I did not need or want another complication – of any sort.
"Doll?" The deep, growly voice nudged at me.
I opened my eyes to meet his watery, dark chocolate brown ones. They bulged outward from either side of his head, as if someone had squeezed him a little too hard.
His pointy ears twitched, a sure sign of his concern. He leaned forward, licked my cheek and then the corner of my mouth.
I smelled the manicotti he'd had for dinner. My aunt spoils him shamelessly. She watched him while I'm at work.
"You hurt?" He ran up and down alongside my body, sniffing. Apparently satisfied that none of the small patches of blood that stained my pants – and probably my hair, EW – belonged to me, he planted his tiny body in the curve of my throat.
"You need me to take care of someone?"
I'd laugh, but he was utterly sincere.
My aunt had given me the Chihuahua as a congratulatory present a little over two years ago when I opened my agency. You'd think she would have bought me a cat. Oddly enough, I'm allergic to them.
He'd begun channeling the ghost of a New Jersey mafia hit man named Big Al approximately four months after I got him. Up till that point I had called him Choo-Choo.
.
.
I know.
There really are no words.
"The guy's already dead, Al."
"You shoulda brought me along. I got experience in these matters, Doll."
Black and tan fur covered Big Al's body. He stood approximately nine inches from floor to head. Plus another two if you count his ears. He measured fourteen inches from front end to back.
I got the impression that Big Al had been about one thousand times bigger in his past life.
"You leave any witnesses alive?"
I thought of Morgan's tense body and unnatural stillness.
"No."
"Good. You let me know if you run into trouble with this."
Again, another person who did not ask whose body. Yes, I know I said person, but try talking to an intelligent – albeit ruthless and lacking any semblance of a conscience – Chihuahua for a couple months. A person's perspective changes.
Or warps. Take your pick.
"I'm here for you, Doll."
Almost immediately upon the start of the whole channeling thing, Big Al had developed a rather large crush on me.
.
.
I know. I know.
I've tried reasoning with him: I'm a nice witch from Idaho, you're a hit-man from Jersey. I generally try to help people, you used to shoot them in the head.
I hadn't made a dent in his persistence.
I'm seriously thinking of pulling out the species card, but . . . Big Al has size issues. As well as fur issues.
Not that I blame him.
"Look Al, all I really want right now is a hot shower and bed." I nudged him to the side and sat up slowly.
"Want me to wash your back?"
I could not for the life of me figure out how he made his little voice go so deep and strangely seductive. When he's not channeling the ghost, Big Al utters high-pitched yips and odd growling noises that remind me of a flock of pigeons coo-ing.
I glared down at him. "I can manage."
I pushed myself off the floor, stifling a groan.
"I could wash your hair," he offered.
Logistics and reality do not exist for Big Al. I was beginning to blame him for that.
"Thanks, but no thanks, Al." I walked down the hall toward my bedroom.
My apartment has two - quote unquote - bedrooms. I passed the first one on my left right away. It's large enough to hold a desk and a bookshelf.
An opening to my right leads into the living area. I had the standard sofa, two chairs, coffee table and TV. The best I can say is they all fit.
The bathroom separates the two bedrooms with the door opening into the main hallway that bisects the entire apartment.
I ignored it for now as I trudged another five feet past to my bedroom. A closet, one double bed, a small chair, narrow dresser and another bookshelf competed for floor space.
The kitchen across the hall held a small eating table as well as the typical kitchen appliances and counters. I'm quite positive that the builder played a game of random darts to decide where the appliances would go.
I live in what realtors optimistically refer to as a "cozy space".
The balcony at the end of the hall, however, more than made up for everything else in my mind. Three doors led from the inside out - one in my bedroom, one in the hall and the other in the kitchen.
The covered deck ranged the entire width of my apartment. I'd splurged on two gorgeous sets of brown wicker furniture with thick fuchsia cushions and coordinating striped and floral pillows, as well as a small grill and strings of white twinkle lights. Five round pink Chinese lanterns hung down the middle of my balcony.
I loved it.
Morgan claims it's way too girly. I'm a girl so that doesn't bother me. Besides, I've watched her run her hands over my pillows when she thought I wasn't looking.
Right now, even my balcony didn't appeal.
Exhaustion crept up my legs and lodged itself in my spine. I had about twenty minutes before it launched a full-scale assault.
I shut my bedroom door on Al's face, stripped off all of the clothes I wore, put on my robe, detoured into the kitchen for a trash bag and bundled them inside. I set the bag in the hall to dispose of in the morning.
Next, I grabbed my favorite T-shirt and headed into my minuscule bath. I started to shut the bathroom door, shoved Al out of the opening with my foot and slammed it closed. I locked it too.
"A little look wouldn't hurt," he yelled.
That's just so weird.
A second later I heard the tap of his tiny claws on the floor. Turning the water to near boiling, I got in and yanked the red curtain shut.
Nirvana.
I closed my eyes, tilted my head up and let the water pelt my skin. Only once I felt certain the water would run clear, did I open my eyes and start to shampoo. I shampooed twice and conditioned once, before I used my favorite brown sugar body wash to scrub the rest of my body.
