Magic and Mayhem: Have Wand, Will Travel (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Teresa Reasor

  “I’ve never known vampires and witches to work together. What could be so important they’d agree to do that?”

  Christophe swore, his gaze latching onto the two vampires entering the diner. “We need to go.” He grasped her wrist and slid out of the booth fast, pausing to toss a bill on their table. She tensed in resistance until she looked over her shoulder and saw the two large vampires bearing down on them.

  “Hold onto me,” she demanded, grasping his jacket.

  Christophe slipped his arms around her waist and held her tight against him. He experienced the sensation of flying, but he was blind to where they were going.

  He staggered back against a wall as they came to a halt inside an office, his hands sliding down over her firm, delectable bottom.

  Zaira, unbalanced, leaned against him, her head tucked beneath his chin. His heart was actually beating from the magic she’d expelled…or was it her breasts pressing against his ribs, or the elemental scent she emitted, a blend of cinnamon, woman, and ozone?

  It had been a long time. And he was dead, not blind or numb.

  She looked up at him and those tricolored hazel eyes settled on his face. “That had better be a banana in your pocket.”

  Christophe chuckled, straightened, and released his tight grip with some reluctance. “I found my first teleportation—stimulating.”

  “Yeah, right.” Zaira took a decisive step away from him, her eyes avoiding his and her cheeks flushed.

  A hoarse, grumbling growl sounded from down the hall. A high-pitched bark preceded the sudden appearance of a white sausage with a nose on one end and a stub of a tail at the other. A ridge of hair stood up along the dog’s spine as he advanced on Christophe, stiff-legged and decisive, his growls growing in volume the closer he got.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything built so close to the ground with such a ferocious attitude,” he commented. “I take that back. Perhaps a badger I ran into one time while hunting.”

  “I wouldn’t insult my familiar if I were you. He understands every word you say.”

  “That wasn’t an insult. Badgers are quite aggressive creatures.”

  Said aggressive badger sniffed his shoes and pant leg, then proceeded to lift his leg. With lightning-quick vampire reflexes, Christophe jumped back, barely managing to avoid the stream of urine. “Hey!”

  “Cerbie, that trick is getting very tiresome,” Zaira said with a sigh. She waved her hand to clean up the spot on the carpet.

  Christophe narrowed his eyes. Was that a wisp of smoke coming off the carpet? What was that pooch peeing?

  The Jack Russell pranced off with a satisfied growl to stand next to Zaira in a protective, vigilant manner. He grinned, showing tiny, sharp, white teeth.

  Christophe flashed his fangs, then realized he was having a face-off with a twelve-inch tall dog and quickly closed his mouth. Luckily, Zaira seemed distracted by her familiar.

  Her attention shifted back to him. “Who were those two goons?”

  “They were the assistants to the head of the Vampire Council, Ignatius Adcock.”

  “Adcock? So a vampire is holding your uncle prisoner? Not witches.”

  “I think vampires are holding him with the help of witches.”

  “Don’t you think you should tell me what it is they’ve asked you to do?”

  “No. It’s in your best interest not to know.” It would only confuse the issue. She’d want the wand back to sway power in the witches’ direction. He wanted to protect vampire kind. The Council wouldn’t care. Their agenda was to strengthen their positions no matter the cost to the rest of the vampires they were sworn to protect. He’d seen it happen in the past.

  Regardless how they threatened him or Arnold, he’d never be able to give the Vampire Council the wand. It had to be hidden away or destroyed.

  Destroyed would be the best thing. So why wasn’t he heading home right now to end this whole thing?

  Because he cared about Arnold, and if he was punished or killed…Arnold was the only person in his life. The only person he trusted, and who trusted him implicitly. He’d known him a hundred years. To lose him would leave a huge, terrible void in his life.

  He looked up to see Zaira studying him and realized he’d been standing for some moments in thought.

  His concern must have been plain, for she asked, “How do you know they haven’t already killed him?”

