by Michele Hauf
“Without death there can be no new life,” Vika whispered, recalling Hecate’s teachings.
Leaning over the red leather-bound book, she inspected the page that put out the slightest odor of chicory when touched. The spell name, In Which the Dark Is Stopped, was scrawled in tiny ink marks.
Most grimoires promised the impossible. Only a truly powerful witch could achieve something so grand. He’d said he had mastered many magics, yet was weak. Perhaps CJ would be powerful had he not a soul weighed down with so many hitchhikers.
She perused the required ingredients. A few common herbs, and some less common: rat’s spine and troll blood. The process was something else entirely. It required the name of an angel who had extinguished heaven’s light. Angel names were not easy to come by.
“Impractical, yes?”
Jarred from her intent study, Vika spun around and squeaked out a distressed cry.
“Sorry.” He stood before her, a kitchen butcher knife in hand. “Just checking you didn’t fall under the spell of bedazzlement some do when they stroll under the lights.”
“They certainly do have the power to dazzle.” She pressed her fingers on the top of the blade he held and directed it downward to his side. “Be careful. If you want my help, you’ll need to keep me intact.”
“You’ll help? I thought I’d frightened you away for sure. Or that Menace had.”
“I’m much tougher than you believe. Most certainly wary, but also fascinated for reasons beyond my ken. I trust you are different from the demon who has shown itself to me.”
“Thank you for that trust.”
“You have earned my cautionary trust.”
“I’ll accept that.” He nodded toward the grimoire. “You think you can work the spell?”
“I don’t know. It is impractical. To erase darkness from the world for twenty-four hours?”
“True. And what good would it do me to gain but twenty-four hours? I want these bastards out, not merely pacified.” He pointed to his chest with the knife, which made Vika cringe. “It was just a consideration. I’ve many more grimoires to go through, but not a lot of time in which to browse them.”
“Your job at the archives keeps you busy?”
“That, and trying to stay in the light and alive.”
Such a simple goal—to stay alive. One she took for granted daily. Surely, a grander challenge than merely protecting one’s soul from an angry soul bringer.
Pleased she’d decided to stop by and had gotten a glimpse into this fascinating man’s life, she took the knife from him and walked toward the kitchen. “Do you need help? Oh.”
A bowl of salad waited and two plates had been set out on the round, glass-topped table. A sexy purple bottle of crème de violette sat in an ice bucket. It was a quaint, romantic scene, one that stirred her heartbeat faster. Totally unexpected, and yet it prompted her wariness about the man’s intentions.
But overall? Nice.
Certainly reached around and grabbed the knife from her grasp. “Dinner is served, mademoiselle.”
* * *
It felt too easy. A little bit right. And not at all wrong standing next to Vika and washing dishes like an old married couple. Graceful in her movements, she did not set a plate aside for drying until it had been scrubbed sparkling. She was easy to talk to now they’d gotten past her mistrust of him. Not completely, though. CJ knew she wasn’t going to let down her guard around him, and he expected as much.
When they’d finished, she washed out the sink and dried that, too. Was he supposed to do that after dishes? Whoda thought?
Vika folded the drying towel and placed it neatly on the counter, then straightened the chairs before the table and blew out the beeswax candle, squeezing the homemade wick to a fine point. When she blew, her lips pursed and CJ had to lick his lips at the sight. So kissable.
“Have you a broom?”
“Huh?” Snapping up from his stupid stare, CJ twisted his thoughts around her strange question. If he let her go much longer, she might start picking up the clothes on the floor, and he did own a vacuum somewhere in this mess.
Vacillating on the pros and cons of letting the witch go to town on his disaster of a life, Certainly decided he couldn’t let it continue. Not on the first date. That was for making a good impression, not tricking the woman into manual labor. And yes, he was calling this a date for his own personal fulfillment.
