history?” she asked and Sy gave her a quelling look.

I cleared my throat. “I’d like to know as well.”

“It’s better if you remember for yourself.” Cheney stood and prowled around the room. “So how many bounty hunters know? Should we leave now, or can we wait for the awakening?”

“You probably have a week or two before others catch up,” Femi said.

“How’d you find them so fast?” Sy asked her.

“I’m just that good.” She smiled and hopped back to her feet. “Selene, can I talk to you?”

I nodded and followed her into the store.

She started talking, her back to me. “Look, I don’t know you and usually when I go out on a limb for someone I don’t know, I either get stabbed in the back for my effort or land in a shitload of trouble.” She whirled around, startling me. “But you mean something to Sy, and Sy is the first friend I made after leaving my people. I wouldn’t hurt him for the world, so I’m going to let you go.”

“I was never going to let you take me,” I said. Who did this crazy woman think she was?

She laughed. “That’s cute. Anyway, I believe that you have no clue about anything that’s happening. Here’s the deal: while Cheney does weave an interesting tale, I think there’s more to this story. He’s not telling you everything.” Femi leaned over the counter and fished around by the register. She came back with a pen and paper. “If you get tired of the elves, this is my number and a number for someone who can help you. She doesn’t deal with elves, but she’s all about humans—you’re half so I think you count.”

I took the paper with no intention of calling a complete stranger. “Um, okay.”

“And don’t let her boyfriend scare you either.” She laughed again. “You know how jinn are. I’ll let her know you might be calling.”

“Do you think I shouldn’t trust Cheney?”

She gave me a half-hearted shrug. “Who knows? I stay as far away from elf politics as I can, but you seem to be dead center right now. The faster you learn that everyone has an agenda, the better off you’ll be.”

“What’s your agenda?”

“Relax, Hermione.” She winked at me. “I track down bounties strictly for the cash. No purer motive than that. Now Sy’s gotten involved because you’re family. But Prince Charming in there? Well, I don’t know what he gets out of this.” She arched a thin eyebrow. “Watch your back. Don’t take any apples from strangers.” She patted my arm and almost knocked me over.

I rubbed my arm and rolled my eyes. “Holy fairytales, Catwoman.”

“Catwoman? Shit, Catwoman’s a pussy.” She chuckled and sashayed through the door in her leather pants and four-inch heels. “I think I might like you, Selene,” she said.

At the door, she paused and called out, “Sy, you owe me another bounty,” then she strutted away and was gone.

“What is she?” I muttered.

“A Sekhmet. She’s great, isn’t she?” Sy rested an arm over my shoulder in a familial way. “I’m glad you’re not dead, cousin.” He handed me a card. “If Cheney doesn’t treat you right, give me a call. I can help.” He kissed my temple again, then vanished.

Ugh. This world was so weird—and overwhelming. Cheney stood in the doorway, staring at me.

“So you forgot to mention I have family.”

“Let’s go home, princess.” He followed me to my car in heavy silence.

“Have you heard from Gram?” I asked, hoping to penetrate his mood.

“No, I can check on her if you like.”

“Thanks.”

The lights flitted by in the darkness as I drove the familiar path home.

“Selene…” Cheney started, then stopped.

I raised my eyebrows, glancing over.

Cheney shook his head. “Don’t run off again. No matter how mad you get at me, don’t make me chase you. Had it been a different bounty hunter, we wouldn’t have been so lucky.”

I stopped at a traffic light and turned my head fully. I was just about to respond when a memory clouded my visions and my thoughts.

Cheney and I were nose to nose. His eyes gleamed with fury.

“There’s no fucking way I will allow you to leave!”

“Are you going to stop me, prince?” I growled back, spitting out the word “prince” like it was an insult.

“Damn right I’m stopping you.”

“I don’t think so. You don’t have the guts. You won’t stand up to your father or do what’s right. I’m doing this whether you support me or not.”

“I need you to have patience.”

“I’m done with patience. I’ve waited for you for two centuries. Maybe it’s best if I go with my own kind.”

“I am your kind.”

“You have no idea how much I wish you meant that.” I brushed my hand down his cheek, then strode toward the door.

“If this is a ploy to get me to chase you, it won’t work. I won’t come after you, Selene.”

I turned back to him. He stood in the middle of the room, proud as ever. “Good,” I said.

“I mean it.”

I nodded and walked away from him forever.

I opened my eyes with a cry of pain. My head throbbed and heart ached. He was gone.

“Selene.” Cheney’s voice broke through the excruciating pain.

“Cheney.” Something dormant inside of me recognized the sound of his voice and took over. My hands grabbed his face. He was here; he was real. I hadn’t lost him. My heart sang with joy. I pulled him to me, smothering him with desperate kisses, trying to drown out the more practical voice in my mind demanding attention. It asked what I was doing. It told me I hadn’t almost lost Cheney—that was someone else.

Cheney kissed me back with equal passion and tried to pull me from my seat to him, but my seatbelt kept me in place. Horns blared behind us. It meant nothing. I had him.

Red and blue strobe lights pulsed outside of the windows, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t kiss him enough. Each kiss was further reassurance that my heart was not going to stay demolished. I ignored the loud knock on the window, but Cheney pushed me back.

“It’s the police,” he said as if the words should mean something to me. Who cared about the damn police? “Outside the window. Roll down the window, Selene.”

I did as he said. A young police officer stood on the other side of the glass, trying to maintain a serious face though a grin obviously wanted to break through. “Are you having problems with your car?” The cool night air snapped me back to reality. My cheeks flushed deeply. I couldn’t believe I’d attacked Cheney like that. “Are you all right ma’am?”

Cheney leaned across me. “She fainted, low blood sugar. I think she’s still a little out of it. I was trying to move her to the passenger seat when you came up. If you wouldn’t mind helping me?” Cheney said smoothly.

The officer looked back and forth between us, doubt evident. I didn’t have any problem looking dazed though, since that’s exactly what I was. “She shouldn’t be driving,” he finally said.

“I know. If you help me move her, I’ll take over.”

The officer opened my door and undid my seat belt. Cheney got out and together they lifted me over to the passenger seat while I played the drooling idiot. Cheney shook the officer’s hand and said a few quiet words to him. A moment later he was in the car and driving us home, neither of us saying a word. When he put the car in park, I was out of the vehicle as fast as humanly possible and in the house, making a beeline for my bedroom. I slammed the door, locking it behind me.

Holy crap, I made out with a stranger I disliked in the middle of a public intersection! What the hell had gotten into me? I had a fiancé. I couldn’t do things like that. Yet the memory of us together felt so real, it was like it had just happened. Emotions floated like landmines in my head, waiting for me to step on them.

A slow, soft knock on my bedroom door tore me in two. One half wanted to hide under the covers and ignore it until it went away. The other half wanted to throw open the door and pick up where we left off. I went for a compromise.

“I don’t want to talk, Cheney.”

“What was that?”

“I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk.”

“Are you serious? You kiss me like that, then you want to ignore it?”

“Yes,” I said lamely. I couldn’t talk to him about what I didn’t understand.

“Selene.” I could hear him struggling for patience. “You know I don’t need you to open the door to come in there.”

“I’m engaged.”

“You aren’t going to marry that human.”

“Are you going to stop me, prince?” I said in the same mocking tone I used in my memory. It was so fresh in my mind, it just slipped out.

“If I have to—wait, what did you call me?” A moment later Cheney was inside the door. I pressed myself against the wall on the opposite side of the room from him.

Chapter 12

Cheney didn’t say a word—just began advancing.

“Stay away from me,” I warned, feeling energy begin to collect underneath my skin.

Cheney paused and looked at me hard. “Try to control yourself.”

“Then you stay back.”

“Who am I, Selene?”

“Cheney Hunt.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “What happened in the car?”

“I had a memory,” I said weakly. “We were fighting about me leaving, and you told me you wouldn’t chase after me. And then I left you…forever.”

Cheney nodded slowly without commenting.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, I remember it well.”

I let that sink in. “But you did come after me, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here now?”

“Yes,” he said in barely a whisper.

“That’s why I kissed you. After the memory, I was crushed. I could hardly breathe, then I heard your voice and—”

“It started to mend,” he finished for me as I nodded. “Is that all you remember?”

I nodded again.

“Have a good night, princess.” He unlocked the door and walked out like a normal person instead of just disappearing.

“Don’t call me princess,” I said to his back. He paused but said nothing, then left, closing the door gently behind him.

I wasn’t even remotely tired, but I didn’t want to be out there with him while I was feeling like this. I pulled out my cell phone and called each of the girls, individually talking to them about nothing important. It felt wonderful to pretend to still be normal. I missed them. I missed being twenty-six with nothing more to worry about than what I was doing Saturday night. After that, I called Michael and we chatted until the wee hours of the morning, reminding me why he was perfect for me. When I finally felt tired, we said goodnight. Michael was the one I wanted. I just had to remember that.

However, he wasn’t the one who occupied my thoughts and dreams the rest of the night.

***

The next morning I was starving. I opened my bedroom door as quietly as possible, hoping Cheney would still be asleep. The intervening hours did little to ease the wave of emotions I still felt about him. As I crept down the hallway, I heard his voice.

“Yeah, I have her.”

“No, she doesn’t remember anything.” He sounded weary. “Even that.”

“I don’t know why, Sebastian. She just doesn’t.”

“Look we can debate reasons all day, but that isn’t going to get us anywhere. I don’t think I’ll be able to do this alone. I’m asking for your help.”

“Not until I find us some place safe to stay afterward.”

“Yeah, that might work. I’ll let you know when we’re going to do it. Remember: tell no one, especially my family.”

“I honestly don’t care what he does to me anymore, but I’ll deal with him when I have to. Thank you, Sebastian.”

I couldn’t tell if Cheney hung up or not. I stood in the hallway, holding my breath, waiting for some indication of what he was doing.

“Are you going to eavesdrop from the hallway all morning?”

Damn. I walked into the dining room where Cheney sat at my dining room table in an olive green button up shirt that made his eyes breathtaking. I was still in my pajama pants and tank top, and I hadn’t even brushed my hair. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Did you sleep well last night?”

I narrowed my eyes and grumbled something like yes. Really, I’d hardly slept at all because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“You didn’t used to talk in your sleep quite so much.”

My cheeks flamed as I remembered my dream about him. Oh God, what had I said? I rolled my eyes and stalked to the cupboard. It was too early deal with him. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and leaned against the counter while I ate. A few minutes later he joined me.

“Are you giving me the silent treatment?” His lopsided grin made my chest tighten.

“No.” I took another spoonful. “Who was on the phone?”

“A friend.”

Hmph. Vague. I set my bowl to the side and took a step toward him. Cheney was a tough nut to crack. He only told me as much as he wanted me to know, and I was sick of it. He only had one button that I knew of—me.

“Am I too much for you to handle, Cheney?” I ran a finger down his hard chest and looked up through my eyelashes at him—purposefully taunting.

“My feelings for you aren’t something to be toyed with, princess.” He caught my wrist, eyes livid. “I will not be manipulated.”

I felt guilty. “Why do you think I will listen to your friend any more than I listen to you?”

“Sebastian has a better track record of getting you to listen. The two of us have a tendency to be rather—”

“Volatile?”

“I prefer passionate.” He reached up and caressed my face.

I looked away. I hated how he was always scanning my eyes for something else, something more. Every time he searched, he looked for the other me—the me he came back for, not the person who stood before him. It was a constant reminder that I wasn’t who he wanted. No matter what happened between us I would never be her and Cheney hadn’t accepted that. Not that I wanted him or to take her place. I had my own life, my own relationships. Michael.

I went back to the counter and picked up my bowl again. “So what are the plans for today?”

“Don’t have any. What would you usually do?”

“Well, normally, I’d have been at the studio for my first class two hours ago. Right now I’d have the shop open and I’d be working on inventory and book keeping. In a few hours, I’d be making charms and candles—followed by an evening class, then home.”

He tilted his head. “You can’t do any of that.”

“I figured as much.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going stir crazy here. You want to get out of the house for a while?”

“Sure. Let me finish my breakfast and get ready.”

I showered and dressed after much internal debate about what to wear. I settled on skinny cargos, a white silk tiered tank, a cardigan, and flats in case we did a lot of walking. “I’m ready. Do I need my purse?”

“You look lovely.” He put his arms around me; moments later we were in the middle of a forest.

The light filtered through the leaves above me, causing them to glow. They waved in a slight breeze and made a rustling sound that begged to be listened to. The damp, mossy smell of the forest was invigorating. Birds chirped, their happy chatter blending with the scampering of small animals frightened by our sudden appearance. The woods were a symphony.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s lovely.”

I turned to smile at him, and he looked different. He was still basically the same, but also not. His hair was as unruly as ever, but his face was completely smooth and his skin glowed with a golden hue. His ears were larger and slanted back in sharp points. I had the urge to reach out and touch them, but I put my hands behind my back instead. He was, in a word, stunning.

“You wanted to see my ears.” His voice was different as well. It was more lyrical and ran down my spine like honey.

“You’re beautiful,” I said without thinking. I was so undone by the change I had no choice but to speak the truth.

Cheney didn’t even crack a smile. “So are you.”

I looked down at myself to see if I looked different here, too. Perhaps this was a magical place that changed the way you looked, but I appeared to be the same old me. “You could have warned me.”

“And missed seeing your reaction? Not a chance.”

“Where are we?”

“We’re in a place long ago hidden from humans and forgotten by elves.”

“But you remember.”

“I am one of few.” He smiled. “Follow me.”

He moved fluidly and unerringly through the forest. I tried to keep up but stumbled clumsily. Cheney slowed down. Taking my elbow, he led me through to one breathtaking place after another. These woods were the most perfect place I had ever seen in my life. We wandered for hours, my eyes wide with each new sight and sound. Cheney pointed out different trees and animals. Being in the forest suited him. He was one with the nature and elements around him. I was the clearly the outsider here. It was a place I could see myself longing to be a part of, and with Cheney I almost believed it was possible.

We came upon old ruins in the process of being reclaimed by nature. Something that resembled a steeple still stood about twenty feet tall but was obscured by the taller trees in the forest. Remnants of walls and windows stood in a vaguely cross-shaped pattern.

“This was a church?”

“Once, long ago.”

“What happened?

“There was a human king who was very much in love with a peasant girl. He wanted nothing more than to be with her, but to do so would dishonor his kingdom. He was expected to marry royalty and advance the kingdom’s power and position. However, he could not marry anyone else when his heart belonged to another, so he waged wars against all those who provoked him in the slightest manner. He did anything he could to distract the people from his lack of a wife or heir. He commissioned the secret building of this church in the middle of his forest, never telling anyone in his kingdom of its existence. When it was completed, he waited until midnight on the night of the full moon and snuck away from his castle without his guard or servants. He went to the peasant woman’s house and convinced her to come with him here. He had a minister waiting for the two of them.”

Cheney took my hand and walked me deeper into the church. “The woman was shocked by his brash actions but also happy, for she too loved the king. However, she also had a secret. She revealed herself to be an elf who had been masquerading as human in his kingdom. She professed her love for him, though it would be against the will of her own people. She told him she would marry him only if he stopped the wars he was unjustly waging. The king was furious that she betrayed him by not revealing what she was sooner. He accused her of enchanting him. In his rage, he took her life. Once she was lying dead in his arms, he realized he had not been enchanted at all. He really was in love with her. Devastated, he buried her body and sat beside the grave, never moving, never returning to his kingdom, never nourishing himself until he, too, perished. The elf girl’s family found her grave and the king’s shriveled body lying beside it. They enchanted the forest so humans could no longer see it. After that day no other elves stepped foot in here, thinking the land to be cursed.”

“That…is a horrible story.”

Cheney softly laughed. “Most of the true ones are.”

“That’s so tragic. Why do you come here?”

“Because these woods are not cursed. This is not a story of sadness. It’s a story of love. They both loved each other so deeply, so extremely, that they went to great lengths to deceive everyone else so they could be together.”

“But he killed her.”

“He did, but he also paid the price for that. It does not change the fact they loved one another more than anything else. More than kingdoms, more than race, more than family.”

“Did you know the elf?”

“She was my sister.”

“Have you told me this story before?”

“No.”

“You never brought me here?”

“No.”

A part of me that was obviously asking for trouble was pleased by this. “You know, if you were like this more often, I would be less difficult. We could even be friends.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Selene, but I don’t want to be your friend.”

I frowned. “How can I not take that the wrong way?”

“Remember how you felt last night when you kissed me? I’ve felt like that since the day I stepped foot into your studio. I don’t want to be your friend. I want you back.”

“I’m not that girl.”

“Of course you are.”

I shook my head. I wasn’t who he wanted me to be. “I have a fiancé, Cheney. Friends are all we can ever be.”

“We’ll see about that.” All the relaxation was gone from his posture and voice. He stood proudly in the center of the chapel.

“There’s nothing to see about. I don’t feel the same way about you. Please take me home.”

“Fine,” he said with clenched teeth, and he pulled me to him roughly.

The next moment we were standing in my house. Cheney once again looked human, and I was still just me.

A knock at my front door interrupted the tension building between us. Cheney arched a brow, asking if I was expecting someone. I shook my head. He motioned for me to stay.

Chapter 13

“Who are you?” Cheney asked, a vague hint of disgust in his voice.

“I’m Michael. Is Selene here?” Michael’s voice cut with his own annoyance.

Shit, shit, shit. I scrambled to the door and slipped under Cheney’s arm so I was between the two of them. The air around Cheney filled with electricity.

“Michael, hello—what are you doing here?” I asked, trying to ignore the electrical storm behind me.

“I thought I’d drop by and surprise you, but obviously you already had other plans.” He peered over my shoulder at Cheney then looked back at me, waiting for an explanation.

Cheney moved closer, casually and possessively draping his arm over my shoulder. I elbowed him in the ribs and shrugged his arm off.

“Stop it,” I said through clenched teeth. “Michael, it isn’t what it looks like. This is…” I grasped for ways to explain Cheney without revealing any of the supernatural stuff. “My cousin, Cheney. He’s just teasing—always the kidder this one. We haven’t seen each other in a really long time so we’re hanging out tonight. You know, catching up on family stuff.”

“Oh.” Michael glanced back and forth between the two of us again. “Yeah, I can see the family resemblance. It’s nice to meet you, Cheney.” He offered his hand to Cheney with a grin that could stop traffic.

Cheney growled and walked away.

“I’m sorry. He’s not very social—but I don’t have much family, so it’s important I spend time with him. You understand, right?”

“No problem. Another night.” He leaned down and kissed me long and soft, making my lips miss the desperate urgency they’d felt with Cheney the night before—I tried to stop the memory, forced myself to focus on Michael. He was so nice. How many guys would accept that lame explanation so easily? I kissed him back, hoping to feel more than I did.

“I almost forgot,” he said, pulling the ring out of his pocket when we broke apart. He watched while I put it on. I didn’t know where Cheney had gone, but I could feel him watching every move I made.

Michael kissed me one more time, then he said good night, giving me a little smile that four days ago would have made my heart feel gooey.

“Goodnight.” I closed the door behind him and leaned my head against it. Christ that was a close one. I opened my eyes to Cheney’s face less than a foot from mine.

“Your cousin?” he growled.

“You didn’t leave me much choice acting like that. What on earth is wrong with you?” I said, pushing him, but he only moved closer.

“That cannot be your boyfriend. He’s an idiot, princess. And that kiss—”

“My fiancé, yes. And he’s not an idiot.” I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. “He’s successful, handsome, kind, sweet…And what about his kiss? I thought it was nice.” I couldn’t meet Cheney’s eyes.

“Nice,” he said in a scathing tone. “There was no passion, no hunger. That lack of feeling must translate to other areas. How could you possibly be satisfied? Frankly, I’m amazed if you haven’t fallen asleep from boredom.”

He might as well have set fire to my face. It wasn’t that I was unfeeling, but I wasn’t one to let emotions control my life. Michael was a good person and that was more important than passion. “There was plenty of passion for me. I enjoyed it. And my sex life is none of your business.”

“Whatever you say, princess.” The air between us crackled like static, and Cheney kept advancing.

“Don’t call me princess,” I whispered.

He was so close our noses were touching. The furious intensity in his eyes made my heart beat faster and my mouth went dry.

“Has he ever kissed you until you couldn’t catch your breath? Possessed you until there was no other thought in your head except for him? Set you aflame with no more than his gaze upon you?”

All words vacated my head and my whole body burned. I couldn’t even remember who we were talking about. The gold gleamed in his eyes, and I wanted to grab his head and pull it to mine. My flesh wanted to feel exactly what he said. Without my brain’s permission though, my head shook no in the slightest of movements.

“Do you want me to show you what that’s like?” His stare smoldered. My lips parted slightly, throbbing with anticipation.

God, yes, I wanted him to. I couldn’t say who broke first. My body pressed upon his; his mouth ground against mine. His tongue traced my lips then slipped into my mouth and teased my tongue. He crushed me against his hard, lean muscles, and I laced my hands around the nape of his neck and pulled his mouth harder against mine.

He shifted back slightly, but I pushed harder into him immediately, unable to bear breaking contact. His mouth moved with mine in renewed urgency. His hips ground against my pelvis, and fire erupted inside of me. A moan formed deep in my throat. He lifted me up, pinning me between him and the wall. His mouth slid down my neck, leaving a trail of heat, making me gasp. Every part of me burned from the inside out. I wrapped my legs around him. He pulled my tank over my head, and his mouth found my breasts. I arched back, moaning, as he teased my hardening nipples with his teeth and tongue.

Then his mouth was on mine again in a deliberate, frank kiss that left no question about what he wanted. I slid back down the wall until my feet were on the floor. I wasn’t sure my legs would’ve supported me if he hadn’t still been pressed hard against me. He traced the outside of my ear with his tongue and nibbled my ear lobe before pulling it into his mouth and sucking hard.

“If you want to stop…” his hot breath whispered.

I turned my mouth to his, kissing him just as hard and deliberately as he kissed me. He stepped back, his chest rising with his breath, lust filling his eyes. He extended his hand to me and an image flooded my mind.

It was the night my parents died. I was inside our home as it crumbled around me. Glass shattered, walls disintegrated, and pipes burst as I knelt on the floor in my favorite dress that had tiny purple flowers embroidered all over it. I held my head in my hands, rocking back and forth. I didn’t care that the house was falling down. I didn’t care if I died. They were gone. Gone.

A voice I knew as well as my own spoke, but I couldn’t place his face.

“Selene, come with me.”

The familiar man stood in the midst of the storm offering me his hand, saving me from myself.

“Selene?” The real voice tried to break into my memory, but I ignored it.

I took his hand. We walked out as the house collapsed to the ground behind us. His expression never changed. He didn’t look angry or upset, just stoic. He walked me away from the rubble but didn’t offer any words of comfort. Yet my tears dried just knowing he was there. My grandmother waited in a car outside.

“She doesn’t need to remember this,” he said coolly.

Grandma nodded, and he put me in the car, fastening the seat belt around me.

I didn’t want to let go of his hand, so I clung to it. “I want to go with you,” I said.

He pulled his hand from mine and shut the door. “Take care of her,” he told Grandma, never taking his eyes from mine.

Grandma drove away, and he became smaller and smaller, though I could still feel his eyes on me.

It wasn’t enough.

“Selene!” The real voice demanded I come back to it.

I opened my eyes. I was lying on the floor, and Cheney was leaning over me, concern coloring his face.

“You were here before,” I croaked, my mind spinning.

Cheney rocked back on his heels, looking at me cautiously. “Yes.”

“You got me out of the house the night they died.”

He nodded slowly.

“You left me. I asked you to stay, and you left.” All the hurt I felt that night rushed through me. My eyes welled as I stood—Cheney stood as well. The room spun and I thought I might throw up for a moment. I pressed my hands to my knees, taking deep breaths until I knew I could straighten without passing out while the anger inside of me grew.

“You made your choice, Selene. You wanted to do this. It was too late to take it back.” Cheney waited until I was upright to speak, but his voice was harsh and bitter.

“So you abandoned me.” I didn’t know why I was so upset, but I was. It felt like he’d broken my trust on a level I didn’t understand.

“Damn it, Selene. What did you expect me to do? You were a bloody child. I couldn’t keep you. I had to find somewhere for you to go, so I hunted down your only living relative. I told you not to do this. I told you to stay with me. You left me first!”

“You swore you’d protect me!” I shouted.

“And you promised you would never leave,” he shouted back.

“My parents had just died, and you gave me away to a stranger like I was nothing.”

“They weren’t your parents.”

“What?”

“They were the couple you were placed with. They weren’t your parents. That stranger, however, was—is—your family!”

“You were my family!” I screamed. Raw emotions overtook me, but I had no facts or memories to help me understand them. I didn’t know what I was talking about, yet words spilled from my mouth as if I had bottled them up for years.

Cheney’s eyes widened, and all anger dissipated from them. “Selene?” He tilted my head up toward him and searched my eyes.

“Don’t touch me.” I slapped away his hand.

“Do you remember?” He didn’t back off at all. “How much do you remember?”

“Only that night,” I snapped.

Cheney closed his eyes and sighed. “Call your coven and get them over here tonight. We’re doing this now. I’m not dealing with this shit anymore.”

“Doing what?” I demanded, having problems focusing on anything but what I felt.

“Awakening your other half.”

“In my house?”

He looked around the room. “You’re right, the studio would be better. Have them meet us there.”

“They don’t even know you.”

“Tonight, Selene!” He stalked off down the hallway and slammed the bathroom door. A moment later I heard the shower running.

I pulled out my cell phone and called Devin.

“Hello?” she answered, sounding rushed as normal. So very normal it made me sad.

“Hey,” I said weakly.

“Selene! I’ve been thinking about you. How’s your grandmother? How’s being back home? Have you seen Michael yet? When’s our next meeting? Am I asking too many questions?” She chuckled.

I couldn’t help but smile. “She’s fine. Strange. Sort of. Soon. Never,” I rattled off the answers to her questions in order.

Devin laughed. “You were always good at following my rambles.”

“Yeah…” I wasn’t sure how to bring this up. I wasn’t even sure this was what I wanted. “I need to see you guys tonight. Can you meet me at the studio?”

“Is everything okay? I have some stuff going on, but I can cancel if you need me.”

“It’s a long, long story, but here’s the gist: my grandma’s a witch and I’m in trouble. I’ll fill you in on everything once we’re together.”

“Whatever you need, we’ll be there. You know that.”

“Okay, we might have a big spell to cast.”

“What spell?”

“We’ll discuss it later—but it’s not bad. It’s to help me remember. I haven’t quite figured out which one to use yet. It may be an undoing spell or a memory spell. I have to do some research. What time can you be there?”

“Nine?”

“Sounds good. I’ll call the other girls.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I promise. It’s been a stressful couple days. See you tonight.”

“Stay strong. I’ll see you then.”

My conversations with Jess, Leslie, and Kat went pretty much the same way. They all canceled their plans, promising to meet me at the studio at nine. I went into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich, though I had no appetite. Stewie rubbed up against my leg and meowed loudly. I picked him up, burying my face in the soft orange and white fur on his neck while he purred. I didn’t hear Cheney come out, but I felt him watching me.

“Tonight at nine,” I said quietly. “I need the book.”

“Selene—” he started, but I cut him off.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Just give me the book, and we’ll get this over with so I can get on with my life.”

The book appeared in his hand. I reached to take it, and he grabbed my wrist in a blink. “I’m sorry.” Sincerity swam in his eyes and laced his voice.

“For what?”

“For everything. For how I acted, for not stopping you, for not staying with you, for—” He let out a slow breath. “For so many things.”

My eyes filled with tears that my pride wouldn’t let fall. “I don’t know why I feel what I feel. It’s confusing. My mind knows you’re a stranger and that I have a life I love, but—”

“But?”

“But these memories feel like they’re a part of me.”

“Because they are,” he said soothingly, but his words did nothing to relieve my confusion or doubt. “Will you come somewhere with me before we go tonight?”

I looked at him. He no longer frightened me. The last memory had taken care of that. Now when I saw him, he looked like security, safety. I sighed and my heart clenched again. The practical voice in my mind still insisted that Cheney was a stranger, yet I nodded and let him pull me close.

Chapter 14

I tore myself away from Cheney and looked around. It was a nice house, a really nice house. Floor to ceiling windows covered an entire wall and looked out over trees and mountains. The room had oversized comfortable-looking couches and chairs, a grand piano, and off to the side, a dining room table that could easily seat twelve. I turned the other direction and saw a large chef’s kitchen filled with shiny, stainless steel. There was a hallway off to the left. I wandered down it, and Cheney made no move to follow me. I found three good-sized bedrooms, each with their own baths. I looked out the window in one of the bedrooms to see a pool glowing up from below.

A haunting melody floated in from the other room. It surrounded me like a blanket and filled my heart with longing. The sound carried me back to the living room where Cheney sat at the piano, his eyes closed and hands gracefully moving over the keys. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata filled the entire house with a yearning whisper. The emotion of the song was raw and tactile, a lover’s sigh that brought tears to my eyes. I sat on the piano bench with my back to his—our breath in sync. The music moved through him and into me with the slight, fluid motions of his body as he played. Each deliberate, melancholy note stirred a loss deep within my soul. My eyes closed and my head rested against him as tears streamed from my eyes. I couldn’t think, could only feel. The same part of me that angered so quickly with him was filled with consuming grief at being deprived of him. He played the last chords, and when they died away, the house filled with heavy silence.

“That’s my favorite song,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I learned it for you a long time ago.”

Everything unspoken between us made saying the words impossible. Cheney drove me absolutely insane. He was bossy, arrogant, manipulative—and despite my efforts, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

But he was crazy about some girl who didn’t exist.

I released the sigh I’d been holding. “What was I like?”

“A lot like you are now.”

“Don’t say that. Tell me what I was really like. If doing this tonight brings back my other half, tomorrow morning I’ll be a completely different person. I want to know what to expect. Was I nice?”

“You were very nice. You’ve always had a big heart. You cared more for other people than yourself. You’re brave, confident, just, funny, temperamental, argumentative, alluring, charismatic, and you drove me mad from the moment I met you.”

I liked the feel of his back vibrating against mine as he spoke, even though I doubted the truth of what he told me.

“How am I different?”

“You’re definitely more flexible now.” I smiled and waited for him to continue. “You have more patience, a better grasp on controlling your emotions—most of the time—and you’re more cautious. Other than that I still see many of the qualities you had before in you now.”

“How did we meet?”

“I shouldn’t tell you.”

“Please.”

“I was on a hunt, and you were in the forest completely naked twirling under the moon.”

“I can think of worse things to be doing,” I said honestly.

“Well, I enjoyed it,” Cheney said dryly. “Or I did until I noticed all the other men I was hunting with watching you as well. Then, of course, I yelled at you.”

“Naturally.”

“I tried to make you put on my coat, which you absolutely refused to do. You said if I was embarrassed, I could avert my eyes. You informed me in no uncertain terms that I should continue on my little hunt and leave you to commune with the goddess.”

“Did you leave?”

“No, I sent the rest of them on their way and I stayed.”

“Did I take that well?”

“You ignored me. Even when it started to rain, you continued right on doing what you were doing. When you finished, I was soaked and you were glowing. You were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I walked you home very much against your will, but we talked. That night changed everything.”

She sounded great—but nothing like me. I would never dance naked in the woods. I would never let all of those people leer at me. “What will you do if she never comes back?”

“Who?”

“The girl you knew. What if tonight doesn’t work? What if I don’t get my memories back?”

“You say that like you aren’t the same person.”

“I am not the same person. I don’t share those memories. Even if I did, what makes you think my life here hasn’t changed me?”

“The memories will come back.”

“What if they don’t?”

“Then we’ll make new ones—”Cheney sighed like he couldn’t bear to say whatever else he needed to. He shook his head. “It’s time to go.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” he said with the confidence I didn’t have. His arms wrapped around me and I waited for the dizzying pull, but it didn’t come.

“Cheney?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we going?”

“Soon.” His arms tightened and his lips brushed my hair. “You didn’t say what you thought of the house.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Would it be acceptable to you?”

“Acceptable as what?”

“Our place to stay while we come up with a plan. You can’t go back to your house after tonight. They’ll be looking for you there, especially when they feel your magic.”

“How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“I don’t know.”

“I won’t leave Stewie.”

“The cat will be here when we come back tonight.” He squeezed me a little tighter and I closed my eyes shut. When I opened them, the studio was dark and silent. I gave Cheney the keys to unlock the front door while I got the lights. It seemed like a lifetime since I’d taught a class or seen my friends. Was I really giving all this up? I sat on the floor and opened Grandma’s Book of Shadows. I needed to find a spell that would work.

The book was a fountain of hand-scrawled information but seemed to have no order. It would take ages to find the correct spell. There was no way we could do this tonight. Relief washed over me. I’d received a reprieve.

“Looking for the spell?” Cheney asked.

“This will take hours to read through.”

“I know. I read while you slept last night.”

“You read this entire book?”

“Yeah, we needed to find the spell. Do you want me to show you?”

I offered him the book, my stomach sinking. Cheney flipped right to the correct page and handed the book back. It was an undoing spell and actually rather simple in its nature. “This doesn’t seem too bad. I have everything on hand.”

“Simple, yet powerful. It should do the trick.”

The bell of the door chimed. “Do not ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee,” I muttered.

Cheney smiled. “John Donne,” he said the same time Kat and Jess walked into the studio laughing.

“Selene, you whore. What’s so important we had to meet tonight?” Jessica asked before she noticed Cheney.

Kat looked at Cheney with an arched brow then back at me. “Hey, pretty lady. You going to introduce us to your friend?” She gave me a look that said that’s not Michael.

“Kat, Jess, this is Cheney. Cheney, these are two of my best friends, Kat and Jess.”

They both shook his hand and made appropriate greetings. Kat mouthed, “He’s hot,” behind his back.

“So how do you know each other?” Jessica asked.

“I’ll explain everything once Devin and Leslie get here,” I told them.

They both eyed Cheney. “Are you a witch?” Jess asked.

He gave them a mischievous grin. “No, but I can use a wand.”

“I bet you can,” Kat mumbled under her breath.

“Kat!” I said, my cheeks turning red as Cheney’s laughter filled the room. They both looked at him with renewed interest.

“Damn it, why’s Devin always late?” Jessica complained.

“The two of you remind me of one another,” Kat said, shaking a finger between the two of us.

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that tonight. I don’t see whatever it is you people are seeing.” I crossed my arms over my chest, not liking any of this. I had a suspicion of what they were noticing and I liked that even less. I wasn’t an elf, even part.

“There’s always been something I couldn’t quite place about you, Selene. Something mysterious and timeless that I’ve never seen in another person. I still can’t tell you what it is, but you both have it.”

“Are you a seer?” Cheney asked her.

“I just get feelings now and then.” Kat smiled and continued to inspect us.

“What about you, Jessica? What’s your talent?” Cheney turned his gaze to her.

“I’ll tell you mine when you tell us yours,” she said, studying his face and not seeming to buy into his whole charming thing.

“Fair enough,” Cheney said, not at all bothered by her shortness.

Finally the bell chimed and Devin and Leslie rushed through the door. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry we’re late. It’s completely my fault. I was ready, then…” Her voice trailed off as she saw Cheney. “I had a dream about you,” she said bluntly.

My breath caught in my throat. Devin’s dreams came true nearly as often as she had them. She didn’t continue, just stared off into space. “Devin! What happened?” I asked.

“Ummm, I don’t remember it very well. I had it a couple days ago. He was playing the piano, and you were sitting with him, and your hair color kept changing as he played. I was going to tell you tonight that something was going to threaten your identity, but I think maybe it was a more literal dream.”

“I’d say both translations are pretty accurate,” I whispered. Leslie took my hand, concern erasing her normally jovial smile. I cleared my throat. “Devin, Leslie, this is Cheney. Cheney these are the last members of our coven.”

“I’ll lock the door,” he said after he shook their hands. When he left the room, they bombarded me.

“Where do you find these guys?” Katrina asked.

“Why’s he here?” Leslie said. “I can’t feel anything from him. It’s weird.”

“How does he know about us?” Jessica asked with distinct curtness.

I withdrew my hand from Leslie’s, needing space, and held it up for them to stop. “I’ll explain everything. It’s rather unbelievable, but to the best of my knowledge it’s all true.”

“And Cheney?”

“He’s a big part of this story.” I ran my hands through my hair.

“Are you okay?” Devin asked, sitting on the floor, the rest following suit. “You look like this is the last place you want to be.”

“What’s that book?” Jessica asked, nodding toward the black book at my feet.

I sat down, completing our normal circle. “My grandmother’s Book of Shadows.”

“What!” they all said in unison.

“I told you, it’s a very long story.” I handed Jessica the book. “You’re welcome to look through it.”

Cheney strode back into the room in his typical fast and fluid movements. His gaze sought mine, but I stared down at my hands, at the ring on my finger.

“We need to make space for another,” I told the girls.

Jessica and Kat parted, allowing him to sit across from me rather than beside me. They were protecting me; they really were the greatest in the world.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

Cheney’s eyes met mine, glittering gold. “I imagine it would be easier for you to find a starting point than me.”