By the time I shut off the water and reached for my towel, my legs were starting to shake. I rubbed in some body lotion – brown sugar as well – and added enough leave-in conditioner to get my pick through my hair.
The nice thing about curly hair is that you don't have to blow it dry unless you want to resemble a fluffy dandelion. Going to bed with wet hair is not a problem. I have to wet my hair down every morning to try to control it. I was also entirely too worn out to even care about the discomfort of my damp locks.
I stumbled back into my bedroom, flicked back the covers and simply crashed. A moment later a tiny ball of warmth made its way into the space between my neck and my shoulder.
Since he gave me several little licks, but didn't say anything, I figured Al had channeled his way back to wherever he went when he wasn't with me.
I had two thoughts as I pulled the covers over us.
1. I might want to start looking into life-insurance policies in the morning. And 2. Who or what had Morgan sensed in the woods with us?
4. Lies I Told My Aunt.
I woke the next morning sweaty and totally turned on. I'd dreamt of big demons and hot, kinky sex.
It shocked me.
Not necessarily the hot, kinky sex part, but that I hadn't dreamt about blood and death.
Instead, vivid visions of myself handcuffed to a bed while a certain demon ran the edge of his horn down my throat, along my sternum to . . .
Wow. I sat up, hands pressed to my flaming hot cheeks. My heart pounded in my chest. Thank the Spirits Morgan wasn't around.
I'm not opposed to kinky sex, although I haven't really had that much experience with it either. As long as a person doesn't have their kinky sex in the middle of the street where anyone can see, or possibly participate in, then I really don't see the problem with it.
/> My aunt and I are friends with a coven in the Bible belt so I realize I'm probably in the minority with that. That's okay. As a mortal witch who is also part of an immortal community, I'm used to being in the minority.
I do prefer my sex to accompany a relationship, which is a total catch twenty-two in my case since I'm cursed to fail in love.
It's a familial curse. Affecting the last three generations. I'd say lucky for those other ones and beyond, but they're still missing and luck is a relative thing.
After several failed relationships – two that I came close to falling for - until they died – I'd finally conceded and decided to give up on men and love for good.
Hence my new "no men" motto.
That, sadly, left me without sex period. The kinky kind included. Which the big demon brought to my immediate attention. He was like my own personal, well, demon. A true test to my will power.
Why I was even stewing over this I really didn't know. Witchy intuition aside, I doubted I would ever see him again. I had more important, murdered and illegally buried things to worry about.
Ah. That's why I had the demon on my mind. The Great Sublimator at work.
My alarm began to beep. I turned it off. Ten in the morning. I had an interview with a human at eleven. I really needed to quit scheduling my appointments so early. What's the point of owning your own business if you can't set decent hours?
I got up, careful not to disturb the Al mound under the covers. We keep really late hours and he likes to sleep until noon.
After taking care of business and brushing my teeth, I studied my hair in the mirror. The majority of it hung down past my shoulders. One large clump stuck out at a mostly right angle.
I needed a cup of coffee before I dealt with this.
I'd almost made it back to the bathroom, steaming cup of the Essence of Life in hand, when my phone rang.
Back to the kitchen. I squinted at my caller ID.
Hell.
The phone rang again.
I considered a silencing spell, but my aunt would know if I worked my magic on her call.
"Hi, Aunt Tabitha."
"Good morning dear. How are you?"
I pondered several different responses.
"Good." I couldn't see the lie in that. My first important client might be dead, but I wasn't.
"Wonderful. And how did your interview go last night? Is the prince as handsome as they say?"
She'd gone right past the wading pool and into shark infested waters. I did not want to lie to my aunt. 1. I hate lying and 2. She is my only relative.
My mother, Samantha, had died seven years ago and their parents had long since passed. My father had been killed before I was even born – familial curse, remember – and we'd lost all those other generations.
"Umm." Still hedging my bets.
"What is he looking for in a wife? Did he promise to tell everyone about your agency?"
Aunt Tabitha is incredibly proud of my agency. Most of our family has been in the entertainment business. Sketchy work that. My mother did make it big for a few years in the sixties when she starred in the TV show Bewitched.
I know, I know. The credits claim Elizabeth Montgomery, but it was really my mother, Samantha. She'd been dating the director and he needed an actual witch for the show. They didn't have the budget for special effects.
They used mom's name for the character since she couldn't remember the name they'd picked. Hazel, I think. Little known bit of television lore there.
Most witches have names that end with a soft "a" sound like Samantha or Tabitha – and yes, they had to call the daughter in the show by my aunt's name for the same reason previously mentioned.
I think mom picked Kate for me in an effort to somehow break the curse. So far, no luck.
Mom stashed most of her earnings in a savings account for me, which I used to open my agency. Ever since she had passed away, Aunt Tabitha had taken her role as doting aunt Very Seriously. I loved her all the more for it.
I took a small sip of the hot coffee. A mix of white and red caught my eye over the rim. There's a dumpster several blocks from my work that I could use to dispose of last night's evidence.
I opened my mouth to fess all, when it occurred to me that if I admitted to the interview that left me as one of the last people to see the prince alive – or at least not totally dead. Possibly THE last person. Excepting the murderer, of course.
