Naughty Karma kc-7

by Vivi Andrews

  “What do you want the charm to accomplish? What do you want to achieve?”

  Jane Austen Girl blushed. “Never mind.” She started to turn away.

  “There’s a guy, right?”

  He half-expected her to ignore him, but she hesitated, drawing a circle on the floor with the toe of one Ked. “Aaron Walsh,” she mumbled.

  Prometheus frowned. He’d heard that name several times today. Apparently, the kid was something of a heartthrob at the local high school. “That’ll make him love you.”

  Jane Austen Girl spun back to face him, brown eyes fierce behind her glasses. “Then it’s the one I want.”

  “You sure? It won’t make him be faithful to you or treat you well. Love isn’t always fun. Sometimes it stings like a bitch—and it isn’t always romance. It might make him love you as a friend, or a little sister. But go ahead and buy that one. If you just want him to love you.”

  Jane Austen Girl was studying him speculatively now, all traces of defensiveness gone. “Which one will make him do all that other stuff? Treat me well and love me like I love him?”

  “None of them. Magic doesn’t do that. It works with free will, not against it. It won’t change your nature to make you want something you normally wouldn’t. All it can do is let you see things you wouldn’t normally. For all I know, your Aaron Walsh is gay or so religious he thinks dating is a sin—or he is a dickhead who refuses to date anyone who isn’t a cheerleader. Magic won’t change that.”

  “Then what good is magic?”

  “It’s amazing. If you know how to ask for what you want.”

  “But you said it can’t—”

  “It can’t make Aaron Walsh love you, but do you really want someone who would have to be forced by magic to love you? Wouldn’t you start to resent the way you won him? Start to wonder if it was really love or just the spell tricking him into wanting you?”

  “At least someone would want me.”

  “Ah, see, now we’re getting somewhere. You want someone to want you. You want to be loved. You want the happily ever after, right?”

  She squeezed the book tighter against her chest. “Sure.”

  Prometheus reached behind the counter, unlocking the cabinet with a frisson of magic, and pulled out a tiny, stoppered vial. “Then what you want is this.”

  Jane Austen Girl’s eyes narrowed. “Looks expensive.”

  He shrugged. “For the right person, the right price.”

  “What does it do?”

  “This, my dear, is luck. And if you want to know a secret, this is what I sold to Carly. A little potion of my own invention I like to call lucky in love. Now, it won’t last forever—it wears off after a few weeks—and it won’t guarantee happiness, but it gives you a head start. It’ll draw opportunities toward you, and if you’re open to them, there’s no telling how far a little dose of luck can take you.”

  “So it won’t be Aaron, but it’ll be someone?”

  “It’ll be better than Aaron. It’ll be the chance, just the chance, for the right someone. But you have to choose it.” Prometheus swept up the charm she’d let drop onto the counter. “Which will it be?” He held up the love charm. “Aaron Walsh loving you, even if there’s no guarantee it will be the way you want?” Then he lifted the vial of luck. “Or the possibility of someone else?”

  Jane Austen Girl clutched her book, bit her lip and smiled. “I’ll take the chance.”

  He grinned. “Good girl.”

  “How much?”

  Prometheus eyed her worn out sneakers and ratty book bag. He’d once sold luck for over a thousand dollars a vial, but today… Right customer, right price. “Ten bucks.”

  The girl pulled out her wallet, counted out ten singles and took her luck, the door chiming behind her.

  “That’s why.”

  Prometheus jerked, belatedly remembering Brittany’s presence. “Why what?”

  “That’s why I like you. That’s why I’m on your side in the battle for Karma’s heart. You’re a good egg, Prometheus. The Willie Wonka egg-meter thing would love you. Give Karma time and she’ll see it too. You’re gold. And you’re like us. A misfit. That Carlton guy is way too normal for Karma. He could never get her. You get my vote because you’re weird and gold and part of the Karmic family already.”