I nodded. I could start with my parents dying, but I didn’t know enough of the details to fill them in on the particulars. I could start with when I first met Cheney, but that was hardly the beginning. Or I could start with Gram, though I still didn’t know much about her part in all of this. None of it seemed right. None of it addressed the reason why they were here.

“I’m not human,” I blurted. I was met with silence; not even breathing could be heard. The beat of my heart roared in my ears. “Well, at least not all human. Apparently, I’m half elf. Cheney is all elf.”

My hands twisted together in my lap. My lovely ring cut into my fingers. “There’s some big fuss over who gets to lead the faeries or whatever.” I recapped everything to the best of my memory and as quickly as possible. “Now one faction wants to use me as a weapon, because apparently I have a lot of potential, and the other faction…Well, I’m not sure what they want to do with me. Cheney would know more than I do.”

Everyone, including Cheney, looked at me with wide eyes. “Some big fuss?” Cheney asked, recovering first, a smile twitching on his lips. “I guess that’s one way to put it. What was World War II, a tiff?”

I shrugged. “They got the idea.”

“Whoa…Wait a second, back up. What makes you think you’re not human?” Jessica asked me.

“Both Cheney and my grandmother told me so.”

She narrowed her eyes at Cheney. “Your hand.”

Cheney gave her his hand without question. Jessica shut her eyes. A few seconds later she opened her eyes and nodded to the circle. We all knew what that meant. He was telling the truth. My stomach roiled.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Cheney said to the girls. “Elves and faeries are mythical creatures to you, but I assure you we do exist and our fight is very real. If the rebels take over, the effects will be felt everywhere, not just in the Abyss. My family has ruled peacefully for thousands of years. The rebels have no interest in peace.

“So it’s the elf I see in both of you,” Katrina reasoned aloud.

“Most likely,” Cheney said. “We aren’t related.” He looked over at me. “We aren’t related.”

“Color me relieved,” I said dryly, and he smiled wickedly.

Devin was still staring off into space. “I take it the two of you were in love before she became a changeling,” Devin said

Cheney stared me directly in the eye. I could see it all over him, which scared me even more than becoming a different me. “Yes.”

Devin nodded. “You know what this is, don’t you, Selene?”

“Stressful?” I offered.

She smiled. “No. It’s the goddess. The three great events: love, death, and resurrection. To fulfill love you must return again and meet, know, remember your love. You have returned again. Now you need to remember.”

My mouth fell open. I vaguely remembered reading that story about the goddess and the horned god.

“Only I don’t think you can use magic to remember. I think remembering is something your heart has to desire.”

“I found the spell,” Cheney said. “It should work.”

“Not for this,” Devin said confidently. “To fulfill love you cannot force it with magic. This form of magic can only come from a willing heart. But you can awaken her other powers.”

“We shouldn’t do this spell inside,” Katrina added. “Selene is ruled by the moon and Venus. We should do it outside underneath the moon. It’s nearly full right now, right? It will increase our power.”

“We’ll triple circle so it will be more stable that way. Are you participating in this?” Jessica asked Cheney.

“Only in a form of power. Human magic is forbidden to elves, so I’ll participate by adding to your power, but I will not take an active part in any of the rituals. Selene’s grandmother is a very strong witch. We’ll need all the power we can get to undo her spell.”

“Well ladies…and gentleman, gather your stuff. We have a lot of work to do,” Devin said with a smile, clasping her hands in front of her.

Everyone stood up except for Leslie and me. “Wait,” Leslie spoke for the first time. “You’re all making plans for Selene, but none of you have asked her if this is what she wants. Selene?”

I twirled the ring and looked at Chaney. “No. Not tonight.”

“But—”

“No.” Jessica stepped between us. “She said no.” One by one each of the girls stepped in line in front of me, forming a wall.

Chapter 15

The tension was palpable in the room. I sighed and stood, breaking through their wall. “Thank you. I love you all, but I need to talk to Chaney. Please read over the spell. We’ll have to do it eventually.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Kat said, taking my hand.

I squeezed hers back. “I know. Just give me a moment.”

I led Cheney to the back office and closed the door behind us.

“I thought we agreed,” he said, brushing his hand down my arm.

“No, you commanded me. I can’t leave tonight. I have things I need to take care of.” My eyes flickered back to my ring and my hope of a future that was fading away fast.

Cheney didn’t miss the gesture. “This is about the buffoon?”

My laugh sounded bitter, and perhaps it was. “You’re only asking me to give up all I have ever known in my life. Why should I need time to come to terms with that?”

Cheney slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. “How much time?”

“I don’t know. However much it takes. I know you think you’re going to get the woman you love back, but damn it, I have a life here—a life that I love. I can’t just leave.”

“You can have until the full moon. Two days. That way you can cast at full strength and have time to wrap up whatever you need. Once we leave you can’t have any contact back here until it is done. At that time, if you still want to come back and pick up your life where you left it, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you can.”

“And if I say no?”

He sighed. “I will assign Sebastian to come and guard you, and I will return to my duties. You’ll never hear from me again.”

I rubbed my hand over my face. The memories made me want to get to know him more—my heart ached for it, actually—but my mind said maybe it would be for the best if he left for good. I could have a perfectly nice life with Michael. “Two days.” I nodded, turned on my heel, and walked out.

The girls looked up as I entered the studio.

“We’ll do the spell in two days.”

“What are you going to tell Michael?” Leslie asked.

“Good bye,” I whispered. My heart was heavy, but not as sad as it should’ve been. Why did Cheney make me feel so much when I felt so little for a man I’d known and cared about so much longer?

***

Two days wasn’t enough time. How could I wrap up all the loose ends of my life in two days? I convinced Jessica to take over the administrative operation of the studio. I arranged with other instructors to have my classes covered. Leslie agreed to keep Stewie. Cheney said I could bring him, but I didn’t know what I would be doing or how my new life would be. I wanted to make sure someone could be with him. I kept putting off talking to Michael, not wanting to hurt him but seeing no other choice. Finally, on the day of the full moon, I was out of time. Michael agreed to meet me for lunch, but Cheney insisted on coming, too.

“No.” I crossed my arms. “Absolutely not. If I have to break up with him, you can’t be there.”

Cheney sat on my couch watching reality television. He didn’t even bother to look up at me. “You can’t go alone. It isn’t safe. This isn’t up for discussion.”

I threw my hands up in the air and walked away. He was impossible. Cheney didn’t believe in discussing anything. He threw out orders like I would just take them. Break up with your boyfriend, become an elf, blah, blah, blah. I went to my bedroom and flopped down on the bed. My phone chirped with a new text message—Katrina wishing me luck with a frowny face. This royally sucked.

I read the spell to reverse the awakening for the millionth time. I needed that safety net in case I didn’t like being a half-elf. I needed to know I could come back. But stupid Cheney kept entering my thoughts. He was like an ember inside of me that was constantly being fanned, and Michael was the person I wished I felt like that about. I didn’t know Cheney, at least not that I could remember, but a part of me craved his touch. I couldn’t break up with Michael with him in the same room. The guilt would be too much to bear. If I couldn’t go alone, however, I had to find someone else to take me. Cheney probably wouldn’t view my friends as protection, but I knew one person he couldn’t object to. I dialed the number and waited.

“Cheney piss you off already? That didn’t take long. I never understood the two of you.” I could hear the smile in Sy’s voice.

“No. I’m supposed to do my awakening tonight, but I need your help with something.”

“Sure, anything. What’s up?”

“I have to break up with my fiancé before I go, and Cheney won’t let me go alone, but I don’t want him there.”

Sy groaned. “I meant anything except get involved in your relationship with the damn prince.”

My stomach dropped. So much for that idea. “Thanks anyway.”

“Wait. I’ll help you. Why are you breaking up with this poor guy?”

“Because I’m awakening my elf half. I have to.”

“No, you’re half-elf. You can do what you want. Don’t let Cheney bully you. If you love this guy, stay with him. Anyone, even a human, makes more sense than you and Cheney together.”

“It will put him in danger, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. It really isn’t fair to stay with him.”

“What time do you want me there?”

“In about an hour.” I gave him my address and then got ready for lunch, feeling much more at ease.

***

I came out of the bedroom, dressed and calm. Cheney looked up from the couch. “What time do you need to be there?”

“Oh, I’ll leave as soon as Sy arrives.”

He froze. “Why is Sy coming?”

“I told you, I don’t want you to come with me, and since you wouldn’t discuss it, I found my own alternative protection.”

Cheney’s eye twitched and he stood up, stalking in my direction. “You think he’ll do a better job protecting you than I will?”

I swallowed hard. “That’s not why I called him.”

“Then why?” He leaned in. His whiskers scratched my cheek and his whisper tickled my ear.

“Guilt,” I whispered back.

Cheney pulled back, his eyebrows knitting together. There was a knock on the door and I escaped before he could reply. Sy stood on the other side.

“You ready?” he asked, all ease and smiles.

“I’ll be back soon,” I told Cheney without looking back.

Michael already had a patio table when I arrived. Sy told me he’d be around, then disappeared. I steeled my nerves and walked up to the table. Michael stood and kissed my cheek, then pulled out a chair for me.

“I’ve missed you. How’s your grandma?” he asked, taking my hand.

I slipped out of his grasp and took a drink of water. “Michael, we need to talk.”

Instantly, worry appeared in his eyes. “Okay…”

“I have to go out of town for a while. I don’t know how long.” I paused, trying to think of how to phrase the next part.

Michael let out a breath. “I thought you were going to call off the engagement.” He laughed. “Where are you going?”

I pressed my lips together. “I am.” My voice barely met my own ears, but he went still.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t really explain.”

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

I started to deny it, but the memory of kissing Cheney left a scorching trail through my mind. “Someone I knew a very long time ago.”

“And you’re sure you want to be with him?”

I shook my head. “But the fact that I think I might is enough.” I handed Michael the ring. “I am sorry.”

He held the lovely piece of jewelry in his hands, looking at it like it was cursed. With a deep breath he stood up. “I always thought the coldness was a front because you have such a warm heart about so many other things, but you’re not even upset, Selene. I wanted to spend my life with you, and you break up with me as easily as you order a salad.” With that he stalked away.

I took another drink of water and looked at my steady hand. He was right. When it came to love I was cold, shut off. What was wrong with me? I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, Sy was across from me.

“Could’ve gone worse,” he said. “You want to stay for lunch?”

I wasn’t ready to see Cheney yet so I nodded. “When I was…you know, my other self…” I raised my eyebrows and he nodded slightly, “how did I feel about love?”

“You always had a big heart, Selene, but you never wanted to be tied down. Cheney didn’t understand that.”

“Did I love him?”

Sy leaned back in his chair and thought for a while. “Only you can really know that.”

I nodded. I would find out soon enough. Sy and I ordered lunch and spent the rest of the meal getting reacquainted. By the end, I knew we would be very good friends. He rode home with me, then kissed my forehead and vanished.

I unlocked my door and noticed that now, knowing Cheney was on the other side, my hands were shaking.

He nodded as I came through but didn’t ask how it went. “Are you ready for tonight? You have everything you need?”

I still had some minor packing to do, but I was mostly prepared. “Yes.”

“Why would my being at the restaurant make you feel guilty?” His eyes studied me, taking in every tell, knowing exactly where to look.

I frowned and walked back to my bedroom to finish packing. I didn’t know exactly what to bring so I went for comfortable. I made sure I had my iPod, charger, and headphones. I hugged my pillow to my chest and inhaled deeply. I already missed home.

***

We stood in the middle of a forest, God only knew where. Cheney had transported each of us to a natural clearing where the ground vibrated with its own energy and the moon shone down full and bright, turning the leaves above us silver. The remnants of what was probably an old stone altar made me believe this wasn’t just a convenient spot. He had obviously used the past two days to find the best location.

I looked up at the moon in silent prayer—don’t let this be a mistake. Cheney obviously thought this was the best idea and no one in the coven posed any objections to awakening my other half. I appeared to be the only one with trepidation. I avoided Jessica and Leslie, not wanting them to touch me and feel the worry consuming me. Katrina watched my interactions with Cheney with obvious interest. Devin studied the spell, making the odd adjustment here and there until she was completely satisfied.

Cheney stood beside me, always nearly touching me but never quite. He stared into the dark forest. I had no doubt he could see just as well inside the forest as he could where we stood.

“I’m nervous,” I confessed softly, part of me hoping he would say that I shouldn’t go through with it then. But he didn’t. Instead he told me everything would be fine and I needed to do this. I hid my disappointment and walked over to Kat and Jess, who were laughing softly.

“Hey, lady, you ready for this?” Kat asked.

“Yeah, let’s get this shindig started. It’s nearly midnight. Is Devin almost ready?” Jessica asked. Katrina and I shrugged. I went over to Devin and Leslie to see how they were coming along. Cheney caught my eye, but I quickly looked away from him.

Leslie took my arm. “How long did you say you’ve known him?”

“He knew me before I was a changeling.”

She nodded. “The two of you are bound to one another.”

“No. Well, not really. I mean, he said he was bound to me so he could protect me, but I’m not to him.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “No, you are. You’re both tightly joined to one another. I can see it between the two of you. Your paths will always run together through all time.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can see it. I couldn’t at the studio when we first met him, but out here I can. It’s like a stream of sparks running between the two of you. Right now it’s stretched, but it does not break. When you stood next to him it enclosed the two of you. Even now, look at his face. He feels the distance. His stance is altered; his body turns toward you. You’re the same way. You guys may not be aware of it, but it’s there.”

I looked down. My body was facing him. I had only turned my head toward Leslie. Cheney met my eyes. This time I didn’t turn away. So we were connected. What exactly did that mean? Cheney moved toward me; I met him in the middle.

“Did you need something?” I asked.

“No.” Cheney shook his head as if trying to clear it. He touched my arm and sighed as if relieved in some way.

“Are we connected?” I asked him bluntly, wanting to know how much he knew.

“Did you have another memory?” he asked.

“No.”

“I told you. I’m bound to you.”

“But I’m not bound to you?”

“Do you feel like you are?” he asked carefully.

“I feel like you’re not telling me what you know.” My patience wore thin.

“It’s best if you recover these memories on your own.”

“Cheney…”

“Yes, okay, yes. You are to me as I am to you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’d rather you feel and remember than be told.”

“Is everyone ready?” Devin called out.

I wasn’t sure whether to be angry he kept the secret or grateful he wasn’t pushing feelings on me that I no longer had. My eyes prickled with tears. Why did he have his effect on me? I gave in to it suddenly, kissing him full on the mouth.

His body went rigid with surprise, then he was kissing back, smothering any last worries or doubts I had with the inferno that touching him caused. He pulled me closer, weaving his hand into my hair. Energy pulsed around us, through us. My mind was empty of thought. All I could do was feel the rightness of his touch. He pulled back and rested his forehead against mine, making my heart clench. I took a deep breath, knowing I couldn’t wait any longer.

It was time.

Chapter 16

“I’m ready,” I told Devin. All my friends looked at me with silly grins on their faces. “Not a word.” I held up a warning finger as I walked over to what would be my position in the circle.

The protective circle was outlined in a variety of colors of agate and jasper stones, all signifying various elements to protect us while in the circle. The agates were primarily there to bring stability and acceptance while absorbing negativity and bringing peace. The jasper would ground us against fear and external threats. Cheney stayed outside of the circle. However, his energy crackled all across the clearing.

I stood in the center of the circle. Devin initiated the ritual. She picked up her consecrated salt, stirring it three times counterclockwise. Leslie picked up the chalice of water and did the same thing. I visualized my energy flowing into the water and salt as Devin circled us with the salt. When she finished, she added a pinch of salt to the water and she nodded to Leslie.

“May this power be doubled, thus increased, as life joins life to create a greater force than either,” Leslie repeated three times as she walked the perimeter of the circle, sprinkling the salt water.

Katrina picked up the incense and followed the exact same path Leslie walked. “Triple this power with this combination of fire and air. Let nothing penetrate the protection manifested.” Katrina returned to her position.

Lighting a green candle on the altar, Devin said, “I call on the guardian of the north to witness this rite and guard this circle.”

“I call on the guardian of the east to witness this rite and guard this circle,” Katrina called to the heavens while lighting a yellow candle.

“I call on the guardian of the south to witness this rite and guard this circle,” Jessica said, her arms spread out wide, the red candle blazing in front of her.

Leslie lit the final candle—a blue one. “I call on the guardian of the west to witness this rite and guard this circle.”

In unison we finished the ceremony. “In this circle we are bound with power all around. Between the worlds we stand with the guardians to protect us at hand.”

They joined hands and Devin once again led the spell. “By the power of earth, we call to the mother of the moon to restore that which was bound. With these ancient runes, we ask you, hear our sound.” She lay four specific runes she had chosen on the altar.

Katrina continued seamlessly. “By the power of air unmake the spell that binds. Take the fog from her eyes and help her find that which will make her wise.” Katrina laid the Book of Shadows on the altar.

Jessica placed an old carved mirror on the altar. “By the power of fire, awaken what was hidden. Out of protection and love, make it no longer forbidden. Let her be complete with the power above.”

Leslie stepped forward as Jessica spoke her last word. “By the power of water I beseech you by the rule of three. Return what she cannot see. Return what she cannot see. Return what she cannot see.”

I took the blade and sliced my palm, squeezing my blood into a bowl. The spell was said three more times, the circle’s joined hands reaching towards the sky. The energy grew in intensity. Our voices rose loud enough to be heard over the rushing sound inside of the cone of the power. With the last word of the spell, a loud crack shook the forest as we sent our intentions into the universe with the force of a freight train. I looked at the moon. It seemed to be moving closer to get a better look at me. I could feel the gravitational pull on my skin. All of my senses were hypersensitive. I tore my eyes away and we grounded the energy as one.

All five of us sat on the ground, breathing deeply, strength completely zapped. That was without a doubt the most powerful spell we had ever tried. I lay back in the grass staring up. The moon once again looked like the moon. In fact everything seemed to be exactly the same as it had been. I didn’t feel different or more powerful. How anti-climatic, I thought with a smile. I had worked myself up over nothing. The girls began to stir and get up. I stayed where I was. I was comfortable and so very relieved. I let my eyes close, enjoying the beautiful night air, smells, and the sound of nature around me. Sleep started to move in around the edges. I was just so tired.

“Selene.” Cheney’s voice drifted above me. I opened my eyes. Everyone was staring down at me.

I smiled, far beyond relief. The spell didn’t take. I was still just me. “I feel the same.”

“What do you mean?” Cheney squatted and tilted my chin so he could inspect my eyes.

I moved my head away from him. “I’m tired, but I feel exactly the same. No more powerful or elfish.”

“It didn’t work?” Cheney looked at my friends. “Maybe you shouldn’t have changed the spell.”

“She looks the same to me,” Katrina said.

Leslie touched my arm. “She feels the same.”

“Why don’t we all back away from Selene, before she hits us,” Jessica said with her own smile as she winked at me.

“Look at her ears,” Devin said quietly.

Immediately my hands popped up to my ears. Sure enough, they both had slight points at the tips. Other than that they were exactly the same, but the pin drop of trepidation had already begun to spread.

Cheney pulled my hand from my ear so he could see. His smile made me want to push him away. “Why doesn’t she feel different?”

“I have no idea. It isn’t like this is an exact science. Maybe it takes time to manifest.”

I had enough of them inspecting me. I stood and brushed nonexistent dirt from my clothes.

“Her skin is a little more golden—like you needed even more perfect skin. Whore,” Katrina added good-naturedly, making me smile.

Cheney shot Katrina a disgusted look that she didn’t notice.

“What do you feel, Selene?” Jessica asked me.

“Tired,” I said. I tried to dig deeper to see what else, if anything, I felt. “Relieved I’m not completely changed—and annoyed that you guys are inspecting me like a rental car.”

The girls laughed. “Yep, definitely hasn’t changed for the better,” Devin said.

“Selene needs to go to the safe house, and then I’ll come back and take the rest of you home.” He looked at them expectantly and they all nodded.

Before I let him take me anywhere, I gave each of them a hug, not knowing when or if I’d see them again. Leslie and Devin cried. Katrina sniffled but told me she’d see me soon, and Jessica told me to hurry back.

Cheney finally pulled me away. “Selene, you have to go. That was way too much magic not to draw attention.”

I didn’t resist and rested against him, watching my friends fade away. A moment later I stood in the beautiful house that wasn’t home.

“I’ll be back. Try not to fall asleep before I return,” Cheney told me. He waited for me to nod before he disappeared.

I wandered around the house because if I sat down it would be lights out. The refrigerator was fully stocked, as were the cabinets. The sofa was made from the softest leather I’d ever felt. A long, narrow, glass fireplace lit one end of the living room. The flames flickered in a mesmerizing dance that made me want to curl up on the soft couch and watch them. Instead, I slowly shuffled to the bedrooms to see which one I would claim as my own. They were all pretty much the same. The only real distinction was the view from the window. I chose the one with the acres of dark forest. I stared out the window, trying to decide if I was seeing better in the dark or if the moon was just that much brighter tonight.

“Is this the room you would like?” Cheney’s voice came from behind me.

“Is that all right?” I asked, not turning around.

“Of course, whatever you want.” His hands were heavy on my shoulders as he turned me toward him.

“All I really want is sleep,” I said, ready to launch into a tired speech about how I still didn’t know how I felt about him.

Cheney gave me an amused grin. “My intentions are nothing but honorable.”

“Then why exactly did I have to stay awake?”

“What do you see when you look at me?”

“I see you.” I yawned, sick of this game.

“No. Do you see me as blending in me or as elf me?”

“I see you exactly as I have seen you.”

Cheney frowned. “Focus and look at me. You should be able to see through the glamour.”

I brushed his hands away. “You kept me awake to run tests on me?”

Cheney didn’t respond, but that was obviously the case.

“Tomorrow you can run all the tests you like—well, until you annoy me and we get into a fight—but tonight, I’m going to bed.”

I patted him on the arm and crawled under the covers. “Get the light and door on your way out.”

Cheney sighed loudly but did as I asked.

Blessed, blessed sleep.

***

The sound of voices woke me up. Cheney and someone I didn’t recognize were talking softly, but when I focused on just listening, I could make out most of what they were saying.

“It’s not going well, Cheney. They’re recruiting. Rumors are they’re trying to entice the vampires now.”

“They’re not even fae. What concern is it of theirs who rules?” Cheney sounded annoyed.

“They’re offering the vampires a place where they’ll be accepted. Somewhere they’ll fit in. I personally believe they’re underestimating the vampires—perhaps it’s their youth. I’ve never known a vampire who wanted to be accepted into any society or one to show loyalty to anyone but their own.” The stranger paused. “What drives vampires is to be a part of the hunt. You could offer that. They would be a powerful ally, which we sorely need right now.”

“The king would never let them in the hunt.”

“That’s why I’m bringing this to you.” There was a heavy silence. “Cheney, I know you don’t want to hear this, but perhaps your father’s time has ended. People are siding with the bloody half elves over us. We’d be foolish to think the fae aren’t unhappy. If it were only intimidation, we would’ve eliminated this problem long ago, but there’s a general sense of dissatisfaction in the air. However, I believe they would rally behind you. You have always been more open-minded and have had a better rapport—even more so since her.”

It was so quiet I thought maybe they left the room, but then the same voice said, “Hell, Cheney, look at what you’ve done.”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

“It has everything to do with it. When people find out, and they will, you will have drawn a line in the sand. Talk to your father. Convince him this is the only way. We must unite.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“I’m asking you to do what’s necessary to win. Nothing more.”

Cheney sighed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Decide fast, my friend. We lose ground every day.”

When it was clear they weren’t going to say anything further, I climbed out of bed, smoothing the wrinkles from my clothes. I went into my bathroom and splashed water across my face before patting it dry with a towel. The face in the mirror looked pretty much the same, a little smoother perhaps and my skin a tad brighter, but all in all not bad. I took a closer look at my ears. They were pointed but nothing to send children running in fear. I could totally handle this. My stomach rumbled.

Breakfast before anything else.

I walked toward the kitchen where Cheney and the stranger stood, watching me approach. Cheney gave me a relaxed smile, and the stranger sized me up with concerned appraisal.

“You must be Sebastian,” I said, extending my hand. “I hear we used to be friends.”

A small smile tugged at Sebastian’s mouth. “That we were, Selene.”

He made no effort to hide the fact he was an elf. His close-cropped brown hair displayed his ears prominently, and he had strongly defined cheekbones and eyes that seemed to be made to worry. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he held himself with a rigid posture. His slight but agile build managed to appear deadly. His skin glowed with a silver hue.

“So, was I all sunshine and rainbows back then?” I asked, hoping my tone sounded joking.

“Not at all. You were ornery, opinionated, and always looking for trouble,” he said seriously.

Laughter spilled from me. I liked honest people. We were going to get along just fine. “How on earth did I ever become friends with a straight-laced nail-biter like you?”

“You remember me,” he said with wide eyes, looking over to Cheney.

“No. You just look like a worrier, and there’s something rather military about the way you stand.”

He nodded. “Not bad, half-elf.”

“I prefer half-human.” Cheney and Sebastian laughed and I grinned at them. Maybe this new life could work out.

“I swear some things never change. She meets me and immediately her claws are out and there’s fighting. She meets you and she’s joking within minutes,” Cheney grumbled while pouring a bowl of cereal.

“Well, he hasn’t followed me around or tried to scare me to death.”

Cheney shrugged and held out the full bowl. I lifted myself to sit on the counter and accepted the bowl.

Sebastian’s gaze darted back and forth between us but settled on Cheney. “It’s like no time has passed.” I couldn’t tell if he thought that was good or bad.

Cheney glared at Sebastian, all smiles and relaxation gone. The stare down lasted well past the point of comfort; obviously it was a bad thing.

“Well, we just took a detour to awkward,” I said lightly.

Sebastian gave Cheney an abrupt nod and looked away first. “My apologies, Selene. We’ll begin training downstairs in thirty minutes if that is acceptable. “

I nodded though I had no idea what he meant by training.

“Prince Cheney.” Sebastian gave a slight bow and disappeared from the room.

“What was that all about?”

“A difference of opinion.”

“That’s all you’re going to tell me?” I shook my head at this man and his partial information. “So what’s the deal with the prince thing?”

“What prince thing?”

“When I called you prince in my memory, it sounded like an insult. But when Sebastian said it just now, it was different, like he was deferring to your rank. But not everyone calls you prince.”

“It is my official title, but I have never cared much for titles so I rarely use it. Sebastian was making a point. You have only ever used it as a weapon in arguments.”

“So I had a hang up about it?”

“You could say that.”

“Why? After all, it’s who you are.”

Cheney moved closer to me. “It’s not who I am. It’s just my title.” The glint in his eye told me we’d had this conversation before and it didn’t go well.

I shook my head. “You’re wrong. It’s part of what makes you, you. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The title gives you power, authority—I can tell because you’re always bossing me around. To ignore it is to ignore part of yourself.”

Cheney’s mouth twisted. “Selene…” he said with a warning tone, obviously thinking I was trying to start an argument.

I held back my smile. The sun reflected off of Cheney’s golden eyes and his mouth parted in a too inviting way. Arguing was the last thing on my mind. I rather liked the Cheney who wasn’t certain of every move I was going to make. I reached out, grabbed a handful of his shirt, and tugged him close. “Prince Cheney,” I said with no mocking whatsoever.

He licked his lips as he looked back at me. “You had good reasons for hating my title.”

“But to hate that is to hate part of you. As your friend I should accept you, Prince Cheney.”

“Why does it feel like I’m never on solid ground with you?”

“Would you prefer I call you Mr. Hunt?” I asked innocently. Cheney chuckled. “Well then, my prince, are you going to kiss me or should we continue discussing names?”

“You’re going to be the death of me.” His mouth covered mine. Sparks and heat rolled through me instantly. “You can call me whatever you like, princess.”

Regardless of what my mind remembered, my body knew him and responded without hesitation. I slid off the counter and pressed up against him before jerking my head away with every last drop of willpower I had. “I have training.”

“Sebastian will wait.” Cheney pulled me back to him roughly. His mouth demanded my utmost attention and stole my breath, making my knees weak. My hands snaked beneath his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against mine. His mouth trailed to my jaw and neck, allowing me to breathe.

“I should really go to training. What type of training am I doing? Do I need to change my clothes?”

Cheney lifted up from my neck. “Selene,” he gave me a quick kiss on the mouth, “stop talking.”

I twisted out of his arms, feeling playful.

He made a growling noise and grabbed at me, but I deftly avoided him using the counter as a barrier. “Need I remind you, you started this?” Cheney said thickly.

I smiled. “I did start it, but I’m not finishing it. Not yet anyway.” The color in his eyes swirled as if it were liquid and his ears began to point. “You’re losing your disguise.”

Cheney stopped and smiled. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Your ears are pointed.”

“Selene, my disguise is perfectly in check. You’re seeing through it.” He peered at me intently. “The elf is waking up.” He looked so pleased I wanted to kick him in the shins.

I pulled away, unable to stop my frown. “I have to change.” I turned for the bedroom.

“You’re not happy.” Cheney sounded amazed.

“Not particularly,” I said over my shoulder.

“Why?”

Where could I even start? I paused in the doorway and glanced back at him. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I prefer half-human.”

His mouth fell open slightly. “Selene—”

“Don’t. You aren’t going to change my mind. I accept that the elf part is here and part of me, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And the human side will not be taking a backseat to it.”

Green mixed back in with the gold in Cheney’s eyes.

I closed the door and rummaged through my suitcase until I found my yoga pants, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, frowning at the points on my ears. When I came out of the bedroom, Cheney was waiting for me by the door, his face expressionless. “Selene, we should talk about this.”

“Why? Look, I’m going to learn what I need to learn to protect myself. But nothing is going to change who I am. I don’t see why it has to.” A nagging feeling that I was being a hypocrite came into my mind. Didn’t I just tell Cheney that being a prince was part of who he was? How was this any different?

“There are things you do not understand. What you just said would upset a great number of people and put your life in further danger. You cannot talk like that, not being who you are.”

“Exactly who am I?”

His jaw flexed. “My wife.”

Chapter 17

My jaw fell open and I stared at him.

“I wanted you to remember it on your own.” Worry lined Cheney’s normally smooth face.

“You’re not joking, are you?”

Cheney shook his head. I was stunned. “What the…we…” I swallowed. “We’re going to talk about this—later, after I’ve had time to think about it. When I can think. How do I get downstairs?” I sputtered. Holy shit.

Cheney wrapped his arms around me, though I struggled, and moments later we were in what looked like a small gymnasium. I pushed away as soon as I could. I had just started to be okay with getting to slowly know Cheney and exploring my feelings, both new and old. How could he be my husband? How?

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Sebastian said.

“What?” I was distracted and seriously considering calling Sy and getting the hell out of there.

Sebastian lifted an eyebrow and looked over at Cheney, who still wore his stony mask. “Is this a bad time to start?”

“Yes,” Cheney said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“No,” I countered, looking at only Sebastian. “I’m ready.” I needed something to take my mind off of this. I needed Sebastian not to leave Cheney and me alone. Anger rolled off of Cheney in furious waves, and his elf features blazed forth.

Sebastian looked at Cheney, who gave him the slightest nod.

“Dodge,” Sebastian said, pulling a tennis ball out of thin air and hurling it at me so quickly I could barely see it.

“What? Ow!” The ball hit me with such force I staggered. Son of a bitch. That was going to leave a mark. Another ball was already flying at me. I barely stepped out of the way when another pelted me in the thigh. About a hundred balls later and only a handful of dodges, I sat of the floor catching my breath and rubbing my arms—but no longer thinking about being anyone’s wife. Mission accomplished.

“Next time, a little explanation about what you’re going to do and what I’m supposed to do would be appreciated,” I grumbled.

“Do you think people stop in a battle to tell you exactly how they’re planning to attack?”

“I think anyone would be caught unaware springing a surprise on them like that.”

Sebastian nodded, pulling another ball out of the air. He whipped the ball at Cheney—who wasn’t even looking at us—so hard I couldn’t see it. Cheney stepped to the side, frowning. The ball smashed into the wall behind him. “You’re training her, Sebastian, not me,” Cheney snapped.

Sebastian continued his assault with increasing speed and power. Cheney avoided all the balls easily while walking towards us. He plucked the last ball from Sebastian’s hand before he could throw it. “I’m not in the mood,” he growled.

“That’s how it is done, Selene.” Sebastian ignored him. “Do you care to try again?”

Before I could answer, Cheney smiled without humor. “I think Selene will do better with hand to hand.”

“She’s out of shape. She hasn’t mastered dodging. You cannot start hand to hand—”

“I am not out of shape,” I said cutting him off, offended. “I’ve taught multiple yoga classes a day for years and run at least five miles a day.”

“It’s not a good idea,” Sebastian said. “Don’t be goaded into doing this.”

“It’ll be fine. Keep score,” Cheney said, smirking.

I stood up, stretching my limbs and rolling my shoulders. I’d never been in a fight with anyone in my entire life, nor had I ever wanted to be. The idea of hitting Cheney, however, appealed to me greatly. “So how do I fight?” I asked them.

“Cheney, you can’t do this,” Sebastian protested.

“I can do whatever I want.” Cheney gave him a somewhat manic smile. “All you have to do to fight, princess, is remember.”

A moment later he was behind me, pinning my arms down with one hand and holding a knife to my throat with the other. “Point,” he whispered in my ear, releasing me and stepping back.

Anger and embarrassment gushed through me.

Sebastian handed me a stick that was about three feet long. “You can stop any time you want. But if you can hit him with this, you get a point.” He shook his head and stepped back with his arms crossed over his chest.

An instant later I was on my back with Cheney on top of me. “Point. Come on, princess, you aren’t even trying.”

I pushed him off, scrambling to my feet. The smug son of a…Cheney scooped me into his arms. It was humiliating. “Put me down,” I growled.

“Point,” he called out merrily, then sat me on the floor.

I was so angry, so mortified, my vision waved like I’d been in the heat too long. Cheney looked full elf to me right now. I closed my eyes against the image and something amazing happened—I heard him coming. I swung my arm in the direction he came from. When I opened my eyes, the wooden stick was flat against his chest. “Point,” I said, trying not to jump up and down with giddy excitement.

Sebastian looked like he could’ve been knocked over with a feather. “How did you do that?” he asked. “Your eyes were closed.”

Cheney looked down at his chest then back at me and nodded. He pulled a wooden stick identical to mine from the air. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” He twirled the stick in his nimble fingers.

“Cheney—” Sebastian began to protest again.

“She’s always been good with swords. Isn’t that why you gave her the pole?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing. We’ll take it slow.”

Cheney was true to his word. He walked me through basic fencing moves, showing me how to hold the weapon and the proper stance. Later, when we were sparring, he moved much slower than I knew he could and only ever tapped me lightly. My control left a lot to be desired. When I hit him, it was with much more force. Luckily my hits were few. Hours passed as we practiced. They offered to let me take a break several times, but I was determined to get it, so I pushed us on. By the time Cheney insisted we stop, it was dark outside, and my movements were sluggish at best. The three of us went upstairs for dinner. I collapsed on the couch half dead.

“I wouldn’t lie down if I were you,” Sebastian called from the kitchen. “You won’t be able to get back up.”

I pulled myself off the couch and discovered my muscles had already begun to stiffen, so I headed for a shower. As the water ran over me, the thoughts I’d been avoiding all day rushed back with a vengeance. Yes, I was attracted to Cheney. That was undeniable. But his wife? I couldn’t be his wife. I’d remember something like that! Every conversation and fight we’d had since he showed up in my life played through my mind. It was no wonder he reacted so poorly to Michael. It was like I was shoving my cheating in his face.

I was a cheater.

I felt sick. But at least this explained why he was here and what everyone seemed to believe I should remember. I got out of the shower and slipped on a light, loose fitting dress. The guys were already at the table discussing my training. I prayed tomorrow would be a rest day, though it didn’t sound like it. I looked at the food in front of me. I wasn’t feeling very hungry, but I knew I needed to keep my energy up.

“You have to eat,” Cheney said, barely pausing from his conversation with Sebastian.

“I know.” I lifted my heavy, stiff arm to scoop whatever the mushy stuff was in front of me. I’d never seen anything less appetizing. I took a bite. It pretty much tasted like it looked—like a wet, moldy sock.

“What on earth is this?” I interrupted them.

“Gark,” Sebastian said with enthusiasm. “It has all the necessary vitamins, minerals, and nutrition you need to be strong.”

“It’s a gelatinous mound.”

“It’s the most efficient food choice.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m eating this.”

Cheney grinned. “I told you she wouldn’t eat it.” He handed me a different plate, one with a turkey sandwich and a salad.

“The two of you are impossible.” Sebastian shook his head. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been beaten with a wooden pole…Oh, wait, wait—I have been beaten with a wooden pole.”

“You did well today, better than I expected. What did you learn?”

“Cheney’s a lot faster than I am—and he hits girls.”

Cheney laughed, but Sebastian continued on seriously. “What else?”

