Six Times a Charm

by Deanna Chase

  The two halves of my soul fluttered in my throat. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t.

  I shouldn’t.

  Besides, I’d never planned a trip without two guide books, a typed itinerary and at least three months’ notice. Well, except for my recent excursion with the Red Skull witches and it was safe to say that undertaking hadn’t quite turned out like I’d expected.

  “Well?” He hitched a brow.

  He couldn’t be serious. “When would we leave? Now?”

  “Ten minutes or so,” he said, not half as concerned as he should be. “I was about to come find you.”

  “Ten minutes?” It would take longer than that to convince Pirate to leave the kitchen. And how would I take a dog to Greece?

  And wasn’t I out here to tell Dimitri goodbye?

  “You said yourself school doesn’t start for another week,” he teased, his lips on mine before I could even think about uttering the word no.

  He drew me in again and again, his hands trailing down my back, pulling me into him, making me feel…

  I pulled away. If I wanted to get rid of my powers, the ceremony was tonight. Of course that didn’t mean I couldn’t see Dimitri later… Wait. Yes, it did.

  “What do you think?” He kissed the tip of my nose. I could feel every inch of him crushed against me.

  I didn’t want to think. Just like I hadn’t wanted to think when I had him—all of him—on top of me at Motel 6.

  It was time to face facts. This was never going to work.

  Dang, it was hard to remember that with this utterly hot, raw, sexy griffin so close.

  Before I could stop him, he lowered his mouth to mine. He kissed like his life depended on it. It was so easy to wrap myself up in his heat. I circled one of his nipples with a finger and felt him gasp.

  “Come to Santorini with me,” he murmured against my lips. Delicious. “Black sand beaches, two crazy sisters, my family’s old country house.” He brushed my hair back from my face and tucked it behind my ears. “I’d ply you with olives and think of many, many ways to entertain you.” His lips tasted mine again. Once, twice. “And of course,” he said, nipping at the edges of my mouth. “You’d have to skip the Beast Feast.”

  Yes.

  No. My stomach tingled and it wasn’t because of the way his fingers trailed down my back. It had to end tonight. I’d always said I wanted to go back, be with my preschool kids, have kids of my own some day.

  Dimitri would be better off too, I reminded myself, ignoring the heat pooling between my thighs. He’d spent most of his life trying to save his sisters. Now, for the first time, he could relax and think of his own future. Maybe settle down with a griffin like him. I already hated her.

  He nestled his face in the curve of my bare neck. Every nerve ending zinged with the sensation. Oh my fluttering soul, what would it be like to have him again, naked again, inside me?

  I had to get out of here.

  I pulled at Dimitri’s emerald and to my surprise, the bronze chain unwound from my neck. We both watched the teardrop shaped stone come to rest in my palm. It lay shadowy and thick in the moonlight.

  “Here,” I said, offering it to him.

  Please take it before I think about this too much.

  “No,” he said, as a brief flash of worry crossed his face. “I gave that to you.”

  “I just think it would be safer with you,” I said, dangling it between us.

  Disappointment flickered over his features. “You’re not coming to Greece.”

  “No,” I said, the stone heavy in my hand.

  “Keep it,” he said. “We’ll talk when I get back.”

  He captured my head in his hands and kissed me hard. Lips, teeth, tongue. He owned me and I savored every second of it. I wanted to wrap my legs around him, feel him on top of me. He groaned and pulled me against him. Kissed me like he was never going to stop. Almost like a part of him knew we were kissing goodbye.

  Chapter 24

  This is the right thing to do, I reminded myself as I stood inside the mirrored main dining room of the boat. The witches had blacked out the windows and shoved the tables to the corners of the room. We stood in a circle under a wrought iron chandelier, tipped with dozens upon dozens of gas lights.

  I’d watched Dimitri climb onto his Harley as we filed into the ceremony room. It was official. He was gone. And when he got back, I wouldn’t be here. Don’t think about it. What’s done is done.

  Frieda squeezed my hand as peals of laughter rang from somewhere below us. “Giggle Spell,” she whispered into my ear. “Bug Eyed Betsy didn’t even see it coming.”

