To Charm a Killer (Hollystone Mysteries Book 1)

by Wendy Louise Hawkin

  “Of course. I interrupted your conversation. Please, do forgive me, Maggie, for this and the other. If you give me a chance, I’ll explain. I don’t want bad blood between us.” His apology brought her old guilt springing to the surface.

  “Sure Father.”

  Once he’d closed the door, Dylan turned on Maggie. “I don’t really feel like having tea with your dad, who hates me, and the bloody priest, who seems to have more than a fatherly interest in you.”

  “Relax. He’s just fishing. I don’t think he heard anything and right now my family needs him.”

  “The man gives me the willies.”

  “You’re probably still creeped out because of the prophecy,” she said, hoping to lighten his mood.

  “You shouldn’t mock it, Maggie. No good will come of it. You heard what she said. Someone’s betrayed us—”

  “You think it’s me.” She hadn’t thought of it before but it suddenly made sense. That was why he was acting so strangely.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you considered it. You must have. Of the seven people in that circle tonight, I’m the one you know the least. I’m the one that appeared just when all of this crap started to happen.”

  “Crap?” he said, mystified. “It’s not crap. And you’re wrong. I don’t think that at all. I just want you to understand the gravity of the situation.”

  “All right. I get it. But, Dylan, it’s just so exciting!”

  “Exciting? Deception, fighting, witches getting abducted and burned. You find that exciting? Ah, I have to go.”

  As he turned to leave, she caught his shoulder and stared into his eyes. “It is exciting, Dylan.” She brushed her lips against his and felt an immediate response against her belly. “You feel it too. I know you do.” Kissing him, soft and slow, her tongue teased the edges of his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that all night. Estrada wasn’t the only naked man in the forest.”

  His eyelids fluttered and he opened his mouth to speak, but she covered it with her own, parting her lips to lure his inquisitive tongue. Wrapping her arms around his back, she drew him in.

  “I worry for you,” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers.

  Sweet and protective, Dylan was more of a man than any of the boys at school and she could feel how much he wanted her. Their lips touched again and as the kisses grew, moist and swirling as the stream, she danced him slowly backwards, moving her hips rhythmically against his, carrying him along, until he stood braced against the porch wall. She moaned softly as his fingers slid down her neck, and then louder as his thumb caught the edge of her rigid nipple.

  “Christ, Maggie.” Quivering, he bent his head to kiss her neck.

  “I want you,” she said, kissing the edge of his ear. “Let’s go back into the woods. I want you inside me, Dylan. I want you to—”

  His ragged breath warmed her ear. “But Maggie—”

  “I suppose that’s why they call it necking,” said Father Grace.

  Dylan pushed himself away as the blood rushed to his face, scorching his cheeks scarlet.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. They say the full moon has this effect on young people.”

  “You’re young, Father. Does it ever affect you?” she said, sarcastically. His sudden rude intrusion had spoiled everything. He had no right to interfere.

  “Perhaps it’s time you said goodnight to Dylan.”

  “No. This is my house and you’re not my father.”

  “Later,” said Dylan, stumbling down the front steps, a string of incomprehensible Gaelic curses tumbling from his swollen mouth.

  “Dylan, wait,” she whined, as she watched him walk away.

  “Let him go, Maggie. He’ll get over it once the blood recedes. Boys always do. And we need to talk.”

  She rolled her eyes and sneered. The priest was determined to spoil her evening.

  “I owe you an apology, two in fact. The first for this. I am sorry for interrupting at such an inopportune moment, but one day you’ll thank me for it.”

  “Yeah I know. I’m supposed to save myself until I’m married.”

  “Not necessarily. But you should save yourself for a man you love, who also loves you; not just give it up to some horny boy because you’re feeling juicy.”

  “Father!”

  “Well? Is it love or lust? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you would marry Dylan McBride, bear his children, and love him forever?”

  Maggie sighed. She couldn’t imagine loving anyone forever.

  “I thought not. Now Maggie, we’ve let this fester too long. I really want to explain what happened the last time I saw you.”

  “With Bastian.”

