“It’s alive.” Miles always has something catty to say.
“That will be enough, Miles.” The PM grabbed my hand. “Bronwyn, dear, so good of you to return to us.” At least the PM looked happy that I’d survived. Couldn’t say the same for the nerd by his side.
“Did you have to blow them up?” Miles said as he tried to help me sit up on the PM’s sofa.
At first I wanted to apologize, but then I realized I’d done nothing wrong. “Geez, Miles. We all have our talents. Mine’s combustion. Besides, I like explosions.”
The PM shook his head. “Bloody mess.”
“Did we get them all?” Stretched my arms to see if they still worked.
“Well, something interesting happened. There were two more men in a getaway car. When they started the motor, it exploded. Would you know anything about that?” Miles smirked.
I shrugged and gave them my best “Huh?” look. No way I’d tell them about all the fail-safe spells I’d set up to catch the bad guys.
I tried to stand but couldn’t quite make it on my own two yet. Goodness. Whatever that warlock threw at me had a hell of a kick.
“What happened to the cousin?”
“Unfortunately, we didn’t apprehend him. He and two of his men escaped,” the PM said. “Some magical person must have helped them, because they all just disappeared.”
Crap. I may have saved lives, but I didn’t extinguish the source. Sloppy work, Bronwyn. The cousin had to have more than one warlock or witch working for him because he’d survived my attack spells.
“You protected the sheik and me today, Bronwyn. I’m quite proud of you.” The PM held my hands. “I explained to him about your protection spell and he’s in your debt. He tried to wait for you to wake up, but he had to meet with the police. He’s promised you anything you want.”
“That’s kind, sir, but he’s still in danger and so are you. I’m sending charms with both of you and I’ll work on some long-distance protection spells.”
“No one expects you to save the world, Bronwyn.”
“You and now the sheik are my charges. I’m not saving the world. Just you.”
I tried to stand again and had to sit back down and put my head between my legs. I hate warlocks. That wicked asshole had spread black magic throughout my body. It felt like sludge churning through my blood.
Miles brought me tea and I accepted it hesitantly. After the poisoning fiasco with the PM, no way would I drink anything fixed at the hotel.
“Bottled water, Bronwyn, and I heated it in the kettle myself.” He tried to make me understand that he was well aware of my fear.
“You can’t be too careful these days, but thank you.”
An hour later I made it back to my room.
It took everything I had to get dressed in my jeans and change my hair back to its natural color. Caught a cab to the airport this morning, and now I’m going to sit back and do my darnedest to get some rest. Otherwise I’ll have to stay over in Dallas because I can’t fly my plane if I’m tired.
Where did I put that belladonna? And I’ll need something to put it in. Pushed the flight attendant call button.
He didn’t wear a skirt like the pic on the button but he was definitely cute. My little mile-high escapade on the way to Oslo flashed through my brain. But I was much too tired for that kind of fun right now.
“Yes?”
“Could I have one of those bottles of scotch?”
“Miss, it is seven-thirty in the morning!”
“Right. Better make it a bourbon.”
Tuesday, 10 A.M.
Waning moon
Sweet, Texas
Clean witches: 1
Jesus. I barely made it home Sunday. I felt like a walking zombie. Caleb met me at the airport in Dallas and flew my Cessna home, because I couldn’t get it together.
It’s taken two days of purification spells and potions to get that black magic sludge out of my system. Stupid fucking warlock. I hate him.
I thought most of them were all Wicca-loving white majickers these days. But lately, I’ve seen my share of bad ones. For centuries the male witches got a bad rap, so for years now they’ve run around doing only good for the world. Evidently my guy didn’t get the memo.
Too bad they don’t have some kind of Betty Ford detox for witches; there are days when we could use help like that.
Been working out in the conservatory. Caleb’s helped turn it into a pretty decent place for my herbs and flowers by installing some solar panels. I swear after that disastrous breakfast meeting I never wanted to hear another word about solar crap, but even in midwinter the panels keep the glassed-in room warm.
