“Surprise, surprise,” she said as the silver continued its revelation. At the head of the trail, the man stripped off his clothes and bent over, limbs twisting in an agonizing display of metamorphosis. A moment later, a humungous wolf stood in the man’s place. Werewolf.
The wolf looked hungry and clearly had a mind of its own separate from its human counterpart. Instead of continuing down the trail or running into the forest, it turned around and headed for the human camp. Interacting with humans in supernatural form was forbidden. Injuring a human was a sentenceable offense. When the mirror showed the wolf attacking a human family in their tent, Polina had to take action.
“Time to go,” Polina said.
“There might be more tonight,” Hildegard replied, nodding at the silver.
“Later. The sun has already set. If this wolf is in camp, he’s shifting now.” She grabbed her wand from the side of the lucubratus and hurried for the door. “I don’t think he means to injure anyone, but my understanding is that shifted wolves are extremely impulsive. An ounce of redirection is in order.”
“After you, my lady.”
The problem with using a lucubratus to see the future was the magic mirror often left out important details. In this case, it was the rain. As Polina made her way down her mountain to the human camp, thunder rumbled overhead, lightning tore across the sky, and rain sheeted, soaking her fitted yellow dress and leather slippers.
At the boundary of Silver Sparrow, she circled her wand above her head, dropping a hoop of purple magic down her body. By the time she set foot in the human camp, she was dressed in the brown uniform of a Smuggler’s Notch State Park ranger, wide-brimmed hat and all. Not a moment too soon. Man shifted into beast across the campsite from her. She concealed her wand along the inside of her forearm and hurried to the head of the trail.
The red wolf was enormous, not the natural variety. Its lion-sized head came mid-chest, and its shoulders were wider than hers. Amber eyes zeroed in on Polina, and leathery nostrils twitched with the effort of a good sniff of air and rain.
Through the sheet of water running off the brim of her hat, Polina met the werewolf’s stare. Its claws sank into the mud, ears twitching, teeth bared.
“Easy, fella. I’m here to help.” Polina showed the wolf her wand and made her eyes glow gold to reveal her identity. Although she suspected her scent was enough of a clue, it never hurt to show a supernatural what they were up against. In response, the wolf stopped and whined like a chastened dog.
“Now, if you promise to be a good werewolf, I have a place for you, safe from these nasty humans. Plenty of rabbits and deer to keep you busy for the night. Would you like that?”
The red wolf made a high-pitched sound of consent.
“Very well. Follow me.” She walked toward Sparrow Mountain, the wolf heeling to her side. Glancing toward the campsite, she was relieved the humans were snug inside their tents and campers due to the rain. No eyes. No ears.
The wolf cried as they broke the foggy barrier that was her enchantment. Mist hung permanently at the mountain’s base, and Sparrow Mountain appeared out of nowhere like a page in a giant pop-up book. The mountain cut through the illusion in a headache-inducing act of magic. The wolf hesitated, the protective wards no doubt making his skin crawl. He paced the border.
“Keep walking. You’ll feel better in a hundred yards or so.”
The wolf refused. It crouched and growled, baring its teeth. Fine. She’d hoped to do this the easy way, but she was nothing if not adaptable. Drawing her wand, she positioned herself behind the wolf and sent a shower of sparks toward its tail, an attempt to scare the beast deeper into her realm. The plan backfired. The wolf spun and leapt, jaws snapping. She avoided the teeth, but one massive red paw tore through her shoulder. With a blast of magic, she sent the wolf tumbling.
“Fuck! Bastard, I’m trying to help you.” Polina pressed a hand into the bloody wound. A few more sparks and she drove the beast farther up the mountain, the wolf snarling and snapping all the way. Thankfully, they were far enough into her realm to be hidden from human view.
With a few jogging steps, she caught up to the wolf, who seemed less agitated now that he was beyond the enchanted border. Polina’s brown uniform glittered gold, then faded away, replaced by the yellow dress and slippers. She raised her wand and pointed it toward the mountain.
