Taming the Hunter

by Michele Hauf

  “The same one every lifetime?”

  “That’s what Midge saw. Weird, right? She suspects the witch hunter is under a curse. Or both of us. I just wish I knew why. Because if I did, that might give me a method to stop it from happening again. Mireio, she said I die before my thirtieth birthday.”

  “That’s only...” Her friend did not say what they both knew.

  “Oh, my goddess.” Eryss pressed a palm over her heart, tendering her pulse and trying to relax.

  “Oh, witch’s warts, now I need a drink.”

  Eryss pushed her glass toward the taps. “Fill me up while you’re at it.”

  “So how will you know who this witch hunter is?” Mireio asked as she handed over a full glass.

  “No clue. Midge couldn’t see his face. Nor could I see a face when I had the nightmare. But I assume any man who comes charging toward me with intent to kill is a good guess.”

  “You think it’s Dane?”

  “What?” She hadn’t considered such a thing. “No. That man is not a hunter, he’s a scientist. A geologist, for Herne’s sake—he studies rocks.”

  “Yes, but the nightmare did arise when he came into your life. And there’s not much time before—You can’t ignore that and brush it off as coincidence.”

  “Seriously? You think Dane is a dangerous witch killer who is softening me up for the slaughter by cooking for me and making insanely fabulous love to me? No. That’s...no. It doesn’t feel right. He’s my lost love. He’s got to be,” she said in a whisper that was trying to encourage her frightened heart more than anything.

  “Of course he is. A sexy guy like that? He doesn’t have a dangerous bone in his body. So who else could it be? I didn’t think there were that many witch hunters around. I know they have to register.

  “That’s it!” Mireio set down her pint. “We can check the registry and see if we can find locations for witch hunters currently in the United States.”

  “I don’t think witches have access to that registry, for a very good reason.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry. Well, you’re going to arm yourself, aren’t you? Both psychically and with real weapons?”

  “Of course. Midge said I always kill him, too.”

  “You go, girl!”

  Somehow being congratulated for ending a man’s life—as he did the same to her—didn’t sound like an occasion for confetti and streamers to Eryss. She wanted to live. And the only way to do that was to actually kill another? She was not a murderess. And apparently causing another man’s death didn’t grant her life.

  “I can’t harm another soul. What if I didn’t kill him?” she posited.

  “Then you’d still be dead.”

  “Right. According to Midge I always die. Oh, Mireio, I have to think about this one.”

  Mireio handed her a coaster with an ink scribble on it. “Your sexy scientist stopped in right after you left. He wanted to bring you along with him to the museum but didn’t have your phone number, so he left his. Explain to me how the man can have a key to your place, has thoroughly put the sex mojo on you, and yet...no phone number?”

  Eryss blushed as she took a sip of beer.

  “Right. No need to answer the obvious. He’s sexy. And smells so freakin’ good.”

  “He smells like ocean surf.”

  “Ocean surf with murderous intentions?”

  Eryss flinched as Mireio smacked her fist into her palm. “You’re not helping my nerves.”

  “No, you’re right. He’s not a hunter. The man is gentle. But strong—I saw those biceps when he was shoveling. Yet I don’t see the predator in him. But it’s still not a bad idea to put on a white light when you’re around him.”

  A white light was a gentle ward that protected her from negative energies.

  “Good call. Oh, goddess. I invited him to stay at my place for the rest of the week. I don’t know if I should have done that after what I’ve learned today.”

  “Sure you can. Neither of us believes he could be the witch hunter. You said he debunks the paranormal? The last thing such a person would actually do was hunt for witches—oh. Hmm...”

  Eryss swallowed roughly as she picked up on the same thing Mireio obviously had. Who better to hunt for a witch than a man whose job it was to debunk them?

  But no. A man couldn’t hunt for something he didn’t believe in. Right?

  “Don’t worry about it, sweetie.” Mireio tucked a couple red curls behind her ear. “And with Dane around for a few days it’ll take your mind off the dire stuff. Are you going to shelter yourself away and hide, waiting for the big bad man to come after you?”

