Taming the Hunter
Page 8
Ten minutes later he raced across the street and into the brewery to avoid the brisk wind that seemed to cut at his epidermis with razors. What had made him think a quick trip to Minnesota was a good idea? Oh, right, it was supposed to be a quick trip. Not a week.
The consolation prize? He’d hooked up with the prettiest, most sensual woman in the whole town.
“We’re not open!” someone called from the far end of the bar.
Dane scanned the room, done in brick and hardwood. Eryss had mentioned it had been stripped to the original flooring and brick walls from the late 1800s when they’d rehabbed the place four years ago. The ceiling was open to expose the pipes and air ducts. It smelled like oat and roasted barley. The earthy scent made his mouth water.
Three large brew tanks stood before the far wall, their stainless steel exteriors gleaming like chrome on a Maserati. Bent over one of the tanks was a pair of legs beneath a very short skirt.
Dane called back, “Uh... I stopped by to see Eryss?”
“She’s not—” The woman half immersed in the big steel tank pivoted on her center of balance, dropping her feet onto the step stool before the tank, and popped up a head of bright red hair. She eyed him and dropped a small plastic shovel onto the floor with a clatter. “Well, well, you must be him. I wasn’t introduced after you shoveled for us.”
“I am Dane Winthur. Sorry to have caught you at such an, uh...inopportune moment.”
After stepping down quickly from the stool, she swung around the bar, tugging at her short floral skirt. “That’s all right. You couldn’t have seen anything in particular. I like to keep my particulars covered.” She fluttered her dark lashes and giggled. “You want a brew?”
“I thought you were closed?”
“We are, but you’re him. And that’s all that matters.”
“Indeed, I am him.” Dane wondered what that meant exactly, and then realized Eryss must have spoken about him to this lovely bit of spunk and cherry red. And wow, that hair—she had dipped it in paint, surely. “Is Eryss around? She said she would be working here today.”
“You just missed her.” Behind the bar, the woman grabbed a goblet and poured a dark beer from the tap. “She’s heading over to, uh, hmm...get something, from...someone.”
A bald lie if ever he’d heard one. But he wouldn’t press. He wasn’t lord and master over Eryss. She could do whatever she wanted. And he had told her he had plans, so surely she wouldn’t spend all day waiting around for him to drop by. Unfortunately for him.
He pulled out the ever-present lighter from his pocket and flicked it a few times. The redhead gave him a curious look so he stuffed it back in his pocket. “Sorry. Habit.”
The woman set the goblet before him. A bold head of creamy foam capped the dark brew. Dane inhaled the caramel and cream scents.
“It’s our vanilla oatmeal stout,” she offered. “Sweet, dark and bold. Great for a cold winter day. If you want a shot of nitro coffee in it, it’ll stay with you all afternoon and keep you flying into evening.”
“I think I’ll pass on the caffeine. Cheers.” He lifted the glass. “With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“I’m Mireio Malory. Master brewer and Eryss’s friend for ages. I mean, like centuries, seriously. Because you know, reincarnation. Oh! That’s stuff you don’t believe in, right? Eryss says you’re a scientist?”
“That I am. And reincarnation is one of those fantastical things that some like to grasp on to as a means of explaining life after death. I err on the side of life and death. One time around, thank you very much.”
“Poor guy. You’ll learn differently. Sooner or later.” A wink dusted her lush lashes over one of her bright blue eyes. “Drink up.”
Dane did so, and glanced to the coaster that bore their logo, The Decadent Dames, which gave him pause. The dame featured in the oval retro frame wore what looked like a pointed witch’s hat and dangled a pentacle-shaped pendant in between two sharply pointed fingernails. Interesting. And...disturbing.
“Witches, eh?” he muttered in question.
He’d been told the town was the Halloween capital. Of the world. Certainly the local shops liked to capitalize on the paranormal to go with the city’s theme. Stuart’s Stuff had enough Halloween ephemera to fill an industrial-sized pumpkin patch. But it was a little strange considering the things he’d noticed about Eryss so far.