“I did better when I was angry.”

“Why?”

“My Spidey senses kicked in.”

“I do not know what that means.” Sebastian looked to Cheney for translation, which made me smile—and notice my face muscles were the only muscles on my body not sore.

“I think she means her elven abilities,” Cheney explained. “But while that’s true, it isn’t entirely accurate. Your abilities are heightened whenever your emotions are heightened. You don’t have to be angry.”

This morning seemed like years ago, but I still blushed at the referral. Flirting with Cheney definitely brought my senses to life. “Why?”

“Because it’s harder to repress yourself when you’re focused on something else. You’re very singular in your thoughts and actions, princess. You don’t half do anything. Everything you feel consumes you. Take today for example. We could have stopped hours earlier—we both offered to quit—but you insisted we keep going.”

“That’s rather ironic since I’m made entirely of halves. Are you saying I can do anything I set my mind to?” I joked, hoping he’d stop looking so deeply at me.

“I’m saying you don’t know when to quit. You’ll die trying to do whatever you set your mind to.”

“Well, there’s a pleasant thought,” I said dryly.

“You need to think more carefully through the decisions you make.”

Deciding to become a changeling was what he was getting at, which made me bristle. I gave him a hard look. “I’m too tired to fight. Try not to instigate one.”

Sebastian laughed loudly, and both Cheney and I turned toward him. I hadn’t known Sebastian long, but he didn’t seem like the laughing sort.

“I don’t really see what’s funny about this.” Cheney glowered.

He wiped tears from his eyes. “It took Selene becoming a human to have enough sense not to argue with you.”

Cheney looked away. “Isn’t it about time you went home?”

I suffered the pain and kicked him under the table. “Don’t be rude.”

“It’s okay, Selene. I’m happy to see Cheney back to normal. However, Prince Cheney should take his own advice and think more carefully through the decisions he makes.” Sebastian stood up and gave me a half bow. “Until tomorrow.”

I abandoned my dinner, hobbled into the living room, and collapsed onto the couch. Cheney followed me in and sat in the chair.

“That was mean,” I said.

“I doubt Sebastian thought so.”

I propped myself up enough to see him. “It was still rude. What did he mean when he said you need to think through your decisions?”

Cheney leaned back and closed his eyes. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“Why are you deliberately difficult?”

“Selene, we have any of number of things we need to speak about. Why do you insist on discussing Sebastian?” He rubbed his temples.

Because I still didn’t know how I felt about the things he wanted to discuss. I collapsed back down. “You want to talk about the marriage thing? Is that why you kicked him out?”

He took a deep breath. “That depends. How mad are you? I’m not in the mood to argue either.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said miserably, shutting my eyes and hoping I’d fall asleep and escape.

Cheney’s sigh was more annoyed than was humanly possible. “Figure out what you want. I can’t take this back and forth much longer.”

“Back and forth? I’m not back and forth.”

“You are the queen of vacillation.”

“I am not.”

“One moment you’re all over me, and the next you can’t stand to look at me.”

I covered my head with my arms. “If this is you not fighting, you suck at it.”

I heard Cheney walk out of the room and I almost felt bad—almost. Cheney may have been right about my being a tad bipolar when it came to him. I was struggling with past feelings coming back and current feelings that were building, but he should understand that. I had to sort all of this out before I could know how I really felt. God, he was irritating. Part of me felt ridiculously connected to him and wanted to be close to him all the time. Like now. Just having Cheney leave the room made part of me want to go look for him. But the other part of me blamed him for changing everything and wanted to lash out. I was happy before. I had a great boyfriend, great friends, and a promising career. Cheney messed up everything.

A few minutes later he came back and sat on the edge of the couch, much too close. “Drink this,” he commanded, handing me a juice glass filled with a foggy amber colored liquid.

I pushed myself up with some difficulty. “What is it?”

“Poison,” he said dryly.

“Oh, well, in that case.” I took the glass and tossed it back like a shot. Cheney’s eyebrows shot up and he broke out in laughter as I sputtered and coughed. “Holy crap, what was that? It tastes like peppery dirt with a spoiled milk aftertaste.”

“It was dirt.”

“What!”

“I’m kidding. It was a very potent tea that will help you sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. Normally, it is sipped, but…”

I was woozy. The room was spinning with increasing velocity. “I’m going to be sick,” I choked out.

“No, you’re not. Just breathe. Don’t fight it.” Cheney looked completely unconcerned.

I lay my head against my knees, wishing he had given me poison. “You could’ve warned me.”

“I could have.”

I had plenty more to say on this subject, but my vision went black and I was dead to world.

Chapter 18

The next morning I woke up completely refreshed, without a sore muscle in my body. Whatever Cheney had given me tasted like shit, but it was well worth it. Cheney and Sebastian were talking again. I let my Spidey senses take over as I listened.

“Do you think this is a good idea, Cheney?”

“What choice do I have?”

“You know the other option.”

“That is not an option.”

“I understand how you feel, but she obviously doesn’t feel the same.”

“She’ll remember.”

“You can’t be positive. The fact that she hasn’t since the awakening, even with the bond, makes me think she might not regain her memories at all. Whatever the old witch did, I don’t know if we can undo it. You saw her yesterday. She fought like a human. This changes everything.”

“Don’t forget she had moments where the elf came through. She will remember. She has to,” Cheney insisted.

“Let her go and deal with the problem at hand.”

“No. She’s still in there.”

“I hope you’re right, for all our sakes.”

“We have to try harder. You can’t coddle her. Selene does best when she’s challenged. Something will trigger her memories. We just have to find it.”

I no longer wanted to eavesdrop. Why did I have to remember? I was here. I was doing what they wanted me to do. Why wasn’t that enough? They could look for triggers until the moon fell from the sky. I would never stop fighting this. I got out of bed and dug through my suitcase until I found something acceptable to wear.

When I opened my door, they immediately went silent. I ignored both of them and went to the kitchen. I pulled spinach, a banana, strawberries, almond milk, cranberry juice, and vanilla yogurt out of the fridge, then started opening cabinets looking for a blender.

“Can I help you find something?” Cheney asked from the doorway.

“Is there a blender in this Godforsaken place?”

He went to the correct cabinet and pulled it out for me.

“Thank you,” I said curtly.

Cheney leaned over the other side of the counter, casually watching me. I blended my green smoothie until it was smooth and poured it into the largest glass I could find.

Cheney’s nose scrunched. “You’re really going to drink that?”

“It’s better than the dirt you made me drink last night.”

“But you feel better”

“Much better.”

“Then it did its job. What exactly does that do?”

“It gives me vitamins and minerals and increases my energy.”

“It looks like something scraped off a pond.”

“Says the man who eats Gark. Don’t knock it until you try it.”

Cheney held out his hand, and I gave him my glass. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s actually not half bad.”

I smiled despite myself. “Give my drink back. It’s delicious and you know it.” I went into the living room and sat in one of the chairs, crossing my legs. “So what’s on the torture menu for today? Limb stretching, splinters under my fingernails, electroshock therapy?”

“Conditioning and awareness,” Sebastian said, ignoring my comments.

“What exactly does that entail?”

“You’re going to run through the woods and try not to get hit with darts.”

“You’re joking.”

“No.” His eyes were grave, and he didn’t look like he liked the idea any more than I did.

“I take it these aren’t foam darts.”

“Not exactly, but they aren’t poisoned either,” Cheney said with a smile.

“Ah, a compromise,” I said dryly. “And why am I doing this?”

“You need to be battle ready,” Cheney said, and Sebastian looked at his hands.

“Like a literal battle?”

“Hopefully not. But there’s a possibility, and I want you to be able to defend yourself. I’d prefer not to lead a lamb to slaughter.”

“And this would be with the rebel people? I still don’t understand why they want to kill me.”

“They won’t just let you help us.” I hated that I had to make so many life-altering decisions when I didn’t understand the situation.

“You were always a good fighter, Selene,” Sebastian offered. “You need to embrace that part of yourself.”

“Oh, is that all I need to do?”

Sebastian nodded earnestly. He really didn’t follow my mood very well. Cheney, on the other hand, walked a safe distance away. “How’s Gram doing?”

“Well. The rebels haven’t made any other moves against her. I’m sure they’re still watching her house and hospital room though.”

“Is she safe?”

“As long as they don’t feel they can use her against you she is. They don’t know she’s your family, and hopefully they’ll conclude she isn’t enough temptation to get you into their trap.”

Sebastian frowned at Cheney.

“Great,” I grumbled and swallowed the last of my smoothie. I took the glass into the kitchen and rinsed it before returning to the living room. “I’m ready.”

They led me to the edge of the woods behind the house. “Your goal is to make it to the other side without getting hit. You can take any path and use any strategy you like. You will not see us,” Sebastian told me.

“Good luck,” Cheney said with a wicked grin and they both disappeared.

“Fantastic.” I contemplated going back in the house but talked myself out of it. I didn’t want anyone else I loved to be hurt or, worse, killed because of me. I stared into the forest, trying to decide what path to take.

Cheney’s voice rang out. “The Selene I knew was never this big a chicken.”

All thoughts of plans and strategies evaporated. I took off into the woods in a zigzag pattern, keeping close to the trees. The first dart hit me, sticking out of my thigh at an odd angle. “Son of a bitch.” I stopped to pluck out the dart, only to be hit with three more. Right—no stopping.

I took off, running faster. Darts whizzed past me and into me as I ran. They stung, but mostly I could ignore them. I came to the edge of the woods, panting for breath and looking like a porcupine. I wanted to collapse, but I was riddled with little darts.

“Did you miss any of them, princess?” Cheney taunted from behind.

“Thanks for not hitting my face,” I said calmly as I removed darts out of my arms and legs.

Cheney gently pulled darts from my back. “We don’t want to hurt you. Just do better.”

I read between those lines—just be her. “How many are still in me?” I asked.

“One more—there, done,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder. I jerked away from him and lay on the ground. My body tingled, and my feelings were hurt.

“Are you ready to go again?” Sebastian asked, emerging from the woods.

“Aren’t you going to give me a critique?” I stalled.

“Don’t get hit,” he offered.

I pushed myself off the ground. “I don’t like either of you very much. The other me must have been insane.” Then I sprinted off before they had a chance to get to their hiding spots, understanding too personally what the fox in a foxhunt must feel like.

I ran as hard as I could, but the darts found their way to their favorite pin cushion regardless. I stumbled over a root and pitched forward at full speed. This is going to hurt. I braced myself to be impaled on the fifty darts currently protruding from me, but instead of hitting the ground, two hands caught me and set me back on my feet.

I looked at Cheney. “That was close.”

“This exercise is finished, Sebastian,” he called out and starting plucking darts from me again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We shouldn’t have done this. It’s too dangerous.”

“It wouldn’t have killed me to fall. They aren’t very long. It would’ve just hurt—a lot.”

“You aren’t doing this again,” he commanded.

“I can do it. I just need to keep practicing.”

“What if one of our darts strays and hits you in the neck? No, this is a bad exercise. I should have thought about it more, considered your limitations.”

“You mean your limitations. You’re the one worried about your aim.” I shrugged, faking indifference. Why did I want to impress him so much? When he drew a line in the sand, why did I feel compelled to cross it?

“You’re impossible.”

“Kettle, it’s so nice to see you again.”

Cheney shook his head, not amused. “No more today. You can try again later.”

I looked down at my shirt. It was covered with little pin pricks of blood, and trails of blood ran down my arms. “I look like I survived a slasher film.” Cheney reached towards me to transport us out of the woods, but I dodged him. “Let’s walk.”

He nodded and fell in step with me silently.

“I don’t mean to go back and forth—or to give mixed signals,” I told him quietly, his words from the night before still nagging me.

“Then stop doing it.”

“Try to see this from my point of view. You already feel like you know me. We have a history to you. We’ve had those first dates, those long conversations, and the excitement of getting to know one another. I haven’t had any of that. I have a few stray memories and a lot of rootless feelings. Yes, part of me wants to jump right in with you and see what happens, but another part of me just wants to go home.”

Cheney didn’t respond. We walked in silence until we reached the edge of the tree line where Sebastian waited. “You okay?” he asked me.

“I’m fine.”

“We’re done for today, Sebastian,” Cheney said.

If Sebastian thought that was strange in any way he didn’t betray it. He nodded and disappeared. Cheney and I headed into the house.

“I’m going to take a shower, wash off some of the blood,” I said as I walked toward my bedroom. While I was drying my hair, there was a knock on my bedroom door. I answered in my towel. “Cheney?”

His eyes traveled up and down my body slowly. His gold eyes met mine. “I brought you this.” He handed me a small jar with no label. “It will help heal the marks left by the darts.”

“Thanks.” I took the jar.

“Also, I’ve been thinking about what you said and you’re right. I haven’t approached this correctly. I would like to start over and ask you out on a proper date.” He gave me a sexy half smile and his untamed eyes made my heart stutter.

“I would like that.”

Chapter 19

A date with Cheney. This was either a very good or a very bad idea. I unpacked my suitcase, putting the clothes in drawers so they wouldn’t wrinkle any further, while I thought.

I had no idea where he’d take me. I couldn’t imagine Cheney in a suit, at a club, or really in any public place. I stuck my head out the bedroom door. “Cheney?” I said at a conversational volume, not wanting alarm him.

He appeared around the corner of the kitchen, pulling a cell phone from his ear, raising his eyebrows at me.

“Sorry. Where exactly are we going?”

He only smiled and disappeared back into the kitchen. He wasn’t going to tell me. Jerk. I eyed the clothes still strewn across my bed. Somewhere in the mess, there was the perfect outfit. I just had to find it. I took the cream Cheney gave me and absentmindedly smeared it on every red mark on my legs, arms, and body that I could reach as I inspected my choices.

Finally I pulled out a pair of snug black pants and a mauve silk and chiffon strapless top with a sweetheart neckline and a ribbon accenting the waist. The outfit was simple and easy to move in yet alluring. In my bathroom, I was amazed to find that every single mark I’d put the cream on was healed. I finished my hair and makeup.

Cheney was still on the phone when I entered the living room, but he’d changed into a pair of dark jeans and a crisp white button up shirt that complimented his muscular arms and chest. He looked back at me and the phone disappeared from his hand. “You look lovely.” He produced a bouquet of sunflowers.

“My favorite,” I said. Cheney smiled and I had a sinking feeling. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Tonight we aren’t talking about what I know about you. Let’s call it a lucky guess.”

I smiled. “Will you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

I handed him the jar of cream he’d given me. “I can’t reach all the spots on my back. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

I turned my back to him, lifting my hair. The cold cream and Cheney’s rough fingers made contact with my flesh, and I tried not to hold my breath.

“Where are we going tonight?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“Um…” His thumb ran down my spine, making me bite my lip. “What was your question again?”

“Tonight, where are we going?”

He stepped back. “Well, officially we’re in hiding and it would be irresponsible to leave.”

“Oh.” I struggled to keep disappointment from my tone.

“But I think I can make it work. I need a little more time, however.”

“So you want me to leave?”

“I will come to your door and pick you up.” His eyes twinkled with excitement.

I didn’t want to disappoint him with my doubts, so I forced a smile and went back to my room. I grabbed my headphones and lay on my bed, wishing Cheney hadn’t confiscated my cell phone. I really wanted to talk to friends. I closed my eyes and let the music carry me away.

Fingers ran down my cheek in a slow caress. I blinked my eyes open.

“Did I fall asleep?”

He smiled and nodded. The expression on his face stole my breath. Such naked, undisguised love and tenderness shone in his eyes. It made me feel radiant. I traced his cheek line with my hand, mimicking his touch. What happened between the two of us? Why would I ever have left?

He sighed. “Are you ready?” I flashed my most dazzling smile and nodded. He helped me up and tugged me into his arms. We appeared in the same forest where the day’s exercises had taken place, only it didn’t look same. White lights sparkled from every tree branch as if Chaney had pulled stars from the sky just for me. It took me a moment to realize it, but they were moving, twinkling, and dancing across the branches.

“Is this magic?” I breathed, amazed at the amount of power it would take.

Cheney laughed. The musical sound made the lights move faster. “No.”

I looked at the small, white table with a small lantern in the center. He hadn’t used candles had he? He’d burn the place down.

Cheney put his hand on the small of my back and leaned in. My head tilted toward him and his breath tickled my ear. “Don’t look so worried.” Those unimaginably soft lips, contrasting with the rough stubble, brushed just behind my jaw and I thought I might melt. His hand drifted around me and pulled me tighter to him. “Wood nymphs.”

“Mmm.” I had no idea what he was talking about and didn’t particularly care at the moment. I leaned against him and he continued his trail down my neck.

“Do you know what that is?” he asked between soft, fluttering kisses.

When he paused, I remembered he’d asked me something. “What?

Cheney chuckled and released me from his embrace. “The lights are wood nymphs.”

I still wasn’t sure what those were, but I took in the beauty surrounding me. “Are they always here?”

“No, they’re doing me a favor.”

“Are they elves?”

He shook his head. “Fae. Part of our kingdom.”

I let that sink in as he pulled out a chair for me. “But they had a choice to come, right? You didn’t make them?”

He smiled and sat down across from me. “No one makes wood nymphs do anything they don’t want to do. They’re romantics, though. It wasn’t a hard sell.” He removed the silver warming dishes from over our plates. Before me sat a thick steak, grilled asparagus with a butter sauce, and new potatoes. The wafting aromas made my mouth water. “So how do we do this? I haven’t dated in,” he raised his eyebrows, “a while.”

I smiled back. “You’re doing fine. Everything looks perfect.” I picked up my knife and cut a small piece off the steak. Pink juice seeped from it, and my stomach turned. I wasn’t a vegetarian, but I couldn’t handle meat rare. It disgusted me. “Tell me about yourself.” I discretely removed the piece of steak from my fork and moved on to the asparagus.

He shook his head slowly. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Well, how old are you? How long do elves live?”

His mouth twisted in amusement. “Hoping I’ll make you a widow?”

I gave a half shrug. “At least we’d stop fighting.” We both laughed, and relief that he got my humor settled in my core.

“Elves live a very long time. Too long for you to conceive the duration.”

“Are you immortal?”

“No, I can die. However, we’re the closest living thing to it.”

“But you only had one sibling?”

“Yes. There are very few elf children.”

“What about your mom? You have spoken of your father, but never your mother.”

“She died during childbirth with my sister. She had a weak constitution.”

“I’m sorry.” I squeezed his hand and he watched me like I was a fascinating creature he had never seen. “Did you know my mother?”

He took a bite of his bloody steak, and I struggled not to retch or look away. “She died before I met you.”

“And she was human?”

“Yes.”

“But she lived with elves?”

He shook his head. “No, humans cannot live with elves. After she died, your father made arrangements for you.”

“So before that my father lived with the human world?”

“Elves do not live in the human world,” he said carefully.

My eyebrows pulled together. If humans couldn’t live with elves and elves couldn’t live with humans, how was I here? Before I could ask any more questions, he cut me off.

“By the time I met you, you were an adult. You didn’t have a relationship with your father, and your mother had been dead for decades.”

“So when you found my grandma—er, Edith—was that because of the changeling thing?”

“Not exactly. You were so disconnected from your elf family that I thought maybe you would have more of a connection with your human relations and it would calm your wild streak.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell Sy I was alive? Because I wasn’t close to him?” I took my last bit of potatoes and laid my fork down.

Cheney sighed. “Is there something wrong with your steak?”

I looked down guiltily at the untouched slab of meat. “I’m not very hungry.”

He frowned like he wanted to argue, but he pressed his lips together instead and looked down.

I let the other questions bubbling inside of me fall dormant. I wasn’t being a very fun date, questioning him about the past, but I didn’t know what else to talk about. What did I have in common with a thousand-year-old, or whatever, elf? Everything we had in common seemed to be rooted in the past. A trickle of jealousy streamed through me at the thought of how much he must have loved her to be here with me now.

“Did I lose you?” Cheney’s voice broke through my thoughts.

I looked up, surprised by the sadness in his voice. “I’m still here.”

“Are you?”

Any sympathy I had washed away. He wasn’t talking about me. I swallowed my sigh. “I feel a headache coming on. Do you mind if we go back up to the house?”

He stared at me for several moments, then stood and offered his hand. Back in the living room, I escaped from his touch as quickly as I could. I was falling much too fast and hard for someone who was in love with a person I would never be.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other romantically,” I said, staring out the window with my back to him.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“I’m not mad.” I just wasn’t the one he wanted.

“Was it the food?”

His statement was so absurd, I turned around. “What?”

“It was always your favorite. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“You think I’d be upset over something that petty? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, you’re upset about something. I’m doing the best I can. Damn it, do you think this is easy? Do you think I want to have to woo you again? Everything is not about you. I’m part of this relationship, too. You’ve never been able to remember that.”

Cheney’s eyes flashed and his features smoothed as his glamour slipped. I stepped back as he continued to talk with his hands.

“If I can move beyond all the mistakes we both made in the past then so can you. If you don’t want to date anymore, that’s fine with me, but you’re still my wife and always will be,” Cheney’s voice grew louder, and the room filled with static.

“Maybe we just aren’t meant to be,” I said quietly.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You may not want to admit it, but memories or not you still want me.”

“I don’t think I do,” I told him flatly, holding back angry, sad tears.

Cheney became still—too still. His entire body was tense as he looked at me with wild eyes. At least when he was yelling I knew what he was thinking. This quiet stare down made the hair on my neck stand up. I forced myself not to look down as a feral anger burned in his eyes until there was nothing else left. He started to speak a couple times but stopped himself. Finally, he threw his hands up and disappeared.

My heart thudded in my chest, and my hands and legs shook as I went to my room. Curling myself into a fetal position underneath the covers, I still didn’t allow my tears to fall.

This was for the best.

You couldn’t start a relationship with so much baggage you needed a moving company to carry it.

Chapter 20

My headphones were on the nightstand, waiting for me like an old friend. I wouldn’t allow myself to wallow in self-pity, so I changed my clothes and took my iPod with me. Once outside I began to run. It was dark out, with only the moon and stars providing the light, yet I could see fine. The realization that something else had changed in me against my will fueled my anger. All the sadness about Cheney not loving me evaporated. How dare he yell at me?

I pushed myself harder and faster. The thump of my feet striking against the ground was the only thing that soothed me. I went in and out of trees, low hanging braches slapping against me, but I didn’t care—I only ran faster. I wanted nothing more than to be free of the skin that bound me.

The forest ended and I continued to run at top speed, not knowing what I would find on the other side. It was exhilarating. Faster and harder, I propelled myself forward—away from the thoughts of Cheney, away from the desire to call my friends, away from the destiny I did not want. Out of nowhere, something collided with me, rolling me across the ground and knocking the wind from my lungs. Gasping for breath, I found that my shoulder and leg that took most of the impact burned. I struggled off the ground to face my attacker. My few days of training failed me, as I was completely unaware of my surroundings.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cheney growled.

I was both relieved I was not really being attacked and furious he knocked me over. “Mind your own business. I can’t even go for a run without you tackling me?”

“I did not wait twenty-six years for you to watch you kill yourself.”

I was about to roll my eyes and tell him what an overprotective bastard he was. He had no right to keep me prisoner here—his wife or not. Then I noticed where we were. I’d been running full speed toward the edge of a cliff.

“Last I checked you couldn’t fly,” Cheney added snidely.

No retort was within my grasp. The rocky, tree-laden bottom would have broken and crushed me beyond recognition. A small voice in my head pointed out how exhilarating the fall would have been though.

I’m losing my mind.

Sinking back down to the ground, I wrapped my arms around my knees and looked up at the sky. I could use some help…any time now.

Blood trickled down my arm and leg, dripping on the ground and collecting in my shoe and sock. I stretched out the injured leg, not wanting to ruin my shoe. I’d almost died.

Chaney’s snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Did you hit your head?” he asked impatiently as if he was repeating himself. “Come back inside. You need to get cleaned up.”

“Just leave me alone,” I muttered. All I wanted to do was sit out here and keep myself from slipping away. There was little doubt which part of me pulled this stunt tonight—her. I was not impulsive. I didn’t even like to run very much; I only did it for the health benefits. I needed to mediate, do some moon salutations. Find the calmer, human Selene. Half-elf Selene wasn’t going to win. I didn’t even like her.

“No,” he said, yanking me off the ground and flashing us back into the house. He dragged me to the kitchen by my arm as I struggled to pull away.

“Let me go!” I demanded, sounding like a petulant child even to my own ears.

Calm Selene, calm Selene, calm Selene, I repeated in my head. I swallowed my pride and followed Cheney of my own free will. Calm, human Selene knew this was right. I needed to take care of my injuries before I could do anything else. Leaning against the counter, I waited patiently for Cheney to get whatever he was digging for in the cabinet. He glanced up at me several times, his brows knitting together.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” he asked again.

“Not that I know of. It doesn’t feel like I hit my head.”

He sighed and stood up, obviously giving up on whatever he was looking for. He closed his eyes and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol from air. “This is going to sting,” he warned, tearing my shirt to the collar before pouring the alcohol down my arm.

My shoulder to elbow was a bloody mess of purple bruises and scrapes that sizzled beneath the alcohol. I pulled in a sharp breath but didn’t complain. Once he was satisfied with the cleanliness of my wounds, Cheney rubbed the same cream he’d given to me earlier over my arm. It stung worse than the alcohol. It felt like he was tearing my skin off with each touch. Tears came to my eyes.

“Take off your shorts,” he directed, not looking me in the eye. I did so without complaint or argument. My hip and thigh were much in the same shape as my shoulder and arm had been. We went through a similar process of cleaning and rubbing the cream over them. Cheney stood back up. “You’re being too quiet.”

Making direct eye contact with him I said, “I almost died tonight.”

“I won’t let you die.”

I sighed. “I’m going outside.” I squeezed past him, detouring to my room and picking up a pair of yoga pants from the floor and sliding into them painfully. Cheney didn’t understand. He couldn’t stop her from killing me. Hell, he wanted her to—it was the only way to get her back.

Cheney caught my good arm before I left the bedroom. “Did you mean to do this tonight? You would rather die than be with me?” His voice held so much emotion that I was scared to look at him. Scared my resolve would melt away, and I would fall into his arms.

“No, I don’t want to die. I didn’t know the cliff was there. I was lost in the moment. Never saw it coming.”

“What were you doing out there?”

A single tear streamed down my cheek. “Losing myself.” I pulled away from him and limped outside. This time I did not go far from the house. I went to a small grass clearing where I could see the moon and I sat on the ground, cringing in pain as I bent my leg underneath me.

I stretched my arms toward the moon, pulling them back into me three times while ignoring the pain in my shoulder. Popping my neck on the right, then the left, I searched for my center. My place of balance where everything could be solved and problems became clear. The place where I could commune with the universe and feel its response. Eventually I found it—buried deep within myself, underneath the turmoil and confusion of the last few days. Peace surrounded me like a hug; my mind opened to the world around me. “I need guidance, a sign. I don’t know what to do. Please help me understand and lead me in the direction that is truest to my heart. Help me find the strength and wisdom to make it through these trials.” I stated my need to the universe aloud and waited for its response, but I felt nothing in return. After an hour, I got to my feet, determined to have faith the universe would respond when it knew what I should do with this mess.

Inside the house Cheney stood at the windows in the living room, staring out. He would have been looking over me, but at least he gave me enough privacy not to follow me outside. He didn’t turn around or say anything. The silence thickened the air in the room until I could hardly breathe. I walked out without a word, heading straight for bed.

Cheney and I had spoken enough for one evening. There was too much and nothing to say.

***

The next two weeks went by in a blur of hard work and plenty of pain. I wasn’t improving at Sebastian’s challenges. If anything, I was worse. Cheney and I barely spoke four words to one another, and Sebastian pushed me as hard as he could, but I couldn’t do what he asked. I couldn’t dodge the darts, I couldn’t avoid the tennis balls, I couldn’t move as fast as he wanted, and my sword fighting was pitiful at best. Some people are cut out for things like this and some aren’t—I was definitely the latter. I kept my temper in check all week, however, and I added a morning yoga regime to my daily routine. The half-elf was safely locked away.

I missed my friends and Grandma terribly. Having them around may have made the seclusion and torturous routines bearable, but it wasn’t an option. So I trudged through my day-to-day, falling deeper and deeper into a funk. To top everything off, I lost my iPod the night Cheney tackled me. I’d gone back several times to look for it, but it was nowhere.

Mourning my iPod for the thousandth time, I made my way down to Sebastian, ready for another day of tennis dodge ball. Oh joy.

I nodded, no longer able to find the energy to give him the hearty, teasing hello like I used to. Sebastian nodded back, his silvery eyes as concerned as ever. “Sit down, Selene.”

Plopping down next to him I asked, “Am I being reprimanded for something or do you have inspiring words of wisdom?”

“Neither.” I looked at him with slightly more interest. “I try to stay out of your and Cheney’s relationship. It has never been smooth, but it has always been stronger than anything I could understand. The two of you have been moping around for two weeks, and it is affecting your progress. So I’m going to break my own rule and get involved. What happened?”

“Ask Cheney,” I mumbled, not wanting to talk about it.

“Cheney wouldn’t tell me if I did ask him. That’s why I am asking you. You and I have always spoken our minds to one another. That’s why we became friends. Besides, even if Cheney did tell me, he wouldn’t listen to my advice. Cheney has only ever listened to one person.”

“And who might that be?”

“You. Now what has happened?”

“You won’t understand any better than he does.”

“We’ll never know at this rate.”

“I’m not who you guys think I am—or, at least, I don’t want to be that person. You both have this idea of who Selene is. This mythical creature—all freedom, impulsiveness, and charisma. That isn’t me. I’m not her.” I swallowed the emotion balling in my throat. “And I don’t want to be her. I don’t like her very much. I do, however, like me, but no one else seems to.” I fought an internal battle to keep my eyes from filling with tears.

“And you’ve told this to Cheney?”

“No. I told him I didn’t want to date him anymore.”

Sebastian sat across from me quietly, watching me with eyes like puddles of silver paint. “You’re absolutely right. We have both ignored the person in front of us. You have changed and I dare say for the better, too. You exhibit more self-control, composure, and kindness than you ever had before. We are lucky to have the person you are now on our side.”

Now I couldn’t keep the tears from spilling over the edge. “I’m probably not as much fun as I used to be,” I said with a half-hearted chuckle.

“You used to get mad and destroy whatever was around you. Houses would crumble, the ground would shake…It was terrifying.”

“That still happens.”

“Does it?”

“Well, twice. Once when my parents died and the other time after Cheney first came to get me.”

“He was the only one who could get through to you when you were like that.” I shrugged not understanding what that was supposed to mean to me. “Nevertheless, twice in twenty-six years is impressive. It used to happen twice a week at least. You could never be certain what would set you off. You were like a walking, talking, laughing bomb.” He frowned at the memory. “Honestly, when you left us, I thought it was a blessing. I’ve always liked you, but I worried about you being with Cheney. He’s the future king of our people, and he couldn’t have a wife such as you were. I think he knew it, too—though he would never admit it. Cheney has never had an ounce of self-control when it came to you.”

“But that’s just it. It isn’t me. It’s her. He loves her, and I can’t compete with his memory of her. She always wins because she’s a glorified memory and I’m a flawed human. He wants the half-elf I was back, but I won’t allow it. I won’t lose myself to her.”

Sebastian nodded. “And that’s why you’re not progressing. These tasks are designed for elves. They are not humanly possible to master at the level we expect.”

“So what are we going to do?”

He sighed. “I understand why you don’t want the half-elf back—especially given what little you know about her—but consider this: you are stronger now. You can rein her in. Both halves are you. You are both the human and the elf. Suppressing either one keeps you from being whole. Perhaps what you need to do is allow both sides to coexist.”

“What if she takes over?”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“I can’t take that risk.”

“That’s understandable, but you should at least consider the possibility.”

“I will. So what are we going to do today?”

“The same thing we do every day. I don’t know how to train a human to fight with elves, so unless we can figure out a way to utilize your half-elf abilities, there’s no way you will ever defend yourself. We’ll have to tell Cheney.”

I wrinkled my nose at the thought.

“You should tell Cheney what you told me anyway. He’s amazingly understanding when it comes to you. He might take it better than you expect.”

“Not likely,” I said, standing up, ready to begin. I felt better having voiced the internal battle I’d been fighting. “But where is he anyway?”

“I don’t know. He said he had things to do, and you needed to be finished by eight. Enough chit-chat. Let’s get started.”

Chapter 21

Sebastian didn’t take it easy on me for a moment, human leaning or no. He pelted tennis balls at me without mercy. Then we ran the stupid dart course six times before he informed me it was time to quit and removed all the darts from my back. I returned to the house thoroughly exhausted but in a far more cheerful mood. Cheney was still no where to be found.

I went to my room. Laying on my bed was a garment bag and a note with, “Wear this,” scrawled across it. Underneath the satiny black enclosure was a short, fitted white dress with an asymmetrical, slightly draped neckline. It was beautiful and absolutely my style. Excitement and worry sparred for control of my stomach.

After I showered and applied the healing cream to my dart wounds, I slipped on the dress. The soft material hugged my body as if it were made for me. I turned, looking at it in the mirror from all angles. Absolutely flawless. Staring in the mirror trying to decide how to wear my hair, I noticed I looked different. My face was slightly thinner, making my cheekbones more dramatic. The amber coloring of my eyes looked more golden. My skin nearly shimmered. All in all, I looked prettier than I had before but somehow foreign to myself. Whether or not I liked the difference was still up in the air. I decided to wear my hair ultra straight and smooth, not only because it would look best with my dress, but it would hide my ears.

I walked out of my room, knowing exactly how hot I looked and feeling confident. Tonight I would talk to Cheney. Maybe Sebastian was right. Perhaps he could understand.

Cheney sat on the couch, drink in hand. He wore dark jeans, a black t-shirt, and a dark grey collarless jacket. His hair was wonderfully messy and his face every bit as stubbled and brooding as ever. He looked absolutely delicious.

“There’s a drink for you on the table,” Cheney said without turning around. Behind me, I found a vodka tonic waiting for me with a little gift bag next to it.

“What’s in the bag?”

“A gift…for you.” He still hadn’t looked in my direction. I peeked in the package and squealed with delight. “Your other one was crushed in the fall, so I replaced it. It should have all of your music on it. If anything’s missing, let me know.”

“How do you know what music I had on my iPod?”

“I didn’t. I went to your house today and downloaded your library on it.”

Carrying my drink into the living room, I sat it on the end table and hugged Cheney before I could talk myself out of it. “That was very nice of you. Thank you. You have no idea how much I’ve missed having my music.”

Cheney accepted the hug but did not return it. I awkwardly released him and took a seat. “So what’s the plan for tonight? And thank you for the dress, by the way. It’s lovely.”

He nodded, acknowledging my thanks. “It’s mostly a surprise, but I’m taking you to a club tonight.”

I smiled. Part of me desperately wanted to get out of this house, but the other part of me questioned his motives. He was still angry, so why was he being so nice to me? I took a long drink of my vodka tonic, debating whether I should be appreciative or questioning. Questioning won. “Why are you being so nice?”

Cheney gave me a smile that was anything but friendly. “You may not want to see me, but we still have to live together. I’ve noticed your pouting. Perhaps we could both use a night out.”

“Cheney—”

“Drink up. It’s time to go.”

I finished my drink in two more gulps and stood. He loosely draped an arm around my waist. We ended up in a parking lot with no buildings nearby.

“Did you over shoot your mark?”

Cheney gave me a level look. “We can’t just appear in a club.” He climbed onto a huge motorcycle beside him.

“You can’t expect me to ride on that in this,” I said. He didn’t reply, just tossed me a helmet.

Obviously he expected just that. I pulled my hair to one side over my shoulder then put on the helmet. I climbed onto the bike, my skirt hiking up to an indecent level.

“Hold on,” Cheney commanded as he brought the beast to life with a roar. We took off so fast my breath caught in my throat. I clung to his waist, pressing my head against his back, both terrified and exhilarated as we whipped through the streets and traffic. A few minutes later Cheney made his own parking spot. I pulled the helmet off and handed it to him.

“Does my hair look weird?”

“It looks fine,” he answered without looking at me.

We walked up to a club with a huge line already formed outside. Cheney bypassed the line as I walked quickly to keep up with him. The bouncer nodded at Cheney as he ushered me through the door. Heavy electronic music pulsed through the room. Cheney led me through the crowd of people to an area quarantined off by a braided rope and a bouncer. The man stepped aside. We walked toward a seating area where my friends already sat.

“Selene!” they squealed in unison before I was engulfed in a giant hug.

Katrina, Devin, Leslie, and Jessica surrounded me, all talking at once. I couldn’t follow a thing they were saying, but I grinned at them foolishly. My eyes filled with tears. “I missed you guys so much,” I said, hugging them back. “But I can’t understand anything you’re saying to me, so start again, only one at a time.” The five of us squeezed onto a couch together.

“Oh my God, you look fantastic! You’re literally glowing. You aren’t pregnant, are you?” Devin said in her normal rushed manner.

