Witch in the House

by Jenna McKnight

  They shuffled toe-to-toe to the bed. With his hands cupping her head, he tipped his and teased her lips with his mouth, the tip of his tongue, not going too fast, letting her know where they were headed.

  Jade, bless her soul, never wavered. Never slowed on her path. She backed him right up against the mattress and pushed on his chest, sending him tumbling backward. He, athletic sort that he was, grabbed her and hauled her down with him.

  The computer beeped once, and he prayed it wouldn’t distract her.

  Jade’s green eyes bored into his, hot and twinkling and promising that he was finally going to get to see and touch what was beneath those hideous sweats.

  “Get those ugly things off,” he growled, reaching for her top.

  “I wore them for you.” She brushed his hands away.

  “Don’t do it again.”

  She laughed and bent forward and teased his mouth the way he’d done hers. It was easy to slip his hands under her shirt, more difficult to decide whether to palm her breasts or unhook her bra or drag her down on his chest. He wasn’t used to being on the bottom. Wasn’t used to being the one not calling the play.

  Wasn’t used to hot smoldering kisses with the goddamn computer beeping in the background like a truck’s backup alarm.

  “Is that anything important?” Jade whispered breathlessly against his lips.

  Mason answered by rolling her over and stripping off her sweatshirt in one move. He sunk his weight onto her, between her legs, pushing her into the mattress.

  Jade started laughing.

  Mason lifted his head, barely, not willing to lose his place. Or give her time to change her mind. “What?”

  “Do you have a fantasy of making love in a parking lot?”

  “Don’t move.” He dipped his head and captured her lips for a long, slow, hot kiss before he levered himself off and stalked toward the computer.

  He knew that beep. Only Anthony could instant-message him on this computer.

  It hit him then, a crippling grip deep in his gut that killed the mood quicker than running out of air on a thirty-meter dive.

  The video camera.

  He’d forgotten to block it when he’d come in earlier. Anthony would have seen everything if he’d been monitoring, and apparently he had.

  Hard evidence confirmed it. On the screen, in black and white and once for every beep, was a message that said it all: “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  This was his own fault, every bit of it. Normally he’d care, but not for the reasons he would have suspected. Normally, this would be exciting, like spotting a reef shark circling the dive site and taking pains to avoid it. This, though…this had no good end in sight.

  If Jade ever discovered a camera in one of her rooms, if she ever knew someone on the other end had not only seen but recorded her half-undressed, if she even suspected someone had watched her jump him, she’d never talk to him again. Hell, if she discovered his Glock, she’d probably shoot him—and that was if he called it quits now. Imagine what she’d do to him if he went ahead and ravished every inch of her, which pretty much had been his plan.

  He slammed the lid shut.

  “Mason?”

  “It’s not you,” he began, because he didn’t know where to begin.

  Jade’s eyebrows arched, as if he had to be nuts to think that she might think it was. And she was right.

  “It’s me. We’re, ah, moving too fast.”

  If she never spoke to him again, it’d make the don’t-get-involved rule a lot easier to follow. Thinking about her never speaking to him again, though, just left a big, gaping hole in the center of him.

  He didn’t want to examine it any closer than that. He might not like what he saw. Or he might like it too much.

  Chapter 12

  W ell that was awkward.”

  Jade hadn’t gotten into the hall on her own. Within a few short breaths, she found herself staring at the outside of Mason’s door. Her sweatshirt was on inside out, maybe even backward, but frankly, her head was spinning with too much confusion to care.

  She’d seen hardness in Mason’s eyes, in the rigid way he’d turned back to her from the computer, in every atom of his body, quickly replaced by regret and determination. He’d batted items around on top of the dresser, then swept her to her feet, into her sweatshirt, and out the door.

  His parting words had been, “You have to go.”

  Yes! The mixed-up spell was weakening. She’d thought so when he said he didn’t want to get married. Now she was certain.