“Sure.” She hooked a hand on her curvy hip. “We put spells on our brews.”
He set the goblet down. A glance to the front window revealed there were no suspicious mandalas or symbols designed in frost. He’d forgotten to look that up at the hotel. But two women spouting the same witchy lore to him? They were friends. And they did work together. Hmm...
“Perhaps a man should not drink anything a witch has brewed.” Offering a cautious smile, he teasingly pushed the glass forward on the bar. “I don’t wish to be transformed into a toad.”
“You believe in witches?”
“Not at all.” Yes, but—“My job is to debunk them, actually.”
“Eryss told me. But don’t worry. We’re just normal chicks.” She picked up his goblet and sipped from it. “See? No poison.”
To show good faith, Dane took a hearty swallow. It was a nice, dark stout that warmed his belly. “Nope, no poison.”
“I was joking with you. It’s our thing, you know. If you have a business in the Halloween Capital of the World, it certainly helps to play up the spook factor. Know what I mean?”
He nodded and relaxed his shoulders. “I guess so. I should have come in October.”
“It’s crazy around here then. It’s much quieter in the winter.”
“With temps barely reaching ten degrees today, I can see why. Though there are people everywhere—out shopping, talking on their phones, walking their dogs.”
“We don’t let the deep freeze bring us down. Or keep us from spending money on things we don’t need. Whew! Eryss really found herself a hot one.”
He was almost beginning to feel as if he’d forgotten to wear a shirt, based on the way she looked at him. Wasn’t such blatant ogling supposed to flatter a man? Instead, he felt disturbed by her playful mention of witchcraft.
“Will Eryss be back soon? I didn’t get her number and wanted to ask if she was interested in going to the museum with me this afternoon.”
“She’s booked through the evening. After she’s done with—er, then she’s returning to help me finish the pale ale we’ve got brewing in the tanks.”
“I see.” The woman was definitely keeping a secret about where Eryss was. “I promised I’d make her supper. And she did give me an extra key to her house. Can you suggest a grocer in the area to pick things up for a romantic dinner?”
“Oh, you are so perfect.” She tapped her cheek with a bright red nail that matched her hair. “There’s the co-op just down the block from us. But if you’re headed into Minneapolis you can stop at The Wedge. They have wine, too. Eryss prefers wine over beer. Go figure.”
“Thank you, Mireio. This stout is excellent.”
“It’s the henbane,” she offered with a wink. “It’ll give you hallucinations.”
Sure she was teasing, but not completely. Dane winced, but did manage another sip, because a man never refused a deep, dark stout on a cold winter day. “Will I be able to drive?”
“Sure. You need to drink a few pints to start seeing chickens,” she said with another ineffable wink. “See you later, surfer guy!”
He waved as he left the bar, and shook his head, wondering what the real effects of henbane were. As the wind kissed his face, he decided to wait until he got in the car before pulling off a glove to search the internet for that information.
* * *
Ensconced in the front parlor of Midge Olson’s Victorian house in Saint Paul, Eryss slowly came out of the hypnotic state the witch had invited her to enter. Her goal was to catch a glimpse of the lost lover about whom she wanted to learn more. Scents of
thyme, sage, beeswax and cherry cola filled her nostrils. She shook her head, rising into the present.
“What did you see?” Eryss asked eagerly.
Midge sat on the other side of the small TV tray, covered over with black velvet. Her crystal ball sat in the center of the table, surrounded by crystals to amplify her visions. Midge herself was a real number. Her long hair was dyed black, and she sported Bettie bangs and a ponytail that was tipped in fluorescent green. Matching green eye shadow distracted from her deep brown eyes. A T-shirt stating I Want to Believe and a Hello Kitty ring on her littlest finger finished the look.
“You said you cast an anacampserote?” Midge asked.
“Yes. I’ve always dreamed about a lost love. I wanted to bring that love to me and to recognize it when it arrived. I think he’s arrived.”
“I wasn’t able to confirm that. I’m sorry. I didn’t see a man’s face or even romance for you. But that doesn’t mean anything. You could be unconsciously keeping that one to yourself.”
