Her heart throbbed, which meant Sam wouldn’t remember their encounter in Morin’s bedroom loft.
Well, damn. Back to square one. And with the gleam of retribution burning in his gaze, she guessed she was lucky all he wanted was a pound of flesh. Or to pound hers, anyway.
In anticipation, her bottom winced.
“This thing over?” Sam asked, eyeing the bottle in her hand.
Cait held it up. The goo inside was moving. Still alive. “I’m not sure where to dispose of this.”
“I’m assuming… demon?” At her nod, he asked, “Want it in the office safe?”
Sitting in the safe right beside the pail where another demon was trapped in silvery splinters of glass? She’d have to get with Morin to figure out how best to safely get rid of the remnants. She’d been too busy to get rid of the first demon.
“You two heading to O’Malley’s to celebrate?” Jason asked.
Sam rubbed his naked chest. “I need a shirt.”
A slow grin stretched Cait’s mouth. “I think I can rustle up something.”
Sam leveled a deadly glare on Cait, who hadn’t stopped smirking since they’d taken their seats at O’Malley’s. He rolled his shoulders one at a time, trying to stretch his new garment. The Reel PIs T-shirt fit snug across his chest.
He pretended annoyance at her amusement, but inside he couldn’t be happier. They’d both come through the dangerous crisis. Cait had vanquished yet another demon, and they were both alive to celebrate that fact, something he didn’t think he’d ever take for granted again. He’d come close, and remembered the dread certainty he’d felt the moment he’d been jerked through the hallway, tethered by a lightning bolt burning around his wrist.
He held out his hand. Not a mark on his arm. Just sunburned skin that looked like he’d spent a little too much time in a tanning bed.
Pauly slid glasses of ice-filled cola across the table. “Anything else I can bring you?” he asked, eyeing Sam’s red face. “Some aloe vera?”
Sam gave him a grumpy glare, and Pauly strode away, chuckling.
Cait sat beside her Sam, her body snuggled as close as she could manage without sitting in his lap. She’d been clingy ever since they’d left the hotel, unwilling to let him out of her sight. Not that he minded. When she’d scooted close, he’d lifted his arm to bring her in. He needed the tactile reassurance she was unharmed. He didn’t care that they had an audience.
Jason and Leland were crammed together in the opposite bench seat, Leland having been a last-minute addition to their party.
Sam had been surprised, Leland shocked, when Cait had strode over to Leland and leaned up to give his cheek a kiss and offer him the invitation to join them.
“Couldn’t have done it without your help,” she’d said, although neither he nor Leland understood the comment.
Still, he appreciated the opportunity to relax. Nice to breathe in the familiar scents of the bar.
“Really need to do something with your hair, Cait,” Jason said, waggling his eyebrows.
Her hair was poofy again, lifting a couple of inches off her scalp.
Sam grinned, relieved they’d all managed to get out of the hotel alive. He shuddered at the memory of the stinging lightning lash pulling him through a dark, crowded hole. When he’d landed sprawled on the floor along with the officer, he’d been unable to move, rigid with shock.
The unlikely sight of his ex-wife standing behind Lewis and his doppelganger demon had caused his heart to seize for just a moment. Confusion and fear cleared as he realized they hadn’t seen her and that she had a plan, although waving a wine bottle hadn’t seemed like a brilliant one at first.
Cait, hair lifting with the static crackling in the air, had seemed like a superhero, nearly fearless, until he’d heard the tension in her voice and noted the whites of her eyes were large in her face.
So Cait had at least an ounce of self-preservation. She’d been scared to death.
Maybe she was being more careful. Sam reached into her lap and curled a hand around hers, giving it a squeeze.
Cait squeezed Sam’s hand right back, not pausing in her retelling of mostly everything that happened in her explanation of how she’d defeated the demons.