“Go on,” she said. “Stay away from humans. I’d hate to have to hurt you.”
The wolf bowed his head slightly, then turned to advance into the trees.
Hildegard hooted overhead. “I believe we have our realm’s first werewolf.”
Polina smiled at the owl. “Well, I’m not going to suggest that wolf stay after tonight.” She was soaking wet and couldn’t wait to get home. “He must have a pack somewhere. Don’t they usually belong to packs? Let’s hope he’s just passing through. My enchantment should keep him safely away from the humans for the night.”
Hildegard bobbed her head. “You’re a good witch.”
Polina was about to say thank you when a man’s scream ripped through the night.
Chapter Three
Nightmare
Something warm and wet streamed down Logan’s outstretched arms, forming dark tributaries against his pale skin. He tried to focus, but his vision blurred and adjusted as if he were rousing from a deep sleep or the effects of anesthesia. When his vision did clear, panic set in. The dark rivulets running down his arms were blood. His blood.
The cause of the bleeding was two thorny vines that constricted and cut into his wrists. He was strung to the ceiling, spread eagle. Another two of the woody-stemmed plants held his ankles apart. Naked, exposed, he waited in the middle of a bedroom. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, even the four-poster bed crawled with living, growing green tendrils covered in red roses. Their scent permeated the air, thick and floral to the extent he would retch if he had anything in his stomach.
He gave a cursory tug against the vines but they were strong as steel cables. No give at all. How long had he been standing here with his arms strung up over his head? Long enough for his entire body to ache. Long enough for him to fear what his captor might do to him next.
He didn’t remember how he’d gotten there, but he sure as hell remembered who was responsible.
“Is my toy awake again?” Tabetha, Salem’s witch, strolled into the room stark naked. The rose blossoms turned their heads, following her progress. Her blunt-cut black hair reminded him of Cleopatra, as did the gold scarab beetle she wore around her neck. He flinched and struggled against his bindings. Tabetha was a wood witch, as evil as they came.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Logan asked.
She gave a wicked grin. “Because your pain pleases me, human.”
“My name is Logan.”
“Not here it’s not. Here you are what I say you are. Right now, you are my amusement.” She picked up a silver hairbrush from the vanity near the window. With a crack, the etched back connected with her palm. “Call me Queen Tabetha.”
“Let me go,” he said, clenching his jaw.
Her arm slashed and the brush smacked Logan’s ass. Pain shot up his already aching backside.
“Queen Tabetha,” she demanded.
“Fuck you.”
Smack. This time the brush slapped his jaw, knocking his face into his outstretched bicep.
“Say it.”
“Queen bitch.” Logan spat in her face.
Whack. The brush connected with his ribs. Bam. Ass again. Smack. The back of his thighs. The vines tightened with her anger, and Logan feared he’d lose control of his bladder if the pain got much worse.
“I tire of this diversion.” She left Logan’s field of vision and returned with a bite-sized purple tart between her fingers, the green seeds a dead giveaway that the filling was persigranate fruit.
Logan shook his head vigorously. “No. I won’t eat it this time.” The stuff got into his brain, made him do things he didn’t want to do.<
br />
“Open.” She pinched his nose and tipped his head. When he opened his mouth to breathe, she shoved the tart to the back of his throat. He coughed and choked and eventually nature took its course; the pastry slid down to his stomach. The disorienting dizziness came on almost immediately.
“More,” she commanded, another tart in her hand. Head spinning, he was helpless to resist. He chewed and swallowed like a good little robot, the hate giving way to the floaty feeling of intoxication.
“Call me Queen Tabetha.”
“Queen Tabetha,” Logan murmured.
“You will serve me.”
“Serve you.”
“You love me.”
Logan did not answer.