  “Yes, with Bastian.” For several seconds they stared at each other and she stood, hands on hips, waiting. “What you witnessed was unconscionable. There’s no rational excuse for my behaviour, and I know what you must think of me. But, Bastian and I have history.”

  “What kind of history?”

  “A rather complex history, and I’m sure our perceptions of it differ greatly. But that doesn’t matter now.” He was fidgeting—nervous in a way she’d never seen before. “Maggie, what I’m trying to say is—”

  “Yes?”

  “This collar doesn’t make me immune to feelings. Underneath, I’m still a man, and I feel what any man feels—”

  “You’re not supposed to.”

  “I know. But, I’m confessing to you, and only to you, that I do.” She watched his cheek pulse and wondered where this was going.

  “Father, I—”

  “Please Maggie. Let me say this. Because I’m forbidden to express myself like a man, sometimes it comes out in other ways—ways it shouldn’t—especially when it involves a pretty girl. One that I care about. One that I’ve fallen in love with.”

  “What?”

  “Seeing Dylan touch you like that—”

  “Father?”

  “Please don’t call me that. Not now.” He made a wide gesture with his arms as if to encompass the moon. “You’re in my head, Maggie. I can’t stop thinking about you.” With one finger, he gently stroked her damp hair. “And this…this is so exotic. You’ve beguiled me, Maggie. I can’t blame him for wanting to touch you like that. I want to touch you myself. I want—”

  “But you’re a priest.” Was he really in love with her? Flattered, she cocked her head and exposed her neck. He was a sexy man and to hear him disclose a desire for something she too fantasized was alluring. His green eyes, shimmering and flecked with gold, were mesmerizing. Still feeling tricksy from the ritual, the excitement she’d felt earlier rippled through her belly.

  “I know. I took vows, and I meant them. And I try to live by them, but—” His voice, low and thick with emotion, seemed to catch in his throat. “I am also a man.” Taking her hand, he lowered it until her palm touched the length of his hard cock through his jeans. “Do you feel what you do to me?” It was huge, and she stood stunned, knowing she should pull away or slap him, do something to stop this, but she couldn’t move.

  Taking her paralysis as a sign of consent, he drifted closer, so close she could smell the scent of fire on his skin. “You witch. How can I resist you when you look like this and smell like this?” He inhaled deeply, his nose nuzzling her hair, and then moving closer still, he backed her up against the wall and wedged her there. “You’ve put a spell on me. Bewitched me with your charms, just like you did that boy.”

  “No,” she said, pushing against him with both hands, jerked suddenly to action by his intimate knowledge. Was he guessing, or did he know about her candle spell? About the coven? Had he read her diary? Searched her room? It would be easy enough to do when he was alone here with her father. “Stop—”

  “You lit the fire, Maggie. Feel the heat.” Grasping her from behind with both hands, he thrust hard against her pelvis.

  “Stop! You’re hurting me.” She squirmed and shoved but could not break free.

  “It only hurts for
a moment and then it’s bliss. Just like you dreamed about with your magician. You want him inside you. And you want Dylan inside you. And you want me.”

  She shook her head pathetically. “No.”

  Yes, you do. I know you do. I can smell it on you.” Her struggling only aroused him more. Pinning her against the wall, he forced his knee between her legs, set his mouth on hers, and shoved in his tongue. She choked and thrust her head back, could feel his hand beneath her dress pushing aside her panties, his fingers searching—

  A sudden movement above his head caught her eye and she glanced up. A chair hovered in the air—then came crashing down on his head. The priest crumpled at her feet and she stood looking into the angry eyes of her father.

  “Dad?” She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

  “He’s a bad priest.”

  “Oh god. You saved me.” She looked at Grace groaning at her feet. “What about him? What should we do with him?”

  But the full moon had caught John’s attention and he was no longer listening. “I can see the man, Mags. The man in the moon.”

  “You’re the man, Dad. Come inside. I’ll call Dylan. He’ll know what to do. That’s if he’s still talking to me.”

  But, he wasn’t. At least, he wasn’t answering his cell phone: she was on her own. She remembered the priest warning her about spending so much time alone in this house beside the forest. How ironic.