  “No. That’s stupid. I would never run from my life, or the challenges it has in store for me. And talk about challenges. Whew! I had only wanted to bring the soul of my lost lover into my life, and now look what entered. I need to find that crystal blade my grandmother gave me. It’s so sharp. And it fits in my purse.”

  “You should wear a thigh strap like Valor does.”

  Eryss and Mireio both chuckled. Valor was a balls-to-the-wall tomboy with a twist of velvet and sage.

  “He said he was going to make supper for me tonight,” Eryss said, tugging out her phone to call Dane.

  “I know. He asked for a good place to find groceries. I told him to check down the street.”

  “Good girl. I trust him. I do. I mean, he’s the one, right?”

  “I sure hope so, sweetie.”

  Eryss couldn’t quite smile at Mireio’s weak encouragement. She certainly hoped he was her soul mate. And not the man who would sink a knife into her chest before her thirtieth birthday.

  * * *

  Dane had just found the symbol in the online directory that matched the one he’d photographed from Eryss’s kitchen window and begun to read, when she’d pinged him that she was on her way home. He hadn’t had a chance to finish reading about what the symbol meant, but it troubled him that he’d found it on a “witch” site.

  Since working for the Agency, he’d had no choice but to step over to belief. He believed in witchcraft. Yes, him, a scientist. But real witches were born, not made. His opinion of people who believed themselves capable of magical powers was that they were lacking something in their emotional lives that required them to latch on to some sort of religion or ritual that spoke to them and provided solace. Or even the illusion of power. It was a waste of time, as far as he was concerned.

  Did Eryss really consider herself a witch? A real witch, in possession of authentic magical skills? She owned a brewery that served beers with witchy names. Even the woman he’d spoken to this afternoon, Mireio, had joked about witchcraft.

  Was it merely a way to speak to a city that marked its fame as the Halloween Capital of the World? Perhaps. But still. He’d ask her about it tonight. He’d just come out with it, and make it clear to her that he was getting some confusing signals from her about the witch stuff. Maybe she was teasing him because she knew he debunked the paranormal?

  Yet it didn’t feel right. Eryss was true to the bone. He innately sensed that about her.

  “I’ll ask,” he muttered. “And then I’ll have nothing to wonder about.”

  He went into the kitchen, set the laptop on the butcher-block table, then pulled the vegetables he’d purchased from the co-op grocery store from the fridge. Time to start chopping. He had a bean and lentil soup to prepare.

  Twenty minutes later the soup simmered on the stove, imbuing the air with sweet tomatoes, savory thyme and rosemary. Dane hummed “Hotel California” while he worked, which he’d heard on the way home from the museum. He smirked when he realized the lyrics resonated with him; he could check out of Minnesota anytime he liked, but...he could never leave. Ha!

  The side door opened to emit a woman bundled up against the cold. Dane tilted his half glass of red wine toward her. “Good evening.” He felt only a little strange greeting a woman he had known for three days as if they had been dating for years. And the fact that she’d given him free reign
in her home was also not as odd as it should feel.

  They had grown instantly comfortable with one another. In fact, he had felt a weird sort of familiarity with her the evening he’d met her at the ball. And while the scientist in him demanded he question such an instant and easy attraction, he did not. He liked this ease. Bypassing all the usual dating worries, misinterpretations and hang-ups? He would take it.

  Eryss unwrapped a scarf from around her neck, releasing a spring of chestnut hair over the fake fur rimming her coat hood. She managed to shed her boots, mittens and coat all at once and parked them on the hooks and sisal mat beside the door.

  Beneath the winter armor, she blossomed in a summery green dress dotted with red flowers. Her red tights matched the flowers. She met him at the table with a cold kiss.

  Dane flinched at the first touch of her lips to his and her nose was so cold! But when she giggled, he dived in for the chilly reward of warming her up. Her mouth opened against his and their tongues touched, igniting an instant and provocative spark. Her cool fingertips curled into the chest hairs at the base of his neck.