“Never mind. On your knees.” At the wave of her hand the vines retracted, and Logan collapsed onto the hardwood floor. She pulled over the chair from the vanity. He thought she meant it for him and began to rise, but she forced him down to his knees by the shoulder.
Propping one foot on the chair, she grabbed his head. “You exist for my pleasure, human.”
A prisoner inside his own body, his brain became a swirling mess of contradicting emotions that had nowhere to go. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth and…
In total darkness, Logan woke to his own scream. He opened his eyes and sat bolt upright. He was in his bed in his penthouse condominium in Carlton City, New Hampshire. Covered in sweat and heart thumping like a bass drum, he swung his legs over the side and lowered his head between his knees.
“Pull yourself together,” he said to himself. “She’s dead. She’s fucking dead.” Logan sprang up, running his fingers through his hair. This was ridiculous. He needed his sleep. A stiff drink and he’d go back to bed.
He stalked from the bedroom toward the kitchen for a nightcap, passing by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Carlton City. When he glanced toward his balcony, two sapphire blue eyes glowed back at him. He grabbed his chest and stumbled into the sofa. The visitor was a horrific sight, wild red hair, pale skin, a yellow dress stained with blood like something out of that Carrie movie. But as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he recognized the figure standing on his balcony. Polina.
“Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?” he yelled through the glass.
Polina furrowed her brow and then followed his stare to her right shoulder. “Oh, this? No. No. I’m fine. Here, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She waved her wand and the blood was gone.
Logan rubbed his chin. Thankfully, it had stopped raining and he didn’t feel obligated to invite her inside. Grateful had placed a protective enchantment around his condo. Nothing supernatural could cross his threshold without an invitation. But once permission was given, there was no taking it back.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I heard you scream.”
“You… what?”
Polina licked her lips. “Do we have to talk through this window?”
Logan thought about his options and decided he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of believing he was scared of her. He unlocked the sliding glass door and joined her on the balcony. “Better?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you here?” Logan repeated.
“I was in the area, and I heard you scream. Are you all right?”
Logan paused. She must be joking. Sure, his nightmare had made him scream, but how could she have heard that? Why was she in Carlton City anyway? She lived in Vermont.
“I was having a nightmare about Tabetha,” he said, surprised at his own candor. She’d probably think he was weak, make some crack about him being a helpless human.
Polina leaned against the railing, her usually ballerina-straight posture sagging slightly. “I have them too.”
“You do?”
“She buried me alive. I fertilized a tree lining her driveway for almost a year. Can you imagine what it must be like to be immortal, conscious, and unable to move for three hundred and sixty-two days?”
Logan swallowed and shook his head. “No, I can’t. But Tabetha made the Wicked Witch of the West look harmless.”
“Who’s the Wicked Witch of the West?” Polina asked. There was no hint of levity in her voice.
“Never mind.” Logan rubbed his gray T-shirt awkwardly. “Thanks for stopping by, but I really am fine.”
“What did Tabetha do to you?” Polina asked.
Logan didn’t want to answer that question. He walked to the railing and looked out over the city. Polina didn’t say a word. She stood next to him as if she could have waited a lifetime for his answer, silent and smelling of chrysanthemums and pumpkin spice. Why was she here?
“She used me,” he said, again surprised at himself for sharing. “For sex and cooking mostly. To be honest, I don’t remember much. She loaded me up with persigranate fruit and pulled my strings like a puppet. I’m glad she’s dead.”
“Me too,” Polina said.
Logan had to admit, it felt good to talk about it. Being able to share what happened to him with someone who understood was a relief. Tightness he didn’t know he carried bled from his shoulders.
“Why are you here, Polina?”
“I told you, I heard you scream and thought you might need my help.”
He turned toward her. A late-summer breeze whispered through her red hair. In the poofy yellow dress she was wearing and carrying her wand, she looked like someone’s fairy godmother.
“I can take care of myself,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. Big mistake. There was nothing Logan liked more than a challenge. He stepped in closer. Powerful witch or not, he was bigger and, worse, he had something to prove.
