Witchy Woman

by Karen Leabo

  Patience was a virtue, he reminded himself.

  When they reached Judy’s fashionable Back Bay town house, for a moment all Nate could do was stare at the three-story Victorian brownstone. “Man, what did she do, rob a bank?”

  But Tess wasn’t listening. She was staring at a man wearing a dark overcoat who was walking down the sidewalk away from them.

  “Tess?”

  “That man,” she said. “I think he was watching us.”

  “And I think your imagination is working overtime,” Nate said, leading the way to the front porch.

  Tess deactivated the burglar alarm and unlocked the door. “You’re right. I haven’t had much sleep the last three days. Still, that guy was kind of creepy looking.”

  They entered the luxurious town house and shook off the cold and damp. Someone, the neighbor, perhaps, had turned on the heat, but for some reason, Nate found the place far from cozy. In fact, Judy’s home gave him a funny, unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wondered why.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” Tess called softly as they went into the living room. The sofa and coffee table were strewn with shopping bags, probably from Saturday’s outing. “Hmm, I wonder where the cat is? He knows I don’t like him, so he’s usually all over me like a rash the moment I walk through the door.”

  “Cats are perceptive creatures,” Nate said. “He probably knows Judy is sick, and he’s moping somewhere. My sister Cathy had a cat that was devoted to her. When she went into the hospital the first time, the cat disappeared. My dad and I looked everywhere. Yet the day we brought Cathy home, there was the cat on the front porch, waiting for us.”

  “What did it do when your sister died?” Tess asked gently.

  “Disappeared again. We never found it.”

  Tess shivered. “That’s why I don’t like cats. They’re spooky. Here, kitty, kitty,” she tried again, halfheartedly.

  Nate set off to search for the cat. There was no sign of it downstairs or on the second floor. But on the third floor, when he entered one of the bedrooms, he heard a low, fearful growl.

  He got on his hands and knees and peered under the bed. There he found a huge ball of black fur scrunched back in a corner. Two round, orange eyes glowed menacingly from the fur ball, which hissed when Nate extended a hand toward it.

  “C’mon, cat,” he cajoled. “Tess is going to feed you some nice, smelly canned food.”

  The cat hissed again.

  “Come on, now. Judy has enough to worry about without you going on a hunger strike.” He reached closer, intending to pet the cat. In a lightning-quick move, Whiskers made a sweeping slash with one paw, delivering a wicked scratch to Nate’s forearm.

  “Ouch!” He quickly withdrew his arm and clamped his other hand over the scratch to stanch the flow of blood. “Damn cat! Starve, then.” He turned to find Tess standing in the doorway, holding a bowl of cat food, her blue eyes big as saucers.

  “You found Whiskers, I see.”

  “Unfortunately.” He didn’t want her to see the blood, but since it was seeping out from under his hand, he didn’t have much choice. “I better wash this out before I bleed all over Judy’s floor.”

  Tess grimaced as she set the bowl just inside the doorway, where Whiskers couldn’t miss it. “This way. I know Judy has some first-aid stuff in her bathroom on the second floor.”

  He followed Tess down the stairs, his senses still sharp enough to appreciate the graceful sway of her hips. It would take more than a cat’s scratch to distract him from his growing attraction to her. Even the story about Moonbeam Majick had taken a backseat. He hadn’t asked Judy about her friend’s alter ego, for fear of setting off a reaction that would drive Tess away from him before they’d even had a chance.

  Judy’s master-bedroom suite was furnished with fussy, feminine French Provincial furniture—authentic, if Nate had learned anything about antiques. He thought the decor was cloyingly sweet.

  The master bath, however, was a different story. Now, this he could get used to. Big enough to fly an airplane through, the bathroom boasted pale peach-colored fixtures against snow-white tile, and frothy, monogrammed towels with peach-and-white stripes. The square tub, plenty big enough for two, particularly appealed to him.

