Hex Appeal

by P. N. Elrod

  He burst into ashes.

  I passed out.

  * * *

  I came to inside the cottage. I lay in a bed; a fire blazed in the fireplace. I could still smell the distant aroma of garlic. All I wore were bandages at the wrist and chest.

  Somewhere, a shower ran. Even as I turned my head, the water went off, a curtain rattled. Steam and a sliver of light slithered through a crack in the door. A shadow moved beyond the light, beyond the door, then the door opened.

  Naked to the waist, his hair slick and shiny, Jimmy wore only a towel that threatened to drop from his hips with every step. His eyes went to the bed, and when he saw I was awake, they widened.

  “You okay?” He crossed the room and sat at my side. Reaching out, he brushed back my hair. The warmth of his fingers against my chilled skin made me want to curl into him like a cat.

  I opened my mouth, but all I could do was nod and stare at the single drop of water sliding down his smooth, olive chest, glistening like oil. I wanted to touch it. I wanted to taste it. Now.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Summer?” His hand cupped my face; his thumb traced my cheek. “What can I do? How can I help?”

  He shifted, and his thigh bumped my breasts. I moaned.

  “Sorry.” He fell to his knees next to the bed. “Does it hurt?”

  I gazed into his eyes and thought: It’s never going to stop hurting. I’m going to love you forever, and you’ll never be able to love me back.

  Because of her.

  I didn’t know who she was, but already I hated her.

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “You saved my life.”

  “Right place, right time.”

  He tilted his head and his hair, nearly dry already from the heat of the fire, tumbled across his brow. “You knew that thing was coming, didn’t you?”

  No point in lying.

  “Sometimes I do.” I shrugged, then winced when my still-healing chest protested.

  He reached for the coverlet. “Let me see.”

  The flames flickered in his eyes as he slowly drew the blanket away. A white rectangle covered a four-inch square above my left breast. He reached out, but instead of touching the bandage, he touched me.

  Was it an accident? At the time, I thought so. The way he snatched his hand back, though not too far, and caught his breath, the way his startled, almost mortified gaze flicked to mine.

  Later, of course, I knew better, but then, everything seemed so innocent, a product of the moment, of us. We’d almost died. It made perfect sense we should desperately want to prove that we lived.

  The loss of his touch was more painful than a talon through the heart, and without thought, I arched, the movement causing hand and breast to collide again. Of its own accord, his wrist—now healed—turned, and my full weight glided into his palm. The next instant he was kissing me, or maybe I was kissing him.

  He tasted like the night, cool and dark, even as his skin beneath my fingers seemed to burn. I’d touched him in my dreams a hundred—no, a thousand—times. Yet every stroke was a revelation. As if I were coming home to a house that still smelled new.

  I tugged on his shoulders, and he dropped the towel, then slid onto the bed without ever lifting his lips from mine. His hands explored, learning the curves at my breast, hip, and thigh.

  “Soft,” he murmured, then moved his mouth across my jaw to my neck, where he worried a fold of skin between his teeth. “Sweet.”

  I laughed, and the sound was low, throaty, sexy, not at all like me. Then again, I practiced glamour. Me could be anything at all. Since Jimmy seemed to like this version, I let her stay.

  He nuzzled my breasts, laved a nipple, and I caught my breath as the sensation shot through me. He lifted his head; his eyes glittered auburn in the firelight. “You like that?”

  “Mmm,” I agreed, and he lowered his head to give me more.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this since you opened the door in that robe.”

  He drew me into his mouth, suckling hard, and I curled my fingers into his hair. He teased me with his teeth, then blew on the moist, taut peak.

  “Did you know I could see the outline of these?” He lifted my breasts to his mouth, tonguing first one then the other. “They were so beautiful, I couldn’t think of anything but you all the way to Mount Taylor.”

  “Good at hiding it,” I managed.

  He rolled on top of me, pressing his erection right where I needed it the most. “Not anymore.”

  I licked the trail of that droplet of water, across his chest to his nipple. Before I could close my lips around it, he plunged.

  He was young—who wasn’t compared to me?—but he also wasn’t completely human. He lasted longer than I thought he would.