Which left me as SUSPECT NUMBER ONE.
And here I'd just been worried about getting rid of the body so it wouldn't hurt my business.
Murder is absolute hell.
If I became a suspect, then not only was I a target, but if anyone came after me, they might go after my aunt too.
Vampires are nothing if not thorough in their vengeance.
"Actually, Aunt Tabitha, he never showed up." And the lies began.
"What? He didn't?" Her outrage came through loud and clear.
"No. I have no idea what happened." For someone who had never consciously lied before, I was pretty good.
"Well, did he at least call and make another appointment?"
"No. Not a word. Although I guess he could have left a message after I left." Acting really did run in my veins. An actor may not have been impressed, but I certainly was.
"Well, I should hope so. He is a prince after all. You expect better of royalty."
My aunt comes from a different generation that didn't appreciate the royal divorces and drunken exploits that abound these days.
Our coven is mortal, but we do tend to live very long lives. My aunt had been in the crowd at Queen Elizabeth's wedding. Queen Elizabeth the first, not the second. She looks maybe forty now. My aunt, not the Queen.
"Mmmhmm." I hemmed. My newly found ability to lie had fled like a cat burglar with the Crown Jewels. The royal thing appeared to be seeping into my brain.
"I've gotta run Aunt Tabitha," I said. "New appointment at eleven. Still have to shower." My sentences were practically running on top of each other. I could feel my stomach start to churn.
"Well, all right dear. I'll pick up Al when he wakes up at noon. Let me know what happened to the prince."
"Sure." Never in a hundred million years.
I hung up the phone. My coffee splashed dangerously close to the rim. I set the cup carefully on the counter to wait until my hands quit shaking. I'd only made one cup and I couldn't manage without coffee and with the lies as a package deal first thing in the morning.
If anyone had asked me fifteen hours ago what my life was like I would have answered in an upbeat and obnoxiously cheerful way. Now . . .
If he wasn't already dead, I'd consider doing the prince in myself. Just on principal.
5. Witch Meets Barbie.
As I slid my key in the lock of the front door to Love Required, my neck began to tingle. One of those silent warnings that hits you unexpectedly, but you know to pay attention to it.
I surreptitiously scoped out the street. I must admit I'm not great at being surreptitious. My head swiveled back and forth like I sat court-side at a Wimbledon match.
Actually, it was more like one swivel. That demon is rather hard to miss. His size alone calls attention. And the lumpy grey skullcap appeared out of place, due to the fact it was knitted and it was July. It might be cool in Idaho during the evenings, but midmorning brings out the sweat.
All of that, plus the fact he wasn't even trying to be subtle. He leaned casually against a lamppost on the other side of the street. Bare arms crossed over massive chest, his vest this morning a deep espresso. The position of his arms widened the lower section of the deep brown leather, exposing a good deal of skin and muscle.
My hormones had the same reaction the rest of me did when I saw a good deal. Especially one on brooms. They squealed.
I'm not an easy witch, but there are just certain demons that will do it to you every time. This one did it for me. And then some.
Of course, I wasn't about to let him know t
hat. I turned to fully face him and then matched his pose as I leaned against my doorway. My arms pulled my black shirt just a little too snugly over my stomach. I eased my arms slightly forward. Much more comfortable that way. It had nothing to do with the change in the way my shirt now draped. Really.
The decorative flag that hung from his lamppost cast a shadow over the demon's face and neck. The exact details of his features remained a mystery.
At least that was the excuse I used while my eyes roamed freely over the rest of him. Yum. Yum. Yum. I lived in a small town and I can tell you they just don't grow demons like that around here.
We studied each other for several minutes. A couple of trucks roared past. A small flock of birds flew by overhead. Down the street a door slammed.
As if deciding he had given me plenty of time to grow increasingly self-conscious and wrapped in knots over his presence alone, the demon slowly straightened. How he knew me so well already, I haven't a clue.
He took three steps into the street when he stopped. I had no plans to walk towards him. I was quite content to let him do all the work.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a cellphone. He answered the call with his eyes on me the entire time. The sunlight played over his face, but again I found myself simply lost in his gaze, in the depths of amber. Mesmerizing. Powerful. Dangerous.
His eyes narrowed abruptly. We were too far apart for me to hear anything he said, but I had the distinct notion he was not happy with the person or creature on the other end of the phone.
A second later he hung up. A sort of frustrated desire settled into his gaze. My stomach fluttered in response.
"I will see you later."
He turned and stalked over to a large, black pick up. He'd headed off down the road before my brain started up again.
Sweet Glinda, his voice matched the rest of him. Dark, confident and all yummy masculine perfection.
Wow. I needed to grab hold of my wand and get a serious grip. Yes, he was a hot demon. Probably literally. And yes, he pretty much embodied every fantasy I had ever had. I knew he would definitely star in all the future ones.
Still, a good witch knows not to let her hormones rule her head. Or the rest of her body. Things just did not add up with him. If he'd simply been interested in a date, he would have introduced himself right away. Something more was going on. Demons don't leave hell very often.
Dead Vampires Don't Date Page 3