  “It smells great,” she said. “I’m going to run upstairs and freshen up a bit. Pour me some wine!”

  She glided down the hallway, leaving him with a smile on his face. Domestic bliss so quickly? He was doing something wrong. Or was it oh so right?

  Maybe she had bewitched him? Had she used her powers to enthrall him in a blind devotion so that he would cook for her and greet her with supper after a long day at work? What had been in that beer?

  “The only witches in this town are kitchen witches,” he muttered as he poured her a goblet of red. After setting it at the place beside his, he checked the soup. “And the only thing bewitching around here is Eryss’s beauty and personality. She just has an...aura about her.”

  Yes, that was it. She exuded a bohemian, otherworldly charm so different from the usual women he dated—the scholarly associates he met and knew from work, those with whom he could hold a conversation about the acceleration rate of gravity and learn a few things in the process. Or the cryptozoologist on the Agency staff who was an expert in fantastical beasts of myth and legend. She was hardcore science, using her knowledge to make mush of those who would predicate the existence of anything not human.

  And they were all blondes. Sexy, shapely and smart. He did have a type.

  So why was he suddenly compelled to a woman of light and airy-faery? Well, she is beautiful. Dane ladled the soup into bowls. She is an amazing lover. He sprinkled a bit of asiago cheese over the surface of each serving. And she’s different.

  That was it. She was something he had yet to discover and label and attempt to debunk. Eryss was a puzzle, from which no scientist could look away. He would like to learn her intricacies. Not to prove them wrong or convince others she was just plain old normal, but to infuse his knowledge with the essence of her. Her very being attracted him like a dragonfly in a conservatory seeking the sunlight.

  “Compelled,” he muttered, feeling an unease shadow his eagerness.

  No, he wouldn’t let that incident cloud what was going on with Eryss. She didn’t need to know about his weird childhood find and how it haunted him to this day.

  As he turned to bring the bowls to the table, he was stopped by Eryss putting her arms around his waist from behind to hug him. “Hot soup!” he warned.

  “Can I help?”

  “No, you sit down. It’s a simple meal, but you have to allow me to do the whole serving thing so I can stretch it out and make it feel a bit grander.”

  Twirling around in her green-and-red dress, she settled onto a stool before the table. “Anytime a man cooks for me it’s grand.”

  “Does it happen often?” He set a bowl before her and sat beside her. He’d found linen napkins in a drawer and quaint mason jars for the lemon water.

  She sipped the wine and smiled at him. “This is a first.”

  “I’m sorry for that. Perhaps if we men pampered women more often the world would be a kinder, gentler place.”

  “You’re going straight to seduction tonight. You keep talking like that and I’ll be naked before dessert.”

  “Sorry, there’s no dessert.”

  She slid a palm along his thigh. “I beg to differ.”

  He grinned at her salacious suggestion. “Well then, let’s eat before dessert gets cold, shall we?”

  “Did you make it to the museum?” she asked, blowing on a spoonful of soup. “Mireio said you’d stopped by the brewery.”

  “I did. I wanted to see if you were interested in accompanying me. The Greek weapons exhibit was interesting, but I’ve seen much the same a few years ago. Still, it was fun to navigate Hennepin and Washington Avenues and drive by the Vikings stadium. And I got out of town before three, as you warned.”

  “I wouldn’t even go out tomorrow,” she said. “There’s a storm heading in tonight, just after midnight. I can feel it.”

  “More than the snow that already fell?”

  “The weatherman predicts at least six inches.”

  Dane felt his heart clench. “I may never get out of this town alive.”

  “Oh, come on, surfer guy, you can handle it.”

  “I do like the snow.” At her questioning lift of the eyebrows, he said, “I do. It’s...fun. Not as thrilling as surfing, though. January offers some of the best waves out there. Pull on a nice thermal wet suit and I’m good. It’s the Viking in me.”