  I set my hands on his hips, gave him the rhythm, lowered my palms a few inches, and showed him the depth. His tongue echoed our movements. My breasts skimmed his chest with each thrust. He stilled, shifted, and did something amazing that made lights go off in the sky, on the ceiling, all around, or maybe just in my head. By the time I remembered my name, he was raining kisses across my damp cheeks and moving within me once more.

  He was so beautiful, he made me ache. I couldn’t help but reach up and touch him. When I did, he lowered his gaze, and what I saw there made my stomach jitter and dip. Was that expression merely a reflection? How could he love me so soon? Then again, I’d loved him before he’d even been born.

  “Jimmy,” I began.

  “Shh,” he murmured, and kissed me, making me forget whatever I’d been about to say. Right now, all that mattered was this. The two of us all tangled up in each other, warm and safe for the moment, a memory I already had come to life.

  His movements became faster, harder, I didn’t mind. He couldn’t hurt me.

  Or so I thought.

  When he pulsed to the beat of my heart, the tandem of that pulse made another start in me. I caught my breath in shock and wonder, crying out as the world again fell away.

  I clung. I couldn’t help it. We couldn’t be together every minute. I couldn’t be in the right place at the right time every time. Sure, I’d made a deal, but the one I’d made it with lived on lies and had reneged on bigger deals with better angels than I.

  Jimmy lowered his forehead to mine, his hair brushed my cheek an instant before his lips touched my nose, then he rolled to the side, taking me with him, folding me into his arms and flicking the blanket over us both.

  His breathing evened out; I thought he was asleep when I whispered, “I dreamed of you.”

  As consciousness fell away I could have sworn he whispered, too.

  I know.

  * * *

  I awoke alone, which at first didn’t bother me. I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t. But I stretched, and the bed was warm everywhere, as if someone other than I had warmed it.

  Then I remembered. Jimmy. Me. Us.

  I hugged myself and went over every minute we’d shared, beginning with the expression in his eyes that had looked like love.

  Then I heard his voice, and I leaped from the cocoon we’d made. When you lived a life like ours, a conversation in the middle of the night was rarely a good thing.

  I paused, listening. He wasn’t in the cottage, so I glanced out the window. Jimmy stood beneath the stars, having a talk with his cell phone.

  “Mission accomplished,” he said.

  It wasn’t until I heard Ruthie’s answer—through the glass, across the distance, on a phone that wasn’t anywhere near my ear—sure I was a fairy, but even I had limits—that I realized I was dreaming.

  “Any problems?”

  “What problem would there be? You’ve seen her.”

  Seen who? What problem?

  “Did she suspect?”

  “That this was a setup?” Jimmy blew a derisive breath through his lips. “I know what I’m doing, Ruthie. It would have been nice if you’d mentioned that the sorcerer was one of ours.”

 
“Telling you would have defeated the purpose of the test.”

  “That was a test?” Jimmy asked. “And here I thought it was just one giant clusterfuck.”

  “Watch your mouth, boy.”

  “I could have died.”

  “Summer wouldn’t let you. Why you think I made you take her along?”

  “I know exactly why you made me take her along.”

  Silence reigned for a few seconds before Ruthie murmured, “It had to be done.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “Considering what I usually send you out to do, I wouldn’t think seducing a pretty woman would be such a hardship.”

  Suddenly the warmth of the room wasn’t quite warm enough.

  “She isn’t a woman.” I stopped breathing even before he continued. “She’s a damn fairy.”

  “Not damned,” Ruthie murmured. “Not yet. Besides, she could have been Satan’s little sister, and the mission would have been the same. Count your blessings.”

  “This wasn’t a blessing, it was a—” He turned, and saw me standing in the window. “Nightmare,” he finished.

  I woke up with a gasp, arms flailing, tangling in the covers as I tried to breathe but was unable to through the pain in my chest. I felt like I was dying even though I was well aware that I wouldn’t.

  I was at the cottage, alone in the bed, in the room. Outside, the low murmur of Jimmy’s voice.

  “Mission accomplished.”