“I doubt that. I mean, I want to know who it is. Is it Dane?”
“I love that name.” Midge swallowed a sip of cola. The drink was one of many bad habits she wasn’t afraid to cop to. “So Nordic. Like a Viking warrior.”
“He’s a scientist.”
“A nerd?” One of her coal-black brows arched. “Interesting.”
“Yes, but not the sort you would expect. He’s sexy. And his stubble...” Eryss caught her chin in her hand and sighed.
But if Midge couldn’t see her soul mate, then what did that mean? The woman was a soul seer. She viewed another witch’s soul as if it were a TV show. At least, that’s how she had once explained it to Eryss. Of course, she hadn’t done a soul gaze, so the hypnosis had provided a mere peek into Eryss’s psyche.
“You mentioned having a nightmare,” Midge prompted. “Was that related?”
“I don’t think so. I was stabbed by a faceless man.”
“Another faceless man? And you don’t think that’s related?”
Eryss shrugged. When she put it that way...
“Will you let me read your soul?”
Eryss pulled her hand from the table, clasping it against her gut in a protective manner. If they held gazes for a long time, witches could read one another’s souls. It was terribly revealing, and no witch would ever allow another into such an intimate part of him- or herself. It was like handing over the keys to your life in a few quick movements.
“I know, it’s intense,” Midge said. “But that dream you had about getting stabbed was a portent. And with a new man in your life, one whom you very possibly called here by the anacampserote, things just got interesting.”
“I didn’t summon him. I just asked for the ability to recognize him when he arrived.”
Midge tilted her head with a fierce stare that said what Eryss knew she never would with words: Really? You’re buying that?
“Fine. I do want to know what’s up with the nightmare. But how will doing a soul gaze get that answer? It’s not as if I have the information. And if you couldn’t see my soul mate, how will this help?”
“You know you have the information somewhere in there.” Midge tapped her own temple. “We both know you’ve reincarnated many times.”
“Dozens, for sure.”
“Could be hundreds.” Midge held out her palm. “I’ve seen your life line. It’s insane.”
Eryss rubbed her palm up and down her arm. Yeah, she’d studied it, too. Long and dashed through with many lines, as if each were an indicator of a past life. Once she’d counted twenty-one dashes. If she had reincarnated twenty-one times, she could be a soul originated from medieval times. Which would be cool. Then again, time was not linear. So she could never prove that she’d moved through the ages. Perhaps instead, she’d leaped and bounced and circled all around.
Her dreams of the lost lover were obviously from past lives. Which meant the nightmare could be from one, too.
“So maybe somebody killed me in a past life,” she offered. “It might not be a portent.”
“It may not be.” Midge clutched the pop can and rapped her fingernails against the thin aluminum. “What do you believe?”
Her immediate reaction to the dream had been that, indeed, it was a portent. But Eryss didn’t say that. They both knew it was.
“If you don’t want me to look further—”
“No, let’s do this.” Decided, Eryss sat forward on the chair and placed both palms on the black velvet cloth. “Look into my soul. I would never ignore a portent. I need to know whatever you can find.”
“Excellent.” Midge inhaled deeply, let out her breath and closed her eyes a moment to center herself. Then she took Eryss’s hands. “I’m going to block my soul because this doesn’t need to be reciprocal.”
Eryss nodded. “Yes. Good. Do that. I don’t care to ever look into another person’s soul.”
“You have any personal wards up? I didn’t feel any when you entered.”
Wards were like personal guard walls against evil, danger or magic. “No, I’m clean. I always come to you trusting and open.”
“Great! Here goes the whole pot of lutefisk.”
The witch leaned forward and peered into Eryss’s eyes. This was nothing like Dane staring into her eyes. Touching her. Knowing her in ways perhaps even he had not comprehended. This was almost technical. Eryss wanted to blink, to look away and close off her deepest secrets from the woman. But she did trust her. Whatever she saw would stay between them. And if anyone could do a soul gaze, it was Midge Olson.