  “Wow. Descended from Vikings. I’m Scandinavian, too. Which is why I always seem to end up stuck in Minnesota.”

  “Always?”

  She sipped the wine and smirked from over the goblet rim. “Reincarnation.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Have you debunked that?”

  “Not...yet.”

  But if she kept talking about it, he’d have to ask, if souls were simply refurbished over and over, how to explain the population overgrowth. Past lives? Merely memories from television shows or the intense desire to believe in something greater that offered the promise of finally “getting it right”?

  “It’s not something that science will ever accept,” Eryss said. “Some things are simply innate. You accept them on faith. But I suppose you’re not a religious man, either?”

  “Not terribly. Which doesn’t mean religion cannot serve a purpose. Faith can be comforting in times of suffering and need. I would never make a statement against it.”

  “So you do have a soul in there beneath the armor of particles and atoms and scientific theory.”

  “Of course I do. And when I die, my soul will cease to exist.”

  He winked at her and quickly spooned in more soup. If he didn’t ask now, then he might lose the opportunity. He might be ruling out some delicious sex for dessert, but—damn him, the scientist had to ask.

  “I noticed interesting symbols on the windows and traced inside some of the cupboard doors in your pantry.”

  “You were snooping?”

  “I had to look around to find a few ingredients for supper.”

  “Your science background doesn’t have an explanation for the mandala over my kitchen sink?”

  “Well, sure. And I looked it up. I couldn’t not look it up. It’s my job to be curious about these sorts of things.”

  “I understand that. So what did you learn?”

  “Well, the symbol on the window above the sink traces to pagan lore. It could be construed as a sort of alchemical symbol nowadays. But it doesn’t impart magic or summon—”

  “I’m a witch, Dane.”

  He set down his spoon and wiped his hands on the linen. “I see.” That was not what he’d wanted to hear from her. She was misdirected, that was all. And now he really had to lay the disbelief stuff on thick, or risk exposing his work to her. “Well, we all have our religious endeavors. Not me, of course. Raised nondenominational.”

  “It’s not a religion, it’s a lifestyle. I was born this way. Witchcraft is what I practice. A witch is
what I am. Does that freak you out? Do you think I’m mentally unbalanced?”

  “Well, I, uh...no.” But the lie was difficult for him. She had been so perfect. Why had he asked? He should have never asked!

  And yet she’d said she was born that way. His inner alarm bells clanged loudly. Real witches were new to him. And he hadn’t come prepared to deal with such entities.

  Eryss leaned forward and asked softly, “Do you now regret having sex with me?”

  “I could never regret a moment spent with you,” he said truthfully. He lifted his glass in a toast. “And much as my knowledge—my very job—would have me argue against your practice, I won’t. To each his own. And let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

  They clinked glasses and Dane took a moment to ignore his raging need to explain to Eryss how a woman couldn’t possibly possess magical skills simply by worshipping some goddess or calling down the moon or combining herbs into an ineffectual potion. Whatever it was that she thought she was he’d have to overlook. He was in town for only a week. And he did enjoy her company, both in and out of bed.

  If born a real witch, she could possess magic—which he had yet to witness. And every fiber of his being did not want to witness such things. He’d been told witches could be nastier than a tribe of vampires. The thought made him shudder.

  “I’ll have you know I admire science,” Eryss offered. “It is an exquisite way to explain how most things exist.”

  “All things.”

  “Most.” Her grin told him she was ready for the challenge of an argument if he pressed.

  “Tell me about the brewery,” he said. Best to change topics. “How did that come about? You said you are the owner?”

  “A diversion? Not what I expect from a man of science but...okay. Fine.” She pushed her soup bowl aside and leaned an elbow on the table, crossing her legs and leaning suggestively toward him. “I am the owner of The Decadent Dames, along with three other women. I’ve always been a home brewer. Of all kinds of brews.”

  Her smile was both wicked and teasing. Dane wouldn’t take the bait. He. Must. Not.