“There were two Lewises. I didn’t know that fact until the other one crawled out of the vortex. One young, one older. I don’t know if they were halves of the same demon, his past and future selves, or whether they were father and son.” Her hand waved. “Doesn’t much matter, I guess. They’re in pretty snug quarters now. I was a little afraid that part of them might still be attached to the walls, but I think once they were both trapped in the bottle, with that vortex closed behind them, I got everything.”
“No chance of them popping the cork?” Jason asked, staring at the wine bottle sitting in the center of their table.
Cait wrinkled her nose. “Not if the spell holds.” One problem at a time.
Sam tapped the bottle, and they all watched as the goo swirled inside. “What was up with the roses? The thorns and petals?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “My mom used to say roses are pure. Their perfume impossible for otherkin to resist. You use roses to attract fairies to your garden.”
Jason’s jaw sagged a bit. “Fairies exist?”
“I don’t know. It’s a story I found in a book.”
Sam grunted. “Like the golden apples?”
Cait glanced at him from beneath the dark fringe of her eyelashes, a blush heating her cheeks. “The apples really work, silly.” At his lopsided grin, she narrowed her eyes. “You’re teasing me. I don’t know if I can handle a Sam with a sense of humor.”
Sam’s jaw tightened, and his body stiffened. “So, you’re telling me you faced a demon with a bottle and rose bits, and you didn’t have a clue whether the spell would work?”
He wasn’t exactly shouting, but the tension in his deep rumbling voice sent warning shivers down her spine. She shrugged nonchalantly. “Someone has to create a spell. They don’t just exist, ready to be plucked from the air. A spell has to begin somewhere.”
Jason didn’t seem to notice Sam’s growing anger. “How did you step back in time?”
She cleared her throat and looked across the table. “An offering of incense, a complicated mixture of herbs and resins, and a really bad poem. The Powers That Be heard me. They opened a portal in time.” The one ingredient she carefully omitted was her vow.
“And you depended on an incubus to hold the door open so you could get back.” Jason shook his head. “That took some balls.”
“All in a day’s work,” she said lightly as Sam’s fist crunched around hers. “It couldn’t not work.”
Leland took a sip of his cola, made a face, and set it down. “So how did you manage all that in under a minute—because I know you were just in front of me, runnin’ through the door. But when I got to the hallway, you’d disappeared. I checked 323, found it empty, then hotfooted it down the stairs after I noticed the elevator descendin’.”
Apprehension thudded in her belly. Cait dropped her glance and sat quietly while all the men’s gazes trained on her. Not for love or money would she ever tell them the nightmare she’d lived.
Sam would just have to accept there was one little secret she’d never tell.
Jason came to her rescue, holding up the bottle and scooting off his seat. “I’ll get this back to the office and lock it up tight.”
Leland gave Cait a hard glare but must have sensed she was never going to fess up the rest of the story. He scooted across the bench seat and gave her another look, one that almost seemed admiring. “You take care, Cate,” he said, his voice gruff, and then he winked.
Cait’s eyes widened, and she fought back a surprised gasp. But she guessed if she could shock him with a kiss, he could pay her back with a wink.
“Don’t blow up anything,” he quipped as he followed Jason out the door.
“You ready to go?” Sam asked, a hint of dark, sexy promise i
n his drawl.
“Will you distract Pauly with a conversation while I say good-bye to my other friends?”
Sam glanced around at the roomful of empty stools and booths. “Ah. Daddy’s here?”
She nodded. “With Sylvia. I’m sure they’ve been all ears.”
“Be quick,” he said, sliding from his seat. “And tell Syl she’s not welcome in our bedroom.”
Cait grinned.
“Mmm-mm,” Sylvia said, smacking her lips as she scooted across the bench. “I can see why joo’d face demons for that man.”
Her dad sat down, his expression a little drawn. “I was worried about you. Looks like you and Morin found a solution.”
Cait tilted her head. “Wait. You know?”
“That you managed to rewrite your personal history? Yes.” His gaze slid to Sam, standing at the bar. “I’m happy for you. But also a little worried.”