  Wasn’t it sweet? As much as he wanted her—that hadn’t been a telephoto lens in his pants—he’d put on the brakes and called a halt. What determination. What chivalry!

  What consideration, she thought with a sigh. Like any self-respecting woman, Jade wanted to be wanted for more than her body, but knowing a man thought she was hot after all this time was pretty darn nice, too.

  And he’d clearly said he was off the market and not interested in getting married.

  Spirits forgive me for rationalizing a bit here, but I’ve been without a lover for a long, long time, you know. Seemed that should make a short-term relationship acceptable, with the emphasis on short-term.

  She could look for a serious relationship after Mason left. Call this a warm-up. Were her hormones waking up, or what!

  Jade was still standing in the same spot in the hall when Mason yanked open his door and barreled out of the room.

  “’Scuse me,” he growled, brushing past. He rushed headlong down the hall, barged through Anthony’s door without knocking, then ever so briefly turned back to Jade and said, “Don’t come in. No matter what you hear. Even if you think I’m killing him.”

  “Are you going to—”

  “Probably.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll tell you when to call 911,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

  Mason might have been able to sneak in a few hours of sleep after reaming Anthony a new one except that he was too keyed up. Not trying to figure out how to avoid any future sexual encounters with Jade; on the contrary, his hormones were working overtime on just the opposite.

  Yes, it was wrong. But did he give a damn?

  Ah, nooo.

  He’d come this close to getting married a week ago, and it surprised him, shamed him even, that he hadn’t felt then, for Brenda, what he was feeling now for Jade. Brenda had been simple—the relationship had been simple—until she’d started all that let’s take-a-break, wait-for-our-wedding-night shit. She’d been convenient.

  Dammit all—and it really hurt to admit this—she’d been right.

  His feelings for Jade were far different. More exciting. Like a deep wall dive with good visibility. Or being the first person to explore an uncharted wreck.

  So even though he’d had a long day, there was no sleeping that night. And he couldn’t nap around Mystic Manor during the day. Sure, he could lock his door, but if Jade knocked, he’d have to answer—if he woke up at all—and it’d be clear he’d been sleeping longer and deeper than a power nap. There’d go his insomnia cover. How could he talk his way around that?

  No way around it; he had to get out of the house, which unfortunately took him away from the computer, away from his main resource, the internet. Anthony had stormed out in a huff and taken their rental car, so Mason borrowed Jade’s Jeep again. As destinations went, the library was looking pretty good. It’d be warm. They probably had computers. Seems he’d stumbled into a hotbed of witches, probably more than he knew, and he wanted to learn more so as not to overlook anything. If it was boring, he’d catch some shut-eye in the stacks.

  He hadn’t counted on a small-town library with small-town ways. Everyone stared at him upon his entrance; half a dozen people scattered among the tables and a man as old as dirt dusting the shelves. Instead of leaving Mason to his own devices, the overweight, middle-aged librarian abandoned her cart of returns, smoothed her full skirt, and approached him with a soft smile.r />
  “May I help you find something?” she asked quietly.

  Well, why the hell not? “I’m looking for books on—”

  “Oh, you’re that eagle photographer! You’re the talk of West Bluff, don’t you know.”

  “I am?” He squinted at her and lowered his voice. “What have you heard?”

  She grinned with mature wisdom. “Depends on whether I’m listening to the men or the women.”

  “Well, don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “That’d be a crying shame. Now, what can I do for you? Oh, of course, you need local color for your book. We have wonderful resources. Right this way.”

  He let her help him find what he didn’t need. It was easier that way. Then when he was settled on a hard chair in the middle of the room at a table covered with local books, he said, “Mm, there is one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been in town several days now, and I’ve been hearing rumors.”

  “Woman my age, you learn not to believe everything you hear. Still,” she said, the grin a little wicked now, “can’t beat the fun of hearing it. You need me to clear up something?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe if I could get online, I could just surf around a little. It’s about witches.”