He didn’t do dates. One-night stands, casual encounters leading to sex and no returned phone calls, were his standard. Busy with work, always, and never inspired to seek consistent companionship, Certainly had lived up to his best friend Lucian’s nickname for him, Brother. It implied a monkish lifestyle, and CJ could not deny it.
Though he did desire. And since returning from Daemonia, his aspirations and life outlook had changed. He wanted—no, craved—closeness with a woman. And standing not ten feet from Vika, having watched her smile and chatter about the spells she and her sister were practicing over supper, and now feeling her wonder as she inspected the chandeliers, he felt the desire rise and the need to explore the tender and wanting emotions he’d ignored over the years.
“No broom, and I insist you stop trying to clean the place. Let’s have an after-dinner drink.”
He poured a small narrow glass of the crème de violette for her. It smelled of violets, but he preferred the spicy chartreuse, which he poured for himself. They clinked glasses, and Vika sipped hers, while he swallowed his measure in one tilt.
“Isn’t chartreuse made by monks?” she wondered. “And so many herbs in it. I think the taste would get lost.”
Pouring another draft, he offered her his glass. “Smell.” She leaned in, closing her eyes, and drew in the aroma. It took all his control not to reach for her porcelain cheek and brush a finger along it. Not yet. “Each time, you smell something different, taste the tarragon, and then the anise, or even the mountain lavender.”
“I’ll stick with my sweet liqueur,” she said, curling her wrist toward her as she sipped the violet concoction. “I like things sweet. Now, you are a little bit sweet yourself.”
“Me? Sweet?”
“You’ve a decidedly cedar scent that rises above a mix of many other herbs. I like it.”
“Must be from the herbs I use for spellcraft. I don’t pay much attention.”
“It must be difficult for you, if you’re such a powerful witch, to have that power depleted by the demons.”
“It is, but they cannot deplete the greatest of my powers.”
“Which is?”
“Well, it’s been said a witch’s greatest power is not theirs to wield. Rather, it exists in the minds of others.”
“Oh, yes. What someone believes you are capable of may be the power that holds them back, whether or not you possess such power. It is the power of the mind.”
“Belief,” Certainly chimed.
“I agree with that.” She smiled freely, tipping her glass to his in a bright ting.
Paused in the center of the kitchen looking about—for more cleaning work, he presumed—Vika set her glass aside as he reached her. He moved in for a kiss. It was quick and a little off her mouth. A hint of violet liqueur hushed out at her startled gasp. He’d screwed it up, and he pulled back with a wince.
Mouth open, she gave him a stunned once-over. “What was that?”
“It was an awful, botched attempt. A horrible kiss, as far as kisses go. Sorry.”
“Never apologize for a kiss.” She clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him down to her mouth, and kissed him.
More intrigued than startled—although he was still kicking himself for such awkward first contact—Certainly stepped in closer and slipped an arm around behind her slender back. All he’d needed was a test kiss and an acceptance from her. He relaxed now, and Vika’s mouth melded against his. Of course, he should expect nothing less than perfect from her. Perfect looks, perfect life, perfect kiss. And suddenly he wanted to mar that perfection, to imprint
it with his own rough and messy darkness.
Hand gliding up against the back of her head, his fingers diving into the soft garnet braid, he deepened the violet and chartreuse kiss, clutching her tighter and teasing her to answer his force if she dared. She didn’t balk. The witch wrapped her sorcery about his intentions and pulled tight, taming his sudden wildness until he moaned into her mouth. Her hair, silken and slick under his exploring fingers, pulled free from the updo and tumbled over his face and neck. It spilled endless streams over him, ensnaring, capturing, tying him up in her delicious net.
The body melded against his was long and lithe, soft and hard, hungry and undulating, pressing against him, daring him, meeting his challenge. He grew hard. He pulled her hips forward, crushing her against his aching want. It had been too long. Until he’d gone to Daemonia, he’d not had a relationship with a woman that lasted longer than a night. He’d never felt the desire to make a lasting connection.