Love working in the dirt. Caleb also made me some shelves and a great worktable. Thought he’d been hanging around because of my enormous charm, but now I think he’s got a thing for Kira. He keeps asking if I need help with research or if I need him to pick up some books.
What a big goober.
1 P.M.
I’d just been thinking about how much I miss Simone and she called from L.A. The demon slayer has come across a tough nut and needs my help.
I sent her a protection spell long distance. Same one I sent the sheik and PM.
Gotta do some research on this demon. She called him a Worgh. He’s not in my Book of Shadows so I had Kira e-mail over some ancient shamanic text. Caleb rushed to the library to see if he could help her. Yeah, right.
9 P.M.
Spells: 2
Dead demons: 1
Found it! Worghs need human hearts to stay alive. Just stick their big claws in and rip it right out. Nasty buggers.
When it comes to killing demons the shaman’s got it going on. To kill a Worgh, Simone had to find a blessed ceremonial knife, human blood with the hepatitis virus, and good aim. She found an L.A. shaman with all the goods.
Middle-world spirits must turn to human form when they eat. So Simone just waited till the demon got ready to rip out her heart and plunged the knife into his.
The initial wound didn’t kill him instantly, but the contaminated blood made him shrivel up like a prune. ’Bout a half hour later he turned to dust.
Love it when that happens. Big ole pile of demon dirt.
Simone promised to come out for a visit. Can’t wait to see her.
Also, when I talked to Kira earlier today, she said she wants to introduce me tomorrow night to some new doctor in town. She swears he’s the dark, brooding Hugh Grant type.
The only doctor I’ve seen in town looks more like Gomer Pyle than a Greek god. Oh, well, at least there’s food involved.
I’m more interested in seeing if there are real sparks between Kira and Caleb.
I like Kira a lot. She’s a former high-powered lawyer turned librarian. She told me once that she had grown tired of representing the scum of the earth. Her hippie parents live here in Sweet, and she came back to be closer to them.
I’m not sure I’d wish bossy Caleb on anyone, especially a friend.
Wednesday, 5 P.M.
Got a call from the hangar. Darryl, who runs the local airport, says a package came in for me. Asked him to drop it by the house. He laughed and told me I better get out there. Whatever.
Butt-in-gear time. Guess I’ll go pick up the package before dinner.
6 P.M.
Surprised witches: 1
Drove up to the hangar and Darryl stood behind the counter in the office chuckling like a crazy man.
“So, where’s the package?”
“Hangar three.”
“Why didn’t you bring it in here?”
He started laughing again and pushed me out the door. When he slid the bay open I gasped.
Holy crap.
A jet.
“Whose is that?”
“Yours.” Darryl choked on a breath and held his sides.
“Quit shittin’ me.”
“I’m serious. Some guy named Sheik Azzzzzzy something sent it. There’s a note inside.”
Sheik?
Oh, my God. “Where’s the pilot?”
“Another jet just like it flew in behind him and picked the pilot up and then took off.”
What do you get the witch who has everything? If you’re Sheik Azir you send her a Gulfstream IV-SP. The smoothest jet ever to fly the friendly skies.
The inside was total lux. Creamy leather seats with plush velvet pillows. Dark paneled walls. Gold-plated everything. A bar, small kitchenette, bedroom, and full-sized bath. Awesome.
And he’d filled it with pink roses.
Huh. Friendly guy.
I stood there in awe. Gathered up the pink roses and tried to figure out how I could return one beautiful jet to a sexy sheik in Dubai.
Four
Thursday, 3 A.M.
Sweet, Texas
Spells: 1
Returned jets: 0
C an’t sleep.
The PM finally called me back late last night. The conversation went something like this:
“Prime Minister?”
“Yes.”
“Um, sir, Sheik Azir sent me a Gulfstream.”
