“Sadly, familiars are not invincible,” I continued. “They may not die of old age, but they can be killed. On my tenth birthday, my parents went to pick up my much awaited Mr. Whiskers. I’d decided on that cutesy name the moment my mom had told me he was going to be weaned soon. I’d even recorded his name with the Council of Witches, so it couldn’t be changed. My dad set Mr. Whiskers down to open the car door, and the supposedly intelligent kitten ran into traffic, was hit by a truck, and carried off by a California condor.”
“You don’t see many condors in this area,” he added.
“See? That’s why I think fate has it in for me. Who the hell has ever seen a condor carry off a dead kitten right after it was hit by a car? Three days later, Mr. Whiskers showed up on the front porch in the form of a California condor. Not just any condor, one who uses a litter box, chases yarn balls, and purrs while devouring the smelliest cat food you can imagine. He’s also the neediest familiar in the history of witches, and I can’t leave him with a sitter most days. He’s in the waiting room now, probably hoping someone will die since I don’t let him hang around corpses very often. Could my life be any more messed up?”
“Yet, that’s not really what you want to talk about, is it?” he asked.
“What makes you think I’m not here to talk about all my childhood issues?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t get the impression you’re all that upset about not fitting in with the other witches. You seem to prefer things that way.”
“You’re good at this,” I praised, and his face lit up like a little boy on Christmas.
He cleared his throat and worked to get his professional mask back in place. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
“I don’t date warlocks, not even casually. That’s a good policy, considering how many warlocks in my acquaintance are total man-whores.”
“So, you have trust issues?” he asked.
“Yes, but that’s not the real problem,” I admitted. “It’s my demon side that’s a major issue for me when it comes to dating warlocks. I don’t know where to begin. None of this seemed like a problem until recently.”
Taking a deep breath, I spent the rest of the session complaining about the most annoying warlock in the world, the one I couldn’t stop thinking about. It felt surprisingly good to tell someone the truth.
“It looks like our time is about up,” my therapist said when I’d finished my long rant. “Before our next appointment, I want you to spend some time thinking about whether your trust issues play a bigger role in your avoidance of warlocks.”
“You heard what I can do,” I argued.
“And I know your father is more dangerous than you, yet he’s managed to bond with your mother,” my therapist pointed out, and I hated him a little for being honest.
“Fine,” I said with a resigned sigh. “I’ll think about what you said before next week. Can I go now?”
“I do have one question before we wrap things up,” my demon shrink replied.
“What’s that?”
“I noticed your condo is in a human complex,” he began. “I’m wondering how you managed to get a permit to keep a California condor there.”
I snorted, not at all surprised that a demon would ask a question about the law. “Even though it’s technically a human community, the HOA is run by witches,” I explained. “Aren’t you guys usually lawyers or IRS agents?”
With eager puppy dog eyes, my therapist nodded. “Oh, yes, we do love the law. After I failed the bar exam for the third time, Uncle Lucifer got me an internet degree in psychology from Oxford, and here I am.” He motioned to his lavish office.
Cautiously, I asked, “Oxford has an internet degree program?”
“The Oxford School of Law and Agriculture has one of the finest online programs in the Midwest.” He smiled proudly as he waved a dismissive hand toward his degree hanging from the wall. “Do you think I’m doing a good job?” Only a demon can give you a look that is fearful of rejection and eager to have an excuse to rip out your heart. I’m sure I’d give people that same look if I gave a fuck about impressing anyone.
This was one of those times I was glad my honest answer was positive, since I’m not known for lying to spare people’s feelings. When you’re answering Lucifer’s nephew, giving an honest answer he won’t like could be a bad idea.
“You’re doing great,” I assured him.
“I want you to keep a feelings journal,” he told me.
“Feelings journal?” I asked, trying to hide my annoyance.
His head bobbed up and down. “Yes. I want you to get in touch with your feelings. Go ahead and make an appointment with my receptionist for next week. I can’t wait to hear what you put in your journal.”