Cait released a long breath, and her gaze searched her dad’s face. “Morin warned me there’s always a price.” She lifted her shoulders. She wasn’t afraid of any downside to the magic she’d used. Not as long as she had Sam. “I don’t care. I’ll pay whatever when the time comes.”
Hours later, Cait rested her sweaty cheek against Sam’s equally moist chest, seeking reassurance this hadn’t all been a dream. His heart slowed, thudding hard beneath her ear. She smiled.
“Are you going to tell me what really happened?”
She jerked back to peer into his face and swallowed hard. Her gaze took in features that were dearer to her now that she knew how losing him felt. What would he do with the knowledge? Could he handle knowing?
Something in her expression must have told him the whole truth was better left alone, because he dragged in a deep breath. “So, maybe when we’re old and dead.”
“Shit.” She scrambled off his body, off the bed, and hurried to the shower.
“Was it something I said?” he drawled as he stepped beneath the spray behind her, his hands roaming her hips and waist.
“I have an errand to run. Want to come with me?”
“Since I have a couple of days off, sure.”
She hurried through her shower, wishing for the freedom to truly enjoy Sam’s luscious body. “Take your time,” she said. “I have something to do before we leave.”
Cait dressed in the bedroom and then searched the floor for the jeans she’d worn the previous night. She extracted the watch from the pocket, found an old scarf in the back of a drawer, and wrapped it carefully.
She went to the kitchen, pulled a chair to the broom closet, and stepped onto the seat to shove the watch to the farthest corner, behind her mother’s Book of Shadows.
Although she knew there’d be some karmic penalty somewhere along the line, she wouldn’t be returning the watch to Morin. Couldn’t promise she’d never use it again.
Besides, her powers had charged it. The watch belonged to her now. Along with her mother’s book. She made a mental note to write down everything she’d done, every word she’d spoken, however bad the incantation. For posterity.
The thought of posterity, of little Pierces clutching watches and brandishing hazel wands, made her smile, and she pressed a hand to her abdomen. At least the thought didn’t make her itch.
“Can I help you down?” Sam asked.
She turned on the chair, wondering if he’d seen her goofy grin.
His eyes sparkled with amusement, and he held out his hand. But instead of handing her down, he swept her off the chair and into his arms.
“How’d you know?”
“Know what?” He smiled.
“That I love it when you manhandle me?”
Sam shook his head. “Baby, I wasn’t thinking about you.” He leaned down and nuzzled her ear, his lips exploring the sensitive skin. “You smell good. Sure we don’t have time…?”
Resting a hand on Sam’s hard chest, Cait laughed, and shoved away the thought of little Pierces. She and Sam still had some kinks in their relationship to work out. Maybe one day.
“You sure you don’t mind?” Cait asked again as she glanced around the narrow street.
“We’re already here,” he said, steering his car down the gravel driveway to a small boxy clapboard house.
Cait opened the passenger door and stepped out. Morning sunlight shone soft on the picturesque little house and yard.
Painted white and accented with blue shutters, the old house looked cozy. A fitting place for Gladys Digby and her husband, Frank.
Rosebushes in need of pruning climbed a trellis at one corner of the house. A neat vegetable garden, plantings overgrown with weeds, sat to the side of the green lawn, which looked in need of mowing.
On their way to the house, she’d called the hospital. Frank had passed quietly away the night before. She hoped Mrs. Klein was with him and that they’d both be waiting for her to return with Gladys. Once she’d found her… and explained what had happened.
With Sam trailing behind her, Cait walked around the side of the house and entered beneath an arbor gate dripping with wisteria blossoms. Beyond the gate was a fantasy garden, filled with lilies and peonies, salvia and sweet peas.
Gladys Digby sat on a whitewashed iron bench, nodding in the sunshine. The oxygen tank she’d wheeled around the hospital was gone. So was the hospital gown. The old woman wore jeans and a pretty blue-flowered blouse tucked into the elasticized waist.
“Gladys?”