  His chest tightened. He didn’t want to be part of the Karmic family. Family was never really a good word for him. “I think you have me mixed up with someone else.” Someone with a soul. “I’m not part of your little club.”

  “You are.” She said it simply, with absolute confidence. Not arguing with him, just utterly certain that she was right. “It’s okay if you don’t see it yet. You will. But don’t go retreating now. Karma may be out with that other guy, but I’m in your corner and I’m good luck. Those potions of yours have nothing on me. She’ll be singing your praises in no time.”

  Karma wanted to kill Prometheus. Or maybe just maim him a little. The bastard was ruining the first date she’d had in years and he wasn’t even here.

  Carlton held her door and held her chair. He asked her questions about her work, her family and her hobbies, and seemed genuinely interested in her answers. He was polite and attentive. And dull.

  There it was. The truth of the matter. She was bored.

  Crap. She missed Prometheus. Actually missed the bastard. Not only was she constantly distracted—like the ass had planned—by trying to figure out what the hell that last kiss had meant, she was boring herself with her usual spiel on Karmic Consultants without him there to argue with her about the ethics or lack thereof of what they did. He was a challenge and she felt sharper when he was there pushing all her buttons.

  Not to mention the physical attraction.

  What the hell was the deal with that kiss? Was it only to torment her during her date? Had it been restrained because they’d both had nightmarish morning breath or soft and gentle because the man really did have a soft side?

  “And you’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”

  Karma snapped to attention, kicking herself as she realized she’d drifted into her own thoughts again. Carlton was going to think she had brain damage. She blushed. “I’m so sorry. I’m a little distracted tonight. What were you saying?”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Whose name?”

  Carlton flashed his pearly whites, his perfect smile failing to move her. “I’ve brilliantly deduced that you’re either just getting over someone or just getting into him. But whichever it is, you aren’t here with me.”

  Karma flushed, embarrassed by the truth in his words. “It’s nothing like that. I’m preoccupied with some work stuff.”

  “No one gets that dewy look in their eye for work stuff.”

  Irritation flashed. “I am not dewy.” Then she immediately felt guilty for the sharpness. It wasn’t Carlton Norris’s fault she was twisted into knots by an amoral warlock. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not offended. It serves me right, since I asked you out in an attempt to forget someone myself.”

  Learning that her date was hung up on another woman should not have flooded her with a cloying sense of relief. “You did?”

  Carlton grimaced, blue eyes twinkling ruefully. “Quinn. My brother’s fiancé, unfortunately.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. We always want the wrong people, don’t we?”

  “I don’t want him,” she blurted. It wasn’t until she said the words that she realized he was probably talking about his Quinn, not Prometheus.

  “You sure about that?” Carlton smiled that matinee idol smile. He really was perfect—smart, kind, attentive—but perfect wasn’t what she wanted. Wicked temptation had become her addiction.

  But that didn’t mean she had to give in to it. “I’m sorry I’ve been distracted. I promise I’ll be a better dinner companion from this point on. You have my undivided attention.”

  “I appreciate that. But should you really have to try so hard to
be intrigued by me? All night we’ve both been trying so hard to make this fun, to make a connection. My aunt’s psychic told her the only way I was going to get over Quinn was to go out with you, but it isn’t supposed to be this much work to fall for someone, is it?”

  She hated that he was right. He was exactly the sort of person she should want. But there was no zing. No spark. No electric tingle of power and seduction. Just nice. Pleasant. Boring. Her mind kept wandering back to black eyes and wicked smiles. “So what do we do?”

  Carlton smiled, perfect. And perfectly wrong. “Enjoy the rest of the evening. Have a nice dinner. You could tell me about this man who’s stolen your attention from me tonight.”

  No, she couldn’t. She refused to talk about the heartless bastard confusing her heart. “Tell me about Quinn.”

  After Carlton dropped her off, she stood in the Karmic parking lot, wondering why she couldn’t just want Mr. Perfect.