  “Been there, done that,” Ant Eater groused on my other side.

  “I’m just saying,” Frieda’s bracelets dangled against my wrist, “That woman is slow as pond water.”

  “Seal the door.” Grandma ordered as she wheeled in a squeaky, rumbly dessert cart topped with a heated chafing dish. Flames curled under the dish and something sweet boiled inside. I knew better than to get my hopes up for cherries flambé.

  The witches closed their eyes. I felt the magic build. The doors to the dining room slammed shut. No one moved a muscle. The only sound in the room came from bubbles seething over the fire. The air thickened as the gas lamps dimmed and cast tall shadows against the mirrors behind us.

  I couldn’t help remembering the ceremony in the basement of the Red Skull bar. So much had changed since they’d first offered me their protection.

  Grandma bowed her head and the others followed. “We, the witches of the Red Skull, are bound to the magic that has sustained our order for more than twelve hundred years. In it, we find warmth, light and eternal goodness. Without it, we perish. This night, we seek to rejoin the soul of our sister, Elizabeth. May she be one as we are one.”

  Yeek. Nobody called me Elizabeth unless I was in trouble. I fought back a tangle of nerves.

  Scarlet fiddled with something behind the ceremonial stew.

  Beeeeeeep! A laptop screeched.

  “Sorry,” Scarlet muttered.

  Oh don’t tell me they were getting this spell off the Internet. My soul fluttered in my throat.

  Grandma conferred with Scarlet for—not long enough in my book—before she stepped into the circle, holding a chain made from—oh geez—mangled twist ties.

  Grandma Gertie was going to fuse my immortal soul with the same stuff I used to wrap bread.

  I snuck a glance at Frieda. She seemed to think this made sense. Ant Eater? Riveted. Lovely. The witches observed Grandma with bated breath as she returned to the dessert cart and removed a covered dish. It smelled like chicken. But I knew better. Why couldn’t I be related to a coven that drew their magic from plants or, as long as I was dreaming here, chocolate?

  Then again, this would be my last ceremony.

  Grandma lifted the lid on a plate full of teeny tiny hearts. She held up the twist tie links and popped a wee ticker into each round hole.

  “From death we begin again.” She hung the grisly chain around my neck. Bet Dimitri would be glad now that I’d taken off his emerald. It felt gloopy, wet and it smelled like, well, dead animals. Syrupy excess dripped down my collar bone.

  “As we join with you now, may the two halves of your soul be joined again.”

  They darted back and forth inside my throat. Holy heck.

  Grandma must have sensed my unease. “Relax,” she muttered. “We’re not done yet.”

  I nodded and felt the gloppy necklace shift.

  “Are you sure you want to give up your magic?” She asked.

  This was it.

  Shit.

  Yes, I wanted to give up my powers. I was a teacher, a damned good one. Not a demon slayer. I had to give this up, I told myself, my palms growing slick and sweaty against Frieda’s…and Ant Eaters. And why did I care about Ant Eater? I didn’t even like Ant Eater. Not all the time at least.

  But I loved this life.

  Despite everything, I didn’t want to leave. />
  “Lizzie?” Grandma eyed me expectantly.

  I hated sudden decisions. And until recently, I’d never been good at trusting my gut. I closed my eyes and searched hard for what I needed to do. I should give up my powers. I should pack up Pirate and head straight home. But… “I’m not going to do it.” I said. “I’m staying.”

  I felt the witches exhale in a whoosh. Heck, I did the same thing myself. I couldn’t believe it. Me, in all of my over planning, over serious, oxford wearing glory. I wanted to be a demon slayer. And, I thought as I squeezed my toes inside my high flying, demon whomping black boots, I might even ditch the oxfords for good.

  “Okay!” Grandma said, grinning ear to ear, not quite sure what to do next. “Uh, Scarlet? What’s my next line?”

  Scarlet tapped a few keys on the laptop and carried the whole thing over to Grandma.

  Grandma placed a hand over my throat and used the other to steady the computer as she read. “As your soul was rendered in pieces may it fuse, whole again.” She caught my eye and winked. “Stronger for the wound that cut so deep. Wiser for facing the evil that caused it. Braver for having risked so much.”