I laughed truly for the first time in weeks. “Thank you and no, absolutely not.”

“Selene, you hot mess. You can’t believe how much we’ve been worried about you. If it wasn’t for Cheney’s updates and Devin’s dreams, we would’ve formed a search party.” Katrina hugged me again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t have a phone—wait, Cheney’s been giving you updates?” I glanced over at him. He ignored us, looking out over the dance floor with feigned interest, though I knew he could hear me. “And what sort of dreams did Devin have?”

“Of course he was. Didn’t you know that? I mean, he didn’t say much. He’d just pop in on one of us and tell us you were fine and training. You missed us all terribly, etc., etc.,” Leslie said. “We wouldn’t have let you go with him otherwise.”

“I had a couple dreams about you. One where you were running towards the edge of a cliff and another one where you were floating in a pool. Nothing too informative.”

Well, the cliff one had happened. I guessed the pool was yet to come.

“We’re all glad you’re fine and everything, but what we really want to know is what’s going on with you and him.” Jessica laughed.

I couldn’t help but look up at Cheney. He was still looking away, but his posture definitely stiffened. Oh yeah, undoubtedly listening. “It’s complicated.” All four girls gave me a look that said I had better start talking. “Between the two of us, we’d have to take out a loan to check all our baggage—and that’s all I am saying about it.”

“She needs a drink. You need a drink,” Jessica waved over the waitress and ordered me a vodka tonic and a Jägerbomb.

“So how’s everything with you guys? How’s the studio?”

“The studio’s doing well. Everything’s the same with me. I’m still dating John,” Jessica offered.

“Except you get to go on awesome trips at the expense of Selene’s boyfriend!” Katrina said with a smile.

“Husband,” I corrected her absentmindedly. So Cheney had paid for them all to come here? And where was here anyway? My pondering was cut short when I noticed they were staring at me, mouths open.

“Did I hear that right?” Devin asked. “Did you say husband?” Her voice was an octave higher than usual. I glanced up; even Cheney was looking back at me.

“Yeah. Well…I mean…he is my husband, yes,” I stumbled, my cheeks getting hot “We were married before I became a changeling. I’m still figuring things out.” I didn’t know why I told them all that. Did I think of myself as his wife?

“Holy shit! You’re freaking married!!” Katrina searched my hands for a ring.

“No ring,” I told her.

“Nevertheless, you’re married to him,” Leslie said, waggling her eyebrows.

I could do nothing but laugh helplessly. “What have you been up to?”

“Not getting married, that’s for sure. Umm, basically the same stuff as always. Work, drinking, witchiness, repeat,” Katrina said with a smile.

“Devin?”

“You know me, always knee deep in drama, but nothing like what you just sprang on us. I can’t believe you’re married and didn’t invite us to the wedding. Are you going to have another wedding? Can we help you plan it? I can make your wedding dress. I’ll get a spray tan.”

Leslie squeezed me in a hug that was more like a headlock. “Are you happy?”

“Too much, too much.” I eased away. They were beginning to panic me. “We were married before—I can’t even remember it, but there are no plans to get married again—that’s for sure. It isn’t all that easy or clear cut. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, let alone six months from now.” I looked each of them in the eye, seeing if they understood.

“Oooo, Goldfrapp—let’s dance.” I pulled them to the dance floor to one, get a little distance from Cheney if we were going to talk about this stuff, and two, burn off some of the nervous energy that made me want to bounce around in my seat. Like every Goldfrapp song, it was sultry and sticky. The five of us danced in a loose circle, very much in our own style.

Before too long a few men danced up, claiming each of us. I glanced at the guy behind me, debating whether or not to dismiss him. I looked for Cheney to see if he looked bothered because I didn’t want to make things between us worse. When I spotted him, he had his own dance partner. Some pretty blonde in a skin tight red dress that barely covered her ass. Cheney’s eyes met mine as I pressed back into the man behind me. His eyes twinkled from across the room, and he looked back at the blonde chippy in front of him. A highly digitalized Beastie Boys remix took over next. I continued to dance with the man behind me, who now had his hands on my hips, while I watched Cheney dance too close to the blonde. He didn’t even glance back at me, which was even worse. It was one thing if he was watching me while he danced with her—but to dance with her and not even think about me? It lit a jealous little fire. The blonde put her arms around Cheney’s neck and I saw red…or was that green?

Unacceptable, a voice said in my mind and I agreed with it.
I removed the man’s hands from my body and pushed through the crowd toward Cheney.

“May I cut in?” I asked, stepping between him and the girl, as an electronic song I didn’t recognize started up. If the girl responded, I didn’t hear her. I only saw Cheney. Neither of us said a word to the other. He pulled me against him, our hips grinding as we dipped down.

The rhythm moved our bodies together in time. I turned around, pressing back into him as his arms wrapped around my front. My head rested on his shoulder as we twisted up and down.

“Trying to make me jealous?” I asked.

“It wasn’t too hard—especially considering you don’t want me.” His lips brushed hotly against my ear; his hands tightened around me.

I faced him once more, draping my arms around his neck. “It’s not that I don’t want you. I just don’t know.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you figured it out?” He ran his hand lightly down my arm as his eyes burned into mine.

I had trouble breathing when he looked at me like that, especially with his lean, well-defined body molded to mine, still dipping and swaying to the pounding music. “I want to hang out with my friends. I never get to see them,” I said weakly.

“Tell me you were wrong, and I won’t distract you anymore. Tell me you’re mine.”

I pulled his mouth to mine, letting the urgent intensity grow. “I was wrong,” I whispered against his mouth. He kissed me back with equal abandon. My friends were the last things on mind. I wanted to shove him against the wall and continue what we started. Cheney pulled back, however, his golden eyes molten.

“I think they’ve gone back to the couch,” he said, his voice deeper with desire as he turned me in the correct direction.

Chapter 22

“Glad to see you put an end to that shit,” Katrina said with an amused glint in her eyes as she swirled the remaining cosmo in her glass

“Shut up.”

“Seriously, I thought you were going to hit her. You took off across that floor with purpose.” Leslie joined in on the teasing.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear jealous before, Selene,” Jessica added. “It suits you.”

“It hasn’t been easy with Cheney,” I said with a sigh.

“What’s been going on?” Devin asked seriously.

I looked up. Cheney was still safely at the bar. “We argue—a lot. He has all of these memories of a history with me that I don’t share. He really, really loved me, but the problem is, I’m not that same person. I’ve changed, and we have to figure out how and if we still fit together.”

“You obviously like him,” Jessica pointed out.

“I want him to like me for me, not for who I was. I think I deserve that.”

“Absolutely, you do,” Devin declared.

“It’s like I’ve jumped into the middle of a relationship without all the fun and the ‘no, you hang up first’ beginning parts. He’s way up here,” I held up my hand, “and I’m way down here. I don’t know if I’m who he was hoping for.”

“Selene, you’re lovely and beautiful and smart and funny. He’s a fool if he doesn’t love you,” Leslie said.

“I’ll drink to that!” Devin declared, raising her glass. We all clinked glasses and took a drink.

“Are you guys ready for me, or should I take up a post at the bar?” Cheney asked in my ear.

“That’s up to you. I’m fine if you don’t want to stay, but if you do I’m sure the girls have plenty of horrifying questions they’d like to ask you.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Do you care?”

I smiled, daring him to join us. “Not at all.”

“Your friends don’t scare me,” he said, setting the next round on the table and taking a seat.

Devin grinned. “So I hear you’re married,” she said brightly. “You failed to mention that at the ceremony.”

“I apologize. It was my intention to allow Selene to remember on her own. I only told her out of absolute necessity.”

“What are your intentions with Selene?” Jessica asked him.

“You don’t have to answer that—he doesn’t have to answer that,” I said.

Cheney laughed. “My intentions are the same as they’ve always been. I want to spend the rest of our lives together—if Selene decides she’ll keep me around, that is.”

“Why can’t we talk to Selene on a regular basis?” Leslie asked.

“If you don’t know where she is, you can’t be used to find her. It’s best to keep you in the dark so everyone is safe.”

“Why do the two of you fight?” Katrina asked, and I wanted to hide underneath the table.

Cheney’s eyes flickered toward me, then he raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’m sure Selene will disagree, but I say we fight because she’s impossible to get along with pain in the ass.”

“She’d disagree, but it’s true,” Devin said, then glanced at me. “You are a pain in the ass.”

“I am not!” I protested. Devin and Cheney exchanged knowing looks and shrugged. “Assholes,” I muttered, making everyone laugh.

“The only important questions left are,” Katrina leaned in seriously toward Cheney, “do you have brothers and when can we meet them?” Her distinctive cackle made me snicker.

“I do not have brothers. I had a sister, but she passed away.”

“I think we need shots. You want shots, don’t you, Selene? Selene wants shots!” Jessica declared, pulling me with her to the bar.

“How did Michael take the break up?” Jessica asked, once we cleared them.

“As well as can be expected.” Jessica shook her head at me. “I hope he hasn’t tried to call me.”

Jessica and I ordered a round of lemon drops and carried them back to the table. Everyone took a shot, even Cheney.

“What should we toast to?” Kat asked.

“To finding happiness in unexpected places,” Devin offered. We all agreed and clinked glasses.

The night went by too fast. I didn’t want to leave when the bar was closing.

“We’ll see each other again soon,” Katrina said with certainty.

I nodded, wanting to believe it more than I actually did, and gave them each a big hug. Cheney and I walked toward the bike in silence. He handed me the helmet, and I climbed on behind him. This time as we flew through the streets, I didn’t hide myself against him. I leaned back, letting the wind whip around me. We stopped far too soon for my liking and transported back to the house where everything was essentially the same. All of our problems were still unresolved. Cheney was back on the couch, another drink in hand, looking like he wanted to say something, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear whatever it was yet.

“Is the pool heated?” I asked.

His forehead wrinkled. “I think so.”

“I think a swim would be…nice.”

Cheney looked at me as if he didn’t quite know what to make of me. “You want to swim? Now?”

“You don’t have to come with me.”

He stood up, pulling me to him in a liquid motion, and a moment later we were poolside. I tugged off my dress and eased into the pool. Once I was comfortably floating, I stared up at the moon. “I’m not mad, you know? About the whole marriage thing.”

“Yet you call it the ‘marriage thing.’”

“Regardless, I don’t mind being married to you.”

Cheney was silent for a long while. “You’re honestly not angry? Hurt? Disappointed? Mortified? Even though you don’t know me?”

“Nope. I was upset when I first heard, and I’m in no way ready to be yours or anyone’s wife, but I’m not really bothered by the fact that I am.”

“How is it that after this long you still manage to surprise me?” Cheney’s voice was much closer than it had been. He stood next to where I was floating, looking down on me with unmistakable emotion in his eyes.

I stood up and moved towards him. “I like you a lot, but—”

“You’re scared.”

“Terrified,” I agreed.

“You have nothing to be frightened of,” he whispered and pulled me into a tight hug.

I rested my head against his bare, firm chest, choosing to believe him and allowing myself a few moments to feel what it would be like to be his.

“I know tonight didn’t actually change anything for you. You’re still upset about whatever set you off on our first date, but I swear to you, I am trying.”

“I know you are. And you’re right that I can’t keep lying about how I feel.” Cheney’s breath pulled in. “Not that anything’s going to happen tonight,” I added quickly.

“You think I’m trying to sleep with you?”

“We’re both half naked in a pool. The thought had to be there.”

He pressed his lips against my head. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, do you?”

No, I didn’t have any idea because he didn’t miss me. He missed her. The other me. That strange creature who made my mind reel whenever I thought about her existence, who made my stomach knot when I thought about her with Cheney, and the girl I would always be compared against. I hated her. “Probably not,” I said softly.

“Promise me, you’ll never run away from me again. Promise me you’ll stay, no matter what happens.”

“‘No matter what’ is a difficult promise to make.”

Flames kissed the edges of his golden eyes. “No matter what,” he insisted.

I couldn’t have refused anything he asked me like this. “No matter what,” I whispered, nodding. The flames died down and the corners of his mouth curled. “But I expect the same promise from you, Cheney. No matter what happens, you stay with me.”

“I’ve never left you, Selene. I’ve always been here waiting.”

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t leave me once he realized the other me was never coming back. He would move heaven and earth for her, so I wanted the promise. “No matter what?”

“I will never leave you. Nothing in this world can tear me away. No matter what.” Cheney lifted me against him and kissed me. “You should be in bed. Your body needs to rest before training tomorrow or you’ll be sluggish.”

“Okay.”

Standing, sopping wet, in the middle of my bedroom, Cheney produced a towel from nowhere and began to dry me off. “I’m not exactly impaired. I can do this myself.”

His hands reached around my back to where my bra clasped. “Let me,” he requested with bated breath.

The desire in his eyes was palpable. I lifted my chin in consent, and the garment fell unceremoniously to the floor. His hands ran over my breasts, squeezing them softly before smoothly moving down my sides. His fingers slowly trailed down my back. He settled on my hips, fingertips pressed into my flesh. My body responded to every nuanced movement he made. I took a step toward him, but he stepped back.

“Patience, princess.”

We stood in front of each other with bare chests, water pooling at our feet. He sank down onto his knees, lightly feathering kisses over my stomach. He hooked my panties with his thumbs and slid them down my legs, inch by inch until they, too, were discarded on the floor.

He picked up the towel and started at my feet, drying and massaging his way up my legs at an excruciating pace. He softly kissed behind each knee and the top of each thigh. He looked up at me, quirking an eyebrow.

“Cheney,” I breathed, which appeared to be answer enough for him. He nudged my legs further apart, his tongue running the length of me in one deep stroke. Fire shot through my body, and I buried my fingers in his hair. Flicking his tongue back and forth, he wrenched cries from me as I struggled to remain upright. When I was at the point of exploding, he pulled away. “Please, Cheney.” I wanted more, needed more, but he only smiled.

His mouth left a hot trail to the point of each hip as he toweled off my backside with extreme focus. My fingers dug into his shoulders, wanting him inside of me, but he continued his exploration. His tongue dipped into my belly button as he rubbed the dip in my back with his towel.

He stood, sliding his own wet body up against me in one long, sensual caress. He turned me away from him and planted kisses over my shoulders and down my spine.

Squeezing and tugging my nipples through the rough texture of the towel elicited deeper moans. Wrapping the towel around my hair, he squeezed the water from it, making individual strands tug at my scalp and sending chills down my back. The towel dropped to the floor. His hands ran across my shoulders. He collected my hair, pushing it over one shoulder while his mouth worked up the side of my neck—and then my earlobe was pulled into his mouth and nibbled on.

My eyes closed as the sensations washed over me. The tip of his tongue ran up the edge of my ear until it came to the new elven point. Pleasure exploded throughout my body as he softly caressed the point with his mouth, pushing me past any edge I’d ever known to a place within myself that existed solely of passion and lust. My hands found his hips and yanked them against me. I needed him. Now.

He continued to tease the tip of my ear with his tongue until my eyes fluttered and I rhythmically moved against him. His hands clenched around my midsection as he finally pulled the tip of my ear into his mouth, sucking hard against it. A cry tore from my throat that barely sounded human as my body convulsed with the most incredible orgasm. My legs lost the ability to support any weight and I sagged against Cheney, utterly spent.

He scooped me into his arms and laid me underneath the covers. I watched as he stripped off his boxer briefs and climbed in beside me. I curled against him, twining my leg with his, rubbing against him. A low groan left his lips. “I’m not sure I can sleep in the same bed and not have you.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t have me tonight. I just wasn’t making any promises one way or another.”

Cheney smiled but refused to open his eyes. “You need to rest or you won’t be ready for training.”

“Sebastian will wait,” I quoted him from the first day when he was chasing me around the kitchen.

Chapter 23

Cheney laughed. “Yes, he would—but the longer we wait the more dangerous it will be for you. My primary goal is keeping you safe.”

I removed my leg from atop his and scooted my way up until our heads were even, then propped my head on my hand, facing Cheney. He traced his fingertips across my cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”

His glamour had completely vanished. I ran my hand along the edge of his ear. His nostrils flared. His hand caught mine and he kissed each fingertip before gracefully flipping me over so I was facing away from him again. His body formed against mine as he held me to him. “Not tonight, princess. Another night, when we have more time. You need sleep.”

“But I’m not at all sleepy.”

He chuckled. “I can tell.”

“Cheney?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Why did I leave you?”

“I’d rather not talk about it now,” he said, his arms tightening as he nuzzled the side of my neck.

“Look at it this way. I’ll probably remember at some point. Obviously whatever made me leave you is going to pack an emotional wallop when it hits me again. I think you should tell me first so I can be prepared for the memory and not overreact.”

“Is there anything you can’t talk me into?” He sighed. “The issue was twofold. The first problem was my father. It’s not that he has anything against half-elves per se…” He kissed my shoulder.

“He just didn’t approve of his son being with one. In all likelihood, I’ll someday be Erlking, and no one in that position has ever been married to anyone of mixed heritage. We have one of the few completely undiluted blood lines left, which is a great source of pride for my father.”

I felt him smile against me and snuggled closer.

“My sister and I both gave him a fair share of sleepless nights over the choices we made when it came to love. Once he realized how serious my attachment to you was, he did little to hide his feelings about it. I tried my best to keep the two of you apart, but there were occasions when it was unavoidable. Father was less than gracious toward you, and well, you have a tendency to bristle and say whatever you like. Basically, whenever the two of you were around each other, it was one verbal jab after another.”

“And you still married me? I bet it was a fun wedding.”

“You’re jumping ahead. At this point we weren’t married. We lived together and loved each other, but that brings me to the second issue. I couldn’t completely disregard the wishes of my father. He told me in no uncertain terms that if I married you, I would no longer be his son. I tried everything to make him see what he was doing, but he wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want to choose between the two of you, so I didn’t. I tried to keep both of you happy.” His hand rubbed back and forth over my arm as he thought.

“That wasn’t enough, though. I failed to understand what that would feel like for you. You’re sensitive about being a half-elf. You said if we stayed as we were, the other elves would see you as my whore. You said you wouldn’t be my mistress. You became increasingly bitter toward my title and my people while embracing the more unreserved, self-destructive aspects of your personality. Eventually you began running away from me and the rest of the world, choosing to escape rather than deal with problems.” His hand stopped.

“That’s when you found the rebels. It was a group comprised mostly of half-elves and others who were marginalized. They were against everything the king stood for, and you were the perfect addition to their ranks, as everyone knew your connection to me. What better way to undermine the king than to bring his son’s loyalty into question. I tried to talk you out of joining them, but you were so angry that you couldn’t see past what you felt. You couldn’t understand my side. So you left.”

“That was my memory? When I left?”

“Yes. You were with the rebels for over a year before you came back to me in the middle of the night. You told me their plan and that you had made a mistake. I told you to stay with me and that I would protect you, but you said you couldn’t. When you joined them, you became bonded to them. That was when I knew. It was the push I needed to make me take what I wanted, damn the consequences. I didn’t care about being king. That year had been the worst year of my life. I didn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone. I married you that night.” He let me turn around in his arms so I could face him.

“Marriage is the strongest bond you can have in the Abyss and it breaks all others. Yet you still refused to stay. You said you had to fix what you started. You had to become a changeling and make them think you were going to help them. Basically to keep you, I had to let you go—so I did, though I can’t say I handled it well.”

“So we’ve spent our whole marriage apart? We never—”

“Not since we were married.”

“And you’re still a prince? Did your father change his mind?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Oh.”

“Sebastian and your grandmother are the only ones who do.”

“What’s going to happen when the news gets out?”

“I’m not sure. Sebastian believes I should overthrow my father. He thinks our marriage will sway people and settle the unrest. As it is now, the elves know that a half-elf became a changeling to learn human magic and use it against them. They’re appalled. Elves are a very proud race, and they don’t like to think that anyone could defeat them, so they’re looking for you.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t care what the rest of them want. I’ve devoted enough of my life to people and their causes. I want you. The rest of them can destroy each other, so long as we’re not in the crossfire.”

“That’s very sweet but not even remotely true, and you know it. It’s your father and your people. Of course you care about them.”

“I care more about you.” He kissed the side of my throat, his tongue slowly tracing my pulse.

I sighed with pleasure. “Show me I’m yours,” I whispered, and he went absolutely still. “Make me your wife, Cheney.” My lips were a breath away from his.

In a swift movement I was on my back, and Cheney’s mouth covered mine as if he would devour me. “You are my wife,” he said roughly. His entire body was rock hard against me, and his hands possessively kneaded and pulled until I felt like I was about to burst into flames. He hovered over me, teasing me with the tip of his erection until I begged for him to be inside of me. “What do you want, Selene?”

“You, please,” I whispered hotly in his ear before running my tongue to its tip in one long stroke. Cheney drove fully inside, filling me until I was whole again. Cheney gritted his teeth, moving inside of me as I tightened my legs around him.

“Faster, harder,” I moaned. He let go of whatever control he’d been maintaining and moved with such intensity that every nerve in my body was raw and shaking. I clung to him, digging my fingernails into his back as he took me further and further into ecstasy. Never in my life had I been so sated. With one last deep thrust, we cried out in unison, both spent and sweaty. Finally, lazily, I unwrapped my legs from him in no real hurry to let him go.

Cheney kissed me gently. “You are my wife,” he said, the flames dying from his eyes.

I smiled tiredly, and a satisfied sound of agreement vibrated deep in my chest.

Cheney laughed and kissed me again, longer this time. “I love you,” he said, making my heart leap.

I wanted to say it back to him, but the words caught in my throat. I reached up and stroked his face instead, wishing we could stay exactly like this. “Now you need to rest.”

After quickly planting one more kiss on his lips, I rolled to my side. Cheney spooned me and traced his tongue over the back of my ear again.

”I’ll never fall asleep if you keep doing that.”

“But I’ve missed you too much to stop touching and tasting you,” Cheney murmured into my hair. “You’ll have to distract me.”

“How exactly would you suggest I distract you?” I asked, twisting in his arms until I was able to push him flat on the bed. Kissing his chest lightly, I awaited his reply. My teeth grazed his nipple, drawing a sound from deep within his chest.

“If this is how you plan on distracting me, we may never make it out of bed.”

“I’m open to suggestions, my prince,” I purred. He groaned and pulled me back to his mouth, his tongue caressing mine.

“You’re doing wonderfully, princess. I don’t even remember what you were supposed to distract me from.”

Understanding finally dawned on me. “I’ve always hated you calling me princess because I thought it was an insult. But it wasn’t, was it?” I leaned away so I could see him more clearly.

Cheney gave me a crooked smile. “Of course it wasn’t an insult. So long as I’m a prince and you’re my wife, you are a princess.”

My nose wrinkled. “That may be the strangest thing you’ve told me so far.”

He looked at me seriously. “We can give up the titles if you don’t want them. Say the word and I’ll walk away from all of this with you.”

Part of me wondered what it would be like to walk away from everything. Could we live a normal life somewhere together? Have babies, join the PTA, coach soccer, and drive a mini-van? I couldn’t imagine that was something that would ever be in the cards for Cheney. Not that I was actual princess material either. Somewhere there had to be a compromise, a place for both of us. “I don’t want you to walk away from your life for me.”

“My life is with you.”

I ran a hand down his cheek. “We’ll make it work.”

Cheney’s face visibly relaxed, and I rested my head on his chest as he pulled the covers up around us. His hand brushed through my hair, lulling me to complete relaxation. My eyes were drifting shut, sleep pulling me away, when another thought popped into my head. “I’m sorry about Michael,” I blurted.

“Selene,” Cheney cupped my face, “if this is the beginning of a confession, let me assure you I am not naïve. You’re a beautiful woman, and I have little doubt you have had a lot of boyfriends during our time apart. Please feel free to never tell me about any of them. And if you never utter the name Michael again, it would be much appreciated.” His eyes flashed at his name.

Cheney guided my head back to his chest and resumed running his fingers through my hair. “No more talking,” he said. This time I let the sleep take me away.

Chapter 24

A horrible grinding noise drifted into my dream, pulling me out of it. My eyes flickered open, then closed again, my eyelids too heavy. What was that monotonous sound? I pulled the covers over my head and tried to force myself back to sleep. I was too tired to get out of bed. Fighting for a few moments of extra sleep, I suddenly became aware I was completely naked. With stunning clarity, all that had happened the night before flooded my memory. Suddenly I wasn’t tired at all. Cheney and I had taken the leap. My stomach twisted nervously. What if the spell was broken this morning and we went back to being at each other’s throats? Where was he?

I heard the bedroom door open and I felt the other side of the bed dip under what I assumed was Cheney’s weight. “Are you awake?” he asked softly, just in case I wasn’t.

“What time is it?” I asked, still underneath the covers.

“After ten.”

“Shit, I’m late,” I said, coming out.

“No, you’re not. I called Sebastian this morning and told him not to come until noon.”

“How long have you been awake?” He was showered and fully dressed in his typical uniform of worn jeans and a snug t-shirt.

Cheney shrugged. “I brought you breakfast.” He nodded toward my nightstand, where a green smoothie waited for me. That explained the grinding sound.

“I need to put on some clothes first.” I looking on the floor for anything I could slip on.

“I think you look wonderful,” Cheney said.

“You’re dressed.”

“Easily fixed.” Cheney slipped his t-shirt off, displaying his tightly muscled chest, strong shoulders and arms, and golden skin. My mind strayed to running my hands over those abs when I noticed he was offering me his shirt. I sat up and pulled it over my head. His smell filled my senses. “Thanks,” I said shyly.

He scooted closer, nudging my arm with his. “Hey, you all right?” he asked in a soft, intimate voice.

I looked up, melting in his warm eyes. He leaned down and kissed me again, his lips and tongue dancing nimbly against mine. “Good morning,” he said, pulling back slightly.

“Good morning.” I could get used to this side of Cheney.

He held my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. It took me a moment to realize what he was doing—and then all of my contentment fled. I pulled away from him. “Christ, Cheney, will you stop doing that?”

I climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom to shower. My mind stewed with annoyance for letting it go this far with Cheney without speaking to him about how I felt. The water pelted my skin.

“I’m having trouble following your mood swings, princess. What’s this one about?” Cheney asked, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

“Can this wait until I’m out of the shower?”

“Absolutely not. Per our agreement last night, you have to stop running away. And you disappearing to shower in the middle of something I said? Classic example of you running away.”

“I’m not running away from anything.”

“Then what’s going on in that head of yours?”

I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around myself. “After everything that happened last night, you still look for her when you look at me.”

“Look for who?” he asked flabbergasted.

“The half-elf, Cheney! You look for the half-elf rather than at the person standing in front of you.”

“You are a half-elf.”

“I’m not the girl I used to be.”

“I know that. Did you really think I haven’t noticed? I’ve been with you every day. Of course I see that you have changed.”

“Then why can’t you accept it?”

“I do accept it.”

“Then what are you searching for when you look at me?”

“Recognition.”

“So this whole time that’s what you’ve been looking for? It wasn’t that you were disappointed with just having me?”

“This is what’s been bothering you?” He chuckled. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Because I am a complete idiot?”

“Yes, you are,” Cheney kissed me lightly on the forehead. “But you’re my idiot. Now get dressed. Sebastian won’t show you an ounce of leniency, which is why I brought him here.”

I dressed quickly and drank the smoothie Cheney made for me, though it tasted somewhat horrible. We walked down to the woods together, hand in hand, talking and laughing.

Sebastian looked up at us with a slight smile.

“Good afternoon, Sebastian! Darts today?”

He nodded. “You’re in a much better mood. Have the two of you settled your differences?”

“Yes, Selene admitted she’s an idiot, and it’s all downhill from here,” Cheney said with a smirk.

I elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “We have…for now.”

“I’m glad. Let’s see if you can do better today.”

“All work and no play,” I grumbled.

“You better run, princess. If I know Sebastian, he’ll throw darts at you while you stand here.”

Taking off with a groan, I ran half-heartedly until the assault motivated me to pick up my pace. Running flat out, I barely noticed the branches scratching me or the darts puncturing me as the trees zoomed past my face. I pushed myself faster and harder, trying to stay as close to the trees as I could. Twenty feet ahead of me, a man stepped into my path.

Well, this is an interesting twist.

I couldn’t believe Sebastian didn’t warn me that he’d brought someone else with him. Before I could decide how I supposed to get past this man, he threw something silver at me.

Cheney shouted something behind me, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. The silver object hurling toward me looked increasingly like a knife. I didn’t have time to dodge it. What the hell was Sebastian thinking having knives thrown at me?

I did the only thing I could do—I used my abilities, though I knew Cheney would be pissed. The knife stopped in the air, and I skidded to a halt with it only inches from my chest. At the same time, Cheney grabbed me with one hand and the knife handle with the other. He whipped the knife at the man, hitting him directly in the heart.

“Sebastian, finish this You know where to meet us,” he yelled before we appeared on a completely open, rocky cliff. I saw a weathered stone cottage over Cheney’s shoulder and heard the ocean behind me.

“Keep up,” Cheney said gruffly, pulling me into a lighthouse that I had completely missed. Dragging me up the winding staircase, he never loosened his grip.

“What in the hell is going on?” I asked when we reached the top. I knew I wasn’t supposed to use my abilities because they could track us, but did Cheney kill that man? I waited in stunned silence for him to explain what on earth was happening.

Cheney peered out of the windows that surrounded us on all sides until satisfied with whatever he saw—or didn’t see. Then he looked at me. “Are you okay? Did the knife touch you?”

“I’m fine,” I said, annoyed he wasn’t being more communicative.

“Did the blade of the knife touch you?” he asked again, searching my body with his eyes and hands.

“No.”

A quick succession of footsteps on the stairs below us made Cheney pull me behind him. A sword appeared in his hand. Sebastian lifted himself easily through the trap door in the floor, but Cheney didn’t lower his weapon.

“What was that, Sebastian?” Cheney asked in a calm, soft voice.

“Looked like a bounty hunter to me,” Sebastian said just as calmly, looking Cheney directly in the eyes.

“How did he find us?”

“Are you accusing me of something, Prince Cheney?”

Cheney said nothing, staring at him hard. Apparently this wasn’t about my magic; this was much more serious than that. I looked at Sebastian, too. There was no way he would’ve betrayed either of us. If there was ever an honorable man, it was him. Stepping beside Cheney, I put my hand on his arm that held the sword and gently pushed it down.

“Sebastian would never betray us. He’s our friend,” I said quietly. A few moments later Cheney nodded and the sword disappeared.

“I’m sorry, Sebastian,” Cheney said, extending his hand towards him.

Sebastian took his hand but looked anything but pleased.

“Who’s going to explain this to me? How did those rebel people find me?”

“He wasn’t a rebel,” Sebastian replied.

“Then who was it?” I asked.

“A bounty hunter,” Cheney said.

“A king’s bounty hunter,” Sebastian amended.

“Possibly,” Cheney nodded and began to pace.

“Your father is trying to kill me?”

“I told you the elves see you as a threat.”

“Yeah, but they’re trying to kill me? They hired a freaking assassin?”

“Speaking of that, why didn’t he succeed?” Sebastian asked.

I shot him a dirty look. “Your concern is touching.”

“You aren’t fast enough to dodge his knife. Cheney and I were too far away to get to you. How did you manage to get through unscathed?”

I feigned interest in pulling the darts out of my arms.

“The knife stopped in front of her,” Cheney said. I could feel his eyes on me. “Selene, is there something you’d like to tell us?” Their eyes bore into me.

“Fine.” I sighed. “I cheated. I used my abilities. I know you said they can track my magic and I’m not supposed to use it, but I really didn’t feel like being stabbed.”

“You cast a spell that quickly?” Cheney asked with wide eyes.

“No. I used my elf abilities.”

Cheney and Sebastian both looked at me like I’d gone soft in the head. “What ability is that exactly?” Sebastian asked.

“Don’t be stupid. My telekinesis.” They gaped. “You both know about it. Hell, Sebastian, we talked about it yesterday.”

“That isn’t an elf ability,” Cheney said at the same time Sebastian said, “You can control it?”

“Of course I can control it. What do you mean it isn’t an elf ability? Grandma specifically made me swear to never use this after I went to live with her. And you said I wasn’t supposed to use my magic because they could track it.”

“Yes, magic. Something you cast a spell to use. This isn’t a spell. This—”

“This could change our plans,” Sebastian said. “Exactly how much control are we talking about, Selene?”

It wasn’t like I ever practiced. Most of my life was spent pretending I couldn’t do it. I shook my head.

“We have to test her,” Sebastian told Cheney.

He pressed his lips together. “Not yet. Let’s go to the cottage. It doesn’t appear we were followed.” Cheney helped me through the trap door, and we marched back down the stairs, me in the middle.

“Hey, while you’re back there, would you mind plucking darts?” I asked Sebastian, who did as I requested without comment. The darts were irritating me, and I was more than a little peeved that I could’ve been blocking them the whole time.

We sat around the kitchen table. “Okay, so how long have you been able to control this?” Cheney asked.

“I’ve always been able to control it. I lose control now and then when I get really emotional, but all in all, I have very few slips.”

“When specifically have you used it?”

“If you mean, did I ever get something with it from across the room because I was too lazy to get up, no. If you mean stopping something on reflex, rarely. I never let myself fall into the habit of using the ability because I knew I had to keep it hidden.”

“Then how do you know you can control it?” Sebastian asked.

“The same way I know I can move my arm or my leg. I can’t really explain it. It’s part of me.”

“It makes sense,” Cheney told Sebastian. “Selene is much more connected with her human side now than the elf side. If this is part of her human heritage, then as an elf she couldn’t control it, but as a human she can.”

“I want to test her,” Sebastian insisted.

“It’s fine with me,” I said.

Sebastian took off a silver cuff he wore on his wrist and sat it on the table. “Let’s start with something easy. Move this.”

I focused my mind and lifted the cuff about a foot off of the table. “Where would you like it?”

Sebastian reached up and took the bracelet back. “Try the table.”

I lifted the table easily. Sebastian stood up, filled four glasses with water and placed them on the corners of the table. “Again,” he commanded.

“Sebastian, I can crumble a house to the ground. Do you really think I can’t lift a table with water on it?”

“This isn’t about brute force. I know you’re capable of that.”

I lifted the table again, but keeping it steady was another issue. Within seconds two of the glasses shattered on the floor. Sitting the table back down, another fell—finesse was not my strong suit. Sebastian filled three more glasses and I tried again, concentrating harder from the start. This time it was better. I held the table perfectly straight for thirty seconds then it started tipping slightly. One glass was about to go. I reached out with my mind and froze it mid-tilt, holding both the table and the glass.

Sebastian watched with an arched brow. Then he nudged the glass next to him off the edge. I caught that one as well, sweat beading across my forehead. The table shook. A moment later he pushed another off the edge. I caught that one just before it hit the ground, my head throbbing. He started to reach for the last glass.

“Don’t you dare,” I growled, staying his hand. Carefully I focused on setting the glass closest to the floor down, then the table, then the other two glasses. I pressed my palms against my eyes.

“Impressive,” Sebastian said. “Does it only work with inanimate objects?”

“She needs a break,” Cheney told him as I rested my head on the table. The ache was lessening, but I wasn’t ready to go again.

“I wish I would’ve known about this weeks ago. The possibilities…”

“Yeah,” Cheney agreed thoughtfully. “No one can know about this. Not yet anyway. She already has bounty hunters after her. If they knew about this, too—” He stood abruptly and paced around the kitchen. “Can you stay for a while?” he asked Sebastian, causing me to look up.

“Sure.”

“I’ll be back,” he said with a nod.

“Wait, where are you going?” I objected.

“To speak with my father. Sebastian will protect you.” He gave me a sexy half grin and winked. “I’ll be back soon.” Then he was gone, leaving me staring at the spot he’d just vacated.

“He’ll be fine.” Sebastian’s voice broke into my thoughts. “The king would sooner die than hurt Cheney.”

“I hope you’re right. It’s my understanding he’ll be none too pleased about any of this.”

“Cheney won’t let an attempt on your life go unchallenged. He has accepted that the two of you will never get along, but boundaries must be set.”

I didn’t like it. What did Sebastian mean “unchallenged”? What was Cheney going to do?

“Are you recovered?”

I nodded.

“Good. Have you tried to use your telekinesis on a living creature?”

“Nope.”

“Make me stand,” he said, scooting his chair back from the table.

I had no idea how to do that. I tried imagining him standing and focused on that image, but nothing happened. I tried pulling his foot up—still nothing. Frustration settled in—then, finally, something occurred to me. I knew it wasn’t what he wanted me to do, but it would teach him to be more specific. I lifted the chair he sat in and shook him out of it. Sebastian tumbled to the floor in shock, then climbed to his feet.

“You’re standing,” I told him with a smile.

“Very funny. What happened?”

“I couldn’t do it. I’m not sure how to make something that has its own ideas and thoughts do what I want it to do.”

“It might not be possible. I was curious about that.” Sebastian sat back down in his chair and pulled a pen and paper from the air. “You should get some rest. I’m going to work on new training schedule for you and new tests.”