“I think you came for the chocolate cake.”
“What?”
“You’re still hoping I feed you a slice of my chocolate cake. You’ve been thinking about it since the day you saw me at the wedding.” He narrowed his eyes and lifted the corner of his mouth salaciously.
Her cheeks reddened. “I want no such thing.”
“Liar. As much as you say I’m a weak, fragile human, you know that there is something I can give you that no one else can, and I’m not just talking about the cake.” He placed his hands on the railing on either side of her hips, causing her to arch her back to keep from pressing into him. How far could he push her? He’d seen the way she looked at him. As powerful as she was, the attraction between them was not one sided. He wouldn’t let her sit on her high horse. No way was she standing on his porch in the middle of the night for his protection.
“You know, watching someone through their window in the middle of the night doesn’t make you a hero. It makes you a stalker,” he said.
“Stalk—” She gasped in offense. Her hand landed in the middle of his chest, and she pushed him away with enough power to knock him back a good foot. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying outright that I think you’re flying your broom past my condo real slow because you’re interested in me. It’s okay.” He flashed her his most lascivious grin. “Most women react that way to this.” He patted his chest with two open hands. He was being an asshole and every word was intentional.
She snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t want you or your chocolate cake.”
It was exactly the reaction he wanted. He’d pushed her to the brink, tore through that aloof demeanor, and rattled her cage. The smug satisfaction he’d expected to feel, however, didn’t deliver on its promise. On the contrary, he had a strong desire to pull her into his arms and tell her he was just teasing. But he didn’t.
“Then why are you still here?” he asked.
Her face turned impassive. She bent over and lifted her skirt to her thigh, giving Logan a heart-stopping view of one perfect, creamy-skinned leg. What had he been saying? He wasn’t sure. All the blood had rushed from his brain to a spot lower on his anatomy.
She pulled a pinch of gold dust from a pouch in a leather garter she wore before dropping the hem of the y
ellow dress. Her eyes raked down Logan’s body to the evidence of his arousal. It was her turn to flash him a smug grin.
“You are absolutely right. I shouldn’t be here at all.” Releasing the gold dust above her head, she came apart, swirling around his body before her molecules melded with the metal railing. She was gone.
“Fucking witch!” Logan slammed a fist into his palm. With a shake of his head, he moved inside and continued his quest for a much-needed drink.
Chapter Four
Halloween Party
“This had better be important.” Two months later, Polina glared at her familiar as she approached Valentine’s restaurant. “Did Grateful give you any hint what this was all about?”
“No, mistress,” Hildegard answered. “According to Poe, she has important news to share with you. If there’s more, he didn’t make it known.”
“Ah. Seems like a strange venue for sharing important news.” Polina sulked.
“Aye.” Hildegard bobbed her head. “The Monk’s Hill witch is young. Barely in her mid-twenties in this life. Perhaps her choices are based on inexperience.”
With a sigh, Polina faced the heart-shaped sign on the door. Valentine’s restaurant. In place of Cupid’s arrow, a fork protruded from the lower left of the heart, a spoon extending from the upper right. Valentine’s was scrolled across the center. It had been eight weeks since she’d visited Logan on his veranda. Eight weeks since she felt the heat of his body next to hers, heard the quick pace of his human heart. That was the thing about humans. Everything about them was intense. The shortness of their lives made their emotions sharp compared to the jaded reactions of most immortals. Seeing his body react to the simple flash of her leg had been a satisfying conclusion to their banter. The problem was, she wanted more. For some reason, the human haunted her dreams, a wayward attraction she’d fought to deny these weeks. Even now, she felt a rush at her core. It was senseless.
“The last thing I want to do is see this human again, and here I am walking into his restaurant.”
“Don’t fret,” Hildegard said. “It’s been months since that god-awful conversation at the wedding, and the place is brimming with partygoers. You may not see him at all.”
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