by BA Tortuga
The magick was inside her, though, he could smell the latent power. It was… oddly intriguing. Sort of like her face, which was perfect until she opened her mouth, showing a crooked front tooth, which he refused to admit was adorable because that was a bad idea, to be attracted to a moron.
She handed him a cup of tea with two sugars, just like he liked it. Clever girl. “Do you have something to sell?”
“No. No, I’m actually here because a ghost told me your granny needed help.”
“Oh. I don't know if I believe in ghosts.” Her cheeks went red, but she didn’t say anything for a second. “If you’ll leave me your name and number, I’ll make sure she contacts you as soon as she’s able.”
“No, I think you’ll need me before that.” Couldn’t she smell the singed, ozone flavor on the air? There was something going on here that went way beyond one broken jar.
“What?” Something was beginning to build, the floorboards humming under his feet.
“I said…” Marc saw movement behind her head, and her hair moved like someone was running their fingers through it. He focused, thinking shoo!
He heard a growl, deep in the center of his skill, then a giant ceramic bull levitated off tall shelf, crashing right behind her, shards of glass going everywhere.
“Shit! Are you okay?” He pulled her away from the glass. Maybe they needed to worry about the poltergeist first.
“I… Yeah. Yeah. That was…” Another statue went, this one a huge vase, and she let out a sharp scream, the floorboards actually rattling.
“Come on. Outside.” If she panicked and ran to the back room, all sorts of shit could get loose. With no one to torment, the ghost would shut down.
“Out…” His teacup shattered. “Yeah. You should go. Now. I… Let me get my purse.”
“No. Just come on.” He grabbed her arm, tugging her toward the front door.
“Hey!” She stumbled, those silly flip flops dragging on the floor.
“Damn it!” A vase exploded above their heads. “Get your pretty ass outside now!” He threw her out the door, feeling like a heel when she stumbled, then fell.
She landed on the sidewalk, on hands and knees, looking up at him like he was the biggest bully on Earth.
“I’m sorry.” Nothing else crashed around inside, though, so he knew he’d done the right thing. He helped her to her feet. “Oh, man. Your knee is bleeding. You need your purse and keys, right?”
“I’m fine.” There were no tears. None. She was stronger than he’d guessed. “Thanks for the help. I guess the foundation’s a little weird in there.”
“You stay right here.” He held her back when she would have gone back inside. God save him from the fight or flight response. “I’ll be right back.”
He ducked into the store, heading for the counter.
“Hey, you can’t… that’s our store… I don’t know you…” She was at the door, about to step in. Marc could feel the poltergeist building energy, feeding off her. Hell, he couldn't be sure how much of the chaos was the spirit and how much was Lily. He hadn't felt such a powerful psychic in years. Possibly since Grandpere.
“Stop!” He made a little sigil with his fingers when he shouted it at her, reinforcing the suggestion with a tiny burst of magic. Then he grabbed her purse and keys and booked it out of there. He’d need to get supplies before he could bind the damned thing again, and he wanted to make sure her knee was okay.
Her fingers were shaking when she took her purse, dug out a set of keys and locked the door behind him. “I have to go.”
“Wait.” He felt like he was manhandling her in the worst way, but he grabbed her elbow. “Let me take you to lunch. I really need to talk to you.”
“Let me go.” She pulled away. “Who the fuck are you?”
An older man came out of the boot store next door. “Lily? Baby doll? Is this man bothering you?”
“She just had a little accident in the store.” Marc smiled at the man, hoping he didn’t look like a serial killer. “I’m a friend of her granny’s.”
“How is Brigit, sweetie?” The man frowned. “Honey, what happened to you? You’re a mess.”
“I fell. It’s… it’s a wreck in there.”
“I’m Marc.” Marc held out his hand to the guy, trying to steer the conversation away from the store.
“Howdy.” The man shook, grip sure, fingers callused. “You’d best come on in, y’all. You need to clean up, Lily.”
Lily. Now he had a name.