  After locking all the doors and checking to see that his SUV was gone, Maggie went up to her room and changed into her grey sweats. He’d know better than to try that again. He probably went home to hide, fearing that she might tell. She pulled her hood up over her head and slumped on the bed.

  Father Grace had nearly raped her—would have, if her dad hadn’t stopped him. And as much as she was all for a woman’s right to tease a man and then refuse him, a critical voice echoed inside her head. You flirted with him and you asked for it. And, it was true. For a moment, she had wanted him. But, not like that. He had no right to do that.

  What was happening to her? A year ago, no one even noticed her. And now Damien was all over her, and Dylan, and now Father Grace, and they all wanted sex. Even Bastian got all embarrassed around her. Was it only her new style or had something else changed? She had to admit, she was tired of playing the coy virgin. Perhaps what her girlfriends said was true: when a girl wants sex, she gives off a scent that males find irresistible. Is that what he meant? Could he really smell it on her? Yuk.

  Short high-pitched yips filtered up the stairs. Remy was fast asleep and dreaming beside her dad’s bed. Those two seemed to be the only males she could trust lately. He whined sharply, chasing something in his dream, something that was just out of his reach. She knew how he felt. Something was bothering her too, something about the priest. Sure it was creepy that he lost control and almost raped her, but she could almost understand it. Forbidden sex and all that. And, she hadn’t pulled her hand away. She rubbed her scarred palm—could still feel how hard and thick it felt, like a tree branch—

  Gagging, she ran for the toilet and puked. After rinsing her mouth and brushing her teeth again, she returned to her bed and pulled the quilt up around her shoulders. She wished Shannon was home. Even if she didn’t believe her, she still had to tell someone. If she held it all inside she’d go mad. Who could she call? None of her friends. It was almost two in the morning.

  At last she picked up her diary from the bedside table and ran her hand over the leather cover. Had he read her private thoughts? Searched her room? Rifled through her drawers? Touched other things? Her clothing? Her underwear? The possibility that he’d been here revolted her as much as his hands on her body. She picked up a pen and wrote:

  October 31st

  After our Samhain ceremony, Gabriel Grace—I can’t ever call him Father again—almost raped me on the front porch of our house. My dad hit him over the head with a chair and knocked him out. My own amazing dad rescued me. I think there’s something really wrong with Grace. It was like he was waiting outside for me tonight and he knew things that he shouldn’t—like about me being a witch and the love spell I worked on Dylan. He even knew about my dreams. I think he’s been spying on me, reading this diary, maybe even stalking me. I think he could be dangerous. And when I think back to how crazy he got when I asked him about witch burnings—I don’t know, but I’m scared. It will never be the same between us. I mean, how could it be? If my dad hadn’t hit him—

  Suddenly exhausted, Maggie slipped her diary between the sheets and closed her eyes. She envisioned Estrada as she’d seen him earlier: an exotic wolfish creature shining in the moonlight, glimmering rivulets streaming down his sculpted body. It was crazy, but imagining him always made her feel safe.

  Distracted by a sound, her eyelids fluttered open. Hovering above her was a shadowy image. A man. A ninja mask concealed his face. Even his eyes—the one feature that might humanize him—were hidden behind dark glasses. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a slight gasp emerged before a sharp point pierced her upper arm.

  ≈

  “Play it again,” said Estrada

  Dylan pushed the button on his cell phone and turned up the speaker. They all focussed on Estrada’s face as he listened to the message for the third time in as many minutes. He felt the tiny muscles below his cheekbones tense, as he took a steaming mug of coffee from the tray Daphne was passing around, and set it on the table in front of him.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t find the cinnamon,” she said.

  Waving her off, Estrada pushed the button again himself. Maggie had made the call from a pay phone to Dylan’s cell—it was obviously the only number she knew—and although it was her voice, she was clearly reciting a message from him that contained instructions for Estrada: This one’s on you, magician. With all of your power and all of your skill, can you find her in time? You have forty-eight hours—ample time for a man with your considerable talents. Come alone. No cops. No gangsters. No witches or wannabe vampires. Just you and me, the way it should be. What will you trade for her?

