I twitched, remembering Dabria’s spell, the pain it had traced over every nerve, every muscle. “She wasn’t wrong.”
“I told Andy something horrible was happening, and I gave him your room number and told him he should demand to go up there.” Peasblossom tilted her head. “He’s quick for a human. Intimidating, too, in the right light. That is, if you’re not used to things with fangs and enough magic to turn you into a toadstool.”
I looked at my phone, my chest tight as our conversation replayed itself in my memory. “He’s really angry.”
“He’s frustrated. And he should be.” Peasblossom leaned against my neck and snuggled in. “He wants answers, though. And with what he knows now, he knows you’re the only one who can give them to him. He’ll be back.”
Against all reason, I felt better. Maybe Andy wouldn’t agree to work with me again because he wanted to, because he respected me. But Peasblossom was right. He wanted answers. He wanted the truth. He would work with me again. And the longer he worked with me, the more he would understand.
I stopped that train of thought before it could turn into something unpleasant, something along the lines of turning a strong FBI agent into a jaded bounty hunter.
“Flint’s out of jail,” I told Peasblossom.
The pixie perked up, then scowled. “I don’t like him anymore. He was going to hurt you.”
I patted her head. “Did you get what I asked for from The Cauldron?”
“Yes.” She paused. “I don’t think that woman likes me. Her eye kept twitching when I was talking.”
“What were you talking about?”
“I don’t remember everything I was talking about,” she said. “But I have a hard time believing a random eye twitch could last for two hours.”
My eyebrows rose and I hid my mouth with my hand. “Two hours?”
Peasblossom was already flying toward the bedroom door. “I’m hungry and you promised me honey.”
I heaved myself out of bed, my outlook on the day improved despite what I knew the evening would bring. I’d left a message for Flint on his voicemail, and if he was out of jail, it meant he’d gotten it by now, gotten my invitation to meet me here at five o’clock. Butterflies swarmed my stomach, a case of anxiety looming on the horizon. I breathed through it and marched to my dresser. I couldn’t have a breakdown yet. I had witch duties to perform.
My resolve not to regress to a basket case lasted until four thirty. At which point, I drank two sodas in twenty minutes, ate half a box of strawberry Frosted Mini-Wheats, and downed an entire potion in one desperate gulp. By the time there was a knock at my door, I felt sick, and I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or what I’d done to combat my nerves.
I lurched toward the door, moving with all the grace of the newly risen dead. Flint’s image was burned on my memory, so it was less of a punch to the gut when I opened the door and saw him standing there in all his glory than it had been the first time.
Less of a punch.
Pale blue jeans and a white shirt. As always, the jeans were snug, but not tight, and the shirt somehow hugged every swell of muscle without looking strained. I had the semi-hysterical thought his clothing might not be mundane either, that it might be enchanted—or, at the very least, created by something less than human. Betsy, perhaps.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice as deep and sexy as I remembered.
“Right on time,” I murmured. I stepped back. “Please, come in.”
The almost-smile never left his lips, as if the upturned corner was meant to hold my attention, draw my eye. And it did. Not so much that I didn’t notice the knowing sparkle in his eyes, the way every movement seemed tailored to my benefit.
“I was surprised to get your invitation.” He strode across the room, brazenly standing in the same spot he’d been last time, right before he’d…
I gave myself a firm mental shake, my trembling fingers making me regret the amount of caffeine I’d imbibed in the last hour. “You’re looking well. How is Anton?”
Flint’s smile didn’t falter. “I signed. The details are unimportant.” He stared into my eyes, watching me as if searching for some hint to my thoughts. “He told me he did not anticipate needing my services anytime soon.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Yes. Immediately following that statement, he informed me that he would keep an eye on your health and wellbeing—and rather pointedly told me there would be no reason for me to check in on you myself.”
The trembling in my hands flowed down to my knees, almost spilling me onto the couch. I forced them to straighten and locked them to keep from falling over. Anton had warned Flint to stay away from me. Why did that sound so ominous?
You can have a nervous breakdown later—first, get through this meeting.
“Why do you suppose the vampire is so interested in you?” Flint asked, giving voice to the same question echoing in my head.
“I don’t know.”
My honesty must have been clear in my voice, because Flint nodded. He didn’t look away, though. “I find it…fascinating.” His grin broadened. “Of course, the vampire never said I had to ignore an amicable invite from a…friend. It would have been rude for me to ignore you, I think.”
I blinked and he was three steps closer. His scent wrapped around me, not a cologne or anything man-made, but a natural, masculine scent. The scent of warm bodies and sunlight, followed by a crisp night breeze and the promise of soft sheets. I lost my voice for a second and stood there like an idiot.
My befuddlement seemed to please him, the cocky jerk. He leaned forward and put his mouth only an inch away from my ear.
“Next time you want to set the bed on fire…we’ll do it together, eh?”
This time, my legs gave out. That was just fine with my plan.
I threw my arms around his neck and used my weight and the fact I’d caught him off guard to drag his face to mine. He made a small sound of surprise, but his strong hands closed over my hips, holding me up with the same effort he might have carried a paper cup.