She shook her head, long, black hair coming free from its tie. “I’m going home. Thanks, Jim. I just…I’m going home, now.”
“Nice to meet you.” Marc nodded at the old guy and followed along behind Lily, waiting for his moment. It came when Jim turned to go back in the boot shop, letting Marc steer her where he wanted her to go. “Barbecue.”
“I. What?” She had a tiny bruise on one cheek, a bad one healing on her arm.
“I hear there’s good barbecue here. I’m from Dallas.” He just kept talking, kept her walking. They’d find a place to buy Band-Aids, then food.
“You can go to the Salt Lick. They don’t take credit cards, though. I need my car.”
“Stop.” He pulled her to a halt. “You have a poltergeist. You can pretend it’s not there and gradually lose everything. Or you can let me help you.” He hoped by appealing to her business nature he could get through to her.
“I have a…okay, look.” Her eyes flashed at him. “I don’t know who the fuck you are or what you want, but I guarantee you, trying to mess with me just because Granny’s sick isn’t going to work. I might work in a witchy store, but that does not mean that you can convince me ghosts and shit are real!” Her hand landed in the middle of his chest, the rush of latent power making him stumble back a step. It also made him hard as a rock. “I can make this work ‘til she’s better, do you hear me? And no one’s going to intimidate me!”
Fuck, she was stunning. He really liked her spunk, even if she was clueless.
Marc smiled for the first time in two days. Really smiled. “I believe you. I’d much rather you were working with me rather than against me.” He sobered a little. “This isn’t just a heart attack, Lily. It’s Lily, right?”
He ignored the tightness in his jeans the best he could. There would be time for that later.
“Yeah. Lily Streigha.” Ah, Italian and Irish. Temperamental times two.
“Marc St. Marc.” He was Irish and Celtic French. Breton. He grimaced when she raised a brow. “Don’t ask about the double. Mom is a sadist.”
“I…look, my knee’s hurt, and I’m bleeding. I’ve broken a nail and God knows how much inventory, and my mascara is messed up. I need a margarita, a few Band Aids, and a long phone call with my best friends before I take my shift at the hospital or I'll end up making Granny worse with my bad mood.”
Exasperated yet sympathetic, Marc shook his head. “You drink, I’ll drive. My truck is just over here.”
“Get in the car with the possible serial killer. Great plan.”
“I’m not a serial killer!” What the hell was it with this woman? He was usually smooth, and he never lost his temper. Yet here he was, shouting at her and flapping his arms like a loon. She made him crazy, in ways both good and bad.
“Uh-huh. Whatever.” She turned, the motion made less than graceful as one flip flop strap came loose.
Marc gave up on pretending to be sane, and simply picked her up. He would just carry her to his truck.
“Oh, shit!” God, that was a cute little squeak.
“Hush.” He opened the truck door with one hand and plonked her down in the passenger seat, peering at her knees. Not bad. A wet napkin would take care of the worst of it.
“I am not going anywhere with you.”
“You’re going to lunch.” He pushed her legs into the truck and closed the door. Then he hit the lock button on the keys.
What was he doing? He couldn’t just take this girl.
Exc
ept he could.
And he was going to.
* * * *
She got to the Salt Lick, tromped in, and headed straight into the ladies’ room, dialing Los Angeles. She needed someone to talk to and there was no way Sara May was working this early.
“Lily? How’s your granny? Any news?”
She propped herself on the counter, that familiar voice the best thing in the world, right this second. “I think I just got kidnapped by someone from Dallas.”
“What? Where are you? Do you need me to call the police?”
“I don’t think so. He’s more used to getting his own way than truly psycho. He’s a friend of my granny’s.”
“Oh, so he’s old and witchy?” Sara May giggled. “Old dudes are weird.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, they are, but…”
“So how’s Granny?” Sara May cut her off before she could explain that Mr. Tall and Red-headed wasn’t old. Much.
She sighed, dabbing the grossness off her knee. “Real bad, honey.”
“Oh, Lil, I’m sorry. You call me if you need anything, okay? I miss her cookies.”