  Nate had never bathed with a woman before. The small, footed tub in his Cambridge apartment, where he had lived for the past seven years, was barely big enough to accommodate his tall frame, much less a guest. He glanced at the tub and then at Tess, and he couldn’t help the slow smile that spread across his face.

  Fortunately she was too concerned with his minor injury to notice. She turned on the faucet at the sink, and a stream of warm water issued from a gold swan’s neck. “Here, wash out that scratch with soap and water,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “I’ll see what I can find in the way of antiseptic.”

  Ick. He hated first aid. The treatment always seemed worse than the original injury. But he dutifully washed out the cut, inhaling sharply at the sting of soap. Then he watched with some trepidation as Tess rummaged around inside a cabinet, pulling out various bottles and boxes and tubes.

  “Is your arm still bleeding?” she asked.

  “Nah, it’s slowing down.” He shut off the water and blotted his arm with a wad of tissue.

  She handed him a bottle. “Spray it down good with this stuff to kill the germs.”

  He did as directed, biting his lip to keep from yelping. “Ouch. What are you trying to do, kill me?”

  “Now spread some of this antibiotic stuff around,” she said, ignoring his complaint.

  “You’re really paranoid about infections, aren’t you?”

  “You would be, too, if you’d known my uncle. Let’s see, where’s the adhesive tape?”

  Great. He looked forward to having adhesive tape stuck to the hair on his arm. When she turned back around, her hands full of gauze pads and tape, he couldn’t miss the hesitation in her eyes.

  “I guess I’ll have to put these bandages on for you.”

  “Yup. I can’t do it one-handed. Why are you afraid to touch me?” he asked, amused but curious. “I won’t bite.” Not unless she wanted him to.

  “I’m not afraid,” she retorted quickly. As if to prove that she wasn’t, she resolutely grasped his hand and stretched his arm out in front of her, placed two gauze pads along the cut, and taped them into place. Her touch was crisp and clinical, very businesslike, yet comforting, as if she’d wrapped his whole body in velvet. He enjoyed it a lot more than he should have.

  Maybe first aid wasn’t so bad after all.

  Tess, however, didn’t seem to be enjoying herself at all. As she worked she bit down on the inside of her cheek. Her breathing came in short, quiet gasps, and a thin sheen of moisture broke out on her upper lip.

  Maybe the blood bothered her. He remembered how pale she’d turned at Anne-Louise’s when he’d pricked his finger.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She fastened the last strip of tape, then quickly pulled her hands away and wiped her damp palms on a towel. “Fine. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. That scratch must hurt like hell.” She turned and began stuffing the medical supplies back into the cabinet.

  “It’s better now, thanks.” He thought the elaborate bandage was overkill, but after all the trouble she’d gone to, he didn’t dare criticize.

  She closed the cabinet door and turned to face him. “I guess we’ve done about all we can do for Whiskers,” she said.

  “All I’m willing to do, at any rate. Even if he doesn’t eat for a week, he’s in no danger of wasting away. The cat must weigh twenty pounds.”

  “At least.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  Tess edged past Nate and out the door, apparently anxious to be away from the intimate confines of the luxurious bathroom. What he would give to spend some time in there with her under different circumstances.

  “If you can spare a few more minutes, I’d like to stay and straighten up the place,” she said
as they made their way downstairs. “When Judy comes home from the hospital, she won’t be in any mood to clean house.”

  “I’m not in any hurry,” he said. “I’ll start on the kitchen, if you’ll handle all those shopping bags in the living room.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to help. You shouldn’t do anything,” she said as they paused by the kitchen door. “Your arm—”

  “Doesn’t hurt at all,” he said with bravado. It throbbed like a sore tooth. The minute he got home, he was going to pop some aspirin and wallow in his pain. “I’ll load the dishwasher. I can do that one-handed.”

  She hesitated, then reluctantly nodded and left him to perform his chosen chore.

