by Michele Hauf
The flames spattered up tiny water beads, and then, with a lift of her finger, the beads darted toward her palm. She gave her finger a twist, and the beads spiraled in the air between the candle and her hand in a trill of suspended droplets. Her heart speeding, she sucked in a breath. She wasn’t about to announce how thrilled she was because that would break her concentration.
“Coil them into a weapon,” he instructed. “Use your whole hand.”
Frowning, because the first thing that came to mind would never be what he suggested, Vika balked. “Why a weapon?”
“Doesn’t have to be. But make it a projectile of some form.”
That was easier to accomplish. She folded her fingers inward, one after the other, and the water droplets spun into a tight, long chevron. With a thrust of her hand, she sent the watery dart across the room to splash against the glass doors.
They held gazes in silent triumph. “I did it,” she whispered.
“You pick up things quickly. You have great skill. And this.” He tapped her grandmother’s nail.
“That, and a good teacher. Show me something else?”
Their faces were but a handbreadth apart. CJ’s eyes darted between hers, saying more with his gaze than she felt he could speak. She adored his soft smile, a little unsure, but even more willing. He touched her jaw briefly, and she wondered if he would kiss her, but too quickly he nodded and stood back, shaking out his tattooed hand as if he’d been burned.
“It’s your grandmother’s magic,” he said, when he noted her wondering lift of brow. “Sometimes it snaps at me, as if a warning.”
“Good ole Grandma. She’s watching over me.”
“And she doesn’t entirely approve of me.”
Vika shrugged. “She doesn’t entirely dismiss you, either. Maybe the nail also senses the demons.”
“Not a bad protection to have.” He nodded once, accepting that. “So. Something else. How about this?” With a sweep of his hand, he lifted the extinguished candle, and it soared about the room in a wide circle to parallel the movement of his hand.
“Transprojectionary dislocation!” It was a strong magic that required decades of practice. And he performed it with such ease. “I thought you said your magic was weakened by the demons within you?”
“It is. This is but a silly display. I could move buildings if I chose to do so. But not with my passengers holding down the fort.”
“It will be a marvel to see you at full strength. I hope to see that someday.” And more. Exploring the world of Certainly Jones was an adventure she wanted to take. “You’ve spent a lot of time studying magic?”
“Too long.” The candle settled with a clink on the marble counter. “To my detriment.”
“How so? I should think it incredibly helpful to have such a vast arsenal of magic to hand.”
“Yes, but something must be set aside to make room for all the study.” He leaned in again, and this time he brought his face so close, she prepared for the kiss. But it didn’t come. “Relationships,” he said, “have suffered.”
“This one is doing well so far,” she tried.
“At your grandmother’s discretion.”
And then he did kiss her. A sweep of his hand tilted her head to meet his mouth with hers. A tender, soft touch, lingering, not pressing, more drawing in her breath and basking in her. The not-touch occupied her core and swirled in her being as if water droplets dancing at his command.
Never had a kiss so thoroughly grasped her, as if she’d been put under a spell. Dark magic? Perhaps.
“Is that okay?” he whispered against her mouth. “I think about kissing you all the time now, but I know I’ve done nothing to deserve your kisses. If anything, I’ve only repulsed you with my demons.”
“You think too much.” She kissed him. His throaty moan pleased her. A man’s surrender at her instruction. “You can kiss me whenever you please.”
“Mmm, and you can touch me whenever you please.” He tilted his head against her fingers. “I’ve never had something so soft touch my skin.”
His broad hands stretched across her back, and he leaned in closer, not quite bringing his hips in contact with hers. Still polite, yet delving deeper into the kiss and coaxing her further into his darkness.
“You make me view the world differently, dark one,” she said. “And that’s a good thing.”
Touching his smile, she then teased the tip of her tongue under his top lip. He answered with a dash of his tongue along her lower teeth. The dance dared her to surrender to any apprehensions she’d had about him—and she did willingly. Strolling her fingers down his shirt, she traced the hard plane of his chest and felt a sudden zing, as if she’d been shocked.
“Ouch!”
“Oh, sorry.” He tugged aside his shirt to reveal a large mandala-shaped sigil over his left nipple. It was intricate and filled with boxes.
“Sak yant?” Vika guessed.
“Yes, a form of Thai magic, by Sayne, as well. Each box is a different spell. This one repulses other magics. I should have turned it off before touching you. It usually doesn’t respond, but your nail must have glanced over it.”
She clasped the necklace. She never took it off, not even for a shower.
“You don’t have to remove it. I can block the ward with a few taps.” He touched his tattooed fingers to one of the boxes within the sigil. “But it is getting late and soon will be dark. I can’t stay,” he said. “Unless you want me to stand beneath the chandelier through the night.”
“Well.” She made show of considering just that, then shrugged. “I’m going to practice the water displacement some more. Thanks.” She kissed him, then without touching the sigil on his chest, studied it some more. The man was a map of spellcraft, and she had donned her explorer’s hat. “See you tomorrow?”
“I’d like that. I’m going to sleep well tonight, thinking of your mouth.” He traced her lips and she kissed his fingers. “Something to take with me into dreams.”