“That is pleasant.”
“No, sir, I don’t think you understand. It’s one of the most expensive private jets available. I can’t accept it.”
“Well, it would make the sheik very unhappy if you were to refuse his gift.”
“I don’t want to make him unhappy, sir. But I can’t accept a million-dollar jet. It isn’t ethical.”
Pushed my hand through my hair. The PM is a brilliant man—why couldn’t he understand?
“Do you feel his life is worth a million dollars?” His voice became serious.
“You can’t put a price on a human life.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly what, sir?”
He took a long breath as if readying himself to explain something to an annoying child. “If you were to return the sheik’s generous gift, he would see it as an insult. If you send it back, he’ll believe you don’t consider his life worth the cost of the gift.”
“Pardon me, but that’s a bunch of…hooey.”
“What is hooey?”
“I think you know.”
The PM cleared his throat. “Why don’t you see it as payment for services rendered?”
“Technically, the sheik never hired me.”
“Bronwyn, please. This is tiresome. You can’t return the gift because it would be a high insult. Accept his generosity.”
What the hell could I say to that? The sheik’s life is worth a hundred jets. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but taking a gift like this throws off the whole karmic balance.
The PM continued, “I do remember the sheik’s concern that your Cessna couldn’t travel overseas. Should your services be needed in an emergency, he didn’t want you to have to wait for a commercial flight.
“And as far as the services rendered, I think if you check your packages today you’ll see a contract that hires your services for a rather lengthy duration.”
I walked through the house to the living room where I found several unopened packages. I’ve always been bad about mail. Most of the FedEx drops are potion supplies and I hadn’t checked them in days.
Sure enough there was one from Dubai.
Great.
“Bronwyn, are you still there?”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
“I’ve got to go. Is this matter settled?”
“No, sir, but until I can figure out an alternative, I’ll keep the jet.”
“Good.” He disconnected.
I sat there staring at the contract.
I wouldn’t sign it. After careful inspection I discovered he wanted to pay me a hefty fee—about twenty times my regular amount. But he wanted me at his beck and call.
I don’t work that way.
Needed some time to think things over and I wanted to talk to the sheik. Maybe I could straighten all this out over the phone.
Left a message with Miles to get me the sheik’s phone number. Now I just had to figure out what I’d say to the man.
Oh, and the other reason I can’t sleep. Dr. Sam. A gorgeous hunk of beef who turned my insides into goo tonight at our dinner with Kira and Caleb.
Something about him. Gomer Pyle he wasn’t. The dinner is all a blur, except that I remember having sexy thoughts about giving the good doc a lap dance.
There’s just one problem—I think he’s a warlock. He definitely had shields I couldn’t penetrate, which indicates someone with a fair amount of magical power.
If that’s the case, he’s off the I-want-to-have-sex-with-you list. I don’t do warlocks, after that guy in college tried to drain all of my powers and leave me for dead. Then there’s the whole gang of warlocks who trussed me up like a pig on a spit and hung me up as a sacrifice. I just have no happy thoughts where warlocks are concerned.
It’s a shame because I felt this raw, sexual connection with him. Something I’ve never experienced before with another magical being. And we talked about everything—books, movies—and we had so much in common. I’d worn my I’m-a-slut red top, with the V to the breastbone, and my new Seven jeans. But his eyes never ventured down to my chest, or if they did I didn’t see them. He stared into my eyes the whole time we talked.
Even now I can’t stop thinking about him. Argh!
3 P.M.
Potions: 30
Spells: 3
I’ve been working on a new potion to help with memory loss. Margie, who works over at the nursing home in the hospital, is a friend of Kira’s. They were coming out of the Piggly Wiggly yesterday morning as I was going in.
Anyway, Margie told me the saddest thing about working with the elderly is they don’t remember who they were—or are, for that matter.