  He actually didn’t mind domestic work. Having been a bachelor for umpteen years, he had mastered the basics and performed them often enough that at least he wasn’t embarrassed to bring home a guest, whether it be his great-aunt Edna or a lover. His apartment probably wouldn’t pass the white-glove test, and the clutter occasionally got out of control, but at least he didn’t have marauding herds of dust bunnies loping around.

  He whistled tunelessly as he rinsed off a beautiful, paper-thin china plate. It looked like a piece from an heirloom set—Judy’s mother’s wedding china, perhaps. Judy was one of the few people he’d ever met who actually ate off her china.

  He was about to set the plate in the dishwasher when a shrill scream pierced the domestic quiet. The plate slipped from his grasp and fell with a crash to the tile floor. Without missing a beat, he bolted from the kitchen through the dining room and into the living room, where Tess stood frozen in place, her frightened gaze fixed on something he couldn’t see at floor level.

  “What is it? A mouse?”

  “Come see for yourself,” she said in a shaky voice.

  He inched past her and peered around the coffee table. There, still half-hidden by the paper bag and tissue paper in which it had been wrapped, was the red marble cat, its yellow eyes glittering malevolently.

  Tess grabbed his elbow and pulled him away before he got too close. “Now do you believe in omens?”

  FOUR

  Every muscle in Tess’s body felt paralyzed as she stared at the red stone cat peeking from its brown paper covering. What to do? She didn’t want to touch it, but it seemed imperative that she remove it from Judy’s house.

  “That—that can’t be what made Judy sick,” Nate said, sounding like the soul of reason. “It’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing as a—a bad-luck charm, or whatever the hell you think this thing is.”

  Finally Tess managed to tear her gaze away from the statue and look at Nate. Despite his eminently sane words, there was a certain wildness in his eyes, and his chest rose and fell with his unnaturally rapid respiration. She knew he was trying to be logical, but some part of him was plenty spooked by the appearance of the statue.

  “Maybe we should get out of here,” he suggested in a calmer voice.

  Tess took a deep breath, trying to settle her own runaway nerves. “Okay. But we’re taking the cat with us. We’ll steal it.”

  “Why don’t we buy it instead?” Nate said, reaching for his wallet. Tess couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her or humoring her, or if maybe he was entertaining the possibility that she was right about the curse. “That way, ownership will pass to us.”

  “Good idea. Where’d I leave my purse?”

  “I’ll buy it,” he said decisively, throwing fifty bucks onto the coffee table. “I’m the one who doesn’t believe in curses. Maybe it’s like voodoo. You have to believe in it before it can harm you.”

  “You didn’t believe in it—or even know about it—when you got pushed in front of the subway train.”

  “That was a coincidence. C’mon, let’s go. You left your purse in the entry hall.” He gingerly picked up the cat. Tess noticed that he kept the paper sack wrapped around the creature so that he didn’t actually touch it.

  So, he didn’t believe in bad luck, hull? Maybe not, but he wasn’t taking any unnecessary chances.

  Tess locked Judy’s front door as Nate hovered protectively behind her. She appreciated his concern, but she wished he’d go on ahead with that nasty animal. She could literally feel her skin crawl when she was close to it. Her scalp prickled. Every hair stood on end.

  She dropped Judy’s key into her purse and turned. That’s when she saw the man again, the dark one who’d been loitering on the sidewalk when they’d arrived. She gave an involuntary gasp and, without even thinking about it, laid a restraining hand on Nate’s arm. Immediately, vibrations from the cat traveled through Nate’s body, through his clothes, and up her arm to settle like a cold shroud around her heart. She jerked her hand back as if she’d been burned.

  “What is it?” Nate asked.

  Tess gathered her wits. “That man. He was here when we arrived, just hanging around. He gives me the creeps.”

  “He’s probably just waiting for a bus or something.”

  “Buses don’t come down this street, and this isn’t the sort of neighborhood where people loiter.”

  “Well, what are we supposed to do? He’s not exactly committing a crime.”

  Nate was right, of course. She was getting paranoid. But she kept remembering what Anne-Louise had said about a swarthy man wanting to buy the cat.