My head thumped dully, and I was worried about Cheney. I went into the small, musty bedroom with faded pink walls and curled up on the squeaky bed. As of right now I hadn’t ruined everything for Cheney—he could still just walk in and see his father. Leaving no longer seemed like such a far-fetched course of action. Cheney’s life had to be easier without me in it.

Chapter 25

“Where’s Selene?” The sound of Cheney’s voice pulled me from sleep. The bedroom door opened and the old mattress groaned under the extra weight as Cheney curled against me, his lips brushing the side of my neck.

“I was worried about you,” I whispered.

“I wasn’t in any danger.”

I bit my lip. “Only when you’re with me.” I didn’t want to put Cheney or anyone in danger.

Cheney made a wary sound. “I see you’ve been thinking.” He brushed the hair from my face. “I’m here because there’s nowhere I’d rather be. Remember that.”

I met his eyes. “Think how much easier your life would be without me.”

“I don’t need to imagine it. I’ve had firsthand experience. I never want to do it again. Come on, no time for meltdowns. We need to have a meeting.”

I followed Cheney out of the bedroom. There was no time for my pity parade. Both he and Sebastian were putting themselves on the line for me. I couldn’t let them down. I took a chair near Sebastian and waited for Cheney to start.

“My meeting with Father went pretty much as expected.” Cheney took my hand, making my stomach twist with worry. “I informed him you were not going back to the rebels and that you would help us, but he was unmoved. His mistrust runs deep, and he refuses to believe you will not turn on us in the end. There’s no common ground. He wants you gone and I won’t stand for that.”

My mind still wanted to separate myself from the Selene his father knew and hated. I wanted to believe if he met me, he’d like me more.

“Did you discover how he found us?” Sebastian asked.

“No. And he’s also not calling off the bounty.”

Sebastian sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Did you tell him she’s your wife?”

“No.” Cheney squeezed my hand, making eye contact with me briefly. “If we’re going to make the move for the crown, I need to retain my title as prince.”

“Wait a second—you aren’t seriously considering usurping your father?” I spoke louder than I intended, pulling my hand from his.

“What choice do I have, Selene?” He gave a helpless gesture.

“Don’t destroy your relationship with the only family you have left. We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way.”

“He’s right,” Sebastian said.

“Why does this have to be decided right now? Isn’t there already enough to deal with? Let’s focus on the rebels. Then we can worry about Cheney’s father. I’d like to speak with him at least once before you throw down the gloves.”

Sebastian glanced at Cheney, who shook his head a little, enough for me to notice. “You’ve met him, Selene,” Cheney said gently.

“But not like this. I want to meet him again.”

“He’ll feel the same way about you.”

“But at least we’ll know we tried everything.”

Sebastian sighed. “Your sentiments are good, Selene. But you haven’t fully grasped the situation. Cheney’s father has made his position on the mixing of the races clear. He will not yield—yet the old race must unite with the younger generations or we will fall. We have to stand as one. There’s no other way. Not only that, but we have to work with the other groups of fae. Unrest is everywhere; people are no longer willing to follow the old laws without question. Cheney’s father cannot continue his rule. Revolution is before us. This is much bigger than you.”

It was a relief in many ways; this problem existed with or without me in the picture. Cheney stared off into space for several minutes. Neither Sebastian nor I said anything further.

“Selene’s right. I don’t want to forcibly take my father’s crown. I don’t even know if I want it.” I nodded. How could he want to fight with his dad like that?

“However, Sebastian’s correct about the current state of the Abyss. I also don’t want to abandon my people—elves or fae.” Cheney ran his fingers through his hair, messing it further. “I’ll take Selene to my father’s court, and she can have a chance to speak with him. We’ll announce our marriage and let the pieces fall. If father tries to take my title, I’ll challenge for the crown. If he doesn’t, we’ll discuss the needs of our people.”

“You need to build support. If we go in just the three of us, you won’t be taken as seriously.”

“How many are you thinking?” Cheney asked.

“As many as we can get.”

“It will raise suspicion.”

“If we don’t, we’ll appear weak.”

Cheney strode around the small room. “Fewer but powerful supporters will be more inspiring than hundreds of weak.”

“I’ll make lists.”

“I bet Sy would help,” I offered.

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “He would be an excellent addition. But what makes you think he will get involved?”

“Well, he’s my cousin, right?”

“Selene, Sy has managed to carve out an important position for himself in the Abyss. He might be the most influential half-elf around, but he has never gotten involved in politics.”

I shrugged. Maybe Sy didn’t get involved because no one ever asked him to. “It couldn’t hurt to ask.”

Both guys shrugged. “And we’ll want the human coven as well,” Sebastian added, scrawling on his list.

“No, I’m not involving them,” I said immediately, shaking my head.

“It will not only demonstrate our open mind, it will also show we wield human magic as well. It’s a necessary component.” Sebastian didn’t even look up at me.

“I won’t risk their lives.” I stood up from the table. This was a line I wouldn’t cross.

Sebastian’s silver eyes were cool, his jaw hard. “Not even if it will save the lives of many elves?”

“No. I’ll do whatever you guys want me to do, but not them. They’re my friends.”

“That’s the wrong answer, Selene,” Sebastian yelled, standing up.

I’d never seen him so animated.

“Sebastian—” Cheney started.

“No. She has to understand.” He pushed past Cheney. “You know who and what Cheney is. He’s the future king of my people. Do you know what that makes you?”

He couldn’t possibly—that couldn’t possibly mean—no, I couldn’t be queen. Princess was bad enough. I looked to Cheney. “Cheney?”

“The decision is yours, Selene. They’re your friends. I’ll support whatever choice you make. But Sebastian is right. If I’m king, you’ll be queen,” Cheney said diplomatically.

“But I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You need to decide. I’m not going to do this without you.” Cheney looked back at Sebastian. “Start making a list of people who will be strong allies. We’ll meet back up tomorrow and discuss prospects.”

“What about Selene’s training?”

“There isn’t time.”

“But we don’t know what she can do.”

“A couple days more at most,” Cheney relented.

Sebastian nodded and disappeared. Cheney leaned back in his chair, staring off into nothing, a thousand miles away from me. I couldn’t imagine what was going on in his mind. Lord knows my own was chaotic with conflicting emotions, lost memories, new loves, untapped talents, and now the endangering of my best friends. But no matter how bad it was for me, the path in front of him was so much worse. I walked over and stood behind him, wrapping my arms around his neck, resting my head against his.

“I’m sorry you have to make this choice,” I whispered.

“There are many difficult decisions ahead of me.” He kissed my arm.

“Is this what you want?”

“Irrelevant. It’s the path before me.”

I ran my fingers through his hair, loving the soft texture and odd angles. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a wonderful king.”

“From the girl who barely remembers me.” Cheney laughed. “Just last night I was prepared to walk away from it all. Now I’m planning a hostile takeover.”

“That’s because you’re too good of a person to walk away from people who need you.”

“Thank you.” He sounded a little sad. “Do you want to go out?”

“I don’t think now’s really the time for a date. Shouldn’t I be hiding?”

He smiled recklessly and pulled me into his lap. “Why? I’m sick of hiding. I don’t want to hide what you are to me.”

“Cheney—”

“Don’t you dare say this is going too fast. Nothing about our relationship has been fast. Besides, this isn’t a date. I’d like to speak with someone before I dive into all of this, and it’ll be easier to get to her if you’re with me.”

“Who?”

“Olivia Martin.”

Why did that name sound familiar? Suddenly it dawned on me. “I have her phone number.”

Cheney raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”

“Yeah, that bounty hunter, Femi, gave it to me. She said she’d help me because I’m part human.”

A bright smile lit his face. “Well, this might be easier than I thought. Do you mind calling her?”

“I guess not. Where do you want to meet her?”

Cheney put a hand on either side of my face and kissed me. “Let her choose.” We stood up.

“I don’t have my phone or anything to wear,” I said, looking down at my blood-spotted workout clothes.

Cheney handed me my phone and smiled. “I’ll get your stuff.”

“And my iPod,” I called after him as he vanished. I scrolled through the address book where I’d saved her number and pressed send. A soft female voice answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi, um, you don’t know me, but Femi gave me your number.”

“Selene? Sy’s cousin? Femi said you might be calling.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t know what to say. “You know I’m half-elf right?”

Her laugh made me smile, but I didn’t know why. Suddenly I felt lighter, less overwhelmed. “What can I help you with, Selene?”

“Um, I’m really not sure. Cheney said—well, you see there are things going on. Complicated things. And Cheney said he wanted to meet with you before we carry on with our plan.”

“Okay. And who is Cheney?”

I expected her to know who he was. I frowned. “He’s an elf.”

“Ah. Well, I’m happy to talk to you guys. Holden and I are a package deal, just so you’re aware. Where do you want meet?”

“Anywhere you want.”

She laughed again. “I would say the Office, but Sy would probably murder me. How about The Horse’s Head in Chicago? Will tonight work for you?”

I wasn’t sure where we were, but it was probably a long way from Chicago. “Sounds great. Thank you so much.”

Chapter 26

“So why do we need to talk to Olivia Martin?” I asked Cheney as I changed into jeans and a white cowl neck short-sleeved sweater.

“Have you heard of guardians?”

“Like what I call to when I cast a spell?”

“No, these are people who work with angels to help humans. To guide them.” I nodded. It certainly wasn’t the strangest thing he asked me to believe. “Well, they’ve recently undergone a rather big change and Olivia instigated it all, if rumors are true.”

I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. “So you want to talk with someone who has done what you’re thinking about doing?”

“That—and she would be an incredibly strong ally.”

“Do you think she’ll help?”

“I won’t know until I ask. Hurry up.”

Olivia sounded nice on the phone. Maybe this was promising. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Cheney took us to the outside of a crowded bar, buzzing with people who I had never seen the likes of anywhere. A huge steel horse head hung over the bar’s entrance, but there was no other sign.

“Are you ready for your first paranormal bar?” Cheney asked with a grin.

“What makes it paranormal?”

“This bar is completely in the Abyss. No humans can see it.” He took my hand and led me to the door. “Just keep your head down, in case someone recognizes you.”

We walked into the rabbit hole. Everything inside was askew. The floor seemed to lean and dip at impossible angles, a gigantic chandelier overhead swayed with the music, and the walls were no more than a series of funhouse mirrors. But the strangest part was the people—tiny winged faeries buzzing around, a section of patrons who looked like children only with cigarettes in their mouths and drinks in hand, a deformed monster group, an attractive, brooding, emo section, and so many more I got disoriented trying to see them all. Cheney pulled me through the room without pausing.

“Not this room; it’s for the tourists.” He winked as he pulled me through a mirror into a stairwell. We followed the stairs down and walked into what could have been a neighborhood bar. None of the noise from upstairs filtered down. The bouncer at the door gave Cheney a once over and nodded, letting us through. The room was dark and music played in the background loud enough to prevent conversations from carrying but not so loud you couldn’t have them. Cheney and I made our way to the bar. He ordered our drinks as I looked around the room with curiosity.

It was pretty empty. In one booth sat four pale, eerily pretty people who moved with an unnatural grace. In another booth, two elves with bronze colored skin watched Cheney with interest. A pretty woman with white hair and eyes and blue skin sat reading a book, and tucked away in a back corner booth was the most attractive man I had ever seen. My heart belonged to Cheney, but my eyes had a mind of their own. He had a face that could have made Michelangelo weep, rippling muscles that couldn’t be hidden under clothes, and an expression that was both bored and predatory—and he looked human. He met my eyes for a moment, then looked away in utter indifference.

Cheney handed me my drink, nodding toward the first booth. “Vampires,” he said. I could’ve guessed that. “Desert elves,” he said, giving them a nod. “And a deva—they’re rare.”

“Who’s that?” I asked and nodded toward the man in the back.

“He’s the other half to the person we came to see and coincidentally why I wanted you to come with me.”

“Holden?” I forgot to tell him what Olivia said about Holden being there too. “I don’t think I’m his type,” I said dryly.

Cheney smiled. “You’re not. If the rumors are true, he only has eyes for one. You’re here so he knows I’m not interested in her,” Cheney said, nodding toward the woman who just walked into the room.

She was medium height with reddish brown hair that softly waved around her shoulders. Her face was pretty enough, but her truly striking features were her clear blue-green eyes. As she walked toward the stony man with a vibrant smile, something about him changed. All the bored indifference melted away, and he returned her smile, making him even more handsome than he had been moments earlier. She took his hand and kissed his cheek, and the most amazing thing happened. Her skin literally glowed. It was as if she had swallowed the moon and couldn’t keep the light from pouring out of her.

“Shall we?” Cheney asked, taking my hand. The closer we came to their booth, the more nervous I became. They already appeared to be in deep conversation though neither of them spoke, and the last thing I thought we should do was disturb them. However, Cheney had no such qualms.

“Hello, I’m Cheney, prince of the hunt. I’ve been meaning to introduce myself to the two of you for some time,” he said, extending his hand to each of them. “And I believe you have spoken with Selene.”

Olivia smiled and shook his hand. “Yes. I’m Olivia. It’s nice to meet you.” The man shook Cheney’s hand but made no comment or introduction. “This is Holden. It’s nice to see you in person, Selene. Please have a seat.”

“I’m sorry,” I said immediately, holding my hand out to her. “It’s very nice to meet you, too.”

Her eyes glazed over as our skin connected. “So many emotions,” she said before she blinked away the faraway look. Releasing my hand, she smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about that. Drawback of the job.” Holden took her other hand, giving us both a look that made me want to turn around and walk in the other direction.

Olivia rolled her eyes good-naturedly and elbowed Holden. “Try to be nice.” He curled his lip slightly but stopped looking at Cheney like he might do bodily harm. “You know what? This might go faster if I talk to Selene alone.”

Cheney began to protest, but Holden interrupted him with a dismissive wave of his hand and stood up. “It’s no use. Her mind’s made up. Prince or not, no one changes her mind.”

Cheney sighed. “Her too.”

Holden’s mouth ticked to the side. The two men took seats at the bar, keeping a stool between them. I sat across from Olivia.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you nervous.” The light that made her skin glow retracted until it disappeared, and she looked just like a normal human.

“Don’t worry. This is all new to me. Everything makes me nervous,” I said with a laugh. “I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but your light was lovely.” I felt my cheeks coloring. Sometimes I wished I could think then speak.

Olivia folded her hands on top of the table. “Thank you. It puts some people on edge. So what brings you here today?”

I looked over at Cheney, wishing he was beside me. “We need your help. I don’t know that I’ve fully grasped the situation—Cheney would be better at explaining it than me.”

“Yes, I’ll speak with him soon. I owe Sy and Femi more than I can probably ever repay them. Femi doesn’t just hand out my number to anyone. She obviously thinks I can help you. So why are you here?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Well, Cheney wanted to see you, and I happened to have your number so I called. But I think he only brought me because Holden’s very protective.”

Again she laughed. “That’s true.” Her eyes twinkled when she glanced back in his direction. “I guess I should just come right out and ask my question rather than hinting around the subject. Did you come here for my guidance?”

“No,” I said honestly, “but I’ll take all the help I can get at this point.”

“You have very contradictory feeling surrounding you,” Olivia said, looking through me, which should have been unsettling except she did it with such a natural grace it seemed perfectly normal. “Honestly, I don’t know that I understand them. You’ll have to explain the situation.”

“I’ll try.” I took a deep breath and dived into the story of the last month of my life. There was something very open and comforting about Olivia. She was easy to talk to. She seemed to draw the words from me with her kind, wise eyes. I had the impression that we could become very good friends someday, when the world was less crazy. When I finished my story, she nodded.

“Fate can be such a bitch sometimes.”

That was the wise and knowing advice she was going to give me?

Her shoulders started shaking, her eyes crinkled, and her lips twitched. A bark of laughter escaped her, and she covered her mouth with a hand, losing all control. I should’ve been offended. My story wasn’t funny, but instead I laughed too. It was ridiculous. Tears flowed down my face and I gasped for breath. It felt wonderful. Olivia pulled herself together faster than I could.

“I’m so sorry. I just never thought I’d meet someone who could give my own story a run for its money. I offered you guidance, so here it goes.” She rolled her shoulders back. “The path you should take is not clear to me. So far you have managed to keep the two distinct pieces of yourself separate, and so long as they’re separate you cannot make a wrong decision. One path would honor your commitment to your human self and the other would honor the elf. No matter what anyone tells you, you can fight who you are for as long as you like, so whichever half you choose will ultimately win the battle.”

“Which half should I choose?”

“What do you want to accomplish?”

“I want to be with Cheney and to have my human friends and life. I want people to stop trying to kill me.”

“Ah, the simple things,” she said with an amused glint in her eyes. “If you could accept both halves and become whole, you’d perhaps become powerful enough to accomplish most of those goals.”

“Is that what you would do?”

Olivia sighed, glancing back towards Holden. “Honestly, I would’ve chosen the elf half if I were in your shoes. Love is something I could never resist. But do not judge by that. I see the right decisions for others far more clearly than I have ever seen them for myself.”

“What’s your story? How did you end up with Holden? And what is he, by the way? He looks human, but I know that can’t be correct.”

A small smile lit up her face and light seeped through again. “Holden is a free jinni. We were never supposed to be together, but we are stronger than natural order.” Holden looked back at her from the counter with his own small private smile. “That, however, is a story for another time. I promise someday I’ll share our tale with you. Should we bring the men back?” Holden was already on his way, with Cheney closely behind him.

Cheney raised an eyebrow as he sat and I smiled. “I trust the two of you had a nice conversation?”

“Very pleasant. Now how may we be of assistance to you?” Olivia asked.

“You know of the movement against my father’s rule?”

Olivia shook her head, but Holden nodded.

“There’s a group of half-elves and others of mixed heritage rising up against his father. Revolution seems to be in the air these days,” Holden explained to her.

“My father has many rules and policies that are outdated and unfair. However, the rebels are not the answer. They’ve already demonstrated themselves to be cruel and oppressive. They would rule by terror and bloodshed—it’s not the way of the fae.”

“Perhaps it was not the way of the fae,” Holden said, his face expressionless.

Cheney frowned. “It will never be the way of my people so long as I take breath.”

“Do you share your father’s prejudice against humans?” Holden asked him.

Cheney closed his eyes for a moment. “Not at all. I like humans very much.” His eyes flickered to me. “I do not blame their human halves for their actions. There are full elves of questionable character, just as there are humans of exceptional character.”

“So you are asking us to side with your father because he is the lesser of two evils?” Olivia asked gently.

“No. I trust I can depend on your discretion in this matter?” They both nodded. “You have not overestimated my father’s prejudice against anyone who is not an elf. Selene, as you know, is a half-elf. She is also my wife. I plan to make the announcement in his court, and he will strip me of my title.” He took my hand. “If it would end at that, I could walk away, but he has placed a bounty on her and refused to withdraw it. I intend to make a stand against him. I ask you to support me.”

Olivia leaned back and Holden did not move. All of this couldn’t have been too shocking to Olivia, as I had told her some of it while I was recapping my month. Holden’s face was as unfathomable as ever.

“No,” Holden said.

“We’ll do it,” Olivia blurted out.

“Liv, it’s not our fight,” Holden said, but his voice had softened considerably.

“It wasn’t long ago that we were exactly where they are.”

“This isn’t our problem.”

Olivia sighed. “Our world is changing. The guardians are being rebuilt from the ground up, and many other races are following our example. Someday, in the not so distant future, I’d like a council of all the races to take over leadership of the Abyss.”

Holden took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Exactly. You have too much going on already. We cannot make someone else’s problem ours.” He raised his eyebrows. “We could also make their situation worse.”

“You mean Hell?” He nodded and she sighed. “I hate it when you’re right.” She looked at me. “I’m sorry. I’ll help you however I can, but if I become actively involved, forces greater than what you’re already dealing with will take an interest.”

My heart sank, but Cheney nodded. “I understand. That’s an honorable idea, but you’ll meet resistance. The races like their autonomy. However, perhaps uniting as one will end the petty wars and injustices.” He pressed his lips together, then finally nodded. “And when the time comes, I’ll stand with you whether or not you stand with me. It would be the best for my people.”

“I’ll ask around and see what I can find out about this rebel group,” Holden said, shaking his head at Olivia which only made her smile grow.

“Let us know how we can help.”

“Thank you,” Cheney said, sliding out of the booth.

I awkwardly hugged Olivia across the table. “Thank you.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Selene.” She hugged me back. “If you ever want to talk, please call me.”

Holden gave me a slight smile as Cheney helped me out of the booth, and we wove our way out of the club. They may not have joined the cause, but we had two allies.

“That went well,” I said once we were outside.

“Much better than expected.” Cheney put an arm over my shoulders and squeezed. “What were the two of you talking about for so long?”

“She gave me advice.”

Cheney weighed his words. “I’m sure the advice she gave you is well meaning, but guardians guide humans, not elves. Keep in mind her advice may be a bit one-sided.”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? She didn’t try to influence me one way or another. In fact, she said if it were her, she’d have probably chosen the elf side. Perhaps guardians could offer elves guidance if elves weren’t too proud to take it.”

Cheney looked properly shamed. “That wasn’t fair of me. What advice did she give you?”

“She suggested I embrace both sides.”

Cheney and I walked quietly, holding hands. “You’ve always struggled against yourself. If you could find a way to make peace, I think you would be better off, too. She gives good advice.”

I knew he was right. She had. The problem was, how was I supposed to do that?

Chapter 27

Morning came too soon. Cheney was already gone from bed and the first traces of light glared through the window into my eyes. How much did Cheney sleep? Did he sleep at all? A bowl of oatmeal waited on the table next to a folded piece of paper with an arrow drawn on it that pointed to the door. I picked up the bowl and opened the front door. A stream of daggers few at me. Startled, I dropped the oatmeal and barely managed to slow the daggers enough to shut the door on them before they crashed into me.

“Cease fire, damn it,” I yelled before I opened the door a crack to make sure it was safe. My ruined breakfast lay splattered across the ground. This was no way to start a morning. “Cheney!” I said with my hands on my hips and rage building inside of me.

Both Sebastian and Cheney stepped into my sight, smiling and making me want to strangle them. “Vigilance!” Sebastian called out.

I replied with an unladylike gesture and waited for them to come closer before I let them have it. “If I’m attacked in the morning before I can even have breakfast, the person doing it had better kill me. Is that clear?” I said through clenched teeth.

“These attacks are for your practice. You will need to be prepared for them at anytime. You did wonderfully. You weren’t even hit,” Cheney said, reaching for me.

“Don’t touch me,” I snapped and his hand stayed. “You threw daggers at me. They could have killed me if I didn’t stop them. What the hell were you thinking?”

“You blocked that knife out of nowhere yesterday. You function better under an actual threat. We needed to up the stakes. You could’ve been hit with every one of them and not died. We aimed,” Sebastian said.

“Not okay, Sebastian. I can’t believe you agreed to this,” I said accusingly at Cheney. He reached toward me again, but I held off his hand once more.

Cheney shot Sebastian a look and nodded. Sebastian reached out and my anger flared again. His hand didn’t reach me either. “Curious,” Sebastian mumbled.

“Ugh!” I threw up my hands. Obviously they weren’t getting the point.

“How are you doing that?” Cheney asked me.

I couldn’t think of what he was talking about through the anger. A larger surge was coming, and if I didn’t get it under control soon, we’d be homeless. Pushing through the guys, I stormed toward the cliff needing distance. Calm down. Just calm down and breathe. This is no time to have a meltdown.

I sat on the edge, dangling my feet over as the waves crashed below. The sound of the ocean calmed me. The wind tousled my hair and helped me breathe. The hard, uneven ground beneath me steadied me against my doubts while the bright morning sun burned out lingering traces of fear. I was okay. Nothing bad had happened. When I was absolutely positive I wasn’t going to do anything I would regret, I opened my eyes. Cheney sat next to me, staring out at the sea.

“You were never in any danger.”

“Hmmm.”

Cheney looked over. “You can trust me.”

“Yeah, to make a sneak attack.”

“I’ve only ever protected you. This was practice.” He looked back at the ocean. “How did you stop me from touching you?”

My eyebrows pulled together. “You stopped. It had nothing to do with me.”

“No, I hit a wall. Sebastian did, too.”

I didn’t purposefully do anything. My anger felt like it was rolling over me, and I didn’t want to be touched, but I hadn’t done anything special to stop him. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to try it again?”

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “No, I rather like you touching me.”

Cheney’s arm rested across my shoulders. “This would be a tremendous defense. If you could block people and objects from touching you, you wouldn’t have to worry about how many knives were thrown.”

And if I could focus on myself solely and keep things from reaching me, I wouldn’t have to spread myself as thin as I had to in order to focus on multiple targets. I was intrigued in spite of myself. “I’ll try.”

He brushed a kiss over my lips. “We’re burning daylight.”

“No more surprise attacks, though. I need to feel safe somewhere.” I let him help me up. “I feel safe with you. Don’t change that.”

“I wouldn’t change it for the world.” His arm tightened around my shoulder. “You need to work with Sebastian. I’ll be gone most of the day.”

I walked past Sebastian into the house to scrounge up something to eat, still irritated with him. When I finally went back outside, he glanced up from the piece of paper in his hands.

“Are you done pouting?”

“That remains to be seen. Are you done attacking me?”

“I haven’t even begun,” he said bemused.

“You know what I mean.”

“Cheney said no more surprise attacks. Though I think it is unwise, I will comply.”

“Then I’m done pouting.”

“Good, we don’t have time for it.” He gave me a patronizing look. “Are you ready?”

“Sebastian, remind me again we were friends,” I grumbled as he threw knives at me one at a time. The more he flung, the harder it became to stop them. When I began to shake with effort, he paused and collected the weapons from the air. I wiped the sweat from my eyes.

“Again,” he said, not letting me recover.

This time I tried for deflection. The knives zoomed past me with such a speed I wasn’t sure if I was still deflecting or if he was missing.

“Not bad,” he said. “But in an actual battle the person throwing wouldn’t be trying to miss you. You’ll have to do better. Again.”

My head pulsed. I didn’t want to do this anymore, but he didn’t give me a choice. The emotion of the past month drifted to the top, building under my skin. When it felt like I might lose control or burst, I wrapped it around me. Sebastian threw a knife that would’ve sailed slightly to the left. I held my breath and shoved my arm directly in its path. Everything happened at once. Sebastian’s hand stalled and the dagger halted midair, then fell to the ground a foot in front of me. A small smile twitched on Sebastian’s face as he resumed his assault—but now actually trying to hit me.

I felt great. My head didn’t throb, I wasn’t being injured, and nothing could touch me like this.

“Wonderful.” Sebastian said after a few minutes. “Now for offense.”

When I released my shield, my knees buckled and my legs wobbled. “Break,” I managed to say before I collapsed on the ground. It hadn’t felt like it, but I must’ve exerted a lot of energy holding the shield. I lay on the ground, staring up at the sky, trying not to let my eyes close. “You know, before this the only fighting I ever did was verbal.”

“You need to build your stamina.”

“I can run five miles and do yoga all day. This is different. It drains me.”

“Mental stamina. Yoga should help. You need to find a stronger, more stable place to focus from. That way you can defend while you attack.”

“That’s easy for you to say when you aren’t the one doing it.”

“You’re going to have to be stronger than this. Cheney can’t worry about you and about everything before him. Dig deep.” He sat next to me. “Have you decided about your friends?”

“Do we really need them?”

“I say yes.”

“But we don’t have any power. We cast some spells and have a few gifts but nothing that will rock anyone’s world. Hell, if I can’t defend myself, how are they supposed to defend themselves?”

“Your coven has no real power because you’ve only been tinkering with witchcraft. There’s great power to be had with human magic.”

“Wouldn’t it paint a big target on their backs?” Sebastian didn’t answer, so obviously that was a yes. “Look, I’ll ask them and let them decide. If they choose to help, then at least I know they’re aware of the danger.”

“Fair enough. What about Edith?”

“My grandmother?”

“Yes, she’s a powerful witch who could teach your coven a lot about magic and probably protect them if you’re worried about their safety.”

“Gram stays out of it.”

“Edith has a right to be there. She’s your human family.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“No, I’m trying to make you see you cannot half do this. You cannot be one foot in the door, one foot out. If you want to stand with Cheney, you have to be all in or no one will believe your commitment. It’s either this or cut all human ties.”

“Why are you telling me this and not Cheney?”

“Because he’ll never make you choose. He’ll defend you as your loyalty is questioned—just as he has defended you against his father. Cheney is blind to the reality of the situation. Now get up. We have work to do.” He pulled two swords out of the air, tossing me one. “Just like we did before, only do better.”

Sebastian and I went through the normal practice routine, allowing me to get used to having an actual sword. The weight of it felt familiar in my hand, adding an element of comfort. Something deep within me awoke at the feeling of the sword in my grasp. I briefly fought against it, but Olivia’s advice seasoned my thoughts and I stopped fighting. Suddenly my mind was clear, and Sebastian didn’t look so fast. The sword not only felt comfortable in my hand, it felt right. Anticipating Sebastian’s moves as if I’d been fighting with him for years, I easily dodged his attacks, slapping him with the flat of my sword as I twirled past.

Sebastian picked up his pace and intensity, but I had no problems keeping up with him. My body knew what to do if I kept my mind out of it. I kept laughing as we sparred. I was actually having fun. I enjoyed sword fighting—who knew? I could beat Sebastian if I wanted to; I was a better swordsman. This thought made me laugh again. Sebastian stopped fighting, looking at me hard.

“You’ve remembered, haven’t you?”

“Remembered what?” I hadn’t actually had a memory. They couldn’t be missed as they mostly started with me falling over. This was different.

“You’ve remembered how to use a sword. You could’ve told me rather than wasting time.”

I shrugged. “There wasn’t an actual memory. I recognized the feeling of the sword in my hand and rather than fighting it, I let go.”

“You’ve always been an excellent swordsman.”

“I like it. Let’s go again,” I said, twirling the sword in my hands.

“One more time, then we need to move on.” Sebastian came at me, not even trying to hold back. The sound of the swords crashing into each other echoed over the cliff. He was still faster than me, but I was more natural with the weapon and anticipated his moves with more accuracy. Every time I hit him, a giggle escaped, and I absolutely loved winning. Sebastian’s face became more and more serious—he apparently loved winning too.

“Sebastian, you’re losing,” Cheney’s amused voice rang out.

Sebastian made a final lunge, which I easily avoided. Standing up straight, his sword faded and he nodded at me.

Cheney’s laughter chimed through the air, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. “Well, you certainly have improved, princess. I take it you’ve had a memory.”

“No, just some good advice.”

His head tilted slightly. “You’ve let your elf half come out to play?”

I smiled at him. “Want to have a go?”

“Sure, you’ve never beaten me,” he said with a cocky smile as his own sword appeared in his hand.

Cheney and I squared off. The energy was already different in this match than it was with Sebastian. Our swords met with such force, it nearly tore the weapon from my hand. This was a very different fight indeed. Cheney twirled his weapon with such grace and precision. I knew I was outmatched. He slammed into me again, and it was all I could do to get out of his way. I couldn’t beat his speed, strength, or even skill. We circled each other as I tried to think of where his weakness would be.

“Giving up already?”

I smiled. “Just revising strategy.”

“You’re stalling, princess. Make your move.”

I went on the offensive. Cheney blocked my attack easily, but I continued to attack with a ferociousness I didn’t know I possessed. Making no ground, an idea struck.

“Ow. Ow. Ow.” I picked up my foot and a bit my lip.

“What is it? What happened?” Concern covered Cheney’s face. He moved closer and helped steady me as I hopped around. I leaned against him heavily and pressed the blade to his throat.

“I win.” I put my foot back down and smiled triumphantly.

“Cheater.” He laughed.

“By cheater you mean winner, right?”

Cheney blocked my arm and swept my legs out from under me faster than I could blink, and I landed on my back. “But when you thought you won, you let your guard down.” Before I could catch my breath, he pressed my hands into the ground. “Always make sure you’ve won before you quit playing.” The air between us thickened and crackled, my body responding to his as if it was reaching toward him.

“If I lost, what prize will you be taking?” I craned my head to nibble on his ear.

Cheney’s gold eyes flared. “Sebastian, go away.”

“You’re horrible.”

Cheney’s mouth pressed to mine and our tongues waged their own duel. He pulled back slightly. “Where exactly would you like to be touched, princess?” His hand slid between my legs, caressing my sensitive flesh though the clothing.

I pressed my mouth back onto his, arching against the feel of his hand. “Everywhere.” I slipped my hands under his shirt and kneaded the tight muscles in his back.

His mouth smiled against mine. “Do you want to go inside?”

“No,” I said as I rolled our bodies so I was straddling him. “I want you inside.”

Sitting up, I unbuttoned his pants—then I pulled back enough to discard my shirt. His face buried in my breasts, licking and sucking my nipples through the satin of my bra until a moan tore from my throat. Pushing Cheney back down, I kissed his chest and stomach as I moved down his body, tugging his jeans off. A low vibrating sound formed deep in his chest.

“Christ, I can’t wait,” he growled, pulling me up and flipping us over again. My pants were discarded unceremoniously. He drove into me fully—then withdrew nearly all of the way before doing it again and again and again. My eyes blurred and my body screamed for him.

“Faster,” I begged, squeezing him between my thighs. Cheney complied, bringing me to my end again and again before finding his own. Breathing heavily, we lay tangled with one another. If this was what it was like to lose to Cheney, then maybe I didn’t mind losing.

“This is a much more enjoyable way to train.”

“If Sebastian starts training you like this, I’ll kill him.” His expression grew serious. “I don’t want this to change. We’re in a good place right now. If becoming king will change that, I won’t do it.”

“It’s not going to change.”

“How do you know?”

“Cheney, you waited twenty-six years for me. If that didn’t change our feelings, nothing will.”

“You didn’t exactly welcome me back with open arms. Look, I want to make it clear: you’re more important to me than anything else. I don’t think I ever showed you that before. If you have any hesitations about this, now is the time.”

Yes, I had hesitations about becoming queen and entering fully into a world I knew nothing about, but it wasn’t fair to put that on him. This was Cheney’s destiny—something he had to do. Those three words were on my tongue, ready to come out, but I couldn’t say them. Not yet.

“I don’t have any hesitations,” I lied. “Do you?”

He closed his eyes. “Nothing but.”

Chapter 28

I pulled away and dressed quickly. How was I supposed to respond to that? I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep the hurt from my face, so I didn’t look at him. “Hey,” he said, tugging my hand. “Are you mad at me again?”

“No.”

“We were having a conversation and you stopped talking. If that isn’t mad, what is it?”

“I don’t know, Cheney. You tell me.”

“I only said that I have hesitations.” I turned my head away from him, and he pulled me back to the ground. “I didn’t mean about you. I love you. I thought you knew that.”

“There’d be something wrong with you if you didn’t have reservations about the rest of it. Hell, I have reservations about asking my friends if they want in on this, about involving my family, and about you going against yours. I thought we were talking about us.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” He frowned. “When did you decide to ask your friends, and what’s this about your family?”

“Sebastian and I talked about it today. He pointed out that I can’t be half in, half out on this if we expect people to follow us.”

“Sebastian shouldn’t have said anything about that. It’s your decision.” Cheney looked furious.

“I needed to hear it. My instinct is to protect them, but if we do this, we both have to be completely committed or it won’t work. If I can’t risk those I love, how can we expect others to?”

“So you’re bringing them in?”

“No, I’m giving them the choice. If they want in, I won’t try to stop it. This is going to be my life after all. Part of who I am.”

“You don’t have to give up your human life for me.”

“I’m not giving it up for you. I’m giving it up for us.” I couldn’t believe the words that came out of my mouth. They were true, but I didn’t realize it until I spoke them. Could I really give up everything for a person I had only known a month? Granted my feelings for him were older than that…

“You amaze me.”

I kissed him once more. “Well, you’re going to have to be amazed and dressed. I need to see my friends and Gram, too. Plus I need to visit Sy as well, if we still want his help.”

“Not tonight. We have guests coming.”

“Who?”

“Recruits.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

I looked back at the cottage. How were four recruits, Cheney, Sebastian, and I supposed to fit in that one tiny house? “In there?”

“No, none of them can know where we’re staying. It’s safer that way. I’ve arranged a neutral meeting place.”

“How many of these people knew me?”

“None of them well. But we’re not going to advertise your memory loss, so don’t mention it.”

“And what are we going to do if I have a memory?

He laughed. “Don’t do that either.”

I shook my head. “Who are these people? I take it you know them?”

“I’m acquainted with each of them, yes, but they’re not my close friends. Adan is a representative of the high elves. High elves are the oldest race. Generally they don’t get involved. They choose to stay separate from the rest of us, but they’re very just. Beleg is the dwarf regent. Obviously the dwarves have never been treated the same as the elves. They have been strong enough to resist the rebel advances, but they could be interested in change. Turin is the goblin ruler. The goblins have, perhaps, been treated the worst under our rule. They’ve been demeaned to a role of servant instead of the magical power they once were. The rebels have also overlooked them because they’re not old enough to remember what a great power they once held.” Cheney looked down and pressed his lips together. “The last is Alanna. She’s an empress of the light faeries. Getting her on our side would be quite a coup. Father never marginalized the dark or light fae because their chaotic power was far greater than our own. However, Alanna has always had a bit of a soft spot for me, so try not to offend her.”

