Hot Magic

by Catherine Kean

  “There’s a little more to our situation than that,” Rose said. “Long ago, we were human.”

  “Women,” Daisy added, “in case you were wondering.”

  No kidding.

  “Yes, women,” Rose continued, sounding impatient. “We were sisters by blood, and we were also witches. One day, a nobleman brought us a necklace he’d had made for his wife. He’d bought the gold from a peddler and had paid a jeweler to melt down the metal and create a necklace. But, the metal was cursed.”

  Lucian frowned. “What kind of curse?”

  Marigold hissed. “An ancient one.”

  “A curse involving powerful evil magic.” Rose sighed. “We created a special box and used spells to lock the necklace inside. But, when we tried to destroy the box, we were turned into cats.”

  “We still don’t know how that happened,” Petunia said.

  “Or if we will ever be human again,” Daisy added with a pitiful mewl.

  “Then and there, we vowed to watch over the box and do our utmost to keep it from ever being opened. We were successful, too, until Molly found it and somehow got it open.”

  “We don’t know how she managed that, either,” Petunia yowled.

  Rose shook her head. “I hope we’ll find out one day. But, our vow to protect the box is how we ended up on the ship that sank near Cat’s Paw Cove in the year 1645. The person who owned the box had decided to travel to the New World.”

  “That vessel was the Guinevere? The one that’s now Shipwreck Museum?” Lucian asked.

  “That’s right,” Marigold said.

  Lucian’s mind revived a past conversation. “Molly mentioned she had a relative on that ship.”

  “She did. We’d already guarded the box for hundreds of years before he inherited it, though.”

  “How many hundreds?” Lucian asked.

  “Since the early Middle Ages.”

  He inhaled sharply.

  “Ha! He didn’t expect that,” Petunia mewled.

  “No, I didn’t. I—well, the English knight I once was—was cursed by a sorceress in the late twelfth century.”

  “What?” Marigold and Petunia said.

  Daisy gasped. “No!”

  “Galahad may already have told you, but he was my squire. When I was cursed, he transformed into a cat.”

  “Our situations are remarkably similar,” Rose murmured. “How odd.”

  She was clearly still wary of him, although he could hardly blame her. However, he would like to start earning a bit of her trust. There might come a time when they must depend on one another.

  “Do you think we were cursed by the same Magical?” asked Daisy.

  “While it’s possible, I’d say it’s unlikely,” Lucian answered. “According to The Experts, I killed the sorceress who put the curse on me and Galahad.”

  “Magic also isn’t bound by death,” Rose said. “As we cats have discussed before, the gold the nobleman had made into the necklace could have been cursed years or even centuries before. The curse lived on in the metal and, unfortunately, it retaliated when we tried to destroy it.”

  Daisy’s ears flattened. “I suppose we’re lucky we weren’t turned into bugs—or horny toads.”

  “Horned toads,” Petunia corrected.

  With a low growl, Marigold rose to all four paws. “This is all very interesting, but Lucian still has the necklace we promised to guard.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Rose said with a predatory smile. “Luckily for him, he hasn’t tried to leave.”

  As his gaze moved over the felines, Lucian uncurled his hands. The first stirrings of magic tingled in his palms. He didn’t want to hurt the cats, but he had to fulfill his duty. “Look, I don’t want to fight you.”

  “Give us back the necklace, then,” Rose said.

  “That, I can’t do.”

  Rose and Marigold yowled.

  “Oh, dear,” Daisy meowed. “I hate catfights.”

  Petunia bared her fangs. “Can I bite him first?”

  Lucian raised his hands, palms up. “I’m not your enemy. I, too, want to keep the dark magic from causing harm.”

  “So you’ve said. Why should we believe you?” Rose growled.

  A reasonable question. “I’m not sure how to convince you, but I’ve told you the truth. I have to secure the necklace in my shop, as soon as possible.”

  Three of the cats stalked closer. He scrambled to think of a strategy that would keep the situation from disintegrating any further.