* * *
CJ crossed the loft threshold under the violent glare of the prismatic light. His world had been reduced to imprisonment within his home, and he’d learned to hate the constant minute tinkle of overhead crystals and the flash of color across his skin, when it should have given him marvel as it had Vika when she first viewed it.
Stomping across the painted protection ward, he paused in the center and tilted his head, closing his eyes. A strange judder moved the floor beneath his boots. He knew it wasn’t an earthquake or the building settling, as sometimes upper floors felt wavery.
“Someone is trying to breach my wards.”
The protection demon’s wards, to be exact.
Racing to the sofa, he found the remote control he’d designed to turn off all the chandeliers with one click or in specific groups, such as in the bedroom or kitchen or only over his spell room. Hastily returning to the ward, he knelt and, bowing, spread out his arms to each side, the remote held in one hand.
Of all the demons within him, he had a sort of alliance with Protection, and he had actually summoned it to the fore on two previous occasions. Now, he needed the demon’s help.
“Ada ada io ada dia.”
His gut churned, the infestation awakening and battling against one another for reign. And when he felt the warm glow beneath his skin, familiar and welcome, CJ clicked off all the lights.
The loft grew so silent he heard the hum of the electricity buzz through the wires. And then, palms slapping the hardwood floor, he was overtaken.
* * *
He’d found exactly what he’d hoped to find on the concrete railing before the Seine in the fourth quarter. A minute, dried speck of blood above a gash in the concrete. Apparently the dark witch had been in a fender bender and hadn’t walked away without injury.
Ian Grim had carefully scraped the blood into a vial with the tip of a pocketknife blade, and now, in his lab, he had prepared the mixture and laid the bead of processed blood onto the same map he’d u
sed with the pendulum.
Immediately the bead, small as a dragonfly’s eye, had began to travel the streets on the map, at first following a main road and then veering down an alley.
Grim stood patiently over the map, hands clasped to his gut, his muscles tense and jaw tight. It had been six months. Finally he would learn where Certainly Jones was hiding.
Over the decades they had matched each other in magics, always trying to one-up the other. They had never been allies or even friends. Always enemies, but not quite, for they employed a gentleman’s conduct for all duels and magical showdowns. They were always generally aware of the other’s location and doings, and if something struck one as interesting then the challenge was issued.
Dasha tended to put up with his macho grandstanding. He loved her for her quiet acceptance.
He hadn’t realized Jones had a clue what he was up to until the man had returned from Daemonia and Ian had sensed what his nemesis had returned with. Something he’d wanted to lay his hands on for decades.
“You haven’t won yet,” Grim muttered as he tracked the slowly moving bead that veered toward the fifth arrondissement and then scattered in a powder across the map, as if blown away by explosives.
“No!”
The dark witch must have been on to him and blocked his approach with protective magic. To be expected. If Grim were able to easily sneak up on Jones, he’d be disappointed. But he was closer than ever now.
“The fifth.” Only one of the largest quarters in Paris. “I will find you, Jones.”
Chapter 8
This cleanup was weird.
Pulling on her gloves, Vika looked over the piles of ash. Normally, she was rarely called in for a vampire cleanup. The vamp was staked; he ashed, leaving behind just bits of clothing and personal items. Usually. This time, one particular pile of ash was only half-formed, sitting before the legs and hips of what had yet to ash.
“A young one,” Libby said, joining her side with dustpan and broom in hand. Clear goggles, that covered her nose as well, wrapped her head because the fine dust tended to fly up one’s nostrils. “That’s too sad.”
The young vampires didn’t ash as easily as those who had perhaps a few decades of vampirism to their arsenal. And the heat generated during an ash didn’t get hot enough to destroy clothing. Hence, the cleanup call.
“You grab the feet,” Vika said. “I’ll get what’s left of the hips. This shouldn’t take long.”
Libby handed her the black body bag, and Vika zipped it open as her sister inspected the shoes on the feet. “These are Louboutins.”
“Don’t think about it,” Vika warned.
“I know. Really bad karma to steal the dead’s belongings. But do you know how much those things cost? And they’re purple. I think they’re my size, too.”
“Libby.”
“All right, all right! Lift.”
They succeeded in getting the legs into the body bag without having to remove the shoes to lessen the weight. Libby tossed the bag into the back of the hearse.
“So he liked the cookies, eh?” Vika asked. She began to sweep the ash, Libby holding the dustpan and dumping it frequently in a hazardous waste disposal bag.
“He took two this time. Said he’d never had anything like them before.”
“Soul bringers don’t usually eat, do they?”
“Not sure. They’re from angel stock so they don’t have to eat, but they can. And he did.”
“That’s remarkable. That Reichardt had a sort of conversation with you. Well, two sentences, but still.”
“I know! Remind me to always have a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies available.”
“Something tells me I won’t need to remind you. But seriously, Libby, you are dating other guys, right?”
“Oh, no. What if Reichardt finally gets it into his head to ask me out and I’ve got a date with someone else? That would so not be smart.”