  “Just keep an eye on him,” Tess said in a low voice. “He might be a mugger. Don’t let him take us by surprise.”

  “Shoot, why not?” Nate muttered as they scurried down the sidewalk toward his car. “Maybe we’ll luck out and he’ll steal the cat.”

  The man didn’t seem to be paying them a lot of attention, but neither did he stroll away. Tess watched him warily from the corner of her eye while Nate chucked the Crimson Cat into the trunk of his beautifully restored Ford Fairlane. She felt better once the thing was out of sight.

  She also felt better once she was safely inside Nate’s car with the doors locked and his big, reassuring body next to hers. She even felt an alien urge to scoot across the old-fashioned bench seat and sit next to him. She’d spent her whole life edging away from people, hoping she wouldn’t have to make an excuse for why she didn’t want to hold hands or hug or cuddle. She didn’t know quite how to handle this weird compulsion of hers to share Nate’s space.

  Before he put the car in gear, he glanced over at her, invitation in his eyes. “It’s warmer next to me.”

  She looked down. “I know. I just …”

  “Are you involved with someone else?” he blurted out.

  “No! It’s nothing like that.”

  “A bad experience with a man?” he asked more gently.

  She wanted to crawl under the seat and avoid his probing gaze. “I have reasons for acting the way I do. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me. Is it just a general distrust of the male sex? I’d feel better knowing it’s not personal.”

  Dammit, why did he have to be so endearing? All right. If he wanted to hear the truth, she’d give it to him. “If I touch you, I’ll be able to read your mind. Everything you’re thinking.”

  Nate didn’t reply for a few moments. Instead he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. Then he chuckled. “That’s a frightening thought.”

  He didn’t believe her, of course. But at least she’d defused his question. Any more cajoling, and she’d have given in, scooting across the seat to tuck up against him. Instead she fastened her seat belt.

  They’d gone less than ten blocks, neither of them saying anything, when Tess heard a whump and a flap-flap-flap as the car listed to the right.

  “Aw, hell,” Nate said. “A flat.”

  Tess put her head in her hands. In one respect, she was relieved the curse had apparently followed them. Maybe the pressure would be off Judy now. In another … she and/or Nate was in the grip of a curse! She’d never been cursed before. For the first time in a long time she wished for Morganna’s guidance. Her mother was so learned in so many areas, including everything arcane or occ
ult. But all of that knowledge was locked inside a brain that was no longer fully functional.

  “Hey, Tess, you don’t think that statue is responsible for this, do you? ’Cause I’m here to tell you, my tires needed replacing a couple of months ago and I didn’t do it. It’s one of those things I put off even though I knew I shouldn’t. That’s why we got a flat.”

  “I know,” she said, trying to sound convinced. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m just a little jumpy.” That was an understatement. “You do have a spare, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I’m not that foolhardy.”

  “Then can I help you change the tire?” Keeping busy might prevent her from dwelling on unpleasant possibilities. “You’re injured.”

  “You just stay warm inside the car. I’ll have the job done in a few minutes.” He got out and slammed the door.

  Despite his assurance that he had everything under control, Tess got out too. The weather had turned distinctly unpleasant, cold and misty with a biting wind. Even wearing Nate’s jacket, she had to wrap her arms around herself and clamp her jaw firmly shut to keep her teeth from chattering.

  Nate, seemingly oblivious to the cold in his shirtsleeves, had to open the trunk to get the tire and the jack. Tess averted her eyes.

  Nate noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

  I don’t believe in luck, good or bad, Nate told himself as he set about the task of changing the tire. All this was a giant coincidence. But he had to admit, discovering the statue in Judy’s apartment had made his heart jump into his throat.

  One thing was for sure: Tess believed with all her heart that the statue really was evil, that it caused bad luck. The fear in her lovely blue eyes was too real to be an affectation. He didn’t believe it was a simple superstition, either. Her fear went deeper than that. There was something personal in her aversion to the stone cat.