  “You want what’s best for Molly, right?” His gaze shifted from feline to feline.

  Rose glowered. “What a ridiculous question!”

  “Of course we do,” Petunia said at the same time.

  “Do you want Molly to wear the necklace again?” he asked. “Because you were protecting it before, and she managed to outwit you.”

  “Oh,” Daisy mewled. “He’s right.”

  “Shut up,” Marigold muttered.

  Daisy huffed. “I am not going to shut up.”

  “You’re going to side with a stranger? A man?” Marigold said.

  Daisy’s furry chin nudged higher. “We need to look inward, be honest with ourselves—”

  Marigold groaned. “Not that self-improvement crap again.”

  “—and admit we’ve done a rotten job of protecting Molly. We can’t let her wear the necklace again. We just…can’t.”

  Lucian heard dismay in the feline’s voice. Warning tingled at the back of his skull. “What happens when she wears the necklace?” Had they also seen her eyes spark?

  “No more questions. We’ve already told you more than we should have,” Rose said firmly.

  “The more information I can pass along to The Experts—”

  “We don’t serve them,” the gray cat said from by Lucian’s feet. “We’re not going to get our Molly into any more trouble.”

  “I understand.” Indeed, he did. The gray cat’s reticence came from her love for Molly. Gentling his tone, he said: “You care about her. You want her to be safe.”

  “Yes,” Rose said.

  “That means your goal, and mine, are one and the same.”

  The faintest hint of acquiescence flickered in the gray feline’s eyes. “You really can lock up the necklace where it can’t influence anyone ever again?”

  “I can.”

  “That sounds good. Then…we wouldn’t have to worry anymore,” Daisy said. “We’d be—”

  “Free.” Petunia sounded wistful. “Finally free of that responsibility.”

  “After eight hundred years, that would be nice,” Marigold said, sitting on her haunches.

  After glancing at her sister felines, Rose growled. “Well, then.”

  Lucian raised his brows. Waited.

  “If you are the reincarnated knight you claim to be, you are a man of honor.”

  “Indeed, I am.”

  “I want your solemn vow,” the gray cat continued in a gruff tone. “You will swear, on your honor, to get the necklace to The Experts and lock it away forever.”

  Lucian barely resisted a grin. Molly thought he was old-fashioned?

  “He needs to do things properly. He should get down on one knee, like they did in the olden days,” Marigold said.

  “And kiss us on a front paw.” Daisy looked down. “The right one, I think? Or was it the left?”

  Petunia rolled her eyes. “You ninny, that’s only if you’re getting betrothed.”

  “I don’t want man germs on my fur,” Marigold meowed. “Can’t we forego the kiss and just go with the vow?”

  Good God. If he didn’t take charge of the situation, they could argue for hours, and he needed to be on his way. “I will gladly get down on one knee to speak the oath.” Lucian motioned to his sheathed sword. “How about if I swear on the same blade used to grant me knighthood in the reign of King Richard the Lionheart…if, of course, that’s all right with you?”

  Half an hour later, Lucian closed the loaded dishwasher
at the apartment and started the machine—a perfectly normal chore he’d done every evening for as long as he could remember. But, tonight had been far from normal. At least his oath-swearing had gone well, the felines had let him leave without incident, and the box containing the necklace was now behind strong magical locks in the antique store’s special collection. Crow’s phone was also contained, until Lucian received instructions as to what to do with the device.

  Crossing his arms, Lucian leaned back against the kitchen counter and glanced at Galahad, lying on the floor while grooming his tail. They’d completed their quest. Lucian had fulfilled his duty to The Experts. He’d thwarted a potential disaster and ensured peace reigned in Cat’s Paw Cove…but somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the situation wasn’t fully resolved.

  Truth be told, he’d felt unsettled since seeing the vision. Maybe once he’d discussed it with Julius—he’d left a message and was waiting for The Expert to call him back—he’d be able to move on from what he’d seen.

  Lucian’s cell rang.

  Finally.