  Her smile didn’t just fade, it was wiped off the face of the earth, replaced by the coming of the next ice age. Mason stifled the impulse to shiver.

  She gained two inches as her spine stiffened. “We’re a God-fearing community, Mr.—?”

  “Kincaid.”

  “That’s not gossip, Mr. Kincaid. It’s heresy.”

  “I see.” He didn’t, until he heard the peal of church bells not too far off in the distance. Anywhere else and he would’ve thought it was Sunday, not Tuesday morning. “Well, I’d like to understand more about it, so I’ll, you know, recognize it if I see it.”

  “Not in these parts you won’t.”

  “It’s not here?”

  “You won’t see it. Not in town, not in our homes, and certainly not in our library.”

  Holy cow. “Any idea if the library in Hannibal—”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she cut him off, her tone pure frost.

  No wonder the guest room was locked and Annie didn’t run around in a pointed hat.

  Witches did rituals; he knew that much. But what else was there to see around Mystic Manor? Who was involved? And how might witchcraft have been used against three unsuspecting husbands?

  As for the scores of candles burning around Mystic Manor on his first night?—probably ritual. Maybe Annie felt safer doing her thing away from her own home. If that was the case, then Jade knew. Shoot, being an herbalist, she probably supplied Annie with whatever herbs or oils or potions she used. All stuff he knew little about, but wouldn’t it be nice to expand his working vocabulary on the subject?

  Two altars in the locked room. He couldn’t get online right now, so could he find a book on witchcraft and learn what the items on the altars were used for? Good or evil?

  And if Jade was supplying Annie, then what about the damp cotton ball he’d found in his pocket shortly after she’d bumped into him in the conservatory? What was that all about?

  He perused the local books so as not to offend the librarian, and also because word would get around town and substantiate his cover.

  Driving down Main Street an hour later, he got a huge surprise when he saw Brenda walk into a needlework store. But then he realized that was nonsense; had to be a look-alike. Or sleep deprivation. Brenda had no ties to anyone in the Midwest, nor would she be shopping for needlework of any kind, so he pushed her out of his mind and moved on to the independent bookstore. Parking was at a premium, what with piles of snow plowed here and there, left to freeze in a giant maze. Again, no quiet corner with a chair, any chair, in which to sleep.

  The librarian had been right; no witchcraft books there either. When asked for suggestions, the clerk looked left and right and over his bony shoulders, then leaned toward Mason and whispered, “Try the internet.”

  “How about Hannibal?” he asked, equally quiet.

  “Um. Yeah. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

  “Thanks. ’Preciate it.”

  Back out on the sunny sidewalk, the smell coming from next door reminded him it was lunchtime. Inside the café, the locals were hashing out the very popular missing husbands mystery. Theories abounded.

  Samuel sneezed. Mason knew it was Samuel because a dozen people said, “Bless you, Samuel,” and plowed right on with their conversations.

  The counter was bracket-shaped, long side toward the front door. Out of twenty padded chrome stools, nineteen were occupied by coffee-drinking, cigarette-smoking, predominantly male customers, every last one in a logo-emblazoned ball cap. All branches of the armed services were represented, as well as the Lions Club, John Deere, and the local gun club. The latter had the floor.

  “Heard now that time’s up and the county’s issued death certificates, them widdas’re getting five million each.”

  Mason knew for a fact that was an exaggeration.

  “Black widdas, if you ask me.” This from Farmers’ Co-op.

  Mason accepted a heavy white mug of steaming coffee from the gal behind the counter. He wrapped his hands around it for warmth and looked over the dry-erase menu board while pretending not to be overly interested in the conversation bouncing around the Formica top.

  “My cousin’s wife’s brother said he seen Doug—I forget his last name…”

  “Stockard.”

  “Yeah, Stockard. He said he seen him in town night before last.”

  “Which one’s that?”

  “One lived up at Mystic Manor.”

  “Lot going on up there ain’t right, you know what I mean.”