  Grandma released my neck and snuffed the fire under the silver chafing dish. Scarlet reached under the cart and held up a large serving platter. On it, she placed a crystal goblet with handles on the sides. I remembered that goblet from the protection ceremony. And if I was lucky, there’d be something in that pot besides mashed squirrel and bakki root.

  I felt Frieda dance on her toes. “Ohhh…cherried turtles is a delicacy, you know.”

  Grandma ladled the thick stew into the cup. The top of the crystal goblet clouded with steam.

  This time, I’d drink.

  Grandma held out the cup to the group. “As we drink, we are one.” She inhaled the vapors above the goblet and took the first sip. Frieda went next. The cup made it all around the room and stopped in front of me, with plenty of goo to spare.

  Think of cherry pie filling. I took it in both hands, touched my lips to the sweltering cup and drank. It burned down my throat like a dozen shots of Jack Daniels, warming me, filling me. The two halves of my soul fused and radiated a sense of completeness and harmony that burst straight through me.

  The witches burst into applause. I felt Dimitri’s emerald warm in my pocket.

  I did it.

  Frieda hauled off and hugged me while Ant Eater pounded me on the back.

  I squinted as the overhead lights flickered on. “Beast Feast!” The witches hollered, stampeding for the door.

  Frieda helped me ease off the goopy necklace and linked her arm in mine. “After that’s the dancin’. We captured a ton of dance spells. They take forever to make. Want some?” she asked, digging through her bra. “I’ve got an Angus Young and a Macarena,” she said, stuffing them into my pocket. “Both very big in the ‘80s. And wait,” she said, fishing below her left boob. “Tango!” She nudged me with her elbow. “I saw you out there heating it up with Dimitri.”

  Ant Eater shoved her way past. “Wait,” she said. “Gertie forgot part of the ceremony.” Sure enough, Grandma and Scarlet debated back and forth as they studied the laptop screen. “Quick.” Ant Eater popped a salty, jelly beany, bitter-when-I-bit-it thing into my mouth.

  “Ugh,” I said, through three chews and a quick swallow. I felt it every inch of the way down to my stomach. But I completed the ceremony this time. I did it. Come hell or highly unusual witchcraft.

  Ant Eater burst out laughing.

  “What?” Did I finally break through to that woman?

  She grinned, her gold tooth flashing in the lamp light. “You just ate an owl eye.”

  Ick. “A magical owl eye?” I hoped.

  “Nope. Just a plain old eye. Sucker!” She thumped me hard on the arm. “That’s for not drinking the protection potion.”

  “Hey, everybody! Lizzie just ate an owl eye,” she guffawed.

  I dug into my pocket, past Dimitri’s emerald.

  “That’ll teach Lizzie not to mess with me,” Ant Eater said, her attention on the crowd as I slipped a Macarena Spell into her drink.

  Too bad I didn’t have time to watch Ant Eater star in Dancing with the Red Skulls. I had to go see about a griffin. And I hoped I wasn’t too late.

  ***

  I didn’t know how I’d find him. My demon slayer instincts were programmed for danger, not sexy griffins. I’d just have to follow him to the airport, or to Santorini, or hell—wherever I needed to go.

  As I dashed over the rumbling gangplank of the Dixie Queen, I saw him. Dimitri. I couldn’t believe he was still here. “Hold up!” I called like a crazy person.

  He sat, back straight, on his Harley. Well, until he heard me yelling at him. I couldn’t see the look on his face, but I could tell by the way he hitched his long body off that hog that he was happy to see me. It had been a whole half hour, right?

  “You’re still here!” I said, plowing straight into him. He caught me and we both lurched sideways. He steadied me in the strength of his embrace.

  “Easy now,” he said, running his hands along my arms.

  I pulled him down to me and kissed him hard. He held me close, even after I broke away. “I had the worst feeling,” he said, his breath warm against my cheek. “Like if I drove down that road, I’d never see you again.”

  I didn’t want to think about how close I came. “You knew I’d come back, didn’t you?”

  “Hoped,” he said.