“I promise. How’s LA? Are you famous yet?”
“I wish. I have an audition next week, though.” Sara May always had an audition, always next week. "You have a feeling about it?"
“That’s great, sweetie.” Lily always said the same thing, too. She'd never had a single second of intuition, though at that moment she'd bet good money Sara May was going to get the part and it was going to end up trouble. Real trouble. Weird. “Break a leg.”
“You call if you need me.” They chatted for another thirty seconds, then Lily fixed her makeup, brushed her hair, and headed out to let that bastard know what was what.
He was sitting at the long, picnic-style table, and he was pretty enough, she supposed. He was big, broad-shouldered, with dark red hair. He had a scar that was really noticeable on his lip, and green eyes that flashed with annoyance when he looked at her.
Jerk.
“Did you get your panties unwadded while I was gone, Marc?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You want to check for me?” He nodded to the seat across from him.
She slid in, rolling her eyes. The waitress came over, and Lily smiled. “Tea. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Y’all want family style, or just a plate?”
“I just need a turkey sandwich, please, with coleslaw.”
“I’ll take the plate with brisket, turkey and sausage, please, and I’d like peach cobbler after.”
She reckoned a man his size could eat. To her disgust, he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him He should have warts and fat rolls and buck teeth.
And a teeny tiny pecker.
Itty. Bitty.
Like a girl’d have to have a magnifying glass and a good pair of tweezers to find it.
He looked at her, raising a red brow, his lips curling up on one side. “Seriously?”
No way. There was no way he could know what she’s been thinking. Only Granny and Mikey did that.
“Hmm? I like the turkey.” Innocent. Just go with innocent. “What business did you have with Granny?”
“I told you.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “I had a visit from an old friend of hers. He’s dead, but he said she needs help.”
“She’s in the hospital, and you tell whoever it is that she’s not dying!” No way. Not yet. That was…she didn’t want Granny hurting or crazy or anything, but… that was her Granny!
“She won’t die if you let me help you.” He blinked. “Well, at least I hope not. I think she’s got demon problems.”
“Demon… You mean like she’s crazy?” Because the other alternative was scary, like bone-deep scary. Smudge sticks and weird jars—hell even flying, falling shit—notwithstanding, she didn’t believe in demons.
He grabbed a piece of bread from the basket the waitress laid down. “How can you have so much magick in you and not know this stuff?”
“Me? I don’t have anything.” Momma always said Granny was witchy, but that it skipped generations and, unfortunately, Mikey had gotten it, not her. She was just an artist and someone who helped out at the store with crystals and candles and stuff.
“Well, it’s time you learned.” He was just…infuriating. His tone was so insulting.
“Look, you ass. I’m trying to learn about the damned shop and everything. I’m not a…a…salesman. I’m an artist. I don’t know who you think you are, but…” Oh. Oh. Oh! She was going to throw something at him. Not only that, but she’d left Bruja in the shop… The glass in her hand started to vibrate.
“Stop.”
Lily thought he was talking to her until the glass stopped shaking. She stared at her hand, which seemed frozen in place.
She blinked. Okay. Okay, that was a little odd. Maybe a lot.
“There. Now breathe, okay?” He smiled, which almost looked genuine. Made him look so much more human. Though how he didn’t look human she didn’t know. Maybe she meant kinder.
“Yeah…” Maybe she was a little low blood sugary. She heard that made you shaky and stupid. She just couldn't seem to keep her shit together around this man.
“Okay. Look, why don’t we eat before we get witchy?” He pushed a piece of bread at her.
“I’m not…” She took it, and it was so good, soft and yeasty and suddenly yesterday’s half-eaten cafeteria food was forever ago. Her head cleared a little, and the world looked a little brighter. The tea even tasted better.
The turkey came, and she ate, focusing on that, on relaxing and letting herself just breathe. It was surprisingly easy, once he stopped talking. Marc watched her, but it didn’t seem mean or anything. Finally, she finished, and he ordered himself another plate, plus that peach cobbler. Wow.