“People like me.” I put my hands on my hips. “Olivia liked me.”

“Alanna is not like Olivia. Just try to keep your temper.”

“Why haven’t you involved any of your friends, other than Sebastian?”

“I’m friends with other elves, but I’m not ready to include the elves just yet. If I recruit amongst them, word will get back to Father before we can make our move.”

“What about the vampires? Will you ask them?”

Cheney sighed. “That’s what we’re discussing tonight. I don’t want to get them and lose other allies. They’d be strong, but it’s risky to align ourselves with them.”

“So how exactly is this going to work? We’re going to barge into your father’s court with our hodgepodge of a group and demand he treats everyone fairly or you’ll take over?”

“Something like that. I thought the two of us would go together and request an audience in private. That way you can speak with him. He will, of course, refuse this request and make a public display of his contempt. I’ll step forward and tell him you’re my wife and he must treat you accordingly. The crowd will gasp—at your beauty, of course.”

“Of course,” I said, and Cheney smiled.

“Father will declare I’m no longer his son. I will make an official challenge for the throne, at which point our allies will walk through the doors and everyone will see we are not alone.” Cheney ran his fingers through his hair. “Think of this as a political campaign. If we can get more of the houses to back us, it will not come to fighting. He’ll be forced to relinquish the crown. We can’t afford for this to be a war or drawn out.”

“That’s quite the plan. What happens when it doesn’t go as you imagine?”

“What makes you think it won’t?”

“Nothing ever does.”

“This will.”

I wanted to believe Cheney was right, but it seemed naïve to me. When did anything ever go as planned?

***

Cheney and I walked into the lobby of a five star hotel and headed straight for the elevator, which we rode to the penthouse floor. The sprawling room was sleek and modern. Sebastian sat on the couch, looking terribly out of place.

“Sebastian, I hear you spoke with Selene about her friends and family?” Cheney asked with thinly veiled anger. My stomached plunged. The last thing I wanted to do was get Sebastian in trouble.

“You weren’t going to do it,” Sebastian said calmly. “Were you?”

“It was her choice.”

“Yes, and now she can make an informed decision.”

“Don’t disregard my wishes again, Sebastian.” His voice was quiet and threatening. “I will not stand for it.”

“It was necessary.”

“Not again.”

Sebastian nodded, dropping the argument. I wondered how their friendship worked. Sometimes it seemed Sebastian was more of an employee than Cheney’s friend. Note to self, ask about that later.

“So…” I said, drawing it out when I realized I had nothing to say. I didn’t know Sebastian outside of training, and Cheney already answered my most pressing questions about what we were doing. Both men looked at me expectantly. “That’s all I’ve got,” I said blushing. I completely sucked at relieving awkward tension.

Sebastian gave me a puzzled look and Cheney laughed, sitting down next to Sebastian. “I think it makes Selene uncomfortable when she thinks we’re fighting, Sebastian.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “We’re not fighting. Cheney is the prince, Selene, and I am his advisor. We do not agree, but we always speak the truth to one another. I over-stepped and Cheney let me know. Much nicer than he normally would have. There are no hard feelings, I assure you.” Sebastian shook his head. “You have changed.”

“Well, if anyone cares what I think, I appreciate Sebastian telling me what was happening and not leaving me in the dark.” I gave Cheney a look. Understanding these two was impossible. Was it an elf thing or a guy thing? And what would the old me have done? “But, tonight the old me and the new me are one and the same, so hopefully she was quiet. I intend to be an observer tonight.”

“You were most definitely not quiet, but none of them knew you well enough to know that. If you don’t want to participate, you don’t have to, but if you have an opinion, don’t hesitate to voice it. You’re a part of this group,” Cheney said.

“Did you warn her about Alanna?”

Cheney cleared his throat and I gave Sebastian a sharp look. “What do you mean ‘warn me’?” Why did they both think I was going to claw her eyes out? The old me must’ve been psychotic.

“I told you she has a soft spot for me.”

“Yeah, and I have a soft spot for tater tots, but that doesn’t require me to warn people.”

“I think I can safely say she doesn’t feel about me like you feel about tater tots,” Cheney said, unsuccessfully trying to suppress his amusement.

“I don’t know. I really like tater tots,” I mumbled.

Cheney’s laughter filled the room. “I stand corrected. Apparently your love for fried potato nuggets is much deeper than I gave it credit.”

“So what kind of warning do I need, Sebastian?” Cheney started to answer, and I cut him off. “You be quiet. I’m asking Sebastian. Is she an ex-girlfriend?” That was the last thing I needed right now.

“She wasn’t my girlfriend,” Cheney said indignantly. “We were lovers for a brief period of time. We both—”

I had no idea what my face was doing, but whatever it was must’ve been expressive because Cheney trailed off and Sebastian left the living room area without comment. “Before or after me, Cheney?”

“We should probably discuss this later.”

“So it was after me.” I looked into his worried eyes. “When exactly are we talking about?”

“You don’t even remember—”

“No, no, no. You don’t get to say that tonight. It’s relevant for me to know if the two of you were sleeping together twenty years ago or within the past year.”

“Within the past year,” he said quietly. “I had no reasonable expectation of you ever coming back. I wouldn’t have disrupted your life if it weren’t necessary. I let you go.”

A rational voice in my mind told me this was no different than any of my boyfriends, but another voice insisted it was different. I didn’t know I was married, but he had. “Sure. Why wouldn’t you have an affair?”

“Selene, you’ve had your own lovers. I imagine I’ve had far fewer by comparison. You were gone for twenty-six years.”

I wasn’t sure if I was more upset by him making me sound like a whore or by the fact that my ego had taken a severe blow. Deep down I liked the idea that he waited so long for me. “The difference is I was a normal girl, dating and coming of age. I didn’t know I was married.”

“It wasn’t like that. We’d both been in long term committed relationships and found ourselves alone. It was more about comfort.”

The first knock sounded at the door. Our conversation had no choice but to be paused. Cheney stood, offering me his hand with a meaningful look. I took it, but this was by no means over. Cheney had apparently only been telling me the pieces of our pasts he wanted to tell me. How much else had he left out? I turned to see whom Sebastian was ushering into the room.

Chapter 29

A short, stout man with a wide face and thick neck followed Sebastian into the room. He wore his long hair in a neat ponytail, and his dark beard was cropped close to his face. His clothes were custom made, and he held himself in a manner that demanded respect. Cheney walked over to shake his hand. The comparison between the two of them was absurd. One was a tall, lean hunter and the other a tree stump. It was the cheetah and a rock.

“It is good to see you again, Beleg. You remember Selene,” Cheney said, looking back to me.

I walked up to the dwarf regent with as much grace and dignity as I could muster. Beleg took my hand in his rough, thick one, giving it a firm, no nonsense shake. “It has been a long time, Selene. You look no worse for wear.”

“Thank you.” I took it that was meant to be a compliment. “And you look well. Have you lost weight?” I made a stab in the dark, wanting to return the compliment—and who didn’t like to be told they looked thinner?

“Well—I, uh…” He cleared his throat, his cheeks reddened a little, and a smile tilted his mouth for a moment before he nodded and looked back at the flabbergasted Sebastian and Cheney. “When’s this meeting supposed to start?” he asked them gruffly.

“Once everyone is here. Please have a seat.” Cheney motioned to the living room.

I walked with Beleg. “Can I get you a drink?” I asked.

“A whiskey,” he said roughly. “Please,” he added in a softer voice when I smiled at him.

“You want ice with that?” He shook his head and I walked over to the bar. Cheney met me there with a look of amazement.

“You remember him of all people?”

“No,” I said, pouring a healthy glass. Beleg seemed like a man who could hold his liquor.

“How did you know he lost weight?”

“I didn’t, but that hardly seems to matter. Everyone likes to think they look like they have.”

“I can’t believe it. He even said please. A bloody dwarf said please to you.” Cheney kissed my forehead. “You’re amazing.”

Another knock came at the door. I took Beleg his drink and joined Cheney in greeting his guests. This time a tall, rail thin elf walked in. His snowy hair was like long silk thread that parted around his ears. He wore heavy blue robes and had piercing, glacier eyes. Cheney and Sebastian bowed stiffly.

“Cheney, it is a pleasure seeing you again,” the man said in a lyrical, resonating voice.

“And you, Adan. It is an honor to have you here.” I noticed Cheney held himself a bit straighter and the normal ease in his stance had evaporated. Adan made Cheney nervous—an emotion that looked foreign on him. “May I introduce Selene?”

Adan’s eyes met mine directly. I didn’t avert my gaze or bow to him. I understood he was a high elf, and if that meant anything at all to me, perhaps I would’ve been nervous, too, but it didn’t. “It’s a pleasure meeting you,” I said, offering him my hand.

Cheney’s eyes widened. Crap, was this some sort of faux pas? They really needed to tell me this stuff. I began to withdraw my hand when Adan took it in his long, cool fingers and kissed it, his eyes never wavering from mine.

“Yes, now I can see what has finally pushed Cheney to take this necessary step. You are lovely.”

“It isn’t very fair to Cheney to think he would do this for merely a pretty face.” I raised a gentle but challenging eyebrow.

Adan smiled and nodded. “Your loveliness isn’t just on the outside. You will challenge him and he will challenge you. The two of you are an excellent match.”

“Thank you. May I offer you a drink?”

“No, thank you, but if you would walk me to the seating area, I would like very much to see my old friend Beleg.”

“Absolutely.”

Sebastian and Cheney stared at me as I came back like I was wearing a monkey suit.

“What?” I mouthed to them, but just then there was another knock. Ugh, when it rains it pours.

This time two people walked inside. One was a small, emaciated creature with leathery skin and no hair whatsoever. The other was a curvy goddess with long, flowing red hair that fell past her butt and the face of an angel. You can guess which one was Alanna.

“Turin, we are honored to have you here. Do you remember Selene?”

Turin gave me a once-over and said in a jovial voice, “Nice to make your acquaintance, missus. I have heard much of you. We met once long ago. I doubt you remember.”

“Of course I remember. How could I forget you?” I said, hoping I wasn’t backing myself into a corner. I felt Alanna’s sharp eyes on me, peeling my skin back layer by layer.

“And where was it the two of you met?” Her clear, pretty voice drifted into our conversation.

“The market in Mizzendrel,” I answered automatically, not allowing myself to think about it. Turin smiled widely.

“If it doesn’t work out with the elf, a little goblin goes a long way,” he said with an exaggerated wink and a bow.

My laughter came so fast I couldn’t stop it. I felt at ease even though Alanna’s eyes were on me. Turin was a cheeky little fellow. “I knew I liked you,” I told him with my own wink. “May I get you a drink?”

“Whatever everyone else is having.”

“Whiskey?”

“Don’t mind it I do.”

I poured his glass of whiskey and walked him into the living room to join Beleg and Adan. Taking a deep breath, I went back to meet Alanna. I could already see we were not going to be best of friends. I didn’t want to scratch her eyes out—I had way more decorum than that. I’d just rip out her hair and bloody that pretty face a little. I shook the weirdly possessive thoughts from my mind and forced a smile, sticking out my hand. “I’m Selene. I’ve heard much of you.”

“And I you, changeling,” she said, taking my hand in her firm grip. Her skin vibrated with energy, setting my teeth on edge.

“You’re very beautiful,” I told her because it was true. My promise to not offend her held my tongue from making any snarky comments or threatening remarks. I had already won this game. Cheney was mine. I didn’t need to mark my territory.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly while her eyes gave me a slow once-over. “And you look very human.”

I smiled brightly, lifting my chin slightly. I knew perfectly well that was meant to be an insult, but I liked being human. “I know. I’m pretty, aren’t I?” I’d dealt with people like this my whole life. One girl after another, throwing underhanded insults in my direction because a guy they liked showed interest in me. I winked at Cheney, who smiled back, wisely not saying a word. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, human food never had any appeal to me.”

“Cheney? Sebastian?”

“Whiskey,” they said at the same time.

I made them both a drink and fetched myself a giant vodka tonic, which was either a very good or very bad decision—only time would tell. The four of us headed into the living room, Alanna annoyingly close to Cheney, but I didn’t give her a second glance. I took the middle seat on the couch between Beleg and Turin, letting Alanna have the armchair closest to Cheney.

“Thank you all for meeting tonight. Everyone in this room knows one another and why we are here. I want to start by saying this is in no way a slight against my father. I love and respect him, but some of his policies are bad policies. The refusal to amend his antiquated laws has put all the fae in grave peril, and I am left with little choice but to step in. I do not long for the crown, but I desire peace.”

“How does this change anything for the dwarves? One elf is no different than another elf.” Beleg waved his meaty hand in the air.

“I intend to give all the say they deserve. Each race will have a seat in the House of Nobles. The concerns of all will be considered in the laws and judgments.”

“And what of those forced into servitude?” Turin inquired.

“No one will be forced into servitude. Everyone will be equal under law and treated accordingly.”

“I think some of us are concerned about your resolve, Cheney. What happens when you lose interest in your little changeling? Will you still be a champion for non-elves?” Alanna asked with no softness in her voice.

Beleg gave a grumbling protest, Turin looked away, and Adan drummed his fingers together, but Sebastian stepped forward. “How dare you question prince Cheney’s devotion to his people?” Sebastian spat at her, his eyes flashing like silver daggers.

Cheney held up his hand and stepped in front of Sebastian. “I don’t mind her questioning my devotion, Sebastian. I’ve been ignoring the problem for a great number of years. It is no secret what has pushed me across the line.” Cheney’s posture was smooth and easy, his face relaxed, but his eyes were bright and wild. “You do have one thing wrong, Alanna.” He walked toward her, braced his hands on either side of her chair, and leaned in. “I will never lose interest in Selene, and no one will ever come between us. I will kill anyone who tries. If you have a problem with that, leave.”

Alanna glared back at him, unflinching, but said nothing.

“I take your silence to mean you’re staying,” Cheney said, standing upright. “That is your choice, but in the future if you must address my wife, make sure it is by her name or I will lose patience with you.”

Cheney turned back to me with a smile. Alanna jerked like she’d been slapped. The other three looked equally shocked. Sebastian just shook his head.

“That was a quick engagement,” Alanna said, recovering.

Cheney raised an eyebrow at me.

“Actually, I think our next anniversary is sculpture. Isn’t that right, Cheney? It’s been what—twenty seven years?” I said, my own smile tugging at my lips. Cheney enjoyed this entirely too much. It almost made me forget I was still mad at him—almost.

Alanna sputtered a few choice words and none of them were pretty. The men offered their sincere belated congratulations.

“Now if your doubts are soothed, Alanna, may we continue?” Cheney asked. “Adan, do you have any concerns you wish me to address?”

“No. You are your mother’s son, and she was a fine woman. You also have a fine wife with a kind heart by your side. You will do well for your people,” Adan said.

“Thank you, Adan. Your support is greatly appreciated. This will not be an easy task. In all likelihood my father will not back down, but even once he is removed, we will have a larger foe to deal with—and the task of mending relationships with all of those who do not want this change. The rebels cannot be ignored any longer. If you decide to join me in this, it will be a long and trying journey in which victory is not certain. The choice is yours.”

I stood up and walked to Cheney’s side, taking his hand. “You really sold that,” I whispered. Sebastian stood on his other side solemnly.

Adan strode over and kissed both of our hands. “My allegiance,” he said with a bow. Beleg and Turin quickly followed suit. Only Alanna held back, watching us.

“Alanna?” Cheney asked.

Her expression was unreadable. She inspected us for an uncomfortable length of time. “I would like to speak with the change—Selene. Alone.”

“No,” Cheney said. “If you have something to say to her, you can say it to me as well.”

Alanna’s jaw set at a stubborn angle.

I touched his forearm. “It’s all right. I’ll speak with her. Shall we go to the balcony?”

Alanna nodded and followed me out the door. I walked to the wall that surrounded the patio and leaned against it, taking in the lights twinkling through the city. Cities at night were at their most peaceful, especially from high up. Each light represented a separate life that had its own love, problems, and story. It made me feel the world was much smaller than it seemed most of the time. We were all essentially in the same boat. The moon looked down upon me, almost like it was smiling. I was doing something right.

“I know you had an affair with Cheney,” I told her, keeping my back to her.

Alanna sighed. “I was not aware the two of you were married.”

“Would it have made a difference?” I turned because I wanted to see her face when she responded.

Her pretty lips pursed. “Perhaps not?”

“I was gone for a long time. It was not definite that I was returning. I don’t hold the affair against you,” I said, willing myself to be fair when all I really wanted to do was throw her over the edge.

She stared at me, then shook her head. “I don’t trust you. I didn’t know you before you left, and while you seem nice enough now, I saw what you did to him. Now, knowing that you were married and still chose to leave the man you supposedly loved, I trust you even less. What could have been so important for you to leave? Better yet, why are you back?”

I didn’t rush to answer. I let my thoughts form before I started. “I left to pay for my mistakes. The anger I felt toward the king bled into my relationship with Cheney. I left him a year before I became a changeling.”

I held her eyes, making sure she was hearing what I was saying. “When I realized my mistake, it was too late. The rebels had a plan and it was a good one—one in which I was an integral piece of the puzzle. Had I left at that point, they would’ve replaced me. So I went to Cheney. I told him what I knew and became a changeling to buy the elves the time they needed to defeat the rebels. We sacrificed being together for our people.” I was surprised to find myself pacing. I told Alanna what I had learned from Cheney and Sebastian.

“I honestly don’t care if you trust me or not. I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t know why I’m back, but I’m glad to be—and I’m not leaving Cheney again.”

Alanna sighed. “I still don’t trust you, but I have made my decision.”

We went back inside. I had failed. Cheney told me we needed her, and I’d ruined everything. Cheney’s eyes met mine, and I shook my head slightly. His jaw clenched and his shoulders rolled back. Alanna followed me to him.

“I have reservations about this, but you have my allegiance as well,” she said, bowing. I looked at Cheney, who looked every bit as stunned as I was, but he regrouped faster.

“Then we have our first order of business,” he said. “Sebastian has learned that rebels have been trying to form an allegiance with the vampires. So far they haven’t offered anything tempting enough to involve them, but the threat is there. We can ignore their attempts and hope the vampires do not become involved. Or we can recruit them to our side.”

“But those filthy abominations are not even fae,” Beleg grumbled.

“And they still wouldn’t be. Sebastian believes what they really want is to be invited to the wild hunt. Vampires have never cared about being a part of a society other than their own. And they certainly do not need our protection. This, however, is not a bargain I would make lightly. I want everyone’s consensus before I speak with them.”

“What happens if they want to be part of the fae? Would you take them?” Adan asked.

“If that was the only way we could secure their help, I would take them—with rules and stipulations. I can’t imagine they would want that though.”

“They would be a powerful yet untrustworthy ally. However, it would be devastating to our cause if the rebels secured them. I feel you must,” Adan said gravely.

“I’ve never even met a vampire,” Turin squeaked. “But if we must, then we must.”

“Filthy abominations,” Beleg muttered again, then frowned. “So be it.”

“My people have no conflict with the vampires. It would not affect our resolve one way or another,” Alanna said.

“Then it is settled,” Cheney said with a nod. “Selene and I have also spoken with the guardian Olivia and the jinni Holden. They cannot join our cause, but they have offered to give us information. We have other prospects but haven’t spoken with them yet. I will keep you informed of our progress.”

Everyone nodded except for Alanna, who turned curtly and headed for the front door. I tossed Cheney a glance, then chased after her.

“Alanna, wait,” I called out. She paused, her hand on the door knob. “Why?”

“I may not trust you, but you love him. It’s written all over your face. I have to believe that still counts for something.”

I went back to the living room where our other guests were getting ready to leave. I hugged each of them, making Beleg blush again, Adan smile, and Turin—well, Turin pinched my butt much to Cheney’s chagrin. Sebastian and Cheney walked them to the door, and I went back out on the patio. I felt Cheney in the air before I heard him behind me, but I didn’t turn around.

“Is Sebastian gone?”

“Yes.” He slipped his arms around my waist, his breath soft against my neck. “Are you ready to go back?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

He squeezed me a little closer, and I braced for the disorientation of travel, but he hesitated. “How did you know where you met Turin?”

“I didn’t. I answered without allowing myself to think about it. Obviously something inside of me remembers, just like with the sword. If I don’t fight it, the answers come out.” I leaned back against Cheney, his body feeling familiar and right.

“I’m sorry about Alanna. Had I known you would come back, I never would have—”

“We aren’t going to talk about any of that. You’re right that I had my own boyfriends. We’ll leave the past in the past. We are starting fresh.”

“Do I still have to buy you a sculpture?”

“Absolutely.” I laughed, kissing him.

Chapter 30

I stood in the cottage with its low ceiling and tiny walls pressing in on me. The little stone escape never felt more like a jail than when Cheney and I were fighting.

“Silly me, I thought I’d been doing all of this training so I could defend myself.”

Cheney’s jaw clenched with equal stubbornness, but I wasn’t backing down. I’d be damned if I couldn’t go talk to my friends alone. “What was the reason for all the darts, bruises, sore muscles, and headaches over the last month?”

Cheney sighed. “It is so you can defend yourself, but—”

“No buts. Thanks to you and Sebastian, I can protect myself. I need to see them alone. I want to explain what it means for them to help us, and I want to do it in a relaxed environment. If they don’t help us, how often will I be able to see them? This could be the last time I get to hang out with them. I want it to be like old times.”

“I would never have you give up your friends, no matter what they choose.”

I pushed back my frustration, trying to make him see my side. “Cheney…please.”

He frowned and his forehead wrinkled. “I wanted you to be trained in case I couldn’t be with you. Not so you didn’t have to have me with you.”

It was my turn to sigh. “That isn’t fair. When you’re there, we can’t just be us. It changes the dynamics. I need a girls’ night.”

Cheney massaged the center of his forehead with his fingertips. “I get to take you to wherever you’re meeting them and under no circumstance are you to leave. When you’re finished, text me, and I’ll come back to get you. If there’s an emergency, put up your blocks immediately.”

I threw my arms around his neck.

“I hope this isn’t a bad idea,” he mumbled, returning my embrace. “If anything happens—”

“Nothing will happen. I’ll be fine.”

He stroked his hand down my cheek. “Just come back to me.”

“Always,” I said, kissing him. “Are you going to worry about me all night?”

”Probably,” he answered. A second later we were standing outside my yoga studio.

I felt bad for making him worry and considered inviting him along, but I didn’t want Cheney to think it would be okay with me for him to smother me the rest of my life. It wouldn’t be. I needed space.

He smiled, making me feel slightly less guilt-ridden. “Just be careful.”

“You know that I’m going to Katrina’s, right?”

He looked around. “We’ll take a cab.”

I was the last to arrive, and Cheney walked me to the door. “If anything happens or when you are ready to come home—”

I took his hand to stop him. “I have your number on speed dial.”

He nodded, kissed me one more time, and faded away. I knocked on the door, which flew open immediately. All four girls engulfed me in a hug and talked at once. God, I missed them.

“Oh my gosh, it hasn’t been that long.” I laughed, trying to break free.

“But last time totally didn’t count. This time it’s just us and alcohol. All is right in the world,” Leslie said, a smile lighting her face.

“And you’re going to tell us everything about that hunky man you’re supposedly married to,” Katrina added.

Jessica shoved a drink at me as I was pulled into the living room. “You look different.” She tilted her head to the side.

“I think you look beautiful,” Devin said, elbowing Jess.

“More elf-like?” I scrunched my nose on reflex.

“No,” Jessica said slowly, inspecting me. “Content, maybe. And really fit. Does that make sense?”

“What on earth have you been doing?” Leslie asked with a glint in her eyes.

I rolled my eyes. “Cheney and Sebastian have been trying to kill me for the last month or so. It does amazing things for your figure.” I laughed. “I can’t look that different from when I was at the club.”

“You do. I think Jessica is right. Content—that’s the right word,” Devin said.

“Who’s Sebastian?” Leslie asked, sitting down beside me.

“He is a friend of Cheney’s—and mine, I guess. Cheney brought him in to train me because apparently I argue with him less.”

Katrina laughed. “You argue? Never.”

“What? I’m freaking pleasant,” I objected.

“Not when people are telling you what to do,” Jessica pointed out.

“Whatever. Anyway, I’ve been working out ten hours a day to get fighting ready. It’s been a bitch.”

“Fighting ready?” The smile fled Leslie’s face. “What does that mean? Why do you need to be fighting ready?” Devin, Jessica, and Katrina plunked down, too, waiting for my answer.

“I didn’t want to start with this. I thought we could just have a fun evening,” I said, shaking my head.

“Selene, start talking,” Katrina told me.

I downed my drink. “You know about the people trying to get me? Well, this isn’t entirely about that—but some of it is. Or, at least, that’s the way it started.”

“You aren’t making sense. Start at the top, because we know nothing,” Devin told me.

I explained everything I knew about what happened before Cheney came to get me, pausing only a couple of times so we could refresh our drinks. Too soon, I arrived at the part of the story that involved them. The last thing I wanted to do was ask them. How do you request people you love to risk their lives for you? My stomach twisted with anxiety.

“Hurry up, we’re on the freaking edge of our seats,” Katrina shouted into the kitchen, after I’d stalled with the excuse that I needed more vodka.

I walked back in with a heavy heart. “But what’s happening right now is more about Cheney’s father, the Erlking. He doesn’t care for other races, and he doesn’t like me at all.” I continued on, explaining Cheney’s plan and my role in it and what I was training for.

“Queen?” Jessica asked with wide eyes.

“No—or at least, not yet. Preparing to battle is just in case everything goes pear-shaped during the challenge. I don’t want to be dead weight.”

“Selene, have you ever even punched anyone?” Devin asked.

“Not that I remember.”

She looked at me like I was doomed.

“Meh—don’t worry. Swords are more my thing.”

Now they were sure I’d lost my mind. It was written all over their faces. “You, with a sword? I can’t even imagine,” Leslie said.

“Hey, I’m pretty good. I’ve also been working on the telekinesis.”

“Exactly how much danger are you in?” Katrina asked in a rare serious moment.

“Quite a lot,” I said, biting my lip. “This is a big deal. I don’t know how life will change with all of this, but it’s really overwhelming. That’s one of my reasons for tonight. I wanted to see you guys before…” My voice trailed off as I looked at the four best friends I would ever have. I was choosing a guy over them and a normal life. What the hell was wrong with me?

“What can we do, Selene?” Devin asked “Anything at all—even if it’s cleaning your bathroom—anything to help.”

I swallowed hard. “I have to ask you guys something. Before I do, though, I want you to know you can say no. In fact, I beg you to say no.” I sighed heavily and laid it on them. “Sebastian thinks it would be a great sign of strength if we could show we also have the backing of human witches.”

I watched each of their expressions carefully. “I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it means you’ll make yourself known to the Abyss, which will seriously endanger your lives. Second, you’re not strong enough to defend yourselves. Your safety will fully depend on someone else. Third, if any of you get hurt, I don’t think I could live with it. You all have lives and futures that don’t have to involve magic, elves, or people wanting to kill you. Please choose that.”

Silence filled the room. “Well, of course I am in,” Devin said without hesitation. I started to object but she cut me off. “Selene, you’re my family. When I said I would do anything, I meant it. You’re right that I can’t fight, but if you could learn to do it, so can I. A little civil war doesn’t frighten me.”

“I’m in, too,” Jessica said. “If you’re doing this, so are we. You’ll need someone to have your back. You don’t know any of those people, not really. We’ve got you covered.”

“Like you even had to ask,” Leslie said with teary eyes.

Katrina’s dark eyes fixed with mine. “The way I see it, this is our fate. We all became instant, crazy-close friends. None of us are married—well, except for you, and you should thank your lucky stars you didn’t marry Michael or you’d be a bigamist.” She shrugged. “We started a freaking coven without any idea of what witchcraft really even was. Let’s face it, we never have been and never will be normal.” She took a deep breath and went on. “Honestly, Selene, I’ve been looking for something, but I just didn’t know what. I think this is it. This isn’t just your journey. It’s ours. We’re in this together. We always have been and always will be.”

Tears trickled down my cheeks. “I don’t know what I would do without you guys.”

“We’re strongest together. We’ll keep each other safe. Kat is right. It is our journey,” Leslie said through tears of her own.

“You bitches are making me cry,” Jessica said, wiping her face. Even Katrina sniffled.

“I love all of you.” We dissolved in a group hug of tears and emotion. I was quite possibly the luckiest girl in the world.

“So when do we leave, and where to? Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Katrina said with a swirl of excited energy.

“Not so fast,” I objected. “I was barely able to convince Cheney to let me come here and hang out with you guys tonight. We can’t leave yet. This is the last chance for normalcy.”

“I hate to break it to you, but that ship has sailed. It left the harbor and is somewhere in the middle of the ocean,” Devin said. “If what you said is true, we have no time to waste. We need to get our shit together and get brought fully up to speed. We can be normal once we’re all safe.”

“Seriously?” I rolled my eyes.

“It’s the smartest plan,” Jessica said.

“No way will you all fit in our cottage,” I grumbled, pulling out my phone to text Cheney. Moments later there was a sharp knock on the front door. I opened it solemnly.

Cheney quirked an eyebrow. “Did something happen?”

“You could say that.” I frowned. “They all want to help and they all want to start right now. No one wants to drink with me and pretend to be normal.”

Cheney’s musical laughter filled the night. “That must be very disappointing for you.”

“You have no idea,” I said, letting him in the house. “So how’s this going to work? They all want to come back with us and start training.”

Cheney rubbed his chin. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a good idea. We don’t have time to train them well, but some emergency pointers wouldn’t hurt. We’ll need a bigger house.” Cheney pulled out his phone. Moments later there was another knock on the door. “Sebastian,” he replied to my unspoken question.

Katrina stuck her head around the corner. “What’s going on out here? Oh, hi, Cheney.”

He greeted her while I let Sebastian inside. “They’re going to help,” I said flatly.

“Wonderful,” he replied with an equal lack of inflection.

“And they want to train like I did.”

He nodded, making no indication that he had an opinion. “I’ll make some calls.” He pulled his phone out.

“We’ll be in the living room,” I said and followed Cheney and Kat back to the rest of the group. Retrieving my drink, I sat back on the couch between Devin and Jess.

“Thank you all for agreeing to help. I want to reiterate what I’m sure Selene has already told you. You don’t have to do this. It would be helpful, but I in no way want to endanger any of you—”

“We’ve been through this,” Jess cut in. “We appreciate your concern for our wellbeing, but if Selene is going to be there, so are we.”

“You may not have known this when you married Selene, since we weren’t born or anything, but we’re sort of a group deal. You don’t get to drag one of us off into some weird world without bringing the rest along,” Devin added with a smile.

“And I don’t know about these hookers, but I’m not about to let Selene become a better fighter than me. I have a rep to keep up. GTL,” Kat said, her eyes twinkling.

Cheney looked at me for translation. He was better with pop culture references than Sebastian, but this one was too obscure for him. I shook my head, grinning. “GTL—gym, tan, laundry. It’s a reference to—ah, never mind. It’s dumb.”

“Selene, big hair is not dumb.” Kat feigned disbelief. “Hair like this doesn’t come naturally.”

“You got that right, sister,” Devin said, bumping fists with her. Poor Cheney looked lost. What was he going to do with the five of us under the same roof?

“Sometimes we feed off of one another,” Leslie told Cheney earnestly, “but our resolve is strong. Neither of you will talk us out of this.”

Cheney nodded. “Then we’ll work something out.”

Two hours later, Sebastian found a new house, a more complete and detailed run down of the particulars of the situation was given, and everyone was taken home to pack a suitcase. Sebastian took the girls one by one to our new home while Cheney took me back to the cottage to get my belongings. I packed slowly. We hadn’t been here long, but I liked being close to the water—and the close quarters. It was cozy and snug.

“I’m going to miss it here,” I confessed.

“You know, this is the biggest change I’ve noticed in you. You never had a problem letting go of anything before. This new trait of holding on might be my new favorite thing about you.” He smiled. “I know exactly what you mean, though. I’ll miss it here too. It’s been…”

“Intimate,” I supplied.

“Exactly.” Cheney took my bag from my hand. “We’ll come back.”

I hoped he was right.

Chapter 31

The new place was far from indiscreet. You couldn’t even call it a house, not really. It was a compound. The living quarters were a sprawling rancher design that went on forever. In addition to that, several outbuildings and barns sat scattered across the open fields of green, beneath the bright, unmarked sky. I awoke early the next morning and headed outside to do yoga and explore. The area was flat and stretched on until it came to a small wooded area at the base of some mountains. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine cattle dotting these pastures. I found the girls well rested and waiting for me inside.

“What’s the plan?” Devin asked, clapping her hands together.

“I have no idea. We’ll have to wait for Cheney and Sebastian.”

“We’re here,” Sebastian said behind me.

“So how are we training them? Weapons, darts, what?”

Sebastian leaned against the wall. “None of that. They’re too human.”

“So what are you going to do with them?” I asked, inwardly griping about how maybe I was too human to be made into a pin cushion.

“We need them for their magic. They need to study your grandmother’s book.”

So the girls and I went over the boring book, page by page, while Sebastian and Cheney fine-tuned their own plans. Finally Cheney came into the room and nodded that it was time. We abandoned Sebastian with the girls to go see my grandmother. My nerves instantly frayed and my mouth went dry. I loved Gram without question, and she’d always been good to me, but something about her scared the crap out of me. I never could place what it was or how it started, but I’d spent the last nineteen years of my life terrified I was disappointing her. And now, just the fact that I was only a half-human made me feel like a failure. She’d done such an amazing job of making me terrified to use magic that going to see her after having disregarded everything she’d ever told me made me wish I could meet with vampires instead and let Cheney handle her.

The fact that I now knew she was a witch, and that I was married woman, did little to convince me that I wasn’t still going to get sent to my room. I expected to hear her say, “Selene Autumn Warren,” as soon as I walked through the door. And no matter how old you are, when a parent uses all three of your names in a certain tone of voice, your stomach sinks and your shoulders sag.

Cheney and I paused outside the green-shingled house, and I looked at my childhood home. It seemed like ages since I’d last been there, though in reality it was less than two months.

“You ready?” Cheney asked.

“Not even close.” I gave him a panicked look. “You want to handle this one on your own? I’ll take care of the vampires.”

Cheney laughed. “You need to talk to Edith. You owe her that.”

He was right. I did. I climbed the porch steps like I was sinking into them. My hand hovered over the doorknob as I rethought barging in and knocked. I heard her shuffling around on the other side, muttering.

“Selene, why in heavens did you knock and not just come in, child? Have you lost your senses?” She ushered Cheney and me through the door, locking it securely behind us. She’d installed four new locks on the front door. “This isn’t the only change either,” she announced, catching my surprise. “I’ve cast some rather effective protection charms around the house as well. I’ve already caught myself two lurkers.”

Gram talking about charms made my head spin. “How have you been, Gram?” I asked, hugging her thin, bony frame. I didn’t know a lot about medicine, but it seemed like she’d healed too fast for her age. Her stark white hair was carefully coiffed just the way she liked it, and she wore linen pants with a long, flowing black top. She looked put-together and distinguished, nothing like when I saw her in the hospital.

“The doctors were amazed by my recovery.” She winked and patted Cheney on the arm. “Let’s have a seat.” She took us to the kitchen table where she had cookies and lemonade waiting.

“How did you get well so quickly?” I asked, helping myself to a chewy looking oatmeal treat.

“She still doesn’t…” Gram darted a questioning look at Cheney.

Cheney shook his head. I gave an annoyed sigh. “Cheney?”

“Remember when we went to see Edith in the hospital and she was unconscious?” I nodded. “Well, to wake her up I had to transfer energy from me into her. Healing is a side effect.”

“You can heal people?”

“I can transfer some of my life force into another, but it weakens me. It isn’t something that can be done often.”

“Can I do it?”

“It would be one of your elf abilities if you ever regain them. But it isn’t something to do lightly, especially by a half-elf. It would shorten your life span significantly.”

“Selene hasn’t regained any of her elf abilities?” Gram asked, looking at me carefully.

I shook my head. “I don’t remember much of anything, only a few sparse memories.” Her eyes lingered on the lack of a ring on my finger.

Cheney took my hand and Grandma studied us. “You’ve grown into yourself, child.” There was something in her tone that suggested it wasn’t a compliment. I ignored the feeling, thinking I must just be overanalyzing. Of course she was happy for me. She gave me an awkward hug, her arms barely touching me.

Cheney smiled and made no move toward her. I had the impression from the few elves I’d met that they really weren’t touchy-feely. I couldn’t tell if Cheney made the exception for me or if he was the exception.

When we settled back down in our seats, Grandma said, “I thought this visit was going to be about important matters, not trivial wedding tidings.” She gave me a hard look. “I was worried Selene was going to tell me she was going back with you.”

