Helga gave her a scowl that was almost worthy of Yiorgos’s fiercest glare. “Are you telling me that you don’t know of any great mundane chefs? Or I am to believe that every renowned chef in the world is actually a wizard? Or how about the many colleagues I’ve consulted with over the years at the world’s best hospitals. Are they all wizards too?”
“But…”
“You have a gift,” Helga cut in. “A palate that can’t be matched. The magic simply made your job easier.”
“I can’t cook.” Tears burned Clare’s eyes, despair bubbling back to the surface. “Look at how many things I ruined today. I can’t do it anymore!”
“You think you can’t cook because you lost your magic, and so you failed to trust in your innate magic. The heart and soul of you that makes you special and unique. That’s the real magic, Clare. Touch that, draw from that power, and you’ll bake as well as you ever did.”
“I don’t understand. Mom, explain it to her. You quit medicine when you married Daddy, right? You lost your magic. How can I go on when my magic is gone?”
Selma sighed heavily and slumped in her seat. “I was too lazy to continue my studies once I lost my magic. Besides, I thought I had it all. I married a handsome man I loved, and he had his magic. That was enough for me. I could have gone to medical school and officially completed my degree so I could open a practice, but I chose not to. I guess in a way I was afraid. I was afraid I’d try and fail, and it was easier to just accept my fate and love my family. I don’t have any regrets in having you, Clare. But I could have had you and pursued my doctorate. I should have. I’m not going to sit here and let you make the same mistake.”
“Think of your magic as a well deep inside you.” Helga said. “The well is still there. However, you can’t access the water directly any longer. Where it used to bubble up freely whenever you even thought about cooking, you may have to haul up a bucket at a time. It’s hard, grueling work, Clare, but the ability, the innate talent, is still there. You won’t be able to depend on luck or perfect timing any longer. You’ll actually have to work at cooking.
“Sometimes you’re going to burn a loaf. Or you’ll experiment with a new recipe and the flavors won’t meld like you hoped. But you still have all the gifts of a talented chef, and you can teach many a kitchen witch how to draw on their own innate talents while relying less on magic. To be honest, that kind of ability would make you even more valuable to the Academy than a run-of-the-mill kitchen witch.”
The suspicion Clare had felt during Helga’s demonstration returned in spades. It was all too neat and tidy. Helga had brought the note summoning her to Remy’s. Helga had treated her father for years and never told anyone he was sick. What crazy plans had they concocted together? Would they actually stoop to cursing an innocent man and setting her up to lose her virginity?
But why?
Unless this was all some kind of test. On the surface, her wizard trials were supposed to be proving she could cook a fantastic meal for the Wizard Council, but perhaps there was more to the formal tests than she’d been told.
With a breezy smile, Helga stood to go. “The same courage and determination that wouldn’t let you sit back and follow along with whatever coddling Mr. Michelopoulos had in mind for you will guide you through your trials, Clare. Show us all what kind of mettle this kitchen witch is truly made of.”
“I never believed Daddy would curse anyone.” Clare drew herself up and met her mentor’s gaze. Helga might be the most powerful witch in North America, but if she’d deliberately set this whole sordid plan in motion for some nefarious plot… I might not have any magic left, but I’ll not let her get away with hurting Yiorgos. “But I could definitely see you casting that spell, Helga. Does the Council know that you can bespell someone completely into obeying your commands?”
“Of course not, dear.” Helga waltzed toward the door, completely unruffled. “They’d never eat any of my food ever again. Or yours, for that matter.”
“What did you get out of all of this?”
“Just a fabulously talented apprentice, my dear.” And with that cryptic comment, Helga transported both of them.
Stumbling with surprise, it took Clare a moment to orientate herself. Lights bounced off stainless steel, blinding her. Unless she were mistaken, she stood in the Academy’s state-of-the-art test kitchens. “Maybe I should fail my trials just to punish you for what you did to us!”