And just like that, he lost me. I was beginning to think therapy wasn’t my thing.
Chapter Two
Melina
In the waiting room, I found Mr. Whiskers cuddling with a teen zombie. Zombie wasn’t the politically correct term. I’d been lectured on the importance of respecting the undead by a necromancer who’d worked on Night High two seasons back. Technically, the kid was a reanimated corpse, meaning a necromancer had cast a spell soon after his death to bind his soul to his body. That necromancer’s magic was the only thing keeping the kid alive. Reanimated corpses hated the term zombie since it implied they were stupid and dangerous. To the best of my knowledge, there’d never been any major killing sprees by reanimated corpses, and they didn’t crave human flesh. Actually, reanimated corpses were strictly vegan.
The kid was petting a purring Mr. Whiskers, looking somewhat lost. Most probably wouldn’t notice he was undead. He looked like many of the other teens I saw on the street. He had longish hair dyed a hideous shade of green. His skin had likely been pale before he’d died, but he still had a hint of pink to his cheeks. Sadly, that color wouldn’t last long. Humans would think he looked sickly, while those in the preternatural community would call him the undead kid, because most people were assholes. Reanimated corpses weren’t the only undead, but they did get the least respect. Ironically, the kid was wearing a Rob Zombie t-shirt, making me wonder if he was a smart ass, or if he simply liked Rob Zombie.
“Time to go,” I called out to Mr. Whiskers, who completely ignored me in favor of basking in the attention the kid was lavishing on him. The only thing my familiar loved more than being petted was dead things, so being petted by a reanimated corpse was like a dream come true, and it was going to be a real challenge to get him out of the office. “If you come with me, I promise to pick up something smelly and dead on the way to the sitter’s house.” I knew I’d regret that promise when I was fighting to get the smell out of my car later, but I was going to be late for my dress fitting if I didn’t get my familiar moving soon.
Finally, Mr. Whiskers looked over at me. “He smells so good.” he said with a sigh.
The kid gave me a sad smile, and I felt bad for him. It was tough enough being a teen, but throw in the corpse thing and you weren’t getting a lot of invitations to hang out. He could no longer spend time with the living because eventually someone would figure out he didn’t have a heartbeat. A good Necromancer could keep his flesh from rotting or things from falling off, but in the end, reanimated corpses were still dead.
“He’s lonely,” Mr. Whiskers told me sadly, and I wasn’t completely heartless, so I couldn’t help but feel bad for the kid.
“Do you have a job?” I asked.
The kid shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
It was refreshing to meet a polite teen, and it made me want to help him, even though I wasn’t sure I liked how old it made me feel when someone called me ma’am. I fished out a business card and handed it to him. “We’re setting up a teen focus group in the San Francisco office, and I think you’d be a good fit.”
I made a mental note to arrange for a focus group to be set up in the San Francisco office—one that needed a few reanimated corpses. It would probably h
elp the kid make some new friends.
The kid looked at the card and got so excited, he almost looked alive. “Night High? I love that show! I used to watch it all the time when . . .” His voice trailed off. He’d been about to say that he’d watched it all the time when he was alive. Mr. Whiskers cuddled in further as if to comfort the kid.
As for me, this focus group was beginning to sound like a really good idea. I was curious about why he’d stopped watching when he’d died, and I wondered if the show simply didn’t appeal to reanimated corpses.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Jeremy,” he replied. “Do you really think they’ll want me on the focus group?”
“Sure. It might be boring most days,” I warned.
He gave me a shy smile. “I don’t care. Anything’s better than sitting around the house wishing my mom had let me die.”
I had no clue what to say to that, but hopefully the therapist would be able to help him.
With a sigh, I decided I was going to have to get pushy with my familiar, or I’d miss my dress fitting. Then, I suddenly wondered if that was such a bad thing. Thankfully, my demon therapist came out to get the teen, so Mr. Whiskers followed me out of the room.