  “I can feel him out there to the west. But I can’t pinpoint where.”

  “They may be attempting to cloak him. But their spell isn’t strong enough, because your bond is too strong. If I’m to locate him, I’ll need some of your blood.”

  He knew she’d be able to do a number of things with his blood. Including locate him, wherever he might be. His work and home life would be an open book to her. He needed to avoid that if possible. “My blood is a danger to you. Toxic. Wouldn’t some of Arnold’s blood be more helpful?”

  “Yes, actually, it would.”

  “I can fetch it now or bring it to you tomorrow.”

  “I won’t be able to do the locator spell until tomorrow, so that will be soon enough.”

  Another thought occurred to him. “Adcock’s goons saw your face. They will be looking for you to discover what part you play in my life. You need to be very careful.”

  “I will. I can ward my office to keep any vampire from entering unless invited. My home is already protected.”

  “Very well. I will return tomorrow.” But now that they were parting, he was reluctant to leave.

  Zaira took the decision out of his hands by stepping to the desk and retrieving a business card. She wrote a number on the back. “Call before you come, since I’ll need to invite you in.”

  If only she would. He was still stiff as a poker and craving a release he hadn’t had, or desired, in a very, very long time. “Take care, Zaira.” He nodded to her, gave her dog a wide berth, and strode out the door.

  With every step he was wishing he’d tasted her lips before releasing her. She’d have probably fried him for doing so. It might have been worth it.

  * * *

  ZAIRA WATCHED FROM the window while Chris strode down the street, his long-legged strides purposeful and graceful. Why was it vampires seemed to have a natural grace to their movements few humans did? Did death cause that?

  As a witch, she had responsibilities to family, friends, Cerbie, and her business. Those were weights she accepted and carried without giving them a second thought. They were a part of her. But with his transition from human to vampire, Chris had probably shed all of that, or outlived it. His family was probably dead. All but Arnold. She’d read the concern in his expression. The man was obviously very important to him, beyond his responsibility for the vampire’s financial issues.

  Chris seemed very alone. Although he had approached that young man at the diner. But their body language indicated he was in a position of power over the human, possibly a mentor or something. Not a boss. The younger man’s aura had reflected that.

  Cerbie’s growl brought Zaira’s attention back from the window. “What did you think?”

  His sniffed and tossed his head, his attitude dismissive.

  “I think he may be the one who stole the wand, Cerbie. He certainly has the skills.”

  Cerbie growled conversationally, “Yeah, I noticed that when he had his hands on your ass and you weren’t even protesting.”

  “He was holding onto me because we were teleporting.”

  He raised both his ears. “Is that what you call it now?”

  Guilt stung her cheeks. She hadn’t minded Chris’s hand on her ass, and the response of his body to hers had been…bigger than a banana, and triggered a very interesting response. It opened up a whole jumble of questions about vampire stamina and whether he bit during sex.

  She was not falling into bed with a vampire. No way, nohow.

  They were the bad boys of the supernatural world. Like James Dean, but without a motorcycle, because they
didn’t need one.

  She’d outgrown the thing she’d had for dangerous bad boys in the past. She wasn’t going to pick it back up.

  Too bad warlocks left so much to be desired. They were total duds in the sack. She’d had enough wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am experiences, all two of them, to last a century. Their idea of foreplay was to encourage a witch to grab their wand and then say “make a wish.”

  She spoke aloud, hoping to convince herself and Cerbie. “Even if I was interested, vampires and witches are not a good blend. There are tensions between our species and our Councils. Remember the flack I caught for hiring Roger to handle the vampire cases?”

  He grunted. “You could turn this over to Roger.”

  “I can’t. The Witch Council came directly to me to recover the stolen wand. They don’t want anyone else involved. They’d have a conniption if I brought a vampire into their circle. That’s why we have Aileen to deal with Pixie cases, Calista to deal with Fairies, Roger to deal with Vampires, and Patrick to deal with the Shifters.” She switched direction. “Did Chris smell familiar to you?”