Oh dear…

Cheney gave me a look like I should say something, but I stubbornly ignored him.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, Edith…” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re right. We are going back, but there’s no reason, once things are safe, that Selene can’t return to visit—or you could visit us.”

Grandma nodded, still waiting. I couldn’t guess anything that she was thinking. Was she mad? Sad? She was just frustratingly silent.

“And there’s something else.” Cheney said, nudging me.

I ran through the problem and the plan with Cheney’s assistance. Grandma questioned us like an attorney until she was completely satisfied. Then she leaned back in her chair. “Well, obviously you need me there.”

“Gram, you don’t have to come. You’ve been unwell—”

“Don’t tell me what I’m capable of, child. You will need me. Do you still have my book?”

Cheney nodded.

“Then I can help, especially with protection. You could cast the same spells, but it sounds like you’ll have your hands full. Also you have a coven of witches who are wet behind the ears. Someone needs to whip those girls into shape. I’ll get my bag.”

Cheney started to say something, but Grandma cut him off. “This isn’t open for discussion. Selene may be your wife, but she’s my blood. I’m coming along.” Then she marched out of the room.

Cheney arched an eyebrow. “What is it about you that inspires so much loyalty?” he asked.

“You tell me.” I shook my head. “Perhaps I give the impression that I can’t take care of myself. Why have you been so loyal?”

“Because I love you.”

“Well, there you have it. Obviously I’m easy to love.” I smiled and winked.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Cheney said. I punched him lightly, knowing he meant it as a joke, but part of me reminded myself it was probably true.

“Do you think I should help Edith?” he asked.

“No, she’ll accuse you of rushing her and making her forget everything. It’s best to let her be.” Worry nagged at me though. “Promise me nothing will happen to Grandma.”

“I can’t. I think she’ll be fine, but the only person I’m going to swear to protect is you.”

“But—”

“Not open for discussion. Just you.”

“I’m not at eighty-year-old woman who just got out of the hospital.”

“No.”

“You’re impossible. You can’t just hover around me the whole time.”

“And what am I supposed to do if you die? I just got you back. I’m not losing you again.”

“So what’s your plan? Are you going to lock me in a padded room for safe keeping?” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you love me, prove it. Trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then let me worry about me and you help me take care of my family, and I’ll help you take care of yours.”

His brows pulled together. “It’s not really the same thing. We aren’t exactly going to be on friendly terms with my family.”

“We’ll see,” I said, and he raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to talk your father out of fighting with you.”

Cheney sat in stunned silence for a moment. “You honestly believe you can talk him into handing over the crown?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to try. Family is important. Ours and yours. If there’s anything I can do to prevent this, I will.”

He took my hand. “I’ll protect your grandmother, though I have the sneaking suspicion she can take care of herself.”

“Damn right I can,” Gram said, walking back into the kitchen with a carpetbag in one hand and her purse in the other. “Don’t fret over me, child. You worry about you. You’ve never been a fighter, always too gentle.”

“Actually my fighting skills are pretty good these days, Gram,” I said dryly.

She gave me a quelling look, like I was a child speaking out of turn. Energy shifted in my skin and irritation vibrated to top.

“How much older am I than you, and yet you still call me ‘child’?” My voiced sounded hard to my ears—so I winked at her.

Her face fell in surprise, and I fought the urge to clap my hand over my mouth. What had gotten into me? That was as close to back talking her as I had ever come. Cheney seemed oblivious to the exchange. Gram stared at me like I’d grown three heads and peed on the floor.

“May I speak with you?” she said sharply to Cheney.

Cheney looked up from his phone. “Of course, Edith.”

“Alone,” Gram said, looking back at me.

Christ, one little slip. It wasn’t like I was that rude. I stayed in my chair. “Whatever you have to say to Cheney, you can say to me. If you’re going to help, you can’t keep treating me like a kid.”

Cheney nodded. “Selene’s right. You treat her as if she’s inferior. It’s inappropriate.”

“Don’t tell me how to treat my granddaughter.”

“But I’m not your granddaughter, am I?” I fired back. All the years of biting my tongue flooded over me.

Grandma’s face went as white as a sheet. Cheney shrugged. “She’s not wrong, Edith. I like you, and you’ve done an outstanding job under the circumstances, but it’s time you see Selene for who she is.”

My grandmother ruled the house and my life like the hand of God when I was with her. Asking her to give up control was like asking her to pull out her own teeth—not something she’d ever do willingly. It was why I moved away at eighteen and why to this day I was still scared of her. That sort of conditioning didn’t go away over night. I loved Grandma, but she also drove me crazy. And if she was moving back in with me, we needed to get this sorted out. I wasn’t going to walk on eggshells.

“Oh, I see her for exactly who she is. You’re the one missing it. Can’t you see the elf poking around back there? My granddaughter would never talk back to me, would never wink at me. That elf is in there. Mark my words. She’ll ruin everything again. You haven’t dealt with her.”

Cheney’s eyes narrowed. “First, let’s get one thing straight. You are talking about my wife. I love both her human and her elf side. Neither of them will be dealt with in any manner other than that which I see fit. Second, she didn’t ruin anything before. There will be none of that talk, Edith, or you will stay here.”

“The elf half is dangerous. You cannot trust her,” Grandma insisted.

“She is all Selene and I do trust her.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

The air around Cheney began to charge. “You will show us respect, human.” Cheney’s glamour melted away and he looked beautiful, wild, and frightening. “We have lived longer, seen more, and lost more than you could ever fathom. Do not offer advice on that which you do not understand. And don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I have lost patience with you, Edith. You will regret it if that happens a second time.”

Cheney stood and pulled me up by the elbow, then we were back home in our bedroom.

“Insufferable woman. How did you stand her for so long? She makes my father look relaxed.”

“It wasn’t so bad if I just didn’t say anything. I internalized a lot.”

“You must have been miserable. I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job making sure you were happy.”

“I was happy. I love Gram. She’s hard to take sometimes, but she means well. Her heart is in the right place. She’s trying to keep me safe.”

“Don’t let her make you think your elf half is evil. No part of you is evil. Your elf half was a free spirit, one who probably felt choked and smothered under her roof. I’m not saying the old you was perfect by any means, but you were never evil.”

“I don’t think she was evil, but—” I didn’t know how to articulate this. “In my memories of her, I don’t like her very much—yet I’m pretty happy with myself as I am now. I know that’s conceited, but it’s true.”

“Selene, she is always there.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “You can control her.”

“I think if I gave her an inch she would over take me. She’s stronger than I am.”

“You’d be surprised. She had weaknesses. Your conviction and self-control are strong traits. I don’t know that she could push you to the rear anymore.”

“We’ll worry about this when the ordeal with your father is over. I don’t want to think about it now.”

“That is your choice.”

“Thank you,” I said, wrapping my arms around him. “Oh, I meant to ask you, do elves hug?”

“What?” Cheney asked, looking perplexed.

“Do elves hug one another? Are they touchy-feely?”

He played with a strand of my hair. “Not too much, no. Why?”

“Just curious.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to work out where I was going with this.

“Does it bother you when I hug you?”

“Your touch will never bother me.”

“I just want to know your boundaries.”

“I have no boundaries with you.”

“What about your life span?”

“What about it?”

“Did you shorten it healing Grandma?”

“Maybe slightly, but nothing of any significance.”

I leaned into him, resting my head over his steady heartbeat, not liking that he would do anything that would make himself die younger.

“Have I answered all of your questions?” His lips brushed against my hair.

“I suppose. Are you going to go back to get Grandma?”

A low rumble vibrated in his chest as he lifted me off the ground. “She can wait a little while longer,” he said, laying me on the bed. “All this talk of ‘boundaries’ makes me wonder where exactly yours are. Care to test them?” he asked with a wicked grin.

“I don’t know. We might need to test them over and over and over again. It could take hours.” I ran my hand over his warm chest and stomach, feeling the ripples beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. My fingers lingered at the waist of his jeans. He sat back on his haunches, his eyes gleaming.

“Well, if we must, we must,” he said, tugging my pants off.

“Yes, far be it from me to stand in the way of—”Cheney’s tongue trailed down my thigh, making my breath catch in my throat, “research.”

Ah, science.

Chapter 32

By the time Cheney got around to going back for Grandma, the others were headed inside after casting some sort of spell on the house. The girls collapsed on the couch around me—tired, sweaty, and filled with delirious laughter.

“Oh my gosh, Selene, you missed it. Jess hit herself with the Wiccan wand Sebastian got us. It was priceless. She was looking all important and badass, then boom!” Leslie said, gasping for breath as Devin and Katrina dissolved into laughter. Jessica flipped them off and leaned back against the couch, covering her eyes with a manicured hand.

“It hurt, you assholes,” she grumbled, only making them laugh harder.

I glanced back at Sebastian, who lingered awkwardly in the room. “Well, have a seat, stay a while.” I motioned to a chair.

“Where’s Cheney?”

“He went to see if my grandmother still wanted to help us.”

“Still?”

“We had a little argument,” I said. Sebastian immediately gave me a ’what did you do?’ look. Defensiveness flooded me. “You don’t understand. It was necessary.”

Sebastian looked unconvinced.

“And besides, Cheney fought with her more.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Honestly, the two of you couldn’t hold your tongues long enough to get one old lady to join the cause?”

I narrowed my eyes. All four girls stared at me. “You finally stood up to your grandmother?” Devin asked, amazed. “Good for you!”

“I never thought I’d live to see the day,” Kat added. “You should’ve stood up to that crazy woman years ago.”

“You obviously don’t keep up on current events, Sebastian,” Jessica told him. “She’s needed to do this for years. It’s seriously a good thing.”

Their defense drained me of any irritation I felt toward Sebastian. “I understand that we need her and what’s at stake, but it wouldn’t have done us any good if she got here and was herself. I needed to get something straight with her and set ground rules. Then she offended Cheney, and well…” I shrugged helplessly. “We’ll see if she comes back with him.”

“Holy crap, your grandma is moving in with us?” Katrina said wide-eyed.

“She’s going to teach us stronger magic if she comes.”

“I haven’t met her, but from what I hear there’s no way that’ll go well,” Leslie said.

“For real, dude,” Jessica agreed.

“And you guys will have her by yourself tonight, too. Cheney and I are going to meet some vampires.”

“Bullshit,” Katrina said, looking very interested. “That’s code for like, getting a hotel room and some alone time, right? Vampires aren’t real.”

“Oh, they’re real all right,” Sebastian said.

“Seriously, I’m totally coming with you.” She looked like she was just given a recipe for calorie-free chocolate.

“I don’t think Cheney will let you,” I said but was drowned out by the succession of agreement from the other three.

“I want to see vampires,” Devin said.

“You aren’t leaving us with her while you go out!” Jessica said from beneath her hand.

“Are they like they are in movies?” Leslie asked.

I looked at Sebastian for help, but he just smiled. “They’ve been teaming up on me all day.”

“Most guys would want us to team up on them,” Katrina said under her breath, and Sebastian let out a bark of laughter. It wasn’t as musical as Cheney’s, but it was fluid and rushed as if it poured from him. His face brightened and became more alive when he laughed.

When he cleared his throat and looked away, I realized we were all staring at him. The awkward seconds passed like hours and finally I managed to speak. “You don’t laugh nearly enough, Sebastian.” Then I spoke to the girls so they’d stop looking at him like they just discovered he was male. “I understand you want to come tonight, but first, there’s no way we can show up for a meeting with six people. It will seem hostile. Second, Cheney will never agree to take us all there. I barely talked him into letting me go along.”

“Cheney might not be as reluctant to include them as he is you,” Sebastian said.

“That’s so not helping.”

“He won’t let them in the meeting, but if they want to go they could stay upstairs while you guys talked,” he added.

Was he trying to make this harder?

“Gee, that sounds safe.”

“You can’t expect us to stay behind,” Devin said.

“Sure I can. Have you noticed any cars, helicopters, lawnmowers, or bicycles?” They all looked at me blankly. “I thought not. If one of the elves doesn’t take you, you have no way out.” Their faces went through a plethora of emotions that obviously touched Sebastian deeper than it did me.

“If Selene can talk Cheney into letting you go to the club, I’ll come along and make sure you’re safe.”

“Selene can talk anyone into anything,” Leslie said, hopping up.

“I’m getting ready!” Kat said with undisguised enthusiasm.

“I’m right behind you. It just feels like a hot roller kind of night!” Devin exclaimed.

Jessica walked stiffly behind them “Oh my God, you guys are so third floor.”

“You know he won’t like this, right?”

“I’m positive you can talk him into it. They worked hard today. They deserve a reward.”

“Who deserves a reward?” Cheney appeared behind us, carrying my grandmother under his arm. “Your room, Edith, is down that hallway.” He set her down and pointed to a wing of the house we hadn’t used yet. “Third door on the left.”

She took her bag from him and marched down the hallway, not saying a single word to me. I sighed. “You do, for getting her here.”

“She had no intention of backing out. Things might be icy for a while though.” He squeezed my shoulder reassuringly, then tugged a strand of my wet hair. “You should be getting ready to go.”

“About that.” I cleared my throat. “The girls want to come tonight.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I told them you would say that.” I looked pointedly at Sebastian. “But they’ve been working really hard, and they want to see this world they’re a part of. I think if they want to go and if Sebastian agrees to hang out with them upstairs, it shouldn’t be a huge deal. Right?”

“Four overly excitable human witches in that bar? There’s nothing but trouble for them to get into.”

“Sebastian has already agreed to go with them.”

Cheney shot Sebastian an impatient look, then he glanced back at me. I gave my best expectant smile, and he sighed. “I guess if you’ve already arranged it, but I don’t like it.”

“Thank goodness you agreed. Devin’s already hot rolling her hair. She would’ve been crushed.”

***

We walked into the club, the girls doing their best not to look like the wide-eyed, big-haired tourists they were. The strange atmosphere and even stranger looking people didn’t ease their mission. Devin was the first one to break free from the pack, walking right up to an extremely pale, blue haired woman.

“I love your hair. It’s so beautiful,” she said brightly. The woman smiled slightly but seemed a bit taken aback by Devin’s forwardness.

Katrina grabbed my arm. “Um, are those children smoking and drinking in here?”

“They’re not kids,” I whispered. “They’re some sort of faery, I think. Don’t stare.” Cheney cleared his throat impatiently. “I have to go. Good luck, girlies.”

The bar downstairs looked just as it had the night we met Holden and Olivia—right down to Holden sitting by himself in a back booth. His eyes flicked toward us briefly, then away. He wasn’t the friendliest person I’d ever met.

“So who are we meeting?” I asked Cheney as he handed me a drink.

“He isn’t here yet.”

“What time is he supposed to meet us?”

“We don’t have a meeting per se.”

“Why not?”

“Vampires would be reluctant to meet with me, but Paolo sometimes comes here.”

“Why don’t you ask those vampires over there if he’s coming?”

Cheney shook his head. “We’ll wait.”

He saw some elves he knew and went over to say hello while I sat at the bar, looking around the room for any new interesting people. Holden caught my eye and gave me the slightest of nods. I glanced over at Cheney. He was still talking with his elf friends, so I headed over toward Holden, feeling a little like a dead girl walking.

Holden had the smallest of smiles on his face when I got to his table. “Do I scare you…” his voice faded as if he couldn’t quite remember my name.

“Selene,” I supplied. “Yes, you do a little.”

He shook his head. “You have nothing to fear.” Holden’s eyes darted to Cheney. “You’re here to meet with the vampires, yes?”

I didn’t know how much he knew, but Cheney hadn’t said it was a secret. “Yes.”

“Getting them on your side is a good plan, but I’m not sure how feasible it is. Paolo hasn’t been in yet tonight. The vampire at that table over there,” he nodded toward a table with two girls and a guy, “is Corbin. He’s Paolo’s second in command. He’d know whether Paolo is coming in tonight, and he’d be good to get on your side as well.” Holden studied me for a moment. “Or you can ask your cousin to call in a favor.”

“Sy? He knows these people?”

Holden gave me an appraising look. “You really don’t remember anything, do you? You should talk to Sy.” Holden leaned back in his booth. “My associate Baker will be here soon. He can introduce you to Corbin if you want.”

“Sure. I’ll tell Cheney.”

“No. I told you for a reason. Corbin responds best to women and Cheney won’t like that plan.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I wouldn’t like that plan if you were Olivia.”

I nodded. He was probably right. No way would Cheney approve of me talking to vampires alone, but—

“A pretty girl alone can get a lot further and get a man to listen to her a lot easier than if she’s attached at the hip to another guy.”

“As soon as I walk over there, it will draw Cheney’s attention. I’m surprised talking to you hasn’t.”

“He knows you’re here.”

“How can you tell? He hasn’t looked over even once.”

“I can feel it in the air, just like your fear. He’s been on edge since you sat down with me.”

I studied this strange, handsome man. “Huh. Nifty trick.”

He shrugged as if unimpressed. “Perks of being a jinni.”

“Someday I want to hear how you ended up with Olivia.”

Holden’s face softened. “That’s her department, not mine.” He glanced at the door, as a short, heavily muscled man who resembled a boxer entered and headed straight to us.

“Who’s the fox?” he asked, hitching a thumb in my direction.

Holden rolled his eyes. “This is Sy’s cousin—Selene—the half-elf we’re helping.”

Baker shoved his hand toward me, a goofy smile on his face that made him seem a hundred times less threatening. “Hey, baby, so the boss tells me you need to meet a vampire. Let’s get a wiggle on. Holden will take care of your old man.”

I stared at him, open-mouthed. I thought I understood everything he said, but I wasn’t sure. “How did you know?”

Baker smiled. “I know people, doll, and word gets around.”

Holden stood up impatiently. “Enough talking, Baker. Here’s your chance. The Doublemint twins are going to the bathroom. It’s best if Selene goes to him alone.”

“Why are you helping us?” I asked, still feeling lost.

“Because Olivia wants me to.” His eyes were honest and clear enough that I believed him. I nodded to him, and Baker went toward the vampire.

I nervously smoothed my light pink and silver slinky dress that fell softly around me, clinging in just the right spots. “May I have a seat?” I asked, but I didn’t wait for an answer. I sat down, crossing my legs so he’d have a good view of my tanned flesh.

“Mmm, a half-elf. Exotic,” he said, his voice low with a faint British accent. “My name’s Corbin, and who might you be?”

“Selene,” I said, offering my hand. He kissed it, his lips lingering, and I felt a pull against me that made my breath catch. It was everything I could do to not run from the table.

He looked at me with a creepy smile. “Delicious,” he said.

I smiled back, praying it seemed sincere, and tried not to yank my hand back.

“So what can I do for you, loveliest Selene?” His black eyes were dazzling. “Quick, pet, before your boyfriend gets past the jinni.” A slight smile curved his sensual mouth, and I couldn’t keep from staring. With his white blond hair falling casually on his forehead and his sharp, angular cheekbones, he was quite handsome.

“I could use your help.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, I really should be speaking with Paolo, but then I saw you…” I let my voice trail off, licking my lips slowly and twirling a strand of hair.

“Yes, we could come to an arrangement if I knew what you needed.” He leaned toward me.

“Well, you see, there are these people who are trying to kill me, and I could use some strong allies. And who’s stronger or more fear-inspiring than vampires?”

He leaned back in his chair, his black eyes studying me. “Your elf can’t manage?” His gaze flicked to Cheney, who I still hadn’t looked at, afraid my mask of flirtation would falter.

“There are too many of them.”

“And just who did you manage to vex, love?”

“Oh, you know, the rebels, the Erlking, people like that.”

His laughter was a sly, suggestive thing. “Oh, is that all?”

“If it were less, would I be seeking outside help?”

“Is the jinni helping you?”

“Sort of.”

He sat inhumanly still for a minute. “Paolo won’t be easy to convince. Your people have already tried.”

“My people?”

“Yes, the half-elves. The rebels. How do you think you’ll manage to convince him?”

“I can be very persuasive.” A slow, lazy smile spread over my face.

Again he laughed. “I think your boyfriend would have an easier time of it than you, love.”

I winked. “He is tempting, isn’t he?”

Corbin shrugged dismissively. “Too straight-laced for you. I tasted what’s inside.”

“And what’s that?”

“Freedom,” he said, leaning in again. “Would you like for me to help you set it free?” He reached toward my face. Something in me screamed yes, I did want that—but the stronger part of me said nothing. Before a finger could touch my skin, Cheney was there, slamming Corbin’s hand to the table.

Chapter 33

“You will not touch her again,” he growled.

Corbin turned his hand and gripped Cheney’s arm. They stared each other down, malice in their eyes. This was going downhill quickly. Holden took a seat next to Corbin and stretched out his legs. Baker plunked down in a chair near me.

Corbin eyes darted in Holden’s direction. Holden’s smirk practically begged for Corbin to keep going and suffer the consequences. His entire being gave off the confidence that he could kill anyone in the bar before they could blink—and his eyes danced with the anticipation of violence. The air grew thin around us. This was definitely bad.

Corbin released Cheney’s arm, looking slightly paler than before—maybe having Holden on our side was a really good thing. Corbin sat back, holding his hands in the air. “I won’t touch her unless she wants me to,” he said and winked—but I noticed he still shot cautious glances at Holden.

Cheney stood behind me and I smiled at him reassuringly. He didn’t return it. “Corbin, this is my husband, Prince Cheney.”

“You sneaky wench,” he said with a smile. “So you’re the future king of the fae? Selene certainly didn’t tell me that when she said you couldn’t keep her safe.”

Cheney’s entire body stiffened, but he kept his voice calm. “I am—and you were misinformed. I do not need help protecting my wife. We need help to overthrow the king and defeat the rebels, nothing more.”

“That’s plenty, mate.”

“Stop whining, Corbin. In or out?” Baker said in an impatient tone that made the tension drain from the air. Holden did not even bother looking at Corbin. He seemed focused on the door.

Corbin looked me up and down with undisguised interest. “Sending her over was smart. Your idea?” he asked Baker.

“Holden’s,” Baker said.

Corbin sighed. “Yeah, I’m in, but I’m not the one you need to convince. Paolo will take a lot more than a pretty face. And certainly not her face.”

“Is Paolo coming in tonight?” Cheney asked.

“No,” Corbin said. “But I’ll arrange a meeting.”

Cheney nodded, holding out his hand. Corbin plopped a cell phone into his palm. “How about you, love? Do I get your number?”

I smiled. “Not a chance.”

“That’s a shame. Here I thought we had something—”

“You thought wrong,” Cheney snarled, shoving the phone back at him and standing up.

Corbin shrugged. “What? Was it something I said?”

Cheney took a couple of long steps, then turned and looked back at me with no expression on his face, anger still radiating from him.

“I could see you home, love,” Corbin said seeming to forget Holden, enjoying Cheney’s torment.

“Not on your life,” I said before I realized that might be in bad taste as he’d probably been dead for ages. I stood up. “I would shake your hand, but…”

“I understand.”

“It was nice meeting you, Corbin.”

“Until next time, Selene.”

Holden and Baker stood up, too, heading back for Holden’s usual table. I stuck out my hand to Holden. “Thank you for your help, Holden. Tell Olivia hi for me. I’m sorry I missed her.”

He shook my hand in a crushing, cool grip. “She’ll be sorry to have missed you, too. Olivia likes you, and that’s a compliment.”

“I like her, too. We’ll have to get together sometime after all of this craziness.”

Holden released my hand. “I’m not getting involved, but talk to Sy about Paolo.”

Cheney waited, his face still giving nothing away. He held the door open for me, and we made it half up the stairs when he grabbed my arm and pinned me between the wall and his body. I could see him struggling with wanting to touch me and wanting to stay angry. I had no fear. Cheney would never hurt me. Though he held my arm firmly, there was no pain. He was always careful with me.

“You said we needed their help,” I told him, knowing exactly what he was upset about.

“So you told him I couldn’t protect you?” he growled into my ear, his eyes wild and breath hot.

“No. I said we needed a strong ally like them and that there were too many for us to handle alone. All true.” I ran my fingers softly down his cheek in direct counter to his firm grasp on my other arm. “He was trying to upset you.”

“It worked.” His grip finally loosened, and I wrapped my arm around his waist, pressing myself against him.

“You have nothing to worry about.” I kissed his neck. His mouth found mine, possessing it fully.

“Never let a vampire touch you,” he muttered a few minutes later. “Not even a hand shake.”

“Why?”

“It’s how they feed, by touch.”

“So they can’t touch anyone without feeding?”

“Not necessarily. They feed by choice, but all they need is skin-to-skin contact.”

“What do they take?”

“Life force.” I wondered if that was the strange feeling when Corbin shook my hand. He had said “delicious.” I suddenly felt violated. I wanted to go back and slap him. The nerve.

“That asshole.”

Cheney laughed, kissing me again. “Let’s check on your friends.”

I expected to find the girls huddled into a booth, staring at the creatures around them. What we actually found could only be described as an interspecies dance off. The once segregated room was now a melting pot of roaring laughter and crazy dance moves.

“Are they playing Baby Got Back?” I asked, watching Devin shake her ass on the floor surrounded by a circle of various Abyss creatures.

“You friends are…popular.” A smirk ticked on Cheney’s face.

“Where the hell is Sebastian?” I scanned the audience but couldn’t find him anywhere.

“Probably hiding.” Cheney laughed. “I guarantee you he didn’t expect this when he said he would come with them.”

“Serves him right for siding against me.”

“Should we try to get them to leave?”

“No, let them have fun. If they play Sweet Transvestite, we’ll know Devin has somehow hijacked the sound booth.”

“Do you want to join them?” he asked, tilting his head in their direction.

“Not really, do you?”

Cheney took my hand. “Let’s find Sebastian.”

We wove our way through the hordes of people. Cheney spotted Sebastian sitting at a booth alone, surrounded by purses and half empty drinks, looking bored.

He visibly lifted when he saw us approaching. “They took over,” he said with a sheepish expression. “I couldn’t stop them.”

I laughed. Sebastian was so out of his depth. “They aren’t soldiers. They’re grown women who are used to doing whatever they want. I’d say you’ve done a wonderful job babysitting them.”

“Selene!” Devin was suddenly at my side, pulling my arm. “You’re back just in time. Carl is going to let us do karaoke. Come on…Shoop.”

“Oh…I don’t…No, no, not a good idea.” I was not about to rap in front of Cheney, not for anything. “Who is Carl?”

“The DJ!” Of course. Why didn’t I know that? Silly me. “You have to. Don’t be lame.”

Cheney grinned. “Don’t look at me. It’s completely up to you.”

“Fine, let’s do this.”

I followed her into the crowd. It didn’t take long to get used to all the different types of people once I was among them and not just looking in from the outside. Moments later a microphone was shoved into my hand, and Devin and I did our best Salt-N-Pepa impersonation.

I wasn’t sure if the Abyss listened to much human music, but tonight they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

***

The next morning was a lot less happy. Everyone who wasn’t an elf had a hangover and the lazy attitude that came with it. I felt considerably better than the others.

“You don’t handle alcohol as well as we always thought,” Jessica accused me. “It’s the elf in you. That’s so not fair.”

I laughed. “Maybe—now I’m going for a run. Who’s with me?” I heard groans and mumbles in return. “If Cheney asks, that’s where I am,” I said, closing the door behind me.

I walked for a couple minutes, letting my body warm up, then took off at a slow pace. Soon though, I was enjoying the wind in my hair and the emotional release. Something stirred inside me, that feeling that I wanted to run as fast as I could with my arms spread wide, yelling as loud as I could—the feeling that I wanted to escape. It was the same part of me that wanted the vampire to touch me, to free me from the cage.

“You really shouldn’t be out here alone.”

I shrugged, warming at the timbre of Cheney’s voice. No one had ever affected me the way he did. This man had some sort of hold over both sides of me. “No one else wanted to come.”

He kissed my cheek. “You were thinking something.”

“Who, me? What could I possibly have to think about?”

“You’re not having second thoughts about our plan, are you?” His voice was light, but there was a trace of something heavier beneath it.

“No.” He didn’t really need to know about the strange urges to run away. Some things were better kept to myself. I wrapped my arm around his waist. “Has Gram come out of her room yet?”

“Briefly, but it didn’t last long.”

Gram and I had never really fought. I always did what she told me to do. I had a feeling the power struggle had just begun. “I don’t know if this is going to work.”

”She loves you. I know Edith didn’t make your life easy, but she’ll come around.” He tightened his arms around me.

“But do we have time to deal with her right now? Maybe you should just take her home.”

“Talk to her again. Calmly.”

“Right, because you did so well with that.”

Cheney’s phone rang, interrupting his excuse. “It’s Corbin, I should take this.”

I shrugged.

“Yeah,” Cheney answered. “That will work, where?—Yeah, I’ll be there.” He listened for a moment longer before hanging up with an irritated look on his face.

“Paolo agreed to meet with me, but Corbin requested you,” Cheney said, watching my reaction.

“When?”

“In a week. I want to settle things with my father before we meet with him. We don’t need them for that, and if I fail the meeting will be pointless.” He frowned. “I don’t like that they want you there. You’re not part of this bargain.”

The thought of Corbin requesting that I was included gave me chills. Never in my life had I felt like so many people other than myself had control over my existence. “Obviously, but we’re a pair. If you want them to help us, you can’t hide me from them. Especially when they already know I exist. You have to trust them.”

“That’s the problem,” he griped. “You had to flirt with the vampire?”

“I got him to help us, didn’t I?”

“Did you even consider the cost?”

I shrugged. “So what if the vampire likes me? I don’t see the big deal.”

“You don’t have enough people after you? You just had to add one more?” Cheney took a deep breath. “I just want to be a step in your decision making.”

I wanted to argue, but he had a point. I didn’t believe the flirting bothered him as much as it reminded him of my former self. “You will be…You are. But I’m coming with you.”

“You can come, but you have to stay with me the entire time and try not to draw attention to yourself.”

“I want to see Sy tonight.”

“And I take it you want to go alone?”

I shrugged. I didn’t really care. Cheney looked thoughtful. “He’ll be more likely to help if I’m not there.”

We strolled back to the house. It was hard not to bring up the subjects that weighed most heavily on my mind, but I felt for both of our sakes we needed a calm before the storm. The girls were still lounging around the house and Grandma was milling about the kitchen when we came back. I made a beeline for the living room, but Cheney caught my arm and gave a meaningful nod towards Gram. I went into the kitchen with a long-suffering look, and he went to the living room. Traitor.

“Good morning,” I said as I walked to the refrigerator.

“Selene.” Icicles were warmer than my grandmother.

I opened a bottle of water and leaned against the counter. “Did you sleep well?”

“Fair.” The air was heavy in the room. It felt like she was waiting for an apology, but I stayed silent. I was right, damn it.

When I couldn’t take the silence anymore I said, “I’m going out this evening. If you need anything, Sebastian or one of the girls can help you.” I began to walk out of the room.

“Selene,” Grandma said, stopping me. I kept my back to her. She sighed. “I need to work with your coven as soon as possible.”

“I’ll make sure they’re ready. We can meet in the living room in an hour.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” I went into the living room annoyed that some things never change—my grandmother being a prime example. She could not admit she was wrong or, at the very least, hurtful to me. If she would just acknowledge it or admit I was not the evil monster she always made me feel like I was, we’d have a much different relationship. I couldn’t understand what she found so offensive about me. It wasn’t the elf part—she liked Cheney. It wasn’t the witch part—she was one. Maybe it was the combination or maybe she resented raising me. Whatever it was, we’d have to hash it out someday, but that day wasn’t going to be today.

Chapter 34

Cheney looked up from his phone as I came into the room. I shook my head and he frowned. The girls were talking about the night before and starting to show signs of life.

“Edith wants to meet with us in an hour,” I told them, sitting down on the floor with my back against Cheney’s legs, needing the sense of relief I felt whenever we touched.

“Would you like the chair?” he asked, stroking my hair.

“No, I like the floor.”

“Selene can’t sit still. She likes to stretch,” Devin told him with a smile.

“What does she want to meet with us about?” Jessica asked.

I shrugged. It was probably to tell all of my friends that I was evil and they should avoid me. If she’d say that to my husband, she couldn’t possibly have any qualms about trying to drive everyone out of my life.

“Hopefully it doesn’t involve movement,” Katrina groaned, her face smashed against the throw pillow. “I think I left my liver in the club last night.”

“There should be a spell to get rid of a hangover,” Jessica said miserably. “We could make a fortune.”

“I bet we could write one,” Devin said thoughtfully. “Do you think your grandma would help us with that?”

“I doubt it.” I leaned my head back so I could see Cheney, albeit upside down. “Would that tea work on them?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Elves and humans react differently. It might work, but it will make them fall asleep. They won’t be able to do anything today.”

“That won’t work.” I gave them an evil smile. “You’ll just have to suffer.”

“It would be best if you left,” Grandma said from across the room, her eyes on Cheney and me.

I bristled. She wasn’t going to kick me out of the house or my coven. I was about to say as much when Cheney spoke.

“Are you giving me orders, Edith?” he asked coolly.

“Selene needs to concentrate and connect with the elements. She’ll never do so with you here. You’re as much of a distraction for her as she is for you. There’s a reason why people don’t date within their coven.”

“Yeah, we’re all girls,” Katrina said under her breath and Leslie giggled, earning them a disapproving look from Gram.

“I’m not in the coven,” Cheney countered.

“Exactly, and this is coven business—but of course, it’s your choice about how prepared you would like them to be.”

Cheney looked back down at me. “I’ll be fine,” I whispered. He kissed my forehead then stood up.

“If you upset her, we’ll do without you.” Grandma blanched slightly but made no comment—only nodded. Cheney walked out of the room.

I cleared my throat. “I should introduce you to everyone. Grandma this is Devin, Jessica, Leslie, and Katrina.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Meriweather,” Devin said, standing to shake her hand.

Grandma stiffly greeted everyone with a tight smile.

“What did you want to meet with us about?” I asked, trying to keep a business-like tone.

“I need to assess your power levels so I know what I’m working with.”

“Our power levels?” Jessica asked.

“I need to make sure my granddaughter hasn’t placed her trust and future into the hands of some well-meaning Wiccans with no discernible talent for the craft. You actually have to have some proclivity towards magic.”

“What are you planning on doing to us?” Leslie asked, looking worried.

“Test you.”

“I don’t really like tests,” Katrina grumbled.

“We’ll start with Selene,” she said, and the girls immediately perked up. I rarely displayed or spoke of my abilities with them.

“What would you like me to do?”

She ripped a sheet of paper off a notebook that was sitting on a table. “Make this disappear.”

I frowned as I looked at her and the paper. “How?”

“That’s the test.”

I looked around the room for inspiration until something caught my eye. My mind lifted the paper from her bony fingers and placed it over the candle flame. Fire licked the edges and ash rained down on the table, as grey smoke filled the air. The paper was destroyed.

Grandma nodded, not at all surprised. She looked to Devin next, holding up another sheet of paper.

“I can’t do what she did,” Devin said, glancing at me with something like awe.

“I don’t expect you to. Find your own way.”

Devin snatched the paper out of Grandma’s hand and walked outside with it. She placed it on the ground, drawing a circle around herself. “Mother earth, giver of life, this paper you did birth, take it now from human strife.” As she repeated her spell, the ground absorbed the paper until there wasn’t a sign of it left. Devin said a silent prayer then broke the circle with a shrug. “That’s the best I can do. I have dreams about the future, that’s all.”

Gram nodded and went back inside. She tore off another piece of paper, looking to Jessica. Jessica gave her a thoughtful look then took Gram’s hand that wasn’t holding the paper.

Gram’s face turned toward Jessica with an unnatural focus. Suddenly she crumpled the paper in her hand and, when she opened it, the paper was gone. Jessica smiled and went back to her chair. Gram’s eyes followed her all the way to her seat.

“Where did it go?” I asked.

“Away,” Gram said with an irritated edge. She ripped a new page out and looked to Katrina.

“But what did she do—”

Gram cut me off by holding her hand up and pointed to Katrina.

“I hate tests.” Katrina said again, looking around the room for anything that might help her in this task. “Just a second,” she said and she walked out the door. When she came back, a faint buzzing filled the room. At first I didn’t see them, but then I saw hundreds of tiny wood nymphs buzzing around the room. With a nod from Katrina, they descended on the piece of paper ripping miniscule pieces off until the entire sheet was gone.

“How’d you do that?” Devin asked.

“Didn’t you see them?” I asked.

“See what?” Grandma said.

“The wood nymphs.”

They all looked at me puzzled, and I looked at Kat. She smiled. “I didn’t know you could see them too. I’ve always been able to. I just don’t talk about it because when you tell people you can see faeries, they tend to go for the straitjacket, if you know what I mean.”

“Interesting,” Grandma said without any sarcasm. “And the last one.”

Leslie tapped her foot and stared at the sheet of paper in Grandma’s hand. Finally she stood up and gave us a helpless gesture as she wadded up the paper and threw it in the trash can. “I’m an empath.”

We laughed and Grandma surprisingly didn’t look annoyed. “How did you all meet?”

“In college,” Jessica said.

“It was like—” Devin continued.

“Fate,” I supplied.

“Did we pass?” Katrina asked.

“With flying colors. I should’ve known Selene would never align herself with weak witches.”