  Ignoring the shimmy of déjà vu, I dressed, taking clothes from the owner’s closet. Considering she was no longer here, and neither was whoever belonged to the man’s clothes in a second closet, I figured the chupacabras had eaten them.

  The missing woman was bigger than I but nearly everyone was. I glamoured everything until it was exactly the same thing I’d worn before—fringe, boots, hat, and all. I didn’t bother to cross the room and listen to Jimmy’s conversation. Once had been enough.

  For several lifetimes.

  I thought back on all the occasions I’d thought he was hiding something, those prickles of unease with Jimmy, Ruthie, the entire situation. But instead of pushing for an answer, I’d been dazzled by him. How could I not be? I’d been waiting for Jimmy Sanducci for centuries.

  The door opened. Jimmy saw me sitting on the edge of the bed and smiled. He almost looked as if he meant it.

  “You’re good,” I said.

  His smile faltered. “Thank you?”

  “I actually believed you cared.”

  Confusion flickered across his face, then he glanced through the open door, at the window, and again at me. “You heard?”

  I shrugged. I had, just not the way he thought.

  “Let me explain—”

  “I’m sure Ruthie had her reasons.” She always did. “Although I’d think the Leader of the Light would be above pimping for the greater good.”

  “It’s a long story. I—”

  I zapped him with fairy dust, and he stopped talking. I guess what he’d been about to tell me wasn’t merciful. More about making him feel better than making me not want to dive into a fresh patch of rowan or stab myself in the throat with the nearest cold, sharp steel.

  Had Ruthie wanted us to bond? Had she needed me to protect him? She could have just asked. There was something more to this, but right now, I didn’t want to know.

  “Listen,” Jimmy said, and that he could speak meant I should. “Bad things are coming. We’re going to have to do whatever it takes to win the coming war.”

  The hair on my arms lifted. “Armageddon?”

  “It’s almost here.”

  I closed my eyes. The last war. The only one that mattered.

  Who would win? Our Book said one thing. Theirs said another.

  The universe craved balance. God versus Satan. Angels versus devils. Good versus evil. Us versus them.

  I’d seen so many things in my sleep. I opened my eyes and stared into Jimmy’s all-too-familiar face. I’d seen him die. But I’d also seen him live.

  Because of me.

  I loved him. Did it matter if he loved me back? Perhaps my love wasn’t real, just a fantasy manufactured by our side so that I would protect him. But it felt real, and it wasn’t something I was going to be able to magic away. I’d tried.

  I’d promised everything I had, everything I was, to keep him safe. And looking at him now, even knowing what I did, I knew I’d promise the same damn thing again tomorrow.

  We needed him. Without Jimmy Sanducci, the side of good, of light and right would not survive. I wasn’t certain of much, but I was certain of that. I had to be.

  “There will be demons,” Jimmy said. “Scores of them. And the only thing that can stop them is us.” He held out his hand. “You with me?”

  Since being with him was all I’d ever wanted, I took that hand, and I kept my promise. It wasn’t easy.

  But, then, deals with the devil never are.

  * * *

  Author’s Bio:

  Lori Handeland is a two-time Romance Writers’ of America RITA Award winner and the New York Times bestselling author of the paranormal romance series, The Nightcreature Novels, as well as the urban fantasy series, The Phoenix Chronicles. Lori lives in Wisconsin with a husband, two sons, and a yellow Lab named Elwood.

  “There Will Be Demons” takes place in the world of The Phoenix Chronicles. For more adventures with the same characters, as well as many others, start with Book #1, Any Given Doomsday.

  For more information on Lori or her books, please go to: www.lorihandeland.com.

  CHERRY KISSES

  by ERICA HAYES

  The blond vampire lounging against the mirrors had been ogling me for the past five minutes, the way a shark cruises for tasty meat. Designer jeans, diamond ear studs, dark eyes sunken with hunger. A perfect mark.