  She couldn’t seem to stop comparing him to Prometheus. The warlock should not have been the winner in that comparison. He’d tried to manipulate her from the first. Though at least he’d been upfront about it. It was a game with him, a test of wits more than a deception. He had never pretended to be anything other than what he was, never feigned virtue. From the word go, he’d told her he was willing to go to whatever lengths necessary to achieve his ends. There was a perverse sort of honor in that.

  In everything he did, Prometheus was always wholly himself. Maybe that was why she wanted him.

  There. She’d let herself think it. She wanted Prometheus. She admired his doggedness and his twisted strength of character. She sort of liked him. Casual sex had always seemed like a recipe for regret in the past, but maybe she’d been looking at it wrong. They would never work in the long term—there was probably a picture of them next to irreconcilable differences in the dictionary—but for now, maybe it was time she made a few romantic mistakes. Starting with Prometheus.

  Chapter Twenty

  Fastballs, Physics and Other Genetic Gifts

  Part of the Karmic family. Prometheus ground his molars as he shoved open the door to Karmic Consultants on Sunday morning. It was brutally early, but he hadn’t been able to sleep and figured he might as well wake Karma—not that she was likely to be asleep, though he almost wished she was just so he could get her up. His entire night had been spent making love charms to replenish his stock—half of which he’d had to throw out when he realized his pissy mood was corrupting the magic.

  He needed to get his head back in the fucking game and lose the moony-eyed shit. This was life or death. His death. And it was about time he remembered that. No more sleepovers. No more intimate little share-our-deepest-darkest-secrets sessions. Just a straight line between him and his fortieth birthday. No matter who he had to pave over to get there.

  Family fucked you over and abandoned you. Prometheus didn’t need or want to be part of Karma’s. All he needed was her assistance. Eye on the prize.

  He shoved open the door to Karma’s office, his ornery side hoping to find it empty so he could rattle her out of her Bat Cave, but there she was, sitting behind that big ass I’m-the-boss-here desk of hers. And smiling at him.

  “Good morning, Prometheus. I had a feeling you might be in early.”

  Of course she did. No surprising psychics. He should have negotiated for precognition when he bartered for his powers.

  She rose and rounded her desk toward him, still smiling. Damn if she didn’t look happy to see him.

  “I figured we should get an early start. I only have so many days left to live. No time to waste.”

  Her smile faded at his brusque tone. “No, I suppose there isn’t.”

  She wandered over to the couch—the one where she’d mounted him on Friday night—and sank down onto the edge of it. He prowled over to throw himself into a nearby chair.

  “You needn’t worry I’ll be wasting time on another date with that guy,” she said dryly. “Even if you hadn’t given me something to think about, the date still would have been a bust.”

  She thought he was jealous, that that was why he wasn’t picking up right where they’d left off. Prometheus ignored the comment she likely thought of as an olive branch. “Shall we get started?”

  She folded her hands neatly in her lap, her posture shifting slightly, back straight, ankles crossed, the picture of the perfect lady—Karma’s armor falling into place. “Of course. I have the leftover vodka if—”

  “No vodka. Now that you’ve done it once, let’s see if you can do it on your own.”

  She nodded and matched his all business tone. “Certainly.”

  She closed her eyes, pulled the charm he’d given her out from beneath her shirt and tried—he had to admit she really did try. Without being in physical contact with her, he couldn’t guide her, so she was on her own and without the vodka to relax her she was so tense she was immediately rolled under by her power.

  Prometheus cursed and came out of his chair. He crossed to the couch in one, long stride and wrapped his hand over hers on the charm, dragging her back to her center and pulling her out of the vision, catching only echoes of an explosion himself before her connection to it cut. Karma shuddered and he felt the idiotic impulse to pull her into his arms and comfort her. Instead, he dropped her hand as if she’d burned him and backed away.

  So much for sober.

  “I’ll get the vodka.”

  “Good. You’re getting it. That time was much better.”