Midge’s fingers curled over the tips of Eryss’s. The two were silent, intent with one another. Sharing energy, feeling the subtle vibrations of breath, blood and bone. Between their hands sat the crystal ball, dark but sparkling with an inner vitality. The rosemary and thyme scents faded and Eryss shivered.
Midge sucked in her lower lip, but didn’t speak or make a sound. She looked...pained.
Was what she saw so terrible?
“Clear your mind,” Midge whispered urgently. “I’m in.” She maintained her gaze, unnerving Eryss, but fortifying her to continue the staredown. “Flashes of...different times. Nineteenth century. Painting. You were an artist once. Oh, look at that huge skirt! Wait. So much crimson. Ah...” She shuddered.
Eryss felt Midge’s fingertips curl into her palms. The nails hurt and she pulled away from her touch.
“Whoa!” Midge blinked and shook her head. She swiftly downed a long swallow of pop. “Uff da, that was interesting. Over and over...so much...you’re only...not even...and it happens every time. Thirty?”
Suddenly the witch smacked her palms together loudly, breaking any connection they may still have had.
Eryss sucked in a gasp. She hadn’t breathed for several moments. It felt as though the world was coming back into focus. Lemon thyme filled her senses and the beat of her heart thudded with resounding intensity.
She grasped Midge’s wrist. “What did you see?”
“You have lived many lives,” she said quickly. “But again, we knew that. I saw bits of a few. You tend to be very stylish over the centuries, you know that?”
“Sure, whatever. What else?”
“The murders.” Midge cringed and shook her head. Drawing her pinched fingers over her head to her shoulders and then down her body, she appeared to be pulling on a white light, but Eryss sensed she might also be cleansing any bad energies.
“Murders?” Made sense if she had dreamed about being stabbed. But—“Plural? As in more than one?”
Midge nodded. She swallowed, looking nauseous. “He—always the same one—stabs you in the heart. And yet you—you stab him, as well. The two of you always die together. Over and over. And the number. What does it mean? Ah! You...never live to your thirtieth birthday. Ever. Whew!”
Midge got up, the chair clattering across the floor as she did so. She paced before the TV tray and ran her fingers through her ponytail, meeting Eryss’s gaze only briefly.
Midge nodded. “He must reincarnate, as well. And to find you in every lifetime? Has to be a curse. I am positive it was the same man in each reincarnation.”
“Did you get a look at his face?”
“No. But you know we never reincarnate into the same physical manifestation. I didn’t see your face, either. But that isn’t what’s important.”
“Of course not. Who is he? What is he?”
The witch exhaled and leaned forward, pressing her palms to the table, and said carefully, “A witch hunter.”
Chapter 7
“Eryss, breathe.”
Responding to Mireio’s calm instructions, Eryss drew in a breath and exhaled repeatedly, allowing her lungs to expand and deflate as she silently urged herself to relax. She’d driven straight to the brewery to report to her friend what Midge had seen during the soul gaze. And she hadn’t even told Mireio everything before it had all overwhelmed her, and she’d started to gasp for air.
What was wrong with her? She was the calm, cool, collected one. Nothing could ruffle her feathers.
“Finding out a witch hunter is after your ass is a hell of a way to end the day,” Mireio said. She poured a half pint of hefeweizen and handed it to Eryss. “Drink. It’s the one with the chill spell on it.”
“Thanks.” She downed the beer in two swallows. Rare were the beers they served without a spell. But none were too strong, basically just homeopathic approaches to keep their customers happy, cool and eager for more. “Pomegranates and chamomile. That is tasty. You only serve that to the rowdy ones, right?”
“Mellows them up fast. And prevents broken dishware and possible fist punches through the bathroom walls. I am so over patching up the men’s bathroom. You feeling more relaxed now, sweetie?”
“I am. Sorry. I just—right. One more second.” She exhaled and dropped her shoulders. Finding her center, she inhaled deeply and then, envisioning her anxiety exiting out of her as if it were a dark cloud drifting off into the atmosphere, she mentally gave it a flip of the bird. “I’m good now. It was a lot to find out. That every time I’ve reincarnated I always wind up being murdered by a witch hunter.”