I had a feeling that wasn’t a compliment, but I couldn’t be certain. “I didn’t align myself with anyone. We’re friends. We all had a power that we hid. Something that made us feel different and unwanted,” I snapped at her.

Grandma smiled, but it wasn’t happy. I kept my face calm and my breath even. She wouldn’t make me lose my temper.

“Are we done here?” I asked.

“No, now you all need to invoke the spirit.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. We all are going to invoke the spirit? Isn’t it just the coven leader normally?” Devin asked.

“Not if you want the coven to be as strong as it can be. Invoking the spirit will increase all of your powers exponentially, and given what’s coming, you all need it. You have ability, you have powers, but you need to be better, clearer, and more focused. Either you can train for years and years, slowly increasing your power, or you can invoke. Didn’t Selene explain this to you?” She glared at me. “If you help her, you’re no longer just a Wiccan minding her own business. You’re declaring yourself to the world of the Abyss. Nothing will ever be the same for you. You must be able to protect yourself.”

“Yeah, she explained that to us and tried her best to talk us out of helping. We still want to help. Your granddaughter is an incredibly kind and caring person and one of my best friends. I would do anything for her,” Leslie said, picking up on the undercurrents. “I think Devin was confused about whether it was okay for all of us to do it. Just looking for clarification really, isn’t that right, Dev?”

“Yes, I was surprised. I didn’t realize we all could do it, but I guess it’s good since we don’t really have a leader.”

“What exactly will invoking the spirit do to us?” Jessica asked seriously.

“It could be different for each of you, so I can’t really say—but it will make you stronger, and that’s all that matters at the moment.”

***

My entire body tingled with energy and I felt as if I could float away. The air caressed my skin, leaves and mossy wetness from the dew hours earlier coated the inside of my nose, a kaleidoscope of colors swirled on the back of my eyelids, and everything about me seemed weightless. I was more connected to the natural elements of earth than I’d ever been. I could feel them and had the impression they could feel me too. I looked around at my friends and everyone had a similar dazed expression after the ceremony. One thing was certain: we weren’t an easy bake coven any longer.

Silent, and with wobbly legs, we marched single-file back into the house. There was too much to stimulate the senses outside. We returned to our original positions. I stretched out on the floor in relaxation pose and let myself grow accustomed to the hypersensitivity I was experiencing. The carpet at first felt rough and scratchy against my body, but after a few moments, I no longer noticed it touching me. I could smell remnants of Cheney on my skin, sandalwood and morning dew. I drew in a deep breath, holding on to the scent. The sound of everyone breathing and their heartbeats filled the room with a constant white noise. This was going to be distracting.

“Selene, you’re floating again,” Jessica said.

My eyes flew open and I hit the floor hard. “Shit, that hurt,” I said, rubbing the back of my head. “Am I going to have to spend the rest of my life consciously trying to keep my feet on the ground?”

“You’re going to be a queen, sweetie. I think, regardless of whether or not you’re physically floating, the answer to that is yes,” Devin said with a hand over her eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Your control will increase and the side effects will lessen. Give it a couple hours,” Grandma said. “What is everyone feeling?”

“Like my head is a piñata at a birthday party,” Leslie said miserably.

“Everything’s really bright right now and all of you are swimming in colors. I think I’m about to throw up,” Katrina said.

“Those are auras. They’ll help you recognize different creatures in the Abyss. It’s a very effective tool,” Grandma told Kat.

“My ears are ringing,” Jessica said, shaking her head like she was trying to get water out of them.

“Like I was hit by a bus then backed over,” Devin added.

None of them had anything I was experiencing. Yet all of their side effects went with their individuals gifts. Perhaps I’d gotten off lucky. None of my side effects were painful.

“What about you, Selene?” Grandma asked when I didn’t immediately volunteer the information.

“Well, you all can see the floating. On top of that I have heightened senses of smell, hearing, touch, and sight. I don’t know about taste, but I suspect it wasn’t left out.”

“How heightened?” Grandma asked.

“I can hear everyone’s hearts beating and every breath you take. I can smell each of you clearly and distinctly—as well as Cheney from when he was here. The carpet feels like sandpaper against my skin. Everything is sharper than before.”

“Those aren’t side effects,” Grandma said seriously, making me look at her.

“What are they?”

“Elven traits. I didn’t know what would happen when you invoked. Apparently it made those abilities keener than they had been. Who knows what you could do now?” She bit her lip. “Lord, have mercy on us all.”

“What does a red aura mean?” Katrina asked, but we all knew the answer. I was pissed. off.

“Gram, I love you, but if you keep this up, you’re going home. I’ve had enough. I’ve taken all I can and it’s about damn time you show me a little respect. I’m not evil, and if you don’t know that, you’re an idiot.” Angry energy built in me with each word that spilled from my mouth. “Please don’t make me cut you out of my life. Cheney and I have enough to deal with. We don’t need this from you. Try not to be a bitch.”

Gram lifted from the ground and floundered uselessly in the air. The thought that I could do anything I wanted tempted me and seduced my rage. I could throw her out of the house, throw her against the wall, or set her back down, and she could do nothing to stop me. Maybe I would leave her suspended.

Cheney walked into the room and assessed the situation calmly. The girls watched me with wide eyes, but none of them spoke, possibly out of fear I would do the same thing to them.

“Sit me down immediately,” Grandma demanded in her most authoritative voice.

“Make me.”

“I’m your elder—”

“Like hell you are.”

Cheney took a seat in the chair behind me without speaking, obviously content to let this little fight play out.

“Last chance, Edith. What’s it going to be? You can apologize, or Cheney will take you home, and I will remove you from my life.”

She stared at me, scouring me for any signs of guilt or wavering. Finally she sighed. “Fine. I apologize. You do not appear to be evil.”

I put her back on the floor even though it was a terrible apology. “For the record, if I was evil, I could’ve killed you any number of times just now.” I turned on my heel and strode out of the room. It had been way too much togetherness for one day. I needed space. I lay in the soft bed, relieved the sheets didn’t hurt my skin. The smell of Cheney and me permeated my senses. I felt cocooned and safe.

A few moments later Cheney came in. I could hear his soft breath and strong heart. “How are you doing?” The sound of his voice to my new hearing covered my body in goose bumps. God, I hope I don’t stay like this. How’s a girl supposed to function?

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” he asked, lying down with me. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who’s fine.”

“I lost my temper,” I whispered, feeling guilty despite my self-righteousness.

“Perhaps it needed to be done.”

“I threatened her life.” Burning hot tears filled my eyes, but I’d be damned if they were going to fall.

“She shouldn’t have pushed you that far.”

“And if I killed her, would you still defend me?”

“Yes.”

My sigh filled my ears. “You don’t mean that.”

“I know the person you are. I see it every single day. If you ever killed someone, it would be because you had no other choice. You wouldn’t have hurt her. You were pointing out that you could, and she would do well to remember it. Very elf-like.”

“My friends are probably scared out of their minds.”

“I don’t think so. They let your grandmother have it once you left. I don’t think she expected that reaction. You have a good group.” He paused. “How did you do it? Were you channeling the anger?”

“No, we all invoked the spirit today so our powers would be stronger. I don’t think I have a problem using mine on people anymore.”

“Sebastian will be pleased. What other changes have you noticed?”

I explained the super senses to him and he smiled. “The way you describe them they sound almost full elf. You’ll get used it. They won’t seem so harsh after a while.” He lifted my hair so he could see my ears.

“Are they bigger?” I hadn’t even considered the possibility.

“No, the same perfect little ears I have always loved.” He kissed my ear lightly and a series of electric shocks took place throughout my body. My fingers dug into his shoulders as my breath caught. I opened my eyes. “What was that?”

“It appears all of your senses are heightened.” Cheney half smiled, his eyes dancing.

“I wonder if it would be like this with anyone or just you?”

“We aren’t going to find out,” Cheney said, kissing me gently. The sensation was compounded by a thousand. Our lips felt like they blended together and we were one. Sparks flew between us with no barriers and my entire body tingled with energy that felt like Cheney. Did he feel this way too?

“Do you feel like this every time we kiss?”

“How do you feel?”

“Like you are under my skin.”

“A lot of sparks?”

“Exactly.”

“Yes.”

I kissed him again, a little harder, testing how much I could take. “How do you stop?” I asked before kissing him harder still. His mouth was warm and slightly sweet. I might never leave this bed again. Wars are for suckers.

“It isn’t easy,” he said, pushing away from me and disappearing from the room.

It immediately felt like my clothes had been ripped away and I was left standing in the snow. My body screamed for him. It was hard to form an intelligible thought. I wanted to curl into a ball and wail. I focused on keeping myself from crying. Where had he gone? Seconds later, he climbed back in bed.

I threw myself into his arms, relief washing over me and my head clearing. This was bad. If I couldn’t function when he wasn’t touching me, how was I supposed to live?

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he said softly, fluttering kisses over my face. “Try twenty-six years of it.”

The full weight of my leaving him washed over me. People had mentioned that he’d changed, but I didn’t understand. I had never felt pain like that and it was only for seconds. “How did you keep from losing your mind?”

“I thought I had a couple times. But you have to survive, so you push this part of yourself to the back of your mind. It gets easier. Honestly, it was more difficult after I found you. You were so close, but you wouldn’t let me near you. That was the closest I ever came to completely losing control. My primal instincts threatened to take over completely.”

I thought of all the times I went back and forth on him. Kissing him—then running…Pulling him closer, only to shove him away. It must have been excruciating. “Was it always like this with us?”

“The binding made it stronger.”

His words absorbed into me. Magic. Was none of this real? Were we the product of a spell? I didn’t like the thought so I dismissed it from my mind. I was happy with Cheney. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, but I’m glad you understand.”

“How am I supposed to function? What I feel right now terrifies me.”

“Arousal plays a big part in the pain. I left at maybe the worst time so you could understand. It won’t be that bad, I promise.” He kissed me deeply one more time and I melted against him. “Now, no more kissing or we’ll never make it out of bed.”

“I can think of worse things,” I muttered, kissing his neck.

“If you keep that up, you can’t see Sy alone tonight. You have to learn to master it.” The idea of spending the rest of my life clinging to Cheney, while appealing, was also a bucket of ice water. Slowly we went from kissing to holding one another to holding hands and finally just to lying next to each other. I felt the loss, but it wasn’t consuming. It was more like a knife sticking out of me rather than chunks being torn away. I could deal with it.

Chapter 35

Sy took me to a bar with a few people scattered around in the shadows and rushed me back to a curtained-off area behind the counter that looked like a storage room. He stopped in the middle of the room and turned back to me.

“You want to talk in the closet?” I asked and he immediately shushed me, eyes focused on the door. I took a deep breath and waited. He had the same golden hue to his skin as I did, but that was where our similarities ended. His crew cut was a glistening blond and his eyes were the color of gunmetal.

“Wait here,” he said, and he went back out into the bar. A moment later he returned with that bounty hunter, Femi, in tow.

She looked around, ears twitching. “I can honestly say I expected more. Why do you spend all your time in a pantry?”

Sy ignored us and moved a stack of boxes out of the way, revealing a door. He pulled out a skeleton key and motioned at us

“I knew you lived here,” Femi said as she walked through the door.

Sy flipped the lights flipped on, revealing a warm, cozy area very much like a studio apartment. He sat on the couch, and I took the chair while Femi wandered around the room.

“Now, what was so important that you insisted we had to speak tonight?” Sy asked, leaving Femi to snoop.

“I need your help.”

“Anything, coz, you know that.”

I hoped he would say that. “Well, Cheney’s going to challenge his father for the throne.”

Sy stared at me, and Femi stopped, looked back, and whistled. “I haven’t been able to really figure out the fae yet,” she said, “But that’s sort of a big deal, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” I said quietly.

Sy shook his head. “What are you doing, Selene?”

“What do you mean?”

He gave me a hard look. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“No, I have no idea what I want. But this really isn’t about me. It’s about everyone else. If the rebels overthrow his father, then the fae will be ruled by tyrants. Cheney can’t allow that to happen.”

Sy gave me a perplexed look. “Who told you the rebels are tyrants?”

“Aren’t they?”

He sighed. “The rebels are no more evil than Cheney’s father is good. You used to believe that, too. These so called rebels are other half-elves who have been mistreated, overlooked, and marginalized by the monarchy.” He frowned. “I would advise you not to make any big decisions until you have all of your memories back.”

It was my turn to frown. “There’s no time for that. I may never remember. What would the old me have done?”

“You were a rebel. You didn’t support the current system of government. I don’t know how deep you were in it, but I have doubts you would’ve supported the prince.”

I felt a firm resolve take hold. “Well, I’m not that person any more. I support Cheney. I trust him. He’ll make a better life for everyone.”

“So you’re switching sides?”

I nodded.

“Have you spoken to Jaron?”

A small trail of doubt wove its way through my confidence. I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

“You don’t even know who that is, do you?” Sy glanced back at Femi then back to me. “I’ll help you, Selene, but not because I support Cheney. I’m there for you. We’ll figure out exactly what happened.” His metallic eyes made me feel like I was missing so much. “Did he tell you who put the bounty on you?”

“His father.”

He nodded. “Femi has been looking into this whole mess—”

“But no one’s talking. Elves are locked up tighter than a jinni’s soul. I haven’t found a good in yet.”

I scoffed. “Tell me about it. All I ever get are partial explanations and people telling me to wait for my memories.”

Sy laughed. “It’s not so easy to fill someone in on that much time.” Sy rubbed his hands on his legs. “I’ve always stayed out of politics and never intended to involve myself.”

“What exactly do you do?” I asked him. “Who do you work for?”

Femi hopped over the back of the couch and sat down next to Sy with an interested expression. “My thoughts exactly,” she purred.

“I manage the bounty hunters in this region,” he said carefully.

“But if the Abyss doesn’t have a government, who hired you?”

He smiled. “That should be the least of your concerns. We need to figure out exactly what’s happening. Obviously Cheney isn’t impartial and neither will Jaron be.”

“Who is Jaron? Do you know him?”

“I know him as well as I know Cheney, which is to say I know them only through you. But Femi and I will start digging into both sides of the issue. What exactly does Cheney need me to do?”

“He wants a group of loyal fae to accompany him when we tell his father we are married.”

Sy stood up, throwing his arm in the air. “Damn it, Selene. You married him? What were you thinking? You don’t even remember him.”

“We married before I became a changeling. Honestly, I don’t know what to think anymore. It isn’t exactly fun to have multiple personalities. Half of me is deeply in love with him, and the other half wants to run away. What should I do? Should I leave Cheney?” My voice rose as I spoke. Femi watched us from the couch with narrow slits for eyes.

Sy looked up at the ceiling and scratched his jaw. “If you’re married, there’s nothing we can do about any of this now. We need to buy you more time to figure everything out. Stay with Cheney. If I can say anything about him, it’s that he has always seemed to love you. Right now his plan is smart. He’s showing strength in the fringe races.” He paced for a moment, then he stopped.

“Okay, here’s what I think we should do. You should go along with Cheney’s plan and see what happens. Femi will track down Jaron and we’ll arrange for you to meet with him. Tell Cheney and any other elves you might know nothing about this. It isn’t safe for any of you. Hopefully Jaron can shed some light on the other side of what happened.”

I didn’t like the idea of keeping things from Cheney. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because I don’t know. You kept me out of a lot of your life, probably because I didn’t want to be involved in fae politics and you knew it. Whenever we were together, you never talked about any of this stuff. I always had the impression you were involved in something big, but I didn’t know what.”

“Fine,” I said with a heavy heart.

I didn’t know who Jaron was, but I needed to know what happened. Cheney would understand that. He had to.

***

All the key players were in place, and the next week went by in a blur of meetings, logistical arguments, and never-ending training. I helped Sebastian spar with the girls, and Grandma continued Witchcraft 101 with us. She didn’t speak a word to me, which was better than constantly pushing my buttons. We were still getting a handle on our new powers, but the floating incidents were getting to be very few and far between. Devin’s dreams had gone haywire. They were so scattered with images, she had trouble pinpointing any one in particular. Kat was learning to decipher auras. Leslie was often overcome with other people’s feelings and suffered from headaches. Only Jess seemed to have adjusted to her new strengths with some ease. She almost seemed to enjoy poking around in people’s thoughts.

Finally the day was upon us, and Cheney and I had yet to settle our latest debate about whether or not I could speak with his father alone. I had been thinking about it and felt his father and I could have a more honest conversation without Cheney there. Cheney disagreed. He said his father had put a bounty on me, and there was no way I was going to be a room alone with him. I argued that my lack of remembering our history would work in our favor. I could speak to him without prejudice and past injury whereas Cheney wasn’t capable of that. He couldn’t forget or set aside his feelings, so he’d stoke the fire, however unintentionally.

“No,” he said in a final tone.

“You know I’m right.”

“I know nothing of the sort. You stayed when Edith asked to speak with me. I believe your exact words were ‘whatever you have to say to Cheney, you can say to me. He is my husband and I am an adult.’ The same is true here. Whatever father has to say to you, he has to say to me as well. My days of not choosing sides between the two of you have passed.”

“Which is exactly why you can’t remain impartial. I swear if he starts to offend me, I’ll walk away, but I need to try to understand his point of view.”

“You’re very charming and you know it. People are drawn to you and respond against their nature when you’re around—but my father isn’t one of them. He doesn’t like you. There’s nothing to gain by speaking to him alone. It gives him opportunity to turn us against each other.”

Ah, the root of the issue at last. Cheney blamed him for me leaving. He felt his father had come between us and now he didn’t want me near him. “Had I left when Grandma wanted to speak with you, was there anything she could’ve said that would’ve turned you against me?”

“You know there isn’t.”

“I do. That’s why I asked. It’s the same for me.” Cheney raised both eyebrows, making dubious look handsome. “I know that I have a history of getting mad and leaving, but I am different. We are different.”

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“Let me talk to your dad. I won’t let him get to me. I feel the bond as you do. You know that. We’ll be fine.” I wanted to do this, but even as I spoke the words I couldn’t be sure. Everything with Cheney happened so fast it was hard to trust my emotions, and the conversation with Sy left me doubting that he wasn’t just telling me what he needed me to know to believe him again. However, if I could talk his father out of this fight, then I would be doing something good for everyone.

He paced around the room. “No. I’m not backing down from this. If you’ve really changed, then prove it to me, Selene. Don’t do what you always do, which is whatever you want with no thought of consequences. Show me we’re different. Listen to what I want for once in your life.”

“Even if I believe it’s wrong?”

“Especially then.”

Damn it, how did he turn this back on me? We stared each other down, but in the end there was only one thing to be done.

“Fine,” I said with a sigh of resignation. Truth be told, no matter how strong my instincts were about this, it was Cheney’s family, and if our positions were reversed, I would be beyond pissed off about being excluded. If he wanted to be there, I couldn’t really object.

“Really, that’s it? You’re giving in?”

“Yes. You’re right. It isn’t fair for me to ask you not to be there when I would demand to be there myself.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at me.

“It’s not a trick,” I said, closing the distance between us. “I’m doing as you asked.”

“Huh.” He pulled me into a hug. “If this is any indication of how today is going to go, Father may welcome us with open arms and hand me the crown with his full blessing and understanding.”

“Is it really so unbelievable that I would do what you want?”

“Yes, but I’m happy you’re at least trying.”

“When we get home tonight, you are going to have to apologize for doubting me.” I pressed my lips against his with the full weight of my feelings for him. “Repeatedly.”

“Then we better hurry up and get this over with,” he said, turning me towards the door but keeping his hands on my shoulders. Butterflies tangoed in my stomach. As much as we had discussed, trained, planned, and worried about this day, I never actually thought it would come.

Everyone was supposed to arrive separately and disperse throughout the audience. Sebastian and Adan were helping the girls and Grandma. Sy, Alanna, Turin, and Beleg were on their own, with whomever they each were bringing. Cheney and I would arrive last. We didn’t want to march in with a posse. That was no way to start a peaceful discussion. If it came to a challenge, then our support would reveal themselves.

Chapter 36

We stood in front of a castle. I never imagined we would actually be going to a castle. I believe an alternate spelling for naïve is S-E-L-E-N-E. The palace was on the side of a mountain. Its pearly white brilliance and numerous towers looked like they were plucked straight from a fairy tale.

“It’s showy, but it’s drafty as hell,” Cheney said, catching me eyeing the building. He took my hand and together we walked through the gates. Elves and faeries of all different shapes and sizes were milling about in the courtyard. Cheney held my hand so tight I couldn’t feel my fingers. He smiled congenially at everyone who greeted him but kept us moving forward. I could feel their eyes on me and knew I was the subject of their whispers as I passed.

I leaned into Cheney. “They all know me, don’t they?”

“Yes. Ignore them.”

“The whispering doesn’t bother me. They’re just curious,” I said in my normal voice, knowing full well the elves could hear me. I smiled and nodded at the next person who looked at me with wide eyes.

Cheney laughed but didn’t comment. We talked as we moved through the crowd, proud and happy for the world to see. At the castle entrance, the guards bowed to Cheney then opened both doors for him.

The inside was even lovelier than the outside. Silver threaded through the white marble walls, making a gleaming forest. The floor was made from some sort of polished milky crystal and the ceiling twinkled like the night sky. We walked to another set of double doors where Cheney finally paused, taking a deep breath.

I squeezed his hand. This better work out, I thought to the universe. You better not have brought us here to kill us—and if you did? Well, please be merciful. I drew strength from my inner elf and kept my heart steady and my face from blushing like the human in me wanted to do. Balancing the two halves of myself wasn’t as easy as Olivia made it sound. We walked through the doors hand in hand, perfectly synchronized, with heads held high and eyes focused on the front of the room.

As we walked down the aisle, a hushed silence fell over the room. The man I assumed was the king because he sat in the large throne-like chair looked away from the person he was speaking with to watch us approach. I could see a family resemblance between Cheney and him. His eyes tilted at the same angle as Cheney’s did when he was furious and his jaw set in the same determined fashion. I fought not to glance at Cheney. Every eye in the room drilled into the two of us.

We stopped several feet from the throne and gave what I had learned just days previously was the customary short, stiff bow.

“Father,” Cheney said, his voice sending icy chills down my spine.

“Son,” the King said in a similar manner.

I said nothing, as was part of the plan.

“May we speak with you in private?”

His father gave a withering look and smirked. “If whatever you have to say can be said in front of someone as common as her, then surely you can say it in front of the entire court.”

Cheney tightened his grip on my hand. “You really shouldn’t speak of my wife in such a manner, Father. What will people say?”

The king went very still, rage consuming his eyes. His ears turned an odd shade of purple.

“When you are ready to speak with us, we’ll be in Mother’s waiting banquet room,” Cheney said, leading me to the door to the right of the throne.

Inside was a table that could easily seat fifty. I sagged against it and released my breath when Cheney shut the door behind us. “That didn’t go so well,” I said softly.

“It went much better than I expected,” he said, lightly kissing my hairline.

The door flew open and the king marched in, slamming the door behind him. I started to move from Cheney’s arms, but he held me to him.

“What was the meaning of that? You cannot go around saying such things in front of everyone. It was the whore’s idea, wasn’t it? Trying to embarrass me again.” His glare met my own. Just who did he think he was calling a whore?

I was about to say something snarky, but Cheney released me and stalked toward his father with gait of a wolf. “If you call my wife a whore again, you won’t live to regret it. Have a seat. Selene would like to speak with you.”

“I will not be told what to do in my own kingdom.”

“You will have a seat or I will sit you down myself,” Cheney told him, inches from his father. His father sat, fists clenched with white knuckles. Not really how I wanted this conversation to start.

“I’m sorry,” I started. Cheney and the king looked at me in shock. I pulled out my own chair and perched on the edge of it. “I know saying we haven’t always gotten along is an understatement of epic proportions. We have never really found any common ground between the two of us, which is surprising since the common ground was always right there in front of us.”

“I share no common ground with half breeds.”

“But you do.” I smiled gently. “Cheney is our common ground. Instead of constantly battling for him and tearing him apart, I thought it would be nice to come up with a truce that would allow for both of us to be in his life at the same time. I don’t want Cheney to lose his family because he’s with me.”

“Then leave him and stay gone.”

“I cannot. I don’t want him to lose you, but losing me isn’t an option either. We tried that and you saw how well it worked.”

“If it comes down to losing one of you, it will not be Selene this time.” Cheney said.

“I did not raise you to follow around half-breeds like a lovesick fool. You’re nearly five-hundred years old and yet you act like an adolescent.”

“Then perhaps it’s time you trust my ability to make my own decisions.”

“How can I when you do things like this? You choose her over your own people—”

“Stop right there,” I cut him off. “Last time I left, how did Cheney handle it? Was everything sunshine and roses from that day forward?” The king looked away from me. “Our souls are bound and nothing will undo it. You don’t like me, but I swear I’m a nice person if you get to know me. I’m not a full elf, and for that I’m not sorry. I know you see humans as flawed—”

“Flaws you, yourself, demonstrate.”

I took a deep breath. “And what would those be?”

“Oh, where to begin? You are a power-hungry, backstabbing, user—”

“No, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t care for power at all. I would be happy if Cheney and I could peacefully live our lives without the interference of this world. As for backstabbing, I have made some poor decisions in the past, but I’d like to make up for them now. And finally…I’m not using your son,” I swallowed hard, “I love him.”

I glanced at Cheney and he winked at me. “But what I can see that you seem to be blind toward are the flaws of the elf. You are prideful to the point of stupidity, cold to the point of isolation, and so arrogant you have alienated every ally you may have had, making yourself vulnerable to attack. The world is changing and you have to change with it. I want to offer a truce. Consider it the first step in a very necessary change if you expect to survive this coming war.”

The king said nothing and refused to look in my direction. I shrugged. I couldn’t reach him. I had failed.

“Selene is right, Father.” Cheney’s voice was no longer as cold as it had been. “She’s not the only one who thinks so. There are others. We have to make changes now or we’ll lose.”

The king looked to him and nodded. “Yes, changes have to be made.” He stood and walked to the door. As we followed him back to the throne room, the quiet murmuring buzz of the audience dissipated and all eyes were again on us.

“My son informed me that he spoke the truth earlier,” the king said, addressing the people. “The half-elf, Selene, is his wife, despite my laws and advice. He is in love.” His tone was mocking. “He told me change is before us, and I must comply or we will lose this war that she has started.” He pointed at me. “As much as it pains me to do, Cheney knew the rules. He is forthwith stripped of this crown and is no longer of my family.”

There was a collective gasp from the audience.

Cheney stepped forward. “Thank you, Father, for proving my point. A war is coming and we’re woefully underprepared. Under your rule the elves have grown complacent. We have allowed ourselves to forget how it was before the fae were united. We were selected to rule—not because we are better or superior. But now the very people who selected us to protect them fear us. I have stood idly by too long and will do so no longer. Selene didn’t start this war. Your prejudice did. I am the only hope the elves have left. You are no longer fit to lead our people. It is time for you to step aside.”

As he spoke the words ”step aside,” our allies separated themselves from the audience falling in a V formation behind the two of us. Goose bumps covered my entire body as the room filled with tension.

“You have a choice,” Cheney continued, speaking to the room. “Stand with me and succeed, or stand against me and fall. But make your choice now.”

Elves in fancy robes across the front of the room stirred. Several of them moved behind the king, but more of them stayed where they were. A few moments later, people began to trickle behind Cheney. Our number grew to outnumber the support of the king.

“Step down, Father. Do not create a rift between our people.” The king looked past Cheney to his still increasing numbers. “They have chosen me.”

“You are responsible for this,” the king said to me. “Guards,” he yelled. A line of heavily armored men filed into the room, weapons drawn. Someone in the audience screamed and chaos ensued.

Instincts took over. I focused my energy and threw it in the guards’ general direction, knocking three of them against the wall as I sprinted toward the melee without another thought on my mind, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

“Selene!” I glanced over and Cheney threw me a sword.

I twirled the weapon in my hand with natural ease. Hello, my old friend, I thought, impaling the first guard I came across. I felt something hit the air behind me. I turned to see a very shocked woman who couldn’t get her sword through my shield. An eerie calm and almost glee took over as the battle came to me. My mind was silent and my body moved in a fluid motion as if it always knew what to do. Somewhere deep inside I was horrified at my own violence, but the louder part just felt free.

Cheney moved in fury of motion, slicing through the guards. Sebastian stayed close to my friends, protecting them as they cast protection spells on the people with us. The other members of our small company held their own.

“We do not want to fight,” Cheney shouted. “You do not have to follow my father’s directives. If you stop now, you can join us. My father’s time is through.”

The guard I was fighting stepped back and dropped his sword. I struggled to stay my weapon. With gritted teeth I managed to force my arms down and nod to him, and he nodded back. Slowly all the guards surrendered, were subdued, or were slain, and the reality of what happened sank in, making my hands shake. The nobles who stood against Cheney had escaped during the chaos, and I couldn’t find the Erlking either. I shook my head. It didn’t matter. We won the day. I released a breath and searched for Cheney. As I spotted him talking to Sebastian, a sharp point pressed against my back.

Cheney was in front of me in an instant, eyes glistening. “Do not make me do this, Father.”

“How could you have chosen her?”

“I love her.”

“She has bewitched you.” The sword pressed harder against my back, making me gasp. “Admit it.”

“If you hurt her, I will kill you.”

“I’d rather be dead than allow my son to be made a fool of.”

The tip of his sword sank into my flesh and I cried out. Suddenly, the pressure eased and he was gone. I whirled around, a hand pressed to the sticky, wet spot on my lower back. Sy had the king in a headlock, his dagger over the king’s heart.

“I’ll take him,” Cheney said, walking up to them.

“Selene?” Sy asked, ignoring him.

Part of me wanted to tell him to end this now. With the king dead, everything would be easier. I looked at Cheney, his eyes were cautious as he gazed back at me. I looked at the Erlking, struggling uselessly against Sy.

“You tried to have me killed. Why should I show you mercy?”

“I don’t ask for mercy,” he spat at me. “Kill me now and show my son who you really are.”

I drew my hand from my back, looking at the blood on my fingers. “Let him go,” I said quietly.

Sy shoved the king to Cheney and came to me. “Turn around.” He lifted my shirt and looked at my spine. “Superficial. You’ll be okay.” He hugged me. “That was close, coz.”

***

When everyone was calmed and the king had been taken out of the room, Adan handed Cheney the crown. Cheney closed his eyes for moment, then looked to the door his father had just departed from. The crown was a thick, silver ring with silver ruins carved around it. Cheney came back to me and scooped me into his arms.

“This was all for you. Now we can be together without running,” he whispered in my ear. Nervousness clenched my throat so I hugged him back. He released me and took my hand. We walked back to the front of the room.

Cheney’s voice rose above the excited clamor of the room. “All bounties on Selene are henceforth revoked. She is not an enemy of our people.”

All of the robed elves who remained in the room came one by one to acknowledge Cheney as the new king. My eyes strayed to the back of the room where I met a familiar face, but in a blink it was gone. I refocused on the people shaking my hand as I smiled down at them. When everyone had finally made it through the receiving line, the tension was replaced with excitement. Change was on the horizon. I noticed my friends hovering in the back, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. I let go of Cheney’s hand.

“I’m going to talk to the girls,” I told him. He smiled and I walked through the crowd, shaking hands as I went. It was the strangest sensation. When I finally made it back to them, I was engulfed in a hug.

“Where’s Gram?” I asked.

“She’s over there harassing Adan,” Katrina said. “And holy crap, I’m going to start calling you Buffy, slayer.”

I knew she was joking, but I didn’t know how I felt about it. I had taken lives and felt nothing. I would have never thought that was possible.

“How are you, sweetie?” Devin asked, hugging me. “This was a traumatic day in more ways than one.”

I hugged her back, wanting to cry, but the tears refused to fall. Devin stiffened, squeezing me hard like she felt something. But before she could say anything there was a tap on my shoulder. I let go of her and looked back. Sy stood behind me. “Can we talk for a moment?”

I went with him to the back of the room behind the crowd. He took me to a shadowed corner. Femi stepped out with the familiar man I saw earlier.

Chapter 37

Something about the slight smile on his full lips was just out of my grasp. I knew him but couldn’t quite place how. He was really tall and his shoulders were broad and thick. His dark hair moved back from his face in curling waves and a well-kept beard shaded his jaw. The gray eyes smiled at me though his face was serious.

“It’s been a long time,” was all he said.

I shook my head helplessly, biting my lip.

He glanced toward Cheney. “Now is not a good time, I know. Femi insisted I come with her. Everything is going as planned. We’ll talk soon.”

I looked back at him, my heart thudding. “As planned?” I asked weakly.

He smiled and my hand reached toward him until I stopped myself. “I always knew you would pull it off.”

“Pull it off?”

“Oh, I forgot you don’t remember. We started the revolution. Everything has gone exactly as you said it would.”

“No. It started before me.” That was what Cheney said. He said I joined them. How did this guy know I couldn’t remember? What had I done?

“It started with you, Selene, not before you.”

“You’re lying—and you’ve been trying to kill me.” I clung to what Cheney had told me—what I needed to be true.

Jaron gave me a half smile. “Why would I want to kill you? You’ve done everything we discussed. You’re wonderful.”

“No,” I said louder than I meant to. I covered my mouth and glanced around, hoping I hadn’t drawn attention. “The old Selene may have been on your side, but I’m with Cheney. You people need to leave me alone.”

“That’s just it. I didn’t know phase two had started until Femi found me. We were never after you. We’ve been waiting for you to initiate the next phase.”

“It was just the king from the start?” Sy said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s the next phase?”

“The prince taking the crown. I’ll explain everything soon.” He reached for me, but I backed away.

Sy caught his arm. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Selene?” Cheney called from the front of the room.

“You have to go.” I shook my head and went toward the sound of Cheney’s voice, my thoughts shocked into silence. Worry and doubt filled me. Had I made a horrible mistake? Sy was right. I should have waited until I remembered.

Cheney held out his hand. I hesitated, then took it, trusting the feeling of comfort that came with my skin touching his, even though it was a product of the bond. I let Cheney lead me to the front and I stood by his side.

“We have won the battle, but the trials before us are still great. My wife and I will work to mend the bridges that have been destroyed by prejudice,” Cheney’s voice rang out.

My eyes met Jaron’s before Femi pulled him back into the shadows. He touched his fingers to his forehead in a salute before he disappeared. Suddenly a memory of kissing him in the soft morning light came to life behind my eyes.

I couldn’t hear any more of the words Cheney spoke. My ears roared with the sound of my own blood. Cheney squeezed my hand and my heart stilled. I looked into his beautiful, wild eyes and a smile touched my mouth. Cheney smiled back and kissed the back of my hand. I had to trust someone. Jaron was a stranger. I wouldn’t let him come between us. We would figure everything out. Cheney didn’t need to know until I understood everything better.

There was a new day before us and I refused to allow the sins of the past to destroy the future.

About the Author

Many authors claim to have known their calling from a young age. Liz Schulte, however, didn’t always want to be an author. In fact, she had no clue. Liz wanted to be a veterinarian, then she wanted to be a lawyer, then she wanted to be a criminal profiler. In a valiant effort to keep from becoming Walter Mitty, Liz put pen to paper and began writing her first novel. It was at that moment she realized this is what she was meant to do. As a scribe she could be all of those things and so much more.

When Liz isn’t writing or on social networks she is inflicting movie quotes and trivia on people, reading, traveling, and hanging out with friends and family. Liz is a Midwest girl through and through, though she would be perfectly happy never having to shovel her driveway again. She has a love for all things spooky, supernatural, and snarky. Her favorite authors range from Edgar Allen Poe to Joseph Heller to Jane Austen to Jim Butcher and everything in between.

Learn more about Liz and her books at www.lizschulte.com, like her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLizSchulte, or follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/LizSchulte

Books by Liz Schulte:

Secrets (The Guardian Trilogy Book 1)

Choices (The Guardian Trilogy Book 2)

Consequences (The Guardian Trilogy Book 3)

Dark Corners (Ella Reynolds Series Book 1)

Dark Passing (Ella Reynolds Series Book 2)

Anthologies

Cupid Painted Blind

Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

Upcoming Releases

Hungry, Hungry, Hoodoo (Easy Bake Coven Series Book 2)—Coming 2013

Pickup Styx (Easy Bake Coven Series Book 3)—Coming 2013

The Ninth Floor–Coming 2013

Ember (The Jinn Trilogy)—Coming 2013

Inferno (The Jinn Trilogy—Coming) 2014

Vestige (The Jinn Trilogy)—Coming 2014

Dead Inside—Coming 2014

Frost’s Kiss—Coming 2014

Thank you

Thank you for reading Six Times a Charm! We hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other readers find this boxed set and our other books.

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Table of Contents

- Haunted on Bourbon Street
- Beginning
- Mid-Point
- About the Author
- The Accidental Demon Slayer
- Carpe Demon
- Girl’s Guide to Witchcraft
- How to Date a Werewolf
- Easy Bake Coven
- Thank You
- Copyright
- About the Books
- Six Times a Charm
- Chapter 1
- Midpoint