  He answered. “Julius.”

  “Where are you now?” the Expert asked.

  Not even the slightest attempt at pleasantries? Lucian frowned. “I’m at the apartment. Why?”

  “The necklace?”

  “It’s secured in the store. When will you pick it up?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll call you when I get close to Cat’s Paw Cove. Other Experts will be arriving tomorrow, too.”

  “Great.” Not. “Look, I need to ask you about—”

  “That’ll have to wait.”

  Lucian’s grip tightened on the phone. “It’s important.”

  “So is my news. You need to be prepared.”

  The grimness of the older man’s tone made Lucian straighten. “What do you mean, prepared?”

  “The dark magic’s Medieval.”

  Misgiving crawled through Lucian. “Early or—?”

  “Late twelfth century.”

  A buzzing noise filled in Lucian’s mind. “You mean…?”

  “The same era as your original lifetime. Yes.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “We’re still trying to figure that out. But, the corrupt magic…may belong to her.”

  Her. The sorceress who’d cursed him.

  Oh, hell.

  “I killed Agnes,” Lucian insisted. “You showed me the account in the archives.”

  “According to our records, that is what happened.”

  Lucian thought again of the horrific vision. Had he glimpsed the day he’d been cursed? It would explain why the images had affected him so much. “Send me what you have on Agnes. As you know, I have no memories of her or of that life.”

  “I realize that. Galahad, however, can help you remember.”

  Lucian’s unease intensified. He glanced at the feline, who’d stopped washing. “Isn’t that risky?” asked Lucian.

  “Somewhat.”

  “Somewhat?” He hadn’t forgotten Julius’s warnings years ago.

  “What are you talking about?” the squire asked.

  “I’ll send you the information you need shortly,” Julius said. “But, considering the circumstances, I’m authorizing you to use the special collar.”

  Never before had Julius told him to use the Ancient Egyptian cat collar. Lucian had been given the exquisite object toward the end of his training and had been told it was only to be used in extreme circumstances. He’d shelved it in the antique store because he’d never imagined needing it.

  “Talk to me,” the squire said. “What’s going on?”

  Lucian’s throat tightened. Galahad might be a pain in the ass, but he was also Lucian’s closest friend. What if using the collar hurt the squire? Such focused magic, channeled through a small body, could mortally wound him.

  “I’m sure you have reservations,” Julius said.

  “Hell, yeah,” Lucian muttered.

  “It’s the best option.”

  “No.”

  “Lucian—”

  “I won’t do it.”

  “Yes, you—”

  “There has to be another way. Check the archives. Ask other Experts—”

  “I’ve given you an order.”

  Julius ended the call.

  Anger burned, along with shock.

  Galahad marched over and sat by Lucian’s feet. “Talk.”

  He set aside the phone. “Julius ordered me to use the cat collar.”

  The squire’s eyes widened. “The collar?”

  “Yep.”

  The feline’s gaze darted away.

  “I don’t….” Lucian tried again. “Have you ever worn the collar before?”

  “It’ll be my first time,” the squire said. “But, there’s a first time for everything, right?”

  Lucian struggled and failed to find the right words. “I’m sorry. It’s not what I—”

  “I’ll be fine. Go and get it.”

  Lucian nodded then went down to the shop and returned with the rectangular gold and lapis lazuli box decorated with the Eye of Horus.

  He set the box on the kitchen table then removed the collar. The gold gleamed. Magic, shimmering like fine gold dust, flowed up his arm, swirled into the air, and surrounded him.

  Resisting the enticement of the strong, ancient power, Lucian brought the collar into the living room.

  “If I remember correctly, it’s easiest if you lie down,” Galahad said.

  Leather creaked as Lucian reclined on his back on the sofa.

  The feline jumped up beside him then sat in the middle of his chest.

  Lucian grunted. “You’re getting pudgy.”

  “Hush.” Galahad’s tail curled around his front paws. “Now, the collar.”

  Lucian carefully put the gold around the feline’s neck.