If he smelled good, he tasted heavenly. I opened my mouth, deepening the kiss, chasing that flavor that was uniquely Flint. The leannan sidhe growled his approval and dragged my body against him. Hard muscle against soft curves provided a delicious friction that made me squirm. For one dizzying moment, I forgot my plan, forgot the spell hidden against my palm. Something jerked a hair from my head, and I swallowed a gasp of surprise. Rational thought made a valiant comeback, and I realized what had happened.
Thank you, Peasblossom.
I held the words in my head, concentrating on the pixie to keep myself from drowning in sensation. Without breaking the kiss, I slid one arm from around his neck and stroked the side of his face. Rough stubble tickled my palm, telling me he hadn’t shaved before coming here. He banded an arm around me, letting me feel his strength—as if I’d needed the reminder. Desire stabbed low in my body, twisting things in a way that did not bode well for rational thought. Flint was gorgeous, and sexy, and a fantastic kisser.
I had no choice.
I laid my palm flat over his cheek, my heart pounding, sweat beading on my forehead. I shoved away the mental picture of what I was about to do and squeezed my eyes shut. With one desperate pull, I broke the kiss and whispered the word to activate the spell in my hand.
Power pulsed from my palm. Flint felt it a second too late, and some part of me preened to think he’d been caught up in the kiss enough for it to slow his reflexes. He released me and took several quick steps back, staring hard at me, at my hands, trying to figure out what I’d done.
I stared at his face, unable to look away despite the fear rising in anticipation of the final result. The magic bled onto his skin in a line of deep indigo ink. The enchantment swirled and thickened, taking form as if molded by unseen hands. A round body, small fangs, eight spindly legs. The ink swelled and contracted, fading in some places and darkening in others. By the time it finished, the flawless
shadows and lines made the tattoo look three-dimensional in a way no human artist could have managed.
“Little witch, what have you done?” he asked, his voice calm for someone who had figured out they’d just been the victim of a powerful enchantment.
“I find you threatening in a very sneaky way,” I said, my voice strained—and not from desire. “It seems when you’re around, my willpower needs a little…help.”
I gestured to the couch and the small mirror I’d put there earlier for exactly this moment. Flint looked from me to the mirror then picked it up.
His eyebrows rose as he saw the tattoo of a spider on his right cheek. A spider that looked very real. Very alive. Shiny black body…bright red hourglass on its abdomen.
“A black widow. It’s good,” he said slowly, his voice a little higher with surprise. “Very good.” He frowned at me over the mirror. “I’m not sure I understand?”
“I hate spiders,” I managed. It was getting harder to look at him, so I focused on his opposite shoulder.
Flint took a step toward me, and I almost fell over backing away. I felt the first real touch of his power, the first flexing of his will against mine. The potion I’d taken to give me the resistance to get this far wavered and thinned under the pressure. Power caressed my skin like a body-warmed blanket.
“Shade,” he said in that bedroom voice. He took a step closer.
I squeaked and stumbled back, skirting the couch to put it between us. My hands shook with the promise of the compulsion that always followed an encounter with a spider. Soon I would be swiping over and over at my head, trailing my hands down my hair, searching for the spider I knew must have dropped on me from the ceiling. There were probably thousands of them up there, hanging down like creeping vines, waiting for me to pass under them.
I couldn’t force myself to look at him, risk seeing that thing on his face. Even without looking, even with my eyes squeezed shut, I knew it was there, and that was enough to fill my blood with shards of ice. He raised a hand to cover his cheek, to hide the tattoo that was turning my spine to solid ice. I turned my head farther away, knowing what would happen and desperate not to see it. Not looking didn’t save me. My mind was all too willing to provide an image of the spider tattoo scuttling out from behind his hand, baring itself to the world no matter how he tried to hide it.
When Dominique weaves a spell, she weaves a spell.
“I will get this little enchantment off soon,” Flint said finally.
The amusement in his voice irritated me enough to give me my voice back. “Good luck with that.”
Chapter 21
I didn’t hide for the rest of the evening. I conducted research. I conducted research underneath a blanket, curled up in the corner of my couch. If it took me two hours to find an office to rent two blocks away from my house, then so what? That was called being thorough.
“Mr. Grey owns that building,” Peasblossom said, staring at the screen. “Bet he’s not much fun to have as a landlord.”
She wasn’t wrong. Mr. Grey was infamous in Dresden as a sort of Grinch-meets-probable-serial-killer. A pale man with greasy black hair, pinched features that always looked disgusted, and a hair-trigger temper that had destroyed more than one Christmas display and traumatized countless raccoons.
“It’s reasonably priced and two blocks away,” I pointed out. “And this is Dresden. Not a lot of offices for rent.”
“Then get an office in Cleveland. You'll probably find more clients there anyway.”
I’d thought of that too. And my dismissal of the idea had nothing to do with Andy, or the image of his angry face that I couldn’t exorcise from my mind. Though he didn’t strike me as a man who got angry easily, so the fact he’d been that mad at me… Well, I didn’t like thinking I’d scared him. And with fury like that, I had definitely scared him.