“Mr. Gunther is this old man who has wonderful stories,” Margie said. “But half the time he can’t remember what his name is or what year it is. Doesn’t seem fair that you live this great life only to lose all memory of it when you get old.”
“Do you have a lot of patients like that?” I asked her.
“Probably seven out of ten at the home are that way. It just makes me feel so helpless when I see them trying so hard to remember.”
If I’ve got one soft spot it would be for old people. The time I spent with my grandparents before they died gave me some of the best memories of my life.
I didn’t tell Margie about the memory spell I’ve been working on lately, but I did go home and start making a potion, and now it’s ready to try out. A spell is just a temporary fix and it seems a shame to give them back their memories only to take them away again. At least a potion will last a little longer.
4 P.M.
Potions: 1
Happy men: 1
I visited Mr. Gunther at the nursing home, and gave him the first dose of the potion. When I arrived he was sitting hunched over in a wheelchair staring out the window. I tried to talk with him, but he didn’t respond. He did drink the liquid in a small cup I gave him.
Two hours later I returned to find those piercing blue eyes much clearer.
He was reading a book.
“Hello, Mr. Gunther.”
“You’re the witch.”
Okay, so no beating around the bush here. “Yes, I’m a witch. Is that a problem?”
“Nope, just grateful. First time I’ve been able to read a book and remember what I read in about two years. Most days I sit around reading the same sentence for hours.” He patted his wheelchair.
“That’s wonderful. And just for the record, I asked for permission before giving you the potion.” I smiled and patted his shoulder.
“I know. I signed a release a year ago when my mind first started going, that they could try any experimental medicines or treatments. Any idea on how long it will last?”
I couldn’t lie to him. “No, I don’t know. I’m sorry. But I’m working on something more permanent.”
I pulled out a leather-bound journal. “I think you know what to do with this.”
&n
bsp; “Yes.” He nodded.
“I’m working on a journal too. Gives me a sense of where I’ve been and how far I’ve come.” Handed it over to him.
“I’ll write down every word I can remember.” He touched the leather gingerly. “Then if it starts to go, at least I can read about it, one sentence at a time.”
I stood to leave and he grabbed my hand.
“You’re a good witch.”
“Oh, I have my days, Mr. Gunther.” Squeezing his hand, I leaned down to plant a kiss on his weathered cheek. “I’ll check on you later in the week.”
Thought about stopping by to see the oh-so-cute Dr. Samuel McKinney on the way home. But I didn’t have the courage. He’s absolutely gorgeous and smart. I should at least check him out.
Oops, phone.
Friday, 5 P.M.
Caleb heads back to Dallas tomorrow. He’s got several interviews to do for a big cover story he’s working on. He tried to talk Kira into taking a weekend trip back home with him, but she told him no.
Good for her.
They’ve only known each other for a few weeks but those pretty blonde curls and brilliant mind have turned the “I can never be serious about a woman” playboy into a big ole pile of mush.
Oh, and good news. Sort of. Dr. Sam called earlier and wanted to consult with me about some natural healing alternatives for his patients.
Thank God.
I know, I know. I don’t do warlocks. But this guy. He’s just so—I can’t get him out of my head. Maybe if I fuck him it will get him out of my system.
I’d been thinking about ways I could contact him that didn’t send the message, “Hey, I’m hot for your body.” This was the perfect way to spend some time getting to know the good doctor, and it was all his idea.
We met around one-thirty at Lulu’s Café next to the Piggly Wiggly. There’s no real Lulu. Ms. Johnnie and her twin sister, Ms. Helen, run the place. Ms. Johnnie bakes all the pies fresh each morning and runs the front counter. Ms. Helen cooks everything else. They’re quite a pair.
When you walk in, the delicious smells of just-baked bread and cinnamon assault your senses and you are overcome with the need to gorge. I wore my green cashmere sweater, and a pair of jeans that would allow me to eat whatever I wanted.
Charmed & Dangerous Page 3