  I tossed him a flirty smile, twisting a purple-dyed curl around my finger. Dark music throbbed in my blood, the raw metal of guitars and drums. Around me, dancers writhed, a snake pit of slick rainbow limbs, glowing fairy wings, the scarlet flash of vampire eyes. The sultry air coated my skin, dusted with fairy wing-glitter and thick with the scents of sweat and sex. Unseelie Court at midnight, the hottest, coolest, most dangerous nightclub in town.

  Glamours clashed and sparked, electric, the glass-spun veil of magic that hid the supernatural from ordinary human eyes. I fingered the woven-wire pendant around my neck. It was warm to the touch, spells pulsing. Thanks to my pendant, I could see through glamour, and unlike most of the club’s clientele, my vampboy admirer was just what he appeared—hungry, horny, and impatient.

  I touched up my cherry-cola lipstick and stalked over, sparkling a little spell-sweet seduction into my scent.

  I’m not a bloodwhore, understand. If I had a card, it’d say Lena Falco, troublemaker for hire, caster of petty hexes and spells, no job too crappy. But I’d just spent my last twenty on a couple of stiff drinks—so sue me, I’d had a shitty day—and I had rent and protection to pay. When business is slow, you gotta broaden your skill set. The bloodsucking mobsters who run this town aren’t known for their patience. And neither am I.

  I tossed my hair over my shoulder, letting it shimmer under glitter-smoked lights, and my mark’s gaze drilled me crimson every step of the way. Handsome brute, too, blond curls and dark lashes, muscles shining in sweat under his frayed shirt.

  Good for me. Bad for him. A less confident guy will assume I’m conning him and ask how much, but the hot ones think it’s perfectly reasonable when a violet-haired vixen in a shiny blue corset and black-leather hot pants makes a pass.

  This guy? Mr. Tall-blond-and-screw-me-now? Easy mark.

  I stopped a foot away, cocking my hip to show off my fishnet-clad legs. The mirrors reflected us both, vamp and human—I know, boring but true—and I made sure I gave him my sultriest smile. “Looking for something tasty?”

  “Found it.” The vamp grinned, fangs glinting. His cheeks glowed with feverthirst. When vampires don’t
feed, the virus slowly eats into their brains, and they get manic and greedy. This guy looked like he’d abstained a few days past his manners’ expiry date.

  “Then come get it.” I traced a finger along his sweat-slick collarbone, and he wrapped my hair around his fist and pulled me in tight. His lips burned my throat, eager fangs already stinging hot. His heartbeat echoed in my blood. He pressed his tongue over my vein, making a soft spot to bite. Eww. This so better be worth it.

  I laughed and twisted back. “Easy, big guy. Aren’t you gonna kiss me first?”

  He didn’t need to be asked twice. His lips scorched mine, hot and hungry, the salty tequila taste of his tongue a bright shock. Hard body pressed into mine, hands and lips and swollen heat, fangs grazing my lip bloody. He was eager, this one.

  Pity it’d do him no good.

  I kissed him harder, full contact. His eyelids fluttered closed, and with a soft sigh, he went limp. All of him, I mean.

  I eased the drowsy vamp down onto the couch. His sweaty hair smeared the mirrors, and his breath came fast and shallow.

  I wiped my mouth and reapplied my lipstick. Cherry-cola, sweet, and sparkling with soporific spelljuice. I made it myself, from a vial of stolen fairy breath. Unless you were immune—like I’d made sure I was—one kiss would send you straight to la-la land.

  Dirty trick? Yeah. But I don’t have much of my own mojo, see. My hex pendant is great, but it mostly just wards off curses. To cast spells properly takes time and study, and remember what I said about patience? Technically, I’m not a witch, not yet. But I’ve still got a few tricks up my corset, and I don’t mean my double-D cups.

  Swiftly, I slipped the rings from his fingers, the flashy watch from his wrist, and the fat diamond studs (definitely not Swarovski, folks) from his ears. Cash in his pocket, too, a thick wad of crisp plastic notes. Thanks very much, fangboy. Glad to be of service.

  Around me, the dance raved on, oblivious. He wasn’t anyone important, not a high-up gang minion or a demon’s thrall, and in a nightclub teeming with ravenous creatures of all colors and tastes, no one cared too much about this one.