“I have a better idea,” I countered. “I—”
A sharp knock on the door cut me off. I let my head fall against the back of the couch for a moment as I mourned the end of my quiet time, then closed the laptop with a sigh of resignation. Peasblossom opted to stay under the blanket, leaving me alone to shake off the chill that came from leaving a good cocoon.
It was harder to shake off the chill that came from finding a vampire on my doorstep.
Anton was dressed in a dark gray suit with a black button-down shirt. A cloak the ashy black of a crow’s wing hung down his back to his ankles. It was the wrong time period for the cloak, and coupled with the business suit, it should have made him look ridiculous. It didn’t.
Blue eyes so pale they were almost silver glittered at me from the shadows of my front porch, and if a sudden bolt of lightning had struck the sky behind him, I wouldn’t have been the slightest bit surprised. The gods loved a dramatic entrance, and they lived for tradition.
Letting go of any pretense of pride, I picked a spot on his forehead and stared at that one patch of pale skin. My peripheral vision caught the corner of his mouth tilting up in an almost-smile, as if I amused him.
“Good evening, Mother Renard. May I come in?”
No! “Um, why don’t we talk outside?” I suggested. “It’s such a nice night.”
It was, in fact, raining, but the air was only cool, not cold, and the covered porch offered some protection. Anton inclined his head in a gentlemanly fashion and gestured for me to have a seat on one of the two chairs on my tiny porch.
I shook my head. “I’ll stand.”
“I am not here to harm you.”
I hesitated, debating the wisdom of offending the vampire. I should sit down, not make a big deal out of it. An image of Flint’s new tattoo crawled across my memory, the image of the all-too-real spider dragging a whimper from my soul that I only just managed to swallow back. “It’s not you,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I don’t sit on porches.”
“Because…?”
Spiders. “Just not comfortable.”
Truth be told, I didn’t like to stand on porches either. Too many outdoor corners, perfect hiding places for eight-legged nightmares. But I could not let this fear make me invite a vampire into my home. Not this vampire.
It wasn’t until Anton cleared his throat that I realized I’d been looking all around me, studying the small roof, the narrow ledge created by the window. Searching for arachnids. I flushed and cleared my throat. “How can I help you?”
He watched me a minute longer, and I would have sworn he was reading my mind as if it were the evening paper. Then he nodded toward the garage.
“It seems your people rushed to repair the damage as quickly as possible. That is a testament to how much they value you as their witch.”
I followed the gesture, then blinked in surprise. My garage had been repaired. The blackened wood was gone, new wood fastened in its place. Fresh paint made it look bright and new. How had I missed that?
It was late and you were exhausted.
A smile slid over my mouth, and it felt too good to fight. “I guess so.” I paused, risking a brief glance at his eyes. “But that’s not why you hired me, is it?”
The vampire smiled, and I thought I caught a hint of fang. “The rest of your fee is in your account, as agreed.”
I waited, but he didn’t continue. “Thank you, but was it necessary to deliver that news personally?”
He tilted his head, considering me. “I find myself without a wizard. I’m offering the position to you.”
Shock rocked my system, hitting me hard enough that I almost lowered myself into one of the plastic chairs. Almost. “You’re offering me a job?”
“Another one, yes.”
“As your…personal witch?”
“Yes.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I laughed harder than was polite, longer than was smart. I couldn’t shake the image of Mother Hazel’s face if she found out I’d been offered such a position, much less considered it. Anton raised an eyebrow, and that just made it funnier.
“No,” I said when I’
d pulled myself together. “No, thank you. I’m happy here.”
“As a village witch and private investigator.”
“Yes.” I nodded, and realized I was smiling. Yes, I was happy. As a village witch and a private investigator. For all the mess I’d made, I’d started down the path I’d wanted for myself for years, and it felt…good.
“Told you she wouldn’t take it.”
Anton scowled and looked down at his jacket, patting his pockets. I grinned and leaned closer to the source of the voice.
“Dimitri?”
“Good evening, Shade.” Dimitri’s voice held the same smug amusement as before. “Well done turning my father down. No more chains for you.”
“Or you.”
He chuckled. “I haven’t worn those chains in a long time.”
“You'll wear a different chain altogether if you continue to plant your little bugs on my person.”
Anton’s voice was stern, but there was a glint in his eyes I’d seen from enough parents to recognize. Pride.
“Father, I only want to press you to be the best you can be,” Dimitri said. “You must be more observant, more careful. Security is too important to be treated lightly. As your son, it is my duty to protect you as old age claims your mental faculties, and I shall continue to test—”
There was a spark and a faint metallic crunch, and Dimitri’s voice cut off. Anton lifted something from his pocket, a small, coin-shaped object no bigger than the pad of my pinkie finger.
“He’s a bold one, isn’t he?” I observed.
“His mother dotes on him too much. He does not fear me as he should.”
Again, the shine in his eyes betrayed his words. He could pretend outrage all he wanted, but his affection for his son was real. And I would have bet his son’s audacity and lack of fear for his father was responsible for a good deal of that pride.
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