Vika pushed a small mountain of ash toward the dustpan. “I suppose not.” He wasn’t going to ask, because the guy could have no concept of what a date even was. “Maybe you should come out with me and Becky next weekend. Friday girls’ night out? Just for kicks.”
“You’ve never invited me along before. Would Becky mind?”
“Not at all. I think I should ask her about those shoes. She runs with the glamorous crowd.”
Vika suddenly couldn’t erase the feeling something more than a routine vampire slaying had gone on here. “I know most vamps are pretty well-off, but, I don’t know. Are they all females? Does this feel odd to you? I’m sensing some latent witchcraft in the air.”
Libby paused from brushing up the ash and closed her eyes, studying the air about her by opening her instincts to the electrical energies in the ether. She nodded. “I do, too. Most spellcraft would have faded by now. Must have been a powerful witch in the vicinity, and recently. That is weird.”
“Witches and vamps are on neutral grounds now,” Vika added. “And a witch would have no reason to take out vampires like this, not even for a source—”
“CJ is a powerful witch.”
She twisted a look to her sister. “What are you implying?”
“Huh?” Libby stopped playing with the tip of her purple glove and released it with a snap. “Oh. Well. I’m not implying anything. Sorry.”
Vika nodded and turned to her work.
“But he does practice dark magic,” Libby added.
Why her sister couldn’t get on board with her being interested in the ultimate of bad-boy witches was beyond Vika. He was exactly the sort Libby fell for. It was a good thing Libby wasn’t attracted to CJ. He was hers.
Really? Already claiming the guy, and you’re still not sure if you’re safe around him?
“Oh!” Vika gasped as a few corpse lights suddenly entered her body, one right after the other, as if rushing to the front of the line. They burst inside her and then faded until she felt not a thing.
“How many?” Libby asked.
“Three or four? I can never be sure. Probably all of them. I think there’s at least five dead vamps here, though I’m not sure that ash pile is one or two.”
After she’d taken on a soul, she felt nothing more. No sign from within that she harbored lost souls. The first time she’d realized she was actually collecting souls was when Reichardt had been at the scene of a cleaning. He’d watched as she and Libby had done their work and then pointed out the souls he’d come for were stuck to her. She had no problem agreeing to a regular scrub, while Libby had swooned and hadn’t been the same since.
“That smaller pile there.” She pointed out one moist with dark liquid, which she guessed was blood. “I’m going to make a call and say that was a heart. And why would it not have ashed at the same pace as the rest of the body?”
“Because someone had reached in and pulled it out to drink the blood,” Libby said. Witches had to consume the blood of a beating vampire’s heart once a century to maintain their immortality. “But why five vampires when one will do? Do you think all the hearts got grabbed?”
“I don’t see how it’s possible. Someone would have fought back. Unless there was more than one perpetrator.”
“Or the witch had the other vamps in thrall while he methodically went from heart to heart. We have to report this to the Council,” Libby said. “We’re not detectives.”
“I know. I have no interest in getting involved in whatever this is. I have so many other things with which to concern myself at the moment.”
“Like the dark witch with the tattooed hand?”
“Who kissed me again.”
Libby gaped and pressed her gloves to her mouth, but her eyes were all glee.
“He’s invited me to the Council archives this afternoon. We’re going to search the grimoires.”
Libby’s glee dissipated. “Sounds like a real exciting date, sis. And you think I need to get out more?”
“It’s a work date. I’m determined to—”
“I know, clean him up. So what happens when all his demons are gone? You two go your separate ways? Because I so cannot see you hooking up with him, even if you two have kissed. He’s completely opposite your type.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t have a type.” Vika zipped up the hazardous waste bag, and the two of them hefted the ash-filled container into the back of the hearse. “Do I?”
“Tall, blond and Nordic. You like them looking like Thor, not Thor’s evil nemesis.”
“Who is Thor’s evil nemesis?”
“Not sure, but I suspect he’d look like CJ.”
“Who has a look that bears a remarkable resemblance to your type.”
“I know.” Libby tugged off her gloves and took out the spell-sanitizing spray from a rubber container in the back of the hearse. “And yet, I’m not at all attracted to the guy.”
“Which, I have to say, I appreciate. You should see his home. It would amaze you. I told you he needs prismatic light to keep the demons at bay? He must have a hundred chandeliers hung overall.”
“Seriously? Like some kind of Tiffany’s on crack? Yet another weird feature about the dude that totally doesn’t add up to Vika material. You be careful, sister mine. I know your need to help and clean things up is the biggest compeller in this situation. Don’t fall so far you can’t see the light for his darkness.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, Libby.” Sounded like a line from one of the country music songs she was always singing at the top of her lungs.
“Yeah? But who’s the better judge of character between the two of us?”
Vika sighed. The answer was unnecessary; they knew it was Libby. Vika was too caught up in herself at times to notice the foibles of others, while Libby’s extroversion made her a people reader extraordinaire.
Was she taking a wrong step with CJ?
He had threatened her safety twice. Not him, exactly. The lust and menace demons had done that. And he’d been genuinely upset and apologetic. He was misunderstood, that was all. And so what if he didn’t look like her standard dating material? Maybe it was time she tried something new.