  As soon as the collar settled on Galahad’s ruff, magic sparked against Lucian’s fingertips. Galahad’s eyes turned the same hue as the gold.

  “Whoa. You okay?” Lucian asked.

  The feline didn’t answer. As though entranced, Galahad pressed both of his front paws against Lucian’s forehead: toe beans to brow.

  Golden light filled Lucian’s mind. He gasped, but the magic held him immobile….

  A knight wearing chain mail armor and a sword at his hip rode his horse down a forest road. His ginger-haired squire rode several paces behind. Night was falling, but they didn’t have much farther to travel before they’d reach the knight’s fortress. He smiled, for his betrothed, Brigitte, would be waiting for him. She visited often, but in less than a sennight, would become his lady wife. He couldn’t wait for her to finally be his, in all ways.

  The breeze rustled through the trees and stirred his shoulder-length hair. He glanced over his shoulder. “Galahad, when we—”

  A woman screamed. The piercing sound came from the woods ahead.

  The knight’s hand flew to his sword. His gaze searched the shadowed trees.

  Another scream.

  “We must help that damsel, milord,” the squire said.

  “We will. Follow me.” The knight spurred his mount into the trees.

  Desperate sobs and shrieks drew the knight toward a thinning of the forest. In his childhood, years before the king had granted him these lands, he’d heard tales of the clearing. ’Twas said to be an ancient and haunted place; one where witches gathered to conduct rituals, cast spells, and do sacrifices.

  “Please, spare me.”

  ’Twas Brigitte’s voice!

  “Please. I beg you.”

  The knight jumped down from his horse and tore through ferns and low-growing bushes.

  As he emerged in the clearing, he saw four men-at-arms sprawled on the grass: Dead. The metallic stench of blood tainted the air.

  Brigitte, weeping, stood bound to a post. Her long blond hair, wrenched free of its braid, tangled in the branches stacked up to create a pyre surrounding her.

  A woman with copper-colored tresses an
d gold bracelets thrust a flaming torch toward the sky and chanted in an unfamiliar language.

  Agnes.

  Never would he have guessed the maidservant from his castle was a sorceress and a murderess.

  “Agnes!” the knight yelled, striding toward her.

  The squire caught up to him.

  Seeing them, Brigitte cried out in relief.

  “Lord Chadwick.” The sorceress smiled—the same sultry curve of her lips as when he’d found her naked in his bed days ago. She hadn’t been smiling when he’d told her to leave his chamber.

  “Throw aside the flame,” the knight commanded.

  “I will not.”

  Anger clawed up inside him. “If you hurt her—”

  “Why should I not? You have refused me, again and again,” Agnes seethed, “because of her.”

  He had. He loved Brigitte and desired only her. He’d tried to be kind when rejecting Agnes, but she’d persisted. “As I told you,” he ground out, “my heart belongs to another.”

  The sorceress smirked. “Not for much longer.”

  “Let me go,” Brigitte wailed.

  “You will be free, milord,” Agnes said. “You will love me.”

  “Nay,” the knight said. “I warn you—”

  The sorceress threw the torch into the pyre.

  Roaring, Chadwick lunged.

  Dry kindling in the pyre burst into flame. Brigitte cried out in terror.

  “Free her,” the knight yelled to Galahad. Raising his blade, he positioned himself between the sorceress and the squire.

  Light akin to lashes of fire shot from Agnes’s palms.

  Shock tore through the knight—he’d never seen such light before—but with the flat of his sword, he deflected the flames. With an angry shriek, Agnes fired again. He swung his blade, dodged, moved ever closer to her. The pyre’s blaze grew higher; hotter.

  “The lady’s free,” Galahad shouted.

  “Thank Go—”

  Light slammed into the knight’s chest. He flew backward through the air.

  “Milord!” the squire cried.

  Chadwick landed near the dead men. His head reeled. His nostrils burned with the odor of scorched cloth. It pained him to breathe. Over the ringing noise inside his skull, he heard the sorceress laughing.