Everything had changed. He wanted—no needed—someone. All his life he’d fended on his own. Family was close but distant. He didn’t even know where his sister, Merrily, was right now, yet he sensed she was safe. He didn’t know the concept of family in any other terms, but he felt something was missing. Life was precious. He wanted to experience romance and love, and to know the feeling someone cared about him and waited for his return, no matter where he should wander.
Vika pulled away and stumbled backward, catching her palms on the counter behind her. Her eyes wide and vibrant, she brushed away strands of hair from her cheek. “Wow.”
“No kidding.” He chuckled. “Mistress of the Unexpected Kiss, you are filled with surprises.”
“You’re pretty spectacular in your own right.” She touched her lips, reddened from their kiss. “I, uh... Wow.”
“I could feel the nail hum in that kiss.”
“I could feel your power, dark yet restrained.”
They exchanged laughter and goofy grins. It was a moment of utter wowness, and all they could do was share some shy glances.
“I’ve never been kissed like that,” Certainly offered. “So brazenly.”
“You haven’t been around much, have you?”
“Much as I’d like to lay claim to a certain macho prowess, I’ve been busy studying magic over the decades.”
“Decades? Seriously? You’re a handsome, virile man, Certainly Jones. Have you been so busy you haven’t taken the time to kiss a woman?”
“Pretty damn close. I get it when I need it.” That had been a vulgar confession. She didn’t seem to mind. “I just...” He touched her lower lip, wanting to remember the shape of it, to imprint its seductive power upon his flesh. “I think you just touched parts of me that haven’t seen light in a long time.”
“Really?” She glanced above their heads. “Even with all this prismatic noise going on?”
“Vika, there are places inside me that will never see the light.”
“That’s awful to say.” A stroke of her fingers along his jaw, and he closed his eyes to focus on the exploring touch, to memorize it. “We’ll get the demons out.”
“You’ve suddenly become my cheerleader for demon expulsion.”
She gestured with a shrug of her shoulders. “Guess I figured out you might be worth the trouble.” She kissed him again and, spreading her fingers through his, entwined both her hands within his near their thighs. “Between fighting for my life with the menace demon earlier and walking beneath this amazing constellation of light, my world view has altered in a way not even magic could manage. I’ve always liked things a certain way, neat and tidy. You disperse disorder, chaos and menace with every footstep you make.”
“It’s not something I can control.”
“I know, you explained that. But, well...” She smiled a blushing smile, and her thick lashes fluttered coyly, like butterfly fringe. “I think I understand now why my sister is always falling for the bad boys.”
CJ’s shoulders straightened proudly. “Are you saying I’m a bad boy? I’m just me. Certainly Jones. Boring ole archivist and occasional adventurer to places no human or paranormal breed should ever venture. Fearful of the dark, and keeper of prismatic light.”
“And the best kiss I’ve had.”
He tilted down his head as if to say “really?”.
“Ever. And that’s saying a lot, trust me.”
“Guess I’m not so rusty as I think.” She strolled past him toward the door, and Certainly’s heartbeat stuttered. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.” She twisted an end of red hair about her finger. “I feel compelled to leave the night where it stands, kind of wondrous and new. To save some anticipation.”
Really? That’s what women wanted? Anticipation?
“I want to spend some time browsing through my grimoires tonight, see if I can find something to expel demons.” She paused at the door, hand falling onto the knob. “You didn’t expect me to stay?”
“Oh, no. I mean, not unless you wanted to.” At her raised brow, he rushed out another forced refusal. “No. That would be forward. I’m not that kind of guy.” He winced. “I’ve never been that kind of guy.”
He wanted to change that, though, to somehow fit into Vika’s idea of anticipation.
She smiled, and her emerald eyes beamed brighter than the crystals overhead. “See you tomorrow, Certainly. If you happen to feel a stray soul brush up against you, grab it, will you?”
“How do I contain it?”
“With a mirror. You know catoptromancy?”