Helga’s voice came from all directions. “My dear, dear Clare, I beg you to forgive me for causing you any heartache. Your father and I both love you very much, and I give you my word that this was all done with his knowledge and approval.”
Hurt as much as she was angry, Clare whispered, “Why did you do this to me?”
“You’ve always been my greatest student, but you have the potential to be one of the most powerful witches we’ve ever seen.”
“How? I don’t have my magic any longer!”
“Just cook your best, dear. Put your heart and soul into your food as you always did. Your heart will guide you.”
My heart led me to lose everything for Yiorgos.
Her heart ached, yearning for him so strongly she absently rubbed her chest, trying to ease the pain. Could she re-learn how to cook without magic in a matter of hours? Would she ever be able to bake another chocolate cake as good as the one she’d made for him? Would this heartrending loneliness ever fade?
Opening up the cupboards to take a quick tour of what equipment she had available, Clare began shuffling through her mental recipe box, trying to decide what to try first. I might be able to cook without magic, but I’m terribly afraid I’ll only miss him more every single day.
Yiorgos stormed into Remy’s kitchen and bellowed, “Where is she?”
Red-faced and sweating, Dmitri shot him a dirty look from the stove. “That’s what I’d like to know. Man, I’m glad you’re back!”
“Have you seen her?”
“No. I thought she was with you.”
Frantic wings beat inside Yiorgos, demanding he find her right this very minute before she was lost to him forever. Without answering, he turned sharply and strode to the rear office.
Dmitri shut the door quietly behind him. “I suppose now isn’t a good time to have a private conversation with you on a personal subject.”
Yiorgos flung himself into the easy chair in the corner and drummed his fingers on the padded arm. “Of course not,” he said, trying not to be snide. “Just make it quick.”
“I hereby offer you my resignation.”
His fingers stilled. For once the man had actually managed to surprise him. Before he could open his mouth, Dmitri continued hurriedly, as if he was afraid he’d change his mind. “I’ve accepted a position in St. Paul, MN to manage another restaurant. It’s a small and out of the way place, rather like Remy’s I guess, but I hope to help them do great things.”
“I see.” Yiorgos drew his words out slowly, keeping his face utterly smooth. He’d miss Dmitri, but he should have seen this coming a long time ago. He’d abused the man’s constant steady presence and loyalty one too many times.
“My wife’s family lives in the Twin Cities,” Dmitri continued. “I’ve promised her for years that we’d move back. Her father called me because he heard this place was struggling and in need of some serious help. They can’t pay much now, but I’m sure we’ll turn things around.”
Plans were already unfolding in Yiorgos’s mind, but he merely stood and offered his hand to the other man. “I’m sure you will, Dmitri. You’ve been an incredible manager and friend and I count myself lucky to have known you. I appreciate your dedication to your family, and I apologize for delaying your move for so long.”
Dmitri shook his hand in a daze. “I didn’t expect you to let me go.”
Yiorgos let a slight smile curve his mouth. I’m not. “Do what you need to do, my friend, but I hope you’ll help me track down Clare before you leave.”
“Of course, that’s th
e least I can do. Didn’t you bring her back from St. Louis?”
“No.” He didn’t elaborate on the hours he’d spent interrogating hotel staff to track her footsteps to the bus station. God, his sweet little witch on a dirty, stinky bus. She must have gotten off somewhere outside of town and called someone for a ride, because he’d lost her trail. Otherwise, she’d still be on that damned bus, stopping every mile or two along the freeway.
He held up his naked hand. “Notice anything new about me?”
“The ring!” Dmitri’s eyes lit up. “She broke the curse! How did she escape you, then?”
Ah, his friend knew him all too well. “She tiptoed out while I was recovering.” The other man coughed into his hand, no doubt hiding a snicker. “From her healing, you idiot. The magic she used to break the curse was so powerful it shattered her father’s ring. Now she’s powerless, lost, alone, and I have to find her.”