  “Aw, Jade’s okay.”

  “Ain’t saying she’s not.”

  “Reuben’s right. She has guests fly in to stay at her house, and how often do we see any of ’em in town?”

  “They do tend to keep to themselves.”

  “Amen,” the waitress said with conviction. She reached up and touched the cross hanging above the pickup window.

  “What do you think’s going on?”

  “Something kinky, that’s what I think.”

  “Sinful. Just sinful. Why I’ve a mind to—”

  What Samuel had a mind to do remained a mystery as the waitress cleared her throat and coughed. All eyes turned to Mason, stared at him through the fog of smoke. He sipped his coffee and set his mug down, so tempted to jokingly share the bordello theory, only this bunch might take it as gospel, and then where would that leave Jade? If she was innocent of anything, he certainly didn’t want to be the cause of further hard feelings toward her.

  “You doing kinky stuff up there, son?”

  “No, sir.”

  “’Course, if you was, you wouldn’t say so, now would you?”

  Mason grinned good-naturedly, though nothing was going to change the fact that he was the outsider here. “No, sir. But truth is, I’m not doing anything except working on a book with my writing partner.”

  They didn’t look as if they believed him.

  “Freezing my ass off, too. Know where I can buy some sweaters?”

  They gave him a couple options, one of which was in Hannibal. Speculation about Jade and Mystic Manor dropped off.

  The special was baked spaghetti, canned green beans, small salad. Adequate, he supposed. No, better; it was nice not to worry about being poisoned. So nice, he was going to have to stop eating at Mystic Manor entirely. No more breakfast there for him. Too risky.

  When he was finished, he left with a large coffee to go.

  He bought half a dozen books on witchcraft at a bookstore in Hannibal, two sweaters, and a ball cap with a fish on it so he’d blend in better, then settled in near the boat ramp at the lock and dam.

  The first bald eagle that flew overhead took away his breath. Did a person ever get used to seeing these birds
in their own backyard? If Jade were with him now, he could ask. Then again, if Jade were with him now, chances were he wouldn’t have noticed much outside the Jeep.

  He called Anthony. “We’ve been friends a long time, right?”

  “I’m on the other line with Ken. In light of our longtime friendship, can we make this fast?”

  “Who’s Ken? Oh, the bartender. Right. That’s great.”

  “I was thinking faster.”

  “We need to talk. Face-to-face.”

  “Five seconds.”

  “Get that camera out of my room now. That fast enough for you?”

  “Don’t look now, but that damn ethical streak of yours is showing.”

  “Thought you were in a hurry.”

  “I’ve been watching you struggle with it since the night we arrived, when you promised you wouldn’t do anything to screw this up.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I’m resigning, so there’s no conflict there.”

  Anthony was silent for a long moment. “I need you.”

  “This is a bullshit assignment, man. Seriously. Way below our capabilities.”

  “Seriously?” Anthony’s tone was low and dangerous, leading Mason to believe that he was going to go off about something.

  “Yeah,” Mason said anyway.

  “When I called my uncle about finding us this job,” Anthony argued smoothly, “your capabilities were seriously in question.”

  “Mine? They’re never in question.”

  “Mase, Mase, Mase. You left the church at 6:05, swearing you were going to have a drink for every year you’d wasted on Brenda. By 6:15, you’d called all our diving buddies, told them to ditch their dates and meet you at the bar. By 7:15, you’d had five shots and upped your vow to two drinks for every year.”

  “See? Shows how capable I am.”

  “Uh-huh. At ten, you asked a nun if she thought you’d be better off in the priesthood.”

  Mason grinned. He didn’t remember it, but it sounded like something he’d do. “Wait a minute. You’re making that up.”

  “Swear to God.”

  “What was a nun doing in a bar?”

  “Bachelorette party for her sister. Biological, not religious. At midnight, you were arguing with a woman that you needed to use the ladies’ restroom because it was cleaner than the men’s.”