  “No. But when we were at the Council storage facility all I could smell was Marilyn’s perfume and her magic.”

  “Glendora’s,” she corrected him automatically.

  “Whatever.”

  “If he isn’t the one who stole the wand, maybe he can help me figure out who did. I mean he’s in the business, though he implied it was a one-time thing.”

  “Sure, and if you believe that, I have a patch of slightly withered but well-fertilized grass out back I’ll sale you real cheap.”

  Zaira straightened. “Yes, about that. Really, Cerbie. Even Calamity is skittish about you peeing on her. If you can’t control your impulses, I may have to install a dog house and fence in your patch of grass out back.”

  “You wouldn’t!” he barked.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m growing tired of cleaning up your adolescent messes. We both know you’re no longer a child, and haven’t been for some time. It was amusing the first one or two hundred times, because of who you chose to do it to, but now it’s become a nuisance.”

  He raised one brow and gave her his pitiful Cerbie look.

  “After a hundred years together, that expression has run its course, too.”

  He sniffed and turned his head. “You can be a real witch sometimes, Zaira.”

  “You can be a real hellhound, too.”

  He gave her his most evil grin, showing all his teeth. “But you love me.”

  Yeah, she loved those bad boys. That brought her right back to Chris, his fallen angel looks, and his banana. Or was a zucchini? She hadn’t had time to make a judgment.

  No bad boy vampire for her. No way, nohow.

  CHAPTER 5

  CHRISTOPHE STUDIED THE catastrophic damage to his home in horror. Every drawer’s contents had been dumped and destroyed. Every mirror broken. Every article of clothing he owned ripped to shreds. His couch was slashed, and the stuffing pulled out, and the mattresses on every bed had received the same treatment. The windows had been stripped bare of curtains and shades. There was not one piece of furniture that remained unblemished. And every book in his library had been ripped to pieces.

  To be done in the length of time he’d been gone, it had required more than one person to do it.

  But they had not found the wand. He’d checked first thing while the cops were upstairs.

  The neighbors had called the police, and he stood back while they documented the damage. Even the hardened street cops were amazed at the destruction.

  “Did you piss some students off, Professor?” the taller of the two police officers asked. “It doesn’t look like they were here to steal anything. It looks as though someone was really pissed off and had a party here.”

  “We don’t have our semester exam until tomorrow. No one’s failed the class yet, and I haven’t had words with any of them. I really don’t know who could have done this.”

  “Would you mind if we call our forensic guys in to take a look? If this isn’t a random thing it, could get messy, and it would be best for us to get the guys before they do this to someone else’s home.”

  “No. Bring them in. It’s not as if I can go to bed.”

  Christophe settled in his slashed desk chair over the section of flooring that covered the safe and propped his feet on the open hole at the bottom where the lowest desk drawer should have been.

  He took stock of everything he’d lost, and decided the only things he regretted were a few first edition books given to him by a very old friend who’d passed away long ago, and a hundred-year-old photograph of his second wife, Lynette, a human. It was all he had left of their relationship besides his memories. Why hadn’t he put it in the safe?

  Because he’d never dreamed the Council would go to such spiteful lengths. Did they know he’d already stolen the wand and hidden it? Were they systematically destroying everything he had to force him to turn it over?

  Or had the two goons sent after him taken it upon themselves to destroy the place before returning to the Council empty-handed?

  Or were they preparing to do something worse?

  Everything was gone. He tried to close off his feelings to that.

  But it mattered, very much. This had been their home, his and Arnold’s. They had taken his friend and destroyed his home.

  He remained in the chair when the police arrived to take fingerprints and photograph the place, his rage building.

  One of the technicians took his fingerprints, then loaded his stuff up to leave. “There’s a company you can hire to clean up the mess, Mr. Bakas.” He handed him a card.