“I doubt she’s lost, Yiorgos. This is her home state, she was raised here, and I’m sure a twenty-plus-year-old woman managed to find her way home perfectly well, thank you very much. If you truly think Clare Remy is powerless, then I’m sorry, I refuse to help you. She’s better off far, far away from you.”
He narrowed his eyes at the man in a fierce glare that only made him snicker more.
“No wonder she snuck away. You do realize that the high and mighty Michelopoulos can’t fix everything for everybody, right?”
“Of course.” Since when? “I can fix any problem if I throw enough money at it. Except Remy’s. But that one doesn’t count—I was cursed. Even the Wizard Council couldn’t help me.”
He paused, his mind leaping ahead. There was definitely someone he could pin down for answers on not only Clare’s whereabouts but her magical wellbeing as well.
“You can’t buy her entry into the Wizard Council,” Dmitri warned.
Yiorgos smiled. “Watch me.”
When Helga Kettlewich arrived the next day at her office, she found Yiorgos sitting across from her desk. “Mr. Michelopoulos, how nice to see you again.” She flounced down into her chair amidst a ridiculous tulle skirt that billowed up around her like a lime green cloud. “I see that you’re hale and hearty again.”
“No thanks to you.” He kept a civil tone as he pushed a small velvet box across the desk to her. “I want this ring restored.”
As if she didn’t know what it was, the woman flipped the box open. “Ah, the Remy signet ring! Oh dear, what happened to it?”
He decided to let the woman play her game as long as she wanted. In the end, all he cared about was Clare. “When Clare broke the curse, the ring exploded.”
“Not the only thing, I dare say.” The woman cackled and gave him a knowing wink that dumped scalding hot blood across his face. “What makes you think I can restore it?”
Now came the hardest part: the bluff. He was good at hiding secrets, but he had to hand it to Kettlewich. If he was right, she’d been hiding a whopper for a long time. “You cast the original curse.”
She arched a brow at him. “Why on earth would you accuse me of something like that, Mr. Michelopoulos? A curse? I’d never do something so vile to another human being, let alone my own apprentice!”
“Clare never believed her father would cast such a spell.” He ticked his fingers off one by one as he followed the thin trail of bread crumbs to the truth. “She mentioned he’d been seeing you for his illness. You held the deed to our restaurants and the ring as the overseer of our bet. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you architected the whole damned thing. Emile Remy didn’t seem like the sort of man who’d risk his life’s work and his only daughter’s prized inheritance on such a risky wager. Not unless there were higher stakes involved that I wouldn’t have been privy to.”
Helga chuckled, idly moving the bits of broken glass about with her index finger. “Very good, Mr. Michelopoulos. That’s a mighty fine yarn you’ve woven.”
He played his final card, barely daring to breathe. “Do you remember what you said to me that day you gave me the ring, Ms. Kettlewich?”
“I believe I said something like, ‘Congratulations, Mr. Michelopoulos, on stealing the Remy fortune.’”
“No.” He leaned forward, levering himself on the edge of her desk so he could loom with all his formidable height and strength. “You said, ‘If life was a fairytale, this ring would make all your dreams come true.’”
“And did they, Mr. Michelopolos?”
“Not until Clare came into my life.”
“Then I guess you got what you wanted.”
He slammed his fist down on the desk. “But I didn’t want it this way! Not at such a cost to her. How can you treat her so callously after all the years she’s worked to follow in her father’s footsteps? If I’d known what this would do to her, I never would have coerced her into coming to Remy’s. I would have let the damned spell turn me into a walking corpse before I hurt her!”
“Sit down, Mr. Michelopoulos.”
She didn’t raise her voice, but there was a thin thread of power in her voice that warned him to do as she said. Much as it pained him to follow the woman’s orders, he sat.
“If you’re smart enough to figure out my hand in this spell, then you’re surely smart enough to understand why her father and I might have gone to such drastic steps.”
“Actually, no. I can’t possibly understand it. Not when it hurts her so badly.”
“It’s a test, Mr. Michelopoulos. One Clare has so far sailed through with flying colors.”