The woman’s white-haired head turned, a vague expression on her face. “Good morning.”
Cait hoped it wasn’t one of Gladys’s bad days. “Do you remember me?”
“You’re the girl from the hospital. Accident-prone. You arranged for that blond cutie to bring me home to my Frank. He nearly talked my ear off, and him not even able to see me.”
Cait hid a smile. She’d told Jason to keep talking while he drove “Miss Daisy” home. She hadn’t wanted the woman who’d died from complications related to her Alzheimer’s to get distracted and wander away before he could deposit her at her door.
“Don’t hover over me. Have a seat.” Gladys patted the bench beside her.
“What are you doing out here?” Cait said, sitting beside Gladys.
“Waiting for Frank and enjoying the butterflies.”
“Butterflies?” Cait glanced at the garden, just now noticing the small yellow butterflies, their buttery wings fluttering around red and orange blooms. She turned toward the woman. “Frank’s not coming, Gladys,” she said softly.
Gladys swallowed and blinked. Her rheumy, blue eyes filled with tears. “I wondered. The old fool left to buy groceries. Hasn’t been here for days. No one came. If they had, I wasn’t sure I could hitch a ride and find him. I don’t know where he is.”
Cait gave her a smile. “Mrs. Klein is with him. She’ll tell him to wait.”
“That old bat?” Gladys sniffed and squared her rounded shoulders. “She’d better not flirt with him.”
“She said to tell you hello. I think she missed you.”
“You’ll take me to him?” she asked, relief shining in her eyes.
“Of course.”
Gladys didn’t move; her arm made a sweep across the yard. “He planted all this for me. I have a black thumb.” Her gaze flitted to several spots among the bright blooms. “The man wasn’t much for pretty words, but there’s love in this garden.”
Cait felt her own eyes fill and followed the woman’s glance to the flowers with their bounty of pretty butterflies. “I have one just like that,” she whispered.
“You know,” Gladys said, leaning toward Cait, a mischievous smile spreading, “this house will go for a song.”
Cait blinked and looked around again. The house was small. But the yard was large. Big enough for herbal plantings. And blissfully free of the sound of the city. A nice place to raise children. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured.
Gladys stood and walked toward the gate. She shot a glance behind her. “Don’t dawdle, girl. Frank’s
waiting.”
Cait followed her, nearing Sam who’d stayed beside the gate. His own gaze took in the yard, eyeing the roof with the gutter filled with leaves and the cracked concrete on the back-porch stoop.
Cait leaned into Sam. “I have it on good authority this place will go for a song.”
Sam’s gaze jerked toward hers. “Someone matchmaking?”
“Wouldn’t have to buy any monarchs to release.”
As he slid an arm around her shoulders, Sam chuckled. “Caitydid Migelo will be disappointed—plain yellow butterflies.”
Will, he’d said. Cait breathed deep to calm a racing heart. Not a proposal. But a hint of a promise.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Lost Souls wasn’t created in a void. I’m fortunate to have a lovely group of ladies—my Delilah’s Diary and Rose’s Colored Glasses “loopies”—who give me daily encouragement and advice. Thanks, ladies! You make this journey so enjoyable.
I’ve mentioned my deplorable lack of ability to write a poem before. Author Lacey Thorn gave me much-needed help crafting the “cleansing spell”—she’s truly talented!
And I couldn’t have raced through this book, keeping the momentum going, if I hadn’t had my dear friend Layla Chase following me to clean up all my “uglies.” She’s been my friend for nearly as long as I’ve been writing. I treasure you, Layla!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Delilah Devlin was born in Spokane, Washington, and spent her childhood as a US Air Force brat. As an adult, she rebelled and accepted a commission into the Army, the first of several careers that would take her around the world. She now makes her home in Arkansas and continues to travel. The award-winning author of several paranormal romance, erotic romance, and erotica novels, novellas, and short stories, she channels her interests in mythology, history, and the occult into her writing.
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