“Of course.” The practice involved catching souls with a mirror. He should be able to manage that, even with his lesser powers. “Good night, Vika, Purveyor of Anticipation.”
She tilted her head and blew him a kiss.
And he felt it land in the vicinity of his core, there in his center where the demons roiled, anticipating the night. The darkness. Yet something bright and bold had touched their incorporeal carcasses.
And they didn’t like it one bit.
* * *
Vika spun beneath the chandelier in her living room, only to crash into her sister. Libby held her back, her eyes wide and a silly smirk tickling her lips. “What is up with you, sister mine?”
“Don’t ask,” Vika rushed out. “You’ll just laugh.”
“I have never seen you dancing in the middle of the room as if you were at a Samhain festival frolicking naked through the coltsfoot. And no music. You are in a good mood. What’s up? Oh, tonight’s Friday. Are you and No-Name Titan headed out to the clubs?”
She and her best friend, Becky Titan, held Fridays as sacred. “You can call her Becky. Just because her dad didn’t give her a name doesn’t mean we can’t make one up. We use Becky most often. And she’s in the States with her father, visiting friends.”
“Then what is it that’s brought the color to your pale, perfect cheeks? The last we spoke you were going to find the soul— Ohmygosh. The derelict?”
“He’s not a derelict, so stop calling him that. His name is Certainly Jones, and he’s the archivist for the Council.”
“A librarian?”
“Not exactly. He catalogs more than books. We went looking for the soul.”
“And found it! No wonder you’re so happy.”
“We didn’t find it, and in fact, one of his demons made a horrible showing and crashed the hearse.”
Libby’s eyes widened.
“Just a broken headlight, which I’ve already had fixed. Sorry, had to dig into the household account, but I promise to concoct a few spells for you to bring along and sell at the next bazaar to make up for the expense. I plan to return to the area tomorrow and spread out the canvass periphery. How can one soul hide? It’s got to want to go somewhere, don’t you think? Oh, no, I wonder if it attached itself to someone else? I may never find it.”
“You’ll find it. You need to be vigilant, and I happen to know you do vigilance well. But that’s still not the reason for the happy dance. You know I will break you
down, Vika. It would be wiser to speak now than have me go at you until you talk.”
True. Libby never let anything go if it was a secret or mystery. She had once badgered Vika about an All Hallows’ Eve present for six days. Vika was expert at holding out information. It gave her satisfaction to do so.
“I can’t say.”
“I won’t laugh. Promise. I’ll tell you my news if you tell me yours.”
“You have news?”
Libby pulled a red glass witch ball out of her tote bag. “Got it at the bazaar. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Vika studied the handblown glass ball. Long glass strands dashed from side to side within the globe. “This is amazing.”
“The strands are supposed to trap souls. I thought to hang it in the garden above the white heliotrope.”
“Perfect. Though, I hope it won’t interfere with the souls that stick to me.”
“Oh, I didn’t consider that. I was thinking to catch a few butterfly souls to use in my spells. I’m so sorry. We can’t put this up.”
“No, do. I’ll let you know if it causes a problem.”
“If you’re sure, then I will. Now tell.” She went dead serious. “Or I’ll have the vines in the garden rise up and meet you next time you go out back.”
“I’d blast them with nightshade. Libby, you know you can’t go up against me when it comes to spellcraft.”
Her sister’s shoulders wilted.
Vika started up the stairs, gliding her fingers along the railing and looking down over the chandelier. It dazzled, but it was as if a speck in the universe compared with CJ’s amazing constellation. She wanted to return to his loft and lie on the floor and lose herself in the terrible beauty of it all.
“I kissed him,” she called down, and then dashed into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
“What?” Libby’s footsteps trampled up the stairs in record time. She pounded on Vika’s door. “The derelict?”
“He’s not— Libby!”
“You kissed him.” On the other side of the door, her sister turned and leaned against it. “Was it good?”
“We both said wow after we kissed,” Vika called through the door.