Gritting his teeth, Yiorgos fought to keep a civil tone of voice. “Do you mean to tell me that you turned me into a zombie and stripped Clare of her power all for a stupid test?”
“Only the best make it onto the Council, and I don’t necessarily mean magical ability. Clare certainly possesses a fine display of kitchen talent, but we’re more interested in her character strengths and the latent powers not yet revealed in her gift. You must admit that those very strengths attracted you, too. She’d give anyone the shirt off her back if they needed it, and yet wade into a battle wielding nothing but a wooden spoon if need be to protect or help another. Exactly the kind of witch we want to encourage and grow.”
“And her power?” He said flatly, suddenly sure he knew the ugly truth.
“Naturally this test will increase her power a hundredfold or more by pushing her to explore the depths of her gift that would never be tapped otherwise. It’s a common belief in the wizard community that we don’t receive more than one talent. Sadly, that’s all too often true, but only because they don’t push and strive for more. Combined with the Remy ring and her latent gifts she wasn’t yet aware of, Clare will be invincible.”
“Exactly who you want to replace you on the Council.”
“Not replace me, Mr. Michelopoulos. I have no intention of leaving any time soon.” Helga laughed softly. “She’s joining us. We’ve simply not found a worthy candidate in more than thirty years who deserves a chair of her own as much as Clare.”
“And what role do I play in all this mess? Was I merely the tool to bring Clare to the brink of her greatness?”
“This test will increase Clare’s ability significantly—as she demonstrated in healing you. Losing her virginity temporarily closed the wellspring of her power, but when she wears the Remy signet…”
Ms. Kettlewich held the ring up, fully restored.
Yiorgos could only stare at it and hope his mouth wasn’t hanging open. How’d she done it so easily and quickly without him even noticing?
“That power will be magnified by her love for you. Her love was so great that she was willing to sacrifice everything for you. That sacrifice widened the channel to her power, giving her even more access to those talents. Then, of course, there are the children such a match promises. The Remy line will continue with fine Greek blood mixed in, a volatile combination.”
“So I’m to be the Council’s breeding stud, too? I don’t think so, Ms. Kettlewich. When she finds out what
you’ve done…”
“She knows. Or rather, she suspects many things, though she might not have ferreted out all the details yet. I certainly gave her enough hints along the way. She’ll be angry, yes, but this was her father’s wish, too. In the end, only she can decide whether to go through with her trials or not.”
He held on to his temper by the skin of his teeth. “Where is she?”
“Safe and sound, I assure you.”
“I must see her. I refuse to allow you to whisk her away without giving her a chance to choose me!”
The woman tsked and patted him on the shoulder. “No one’s whisking her away, Mr. Michelopoulos.”
He recoiled, because he hadn’t even seen her rise from her chair, let alone come around her desk toward him.
“I’ll even tell you where she is, but only after you promise not to interfere in her trials.”
He opened his mouth to tell the old bag what she wanted to hear just to get the information he needed, but something wrapped around his throat like a snake.
“Let me warn you that I have the ability of spelling your oaths into your flesh, Mr. Michelopoulos. You will speak only truth, for any lie will tighten the noose about your neck.”
He swallowed hard, his skin crawling at the touch of the woman’s magic. He could all too easily remember the horrible feeling of being trapped and forced to do as she said at Remy’s.
“I love Clare like a daughter,” Helga said more kindly. “Haven’t you figured out why she left you yet? The last thing I want to do is see her crying over you. She wants to be with you, and if you listen to a few words of advice, you’ll have her safe and sound with you once more.”
He managed to nod, but he didn’t try to speak, not with the spell wrapped around his throat.
“Clare needs her own identity. Her own space. Her own goals and dreams. When you took her magic, you destroyed her identity. All you offered her, then, was the identity as your wife. Did you tell her you loved her? That’d you do anything for her? Or did you simply start making decisions about what she should wear and where she’d go?”
The Zombie Billionaire's Virgin Witch (Zombie Category Romance) Page 13