Chapter Three
Trevor
I laid back on the sofa and closed my eyes. The idea of seeing a therapist had never crossed my mind, but I was ready to admit that I was losing my mind, and it had all started with the bitchiest witch I’d ever met.
“I know people look at me and see this guy who loves to party and fuck any witch who’ll spread her legs. I’m not denying that I’ve had a lot of pussy. I mean, so much, I’d need an accountant to work the numbers to tell you how much pussy I’ve had. The thing is, I don’t sleep around because I want to be the world’s biggest man-whore. I honestly believed each of those witches might have ended up being the one.”
Opening my eyes, I saw the arched eyebrow rise in doubt. “Every one of them?” she asked.
I opened my mouth to respond, and then closed it, deciding to be completely honest. “Not the ones in the last few months. Those have just been to prove I could get past Melina Blackwood. From the moment I saw her, she’s been my one and only obsession. Before you say anything, I know I’ve had other obsessions—way more obsessions than any warlock should have—but this is different. Most of the witches I’ve been with have been pretending to be something they’re not to impress me. Melina’s never tried that bullshit. She is far from the sweet-tempered witches I’m used to, and I want her. I need her. I fucking crave her in a way that has me waking up every night, aching with arousal. My family works in love, so how is it that I can’t make the one witch I want in my life give me the time of day?”
“Listen, Trevor,” Allie began, looking up from her laptop. “I love you. You know you are one of my best friends, but I have work to do. I also did not want to hear that you need an accountant to figure out how many women you’ve had. That is way too much sharing. I’m not your shrink, and I can’t play matchmaker for you with Mel. She has good reasons for avoiding relationships with warlocks.”
“So did you,” I argued. Allie was dead set against getting involved with a warlock until my buddy Dylan convinced her they belonged together. That had been no easy task, and I hadn’t been at all sure Allie could get past her trust issues enough to give Dylan a chance. Long story short, things had worked out wonderfully for them. They were getting married in a week, which was great. I was happy for them. I was also jealous because I wanted that with a witch who’d gone so far as to change her number to avoid me. “Is it the same situation with Mel? Is she afraid I’ll cheat on her because I’m a warlock?”
Allie grabbed her phone, pretending to look at something on the screen. She was stalling. I’d first met Allie in high school, and we’d reconnected several months ago. Surprisingly, I’d never been attracted to Allie. Don’t get me wrong; I could admit that she was hot with her long brown hair, whisky-colored eyes, and full lips. Even in the prim black business suit she had on today, there was no disguising her impressive body. Still, I’d never seen her as more than a friend.
“Allie?” I pushed.
“It’s not exactly a trust issue,” she finally admitted.
“Then what is it?” I asked. “I know she wants me.”
Allie rolled her eyes and muttered something about me being an arrogant ass.
“I’m not being arrogant,” I argued. “We both know I’m attractive. A lot of witches want me.”
“Trevor,” Allie began patiently, “despite what you may think, bragging about how many women want you is not a way to endear any witch to you, especially Mel.”
“Whatever,” I said, waving off her words. “You know as well as I do that Mel wants me.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s going to allow anything to come of her wanting you,” Allie pointed out. “As I’ve already said, Mel has her reasons for avoiding a relationship with you.”
“And you know what those reasons are, don’t you?” I could tell by the way she looked down at her keyboard before answering that she knew, but she wasn’t going to tell me. “Don’t bother lying to me about it. We both know you suck at lying.”
“It’s her story to tell,” Allie pointed out. “Trevor, I have an interview in ten minutes, so I need to get ready.”
Allie had worked at a sex club, setting up scenes for customers, until her boss had tried to kill her. While she’d hated the job, for the most part, she’d enjoyed working with couples. As a succubus, she was great at helping people with their fantasies, which is why she’d decided to start her own business helping couples plan fantasy getaways, complete with shopping for all the necessary accessories. Her company was simply named Bliss. I’d thought it was too generic to attract clientele, but she had a waiting list of clients, even though she hadn’t officially opened the doors yet. I felt a little bad about barging in on her to talk about my obsession with her cousin when I knew she was busy, but not guilty enough to give up.