  He slid his hand into my pocket and withdrew the emerald. “May I?” I nodded as he slipped the thin bronze chain around my wrist. “You’re coming to Greece with me,” he said.

  Like I could resist. I may not know much about the magical world, but I knew a good thing when I saw it. I’d be crazy to let him go. “Well I figure I’ve never ridden a horse up a flight of stairs.”

  “Diana will be thrilled.”

  A grin tickled the corners of my mouth. “Me too.” I liked the idea of a family whose members watched out for each other. Growing up, I’d have given anything to have that. Now, between Grandma and Dimitri, I could have it two times over.

  Dimitri reached into his back pocket and held up my dark blue passport. “A little something JR found in your desk at home.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “You stole my passport?”

  He had the nerve to look offended. “You stole my wallet.”

  “Touché.” Ah, the memories lingered long after the underwear had dried. I nipped at his lips. He really was the most stubborn man I’d ever met.

  “They’re here!” Frieda hollered, wobbling as she scurried down the path on her platform sandals. “Boy, oh, boy,” she told us, “Your grandma’s hotter than a goat’s butt in a pepper patch.”

  I fought the urge to bury my face against Dimitri’s chest. “What now?”

  “It’s your Uncle Phil. He ran off with a succubus,” She patted at her canary yellow bouffant. “Rumor has it, they’re in Vegas.

  What did she expect us to do? “We’re heading to Greece.”

  “You sure about that? The universe didn’t give you those powers for nothing. You too, buster,” she said, flashing a rhinestone tipped nail at Dimitri. “You owe us one.”

  Dimitri’s necklace pulse, glowed, wound down my body to form a—

  Oh no.

  I lifted the front of my bustier and peeked down at my chain link bronze showgirl bra, Dimitri’s tear drop emerald glowing between my breasts.

  Did I really choose this kind of life?

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  Yeah, I did. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  About the Author

  Angie Fox is the New York Times bestselling author of several books about vampires, werewolves and things that go bump in the night. She’s best known for her urban fantasy series about a demon slayer who teams up with a gang of Harley riding biker witches.

  Angie also writes the Monster Mash series about a group of paranormal M*A*S*H surgeons.r />
  She claims that researching her stories can be just as much fun as writing them. In the name of fact-finding, Angie has ridden with Harley biker gangs, explored the tunnels underneath Hoover Dam and found an interesting recipe for Mamma Coalpot’s Southern Skunk Surprise (she’s still trying to get her courage up to try it).

  Angie earned a Journalism degree from the University of Missouri. She worked in television news and then in advertising before beginning her career as an author. Visit Angie at www.angiefox.com.

  Carpe Demon

  Book One of the

  Demon Hunting Soccer Mom Novels

  Julie Kenner

  Chapter 1

  My name is Kate Connor and I used to be a Demon Hunter.

  I’ve often thought that would be a great pickup line at parties, but with a teenager, a toddler, and a husband, I’m hardly burning up the party circuit. And, of course, the whole demon-hunting thing is one great big gargantuan secret. No one knows. Not my kids, not my husband, and certainly not folks at these imaginary parties where I’m regaling sumptuous hunks with tales from my demon-slaying, vampire-hunting, zombie-killing days.

  Back in the day, I was pretty cool. Now I’m a glorified chauffeur for drill-team practice and Gymboree playdates. Less sex appeal, maybe, but I gotta admit I love it. I wouldn’t trade my family for anything. And after fourteen years of doing the mommy thing, my demon-hunting skills aren’t exactly sharp.

  All of which explains why I didn’t immediately locate and terminate the demon wandering the pet-food aisle of the San Diablo Wal-Mart. Instead, when I caught a whiff of that telltale stench, I naturally assumed it emanated exclusively from the bottom of a particularly cranky two-year-old. My two-year-old, to be exact.

  “Mom! He did it again. What are you feeding him?” That from Alison, my particularly cranky fourteen-year-old. She, at least, didn’t stink.

  “Entrails and goat turds,” I said absently. I sniffed the air again. Surely that was only Timmy I was smelling.

  “Mo-om.” She managed to make the word two syllables. “You don’t have to be gross.”