  Karma felt no sense of satisfaction at the praise. She was too exhausted to be victorious. She slumped down on the couch and squinted blearily at the clock. The effects of the single glass of vodka they’d used to get her to relax enough for the first successful attempt had long since worn off. No more pleasant buzz, just bone deep weariness making her eyesight blur.

  Eight p.m. An entire day of slamming herself into the visions on purpose, so she could learn how to control abilities that all the books she’d read on the subject seemed to think should be intuitive. Intuitive, my ass.

  Prometheus thought she was doing better, but Karma was too tired to care. She wanted to curl into the fetal position and sleep for three years.

  “Can we be done now?”

  Prometheus looked at her, as if assessing whether he could push her through one more round before she had a nervous breakdown. They were stretched out on opposite corners of her bed—having moved down here around two o’clock, when Prometheus insisted that she needed more comfortable surroundings and then bullied her into changing into yoga clothes because no one can relax in a suit.

  In spite of her intentions to take him up on his casual sex offer, their hours on the bed had been strictly platonic. He’d been running hot and cold ever since he arrived this morning—hot eyes tracking her every move while a cold demeanor shoved her back whenever she got too close. Whatever new form of manipulation this was, she didn’t like it.

  “One more time. Then we’ll call it a night.”

  She closed her eyes, looking inside herself to see if she had one more in her. “Nope.” She draped her arms over her face, blocking out the bully. “I’m done. Sorry. Tapped out.”

  “Rest for a few minutes, then we’ll give it one last go.”

  “There will be no one last go.” She let her arms fall away from her face, spread-eagle on the bed. “I’ve hit my limit.”

  “I wasn’t aware the great Karma Cox had limits.”

  She snorted. There were days she felt like all she had were limits. The great Karma Cox indeed. “Do you ever wonder why? Why some people—like my brother—are totally normal and then there are people like us.” She rubbed at a pinched nerve in her neck.

  “Why can some people throw a fastball a hundred miles an hour or understand particle physics? Random genetic anomalies.” Prometheus climbed up to the head of the bed next to her, stacking up the pillows. “Come here.”

  “Random is a shitty reason.” She let him tug her in front of him, his hands going
to work on the ache in her neck.

  “Maybe the universe knew you were going to be a goodie-goodie who rode to the rescue like Wonder Woman every time there was a wrong that needed righting.”

  “I hate having all that knowledge and only having the power to do anything about it ten percent of the time. If I’m such a good person, why torture me like that?”

  “Maybe seeing all the wrong you couldn’t fix is what made you a good person, made you the kind of person who wanted to fix what you could.”

  “Like a chicken-egg thing? I don’t see your power turning you into a good person.”

  “Well, I’m me. The raw materials didn’t give much room to maneuver.”

  Her lips curved into a smile. She kind of liked his raw materials. She leaned into his hands. God, the man was magic. Hell, for all she knew he was soothing her aches with actual magic, but that was fine by her as a delicious ease seeped into her muscles. “I want to know why our abilities manifest the way they do. Why is sweet, innocent Lucy a magnet for sex-starved ghosts? Ciara was adopted; does that have something to do with why her abilities are about finding things that were lost? Chase can only find the thing you want the most, but he never let himself want anything until Mia. Why does it happen the way it does? And why do I have this massive burden of knowing every crappy thing that might be going to happen?”

  “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes, letting her head fall forward as he found a spot at the base of her neck. “Haven’t you?”

  “Nope. I always knew why I had my powers—because I wanted them more than anyone else and was ruthless enough to do whatever was necessary to get them.”

  “You always get what you want, don’t you, Prometheus? You batter away at the universe until it bends to suit your whim.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “No playing by the rules. Take what you need.” If Karma was honest, she didn’t always play by the rules either, but she’d figured that was moral as long as she was doing it for the greater good, for her people, as long as it wasn’t selfish. But maybe there was a certain virtue, or at least purity, in claiming something for yourself.