  Sylvia was the first to comment. “Religious fanatic?”

  “Who else would kidnap a witch just before a Sabbat and then burn her?” asked Daphne.

  “It’s that bloody priest. I know it is,” said Dylan.

  “How does he know so much about you, Estrada?” Sensara asked. “And what does he mean: just you and me, the way it should be?”

  Having missed the first two airings, she was now tight to his side. They’d gathered at his Commercial Drive flat after Dylan had called in a panic. The kid was wracked with guilt: he’d left Maggie alone with a demented priest, who, he was convinced, had kidnapped her.

  Estrada took Sensara’s hand and kissed it, but ignored the question. “Why are you so sure it’s this Father Grace?” he said to Dylan.

  “Because he was there last night leering at her. He doesn’t act like a priest, and I’ve known my share of them. The son of a bitch is a fraud.”

  “Perhaps, but that doesn’t make him a killer.” Estrada thought of asking for a physical description, but realized that the only way he could identify the man was by feel. Even with raven eyes, he saw no discernible features. Really, everything he knew of the man he’d garnered from his imagination.

  Dylan talked on, oblivious to his friend’s remark. “He must have grabbed her after I left. There was no one there to stop him.”

  “What about her parents?” asked Sylvia.

  “Her mom works shifts and her dad isn’t well.”

  “Do you think they know?”

  “That she’s missing? If they don’t, they’ll discover it soon enough.”

  “We need to talk to them.” Sylvia patted him on the shoulder. “You mustn’t blame yourself, Dylan.”

  “We really should go out there and see them,” said Daphne.

  “No, not yet. They’ll call the police and I need time—” Estrada’s emphatic plea set off a chain reaction.

  Tears appeared
in Dylan’s eyes. “I left her there. She called to me and I walked away and left her there with him. I was so damn mad I didn’t pick up her call. Christ! I didn’t even listen to the message until this morning. God knows what he did to her last night.”

  There was an audible silence as they all pondered that.

  “You’re not going to do what he says, are you?” asked Sensara.

  Estrada cocked his head, incredulous. “Of course I am. He’s got Maggie.”

  “So, what will you trade for her?” she asked, her face a maze of suspicion. “What did you trade for me?”

  “Tricks,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “The man likes magic tricks.”

  “The man likes you.” Daphne spoke plainly. His narrowing eyes cast a bitter glare. He was trying to defuse the situation, not inflame it. “Well, come on. It’s obvious, isn’t it? He’s after you, Estrada. Maggie’s just bait.”

  “Why is he after you?” asked Sensara. “And, why did he take you that night when he already had me? Was I just bait too?”

  “Sara, please. I have to think.”

  There was no way he could tell her what happened in that cabin. Not now. Not ever. He’d kept it hidden far too long. She’d consider it dishonest and even if she forgave his impropriety, she’d never understand it. You had sex with the man who’d just tied me in a straitjacket, kidnapped me, and then tossed me out in a parking lot? A man, who is likely a serial killer?

  He didn’t understand it himself.

  Daphne spread a map out on the kitchen table. “I think we should use the pendulum and try to scry his location. If we know where he is, we can come at him from two or three angles, maybe bind him somehow.”

  “Who do you think we are? The friggin FBI?” asked Jeremy. He’d been huddled quietly on a corner cushion, and Estrada had forgotten he was there.

  “On the contrary,” said Sylvia. “That’s a brilliant idea.” Ignoring Jones’ sullen stare, she joined Daphne at the table. “Sensara, your divining powers surpass any of ours. Why don’t you give it a whirl?” Grinning at her own pun, she offered the pendulum.

  Sensara hunched over the map, her elbows firmly planted on the table. Holding the silver chain between her right thumb and index finger, she watched the faceted crystal sway. Then closing her eyes, she focussed her energy while the rise and fall of her breath echoed like ocean waves in the small flat. “Intrinsic Spirit, I call on you to aid me in my work. Show me you are present with an affirmative answer.”