“I’m glad I don’t have to feed you,” she murmured, staring at his empty plates.
His cheeks went red, his freckles and that scar at the corner of his mouth standing out. “Yeah, well, I’m a big guy.”
“You are.” It was actually sort of hot, in that so-not-hot sort of way.
“I work it off. Besides, you eat like a bird. Someone has to keep places like this in business.”
She flipped him off, slow and deliberate. He laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, and he was not cute. Not. Cute. At. All.
“So, what do you want, really? Do you want to… give a message to Granny?” That’s what ghosts did, right? Gave messages?
“I want to help you.” Now his lips were pressing into a thin line again. Panty wad alert. He really had it in for her.
“Help me what?” Maybe she could get him to be more clear. She had Kovel’s, Schroeder’s, and all the other price guides online for the antiques. If she couldn’t answer the less direct questions with Granny’s book, she couldn’t answer them.
“The jars in the back, too? You think you’ll find them in Warman’s? More like the Necronomicon.”
"Don't make fun of me, man. It's a New Age store, sure, but it's mostly junk, antiques. I'm starting to add art."
“You have no idea what you have in that shop. I bet you just took over.” When she nodded, he sighed. “Then I’m meant to help you learn what you’ve got. I’m a professional, in a way. I help people deal with problematic spirits, entities. Occult situations. Just like your grandmother.”
“You’re not making sense. I mean, Granny left me an inventory list, and I have her big book, but that's magick, not…not ghost busting, for goodness' sake.” She wasn’t stupid; she knew magick was about will power, about believing.
"Lily, those things happening in the store, they weren’t will power. Those jars in the back? They're like a prison for bad-assed critters."
“They’re just herbs and things. Granny says they’re her storage.” Granny was a little nuts about them, not letting Lily touch or look too much. Bad-assed critters? Her granny?
“Uh-huh. Look, I don’t argue with Grandpere Ben. If I do he starts haunting me daily. He said, ‘Go to
Brigit. She needs our help.’ Then he sent me here.” He shoved his empty cobbler bowl away.
“What the fuck does that mean? I mean, do you need… I don’t know…” What had Granny told her? Protection, right? “Candles? Sage?” Maybe this was in that part of the book she hadn’t read. “A dead chicken?”
She wasn’t getting anyone a dead bird.
“I need you to listen to me.” He said the words through gritted teeth. “I swear to God, you are the most obstinate, deliberately obtuse female I have met since my Goddamned twin sister!”
“If you’re like witchy and stuff, I don’t think you’re supposed to say Goddamned.”
A big vein bulged in his forehead. “Okay, let me put it in tiny words. You have a shop. It has magick things in it. You have no fucking idea what to do with them. Case in point, the poltergeist you let loose today. I know what to do with them. Do you understand?”
“Yep.” Asshat. “You’re welcome to talk to Granny as soon as she gets better. She’ll be tickled to have help.”
She was going home and taking a bath. Then she was typing out her resignation letter.
“You won’t make it that long. Something is bound to break over your head eventually.” He finally just pulled out his wallet and tossed cash on the table, then handed her a card. “I’m at the Outpost Hotel. When you try to work tomorrow and almost get killed by that poltergeist, call my cell. I can help.”
She watched him walk out, then pulled out her phone with trembling fingers, dialing ‘one’ on speed dial.
“BJ, can I help you?”
“Honey, when do you get off work?” Bobbie Jo had had her back for years.
“Four, why?”
“I just got dumped at the Salt Lick without my car and my folks are in Austin at the hospital.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“A guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Was he hot?”
She sighed softly. “Yeah.”
Bobbie Jo snorted. “I’ll be there in an hour, honey. You can tell me all about it.”
* * * *
Oh, shit.
Marc started up from where he’d collapsed on the hotel bed, staring at the door to his room. He’d left Lily at the Salt Lick, an easy fifteen minutes’ drive from her car. With no ride home. With no ride home, a broken shoe, and scabby knees.