“Allie,” I pleaded, giving her the sad puppy eyes. “I need her.”
Looking at me with a serious expression, Allie obviously wasn’t convinced Melina was the witch for me.
“She’ll be at the wedding,” Allie pointed out before looking at her computer again. That wasn’t exactly news since Allie had somehow convinced Melina to be in the wedding. “I’m sure you’ll find some way to talk to her. With the reception at Dylan’s parents’ home, there will be lots of places you can talk.”
I grinned. While she hadn’t said the words, Allie was clearly telling me to go after Melina.
Chapter Four
Melina
I was at the dress fitting from hell!
It’s not like I hadn’t already realized how much I hated the bridesmaids’ dresses Allie had picked for us to wear. My hatred of those dresses was one of the biggest reasons I was having my final fitting so close to the wedding. The witch at the dress shop was clearly annoyed with me over the last minute fitting, and she’d made a point of stabbing me with several pins.
“If you stab me one more time, I’m going to kick your ass,” I threatened in a sweet voice with a smile pasted on my face.
The blonde Barbie of a witch hadn’t been expecting me to threaten her, and she jerked back, yanking out the pin she’d been about to stick me with. Admittedly, I had no proof she was going to stick me with the pin, but judging by the last five minutes, it was a safe bet.
“Mel!” Allie called out from the entrance to the fitting area. “Stop threatening the poor woman. She’s just frazzled about getting your dress ready on time for the wedding.”
“Dress?” I asked, looking down at the skin tight, strapless, ice-blue fabric that barely covered my ass. “This is a belt, Allie.”
“It looks fantastic on you,” Barbie piped in with complete sincerity.
I snorted my disbelief. “Now I know why you keep stabbing me with pins. You obviously don’t see very well.”
Ba
rbie wrinkled her nose at my comment, and I almost regretted being rude to her when she was trying to be nice. That is, I might have regretted it if she hadn’t stuck me with so many pins already.
“She’s right, Mel,” Allie told me. “I picked those dresses with you in mind. You’re the only one of my bridesmaids with the curves to pull it off.”
Allie’s other bridesmaids were her sisters, who were all tall and slender. They also glided along in the heels we'd be wearing at the wedding. The fact that Allie had somehow been talked into making her sisters bridesmaids was the only reason I’d agreed to be in her wedding. I’d avoided being a bridesmaid for the first thirty years of my life. Even my own sisters hadn’t talked me into it, but I knew how awkward things were between Allie and her sisters.
Allie’s dad is a man-whore warlock, and Allie’s mom was one of many women he’d slept with before his wife got tired of him and ended their marriage. Allie was the only off-spring from those affairs, and she hadn’t spent much time around her sisters growing up. I had no idea how Allie’s dad had talked her into asking her sisters to be in the wedding, but she’d called me, freaking out, right after they’d agreed.
“This is the thanks I get for doing something nice for my cousin,” I grumbled. “Everyone is going to see my big ass pop out of this dress.”
Barbie giggled, and I was beginning to hate her less since she seemed to get my sense of humor. “Sorry,” Barbie said, fighting back her laughter. “I still say it looks great on you, and I promise your backside won’t pop out.”
“Seriously, Mel, you look fantastic in that dress,” Allie insisted. “Trevor is going to trip over his own feet when he walks you up the aisle.”
“Trevor?” I gasped. “You didn’t say anything about Trevor.”
“He is Dylan’s best friend,” Allie reminded me, which made me feel like an idiot for reacting the way I had.
I knew Trevor would be at the wedding, yet I’d still been hoping to avoid any contact with him—literally avoid contact. Touching Trevor was very bad, and not just because his touch got me so wet I was worried I’d embarrass myself. I had good reasons for only dating demons, all involving my demon powers. With Trevor, I sometimes forgot all the good reasons I had for not dating warlocks.
Shamelessly Spellbound (Spells That Bind Book 2) Page 2