  “Thank you.”

  “We got some good prints. If they’re in the system, we’ll get them.”

  “I hope you do.” There wasn’t a chance in hell.

  “You’re calmer than I would be if I’d come home to this.”

  He looked up at the man. “I’m not calm at all.”

  The man turned white and backed away. “If you think of anyone who might have done this, you need to call the police and tell them. Don’t try to take things into your own hands.”

  He nodded and turned his thoughts inward once again. At least the rubble had prevented them from finding the safe and the wand. It would be a cold day in hell before they’d get it from him. He’d beat the thing into splinters and burn it first.

  He waited for the men to leave and rose, stiff after sitting for so long. Every step he took, he crunched across something that had belonged to them.

  He needed to feed. He couldn’t be around humans if he didn’t. And he needed to gain control of his temper. He could not return to Zaira’s office if he wasn’t under control. He wondered if the goons—Zaira chose that word well—had discovered the hidden refrigerator in the kitchen. There had been so many other things destroyed, he hadn’t bothered to look. But now he needed blood.

  He shuffled through the destruction and went into the kitchen. Broken bottles of wine from the wine fridge littered the floor. He had collected some very fine wines in the past few years, his one indulgence, since he lived on a liquid diet. He took a breath and smelled the bouquet of several mixed with pickles and mustard. A deep sigh of regret escaped him. He opened the pantry. Cans of soup, a favorite of Arnold’s, lay crushed, their contents mixed with pasta and rice, flour and sugar.

  Shoved back beneath the wide bottom shelf was the refrigerator. He opened it and found the bags of blood undisturbed. The microwave had been destroyed, its door ripped off, so he drank it cold, standing at the counter.

  Daylight came more quickly than he needed. He took a bag of Arnold’s blood from the refrigerator. On occasion he drank some to renew the bond between them, but for the most part it was stored in the event Arnold was injured.

  He cleaned up as best he could at the kitchen sink and brushed his teeth with his finger coated with salt and baking soda, the only toothpaste he could find. After washing his hands, he called his tea
ching assistant at the college and asked him to administer the final test, then called Zaira. “I’m on my way to deliver the blood.”

  “I’m arriving at the office now. I’ll be watching for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He hung up abruptly. He hadn’t even gone to look in the garage to see if they had damaged his car. His rage was already reaching stratospheric proportions before he ever reached for the door. If they’d put so much as a fucking scratch on his car, he was going to rip their throats out.

  Luckily it hadn’t occurred to the vandals to include the garage in their demolition. They probably didn’t drive. Few vampires did. He slid into his classic Aston Martin DB5, started the engine, hit the electronic opener to raise the garage door, and shot down the drive.

  Aware of the danger he might bring to Zaira’s door, he cruised around town to make sure he wasn’t being followed, then whipped into her parking lot and parked alongside a large van in the side lot, using it for cover.

  He had barely gotten out of the car when she poofed beside him. “Oh, my Goddess, an Aston Martin?”

  For the first time since he’d left Zaira last night he had something to grin about. “Yes, it is.” The excited adoration in her expression and unwavering focus on the vehicle was nothing short of manic.

  * * *

  “I HAD ONE years ago. Just like this. Don’t you just love that dull, silver-toned paint?” Zaira ran a hand over the molded shape where the headlight fit into the front of the vehicle, then rubbed her sleeve over where she’d touched it to remove the fingerprints.

  “Would you like to go for a ride?” Christophe asked.

  After she’d sworn to herself she was going to keep her distance, he had to pull up in this particular car. “Could we?”

  “Sure. It might be better if we conduct business outside of town anyway.”

  She was already sliding into the passenger seat as he spoke and he chuckled. He got into the vehicle. “I installed the seatbelts myself. I didn’t trust anyone else to do it right.”

  “Wise decision. You can’t turn these things over to just anyone.” She ran a hand over the dash then wiggled back into the seat.