The Sorceress Screams

by Anya Breton

  Her eager nods punctuated each new detail I spoke. We quickly finalized the plan. She shot off messages to her friends with invitations for Monday night and also sent herself a note to buy ingredients for homemade cookies.

  At nine I locked the doors feeling more optimistic than I had since the grand opening. This would work. It had to. I wouldn’t make it past a few months if I didn’t start selling some of the bigger ticket items in stock. Those were on the Wipuk side of the line. That meant breaking through the blockade the witches had on me.

  Nell waved from her Mazda with her phone to her ear as I started for my Nissan. She spoke of the party on Monday in a lively voice to whoever was on the other end. This would work.

  The drive home was comfortably uneventful. I spotted my werefox neighbor at the mailboxes in the apartment complex. Keith Tykal was a single father of a fifteen-year-old fellow werefox. He was a nice guy, but I rarely saw him. Either he hid in his apartment, or he had a job that kept him busy. Keith stammered a greeting as I checked for mail, and then hurried away before I could do more than wave at him.

  The mailbox had no love for me tonight, containing only bills and the beginnings of junk mail. My lips lifted into a quirky smile. Becoming the recipient of junk mail was like validation. I was now officially mortal.

  I pushed through the door into my darkened apartment. The granite breakfast bar that cut the open-plan living room off from the kitchen served as the holder for all my junk mail. I scanned the place for anything glowing. Nothing.

  Had I remembered to pull on the wristband my mother had given me to detect anything brought over from the Divine Realm? I pulled back my sleeve. The leather band stamped with a wave design was snug around my wrist.

  Trip hasn’t been here.

  I headed off into the bedroom where I tossed off my jean shorts, fishnets, and T-shirt in exchange for my orange tank top. With a glass of ice water in hand, I settled onto the navy futon in the living room. I propped my laptop on my chest and dangled my leg over the edge onto the cool travertine floor.

  The phone rang moments after I’d checked my e-mail and scheduled two bills to be paid. Quarter to ten. Desmond was calling.

  He’d given me precisely forty-five minutes to get home, settle in, and relax before he’d called. Sometimes he did un-dick-like things that violated the Desmond the dick persona I’d fashioned for him in my head.

  His seeming thoughtfulness made me answer the phone with full-on-snark. “What are you wearing?”

  There wasn’t an immediate answer from him. “This is Desmond Marino?” His pitch noticeably lifted on his surname.

  I, of course, homed in on that. “You sound unsure about that. Are you or are you not Desmond the dick?”

  “That is up for debate.” Moving us onto a productive topic, he asked, “Are you where you can talk?”

  “Yeah. I’m home. I’m alone. How ‘bout you, Marino?”

  “I wouldn’t have called if I couldn’t talk,” he said a little stiffly.

  I pictured him on his sofa in the modern living room with its flagstone floors, stacked stone walls, and the waterfall gently tinkling in the background. In my mind he had on a dress shirt that had been partially unbuttoned, and the sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. Oh, and he had a glass of wine close at hand.

  Miffed with the level of detail in my imagination, I went into instigator mode. “Not even to apologize for not calling?”

  “You’re irritated I called to apologize?” Desmond made a small contemplative sound. “I thought women lived for an apologetic male.”

  “Women live for a male who can admit he’s wrong. Apologetic isn’t a terribly difficult trick for your gender.”

  He inhaled a soft breath—definitely a laugh. “I’m sure you’re as busy as I am, so I’ll get right to the point of my call. We discussed something in the car on the way back to Sedona on Monday. Nothing was decided because of your emergency.”

  I cut through his diplomatic verbiage. “You want me to be your mole.”

  Desmond’s puff of air was irritated this time. “We both have Wipuk’s best interests in mind.”

  That’s what he wanted me to think, but I was pretty sure Desmond had Desmond’s best interests in mind. I kept quiet rather than argue.

  “Given the recent leadership change in the coalition, I need to know if de Sole had anything to do with Dea Woods being enthralled. I think you can help find out.”

  “But the question is do I want to?”

  “If you truly have Wipuk’s best interest in mind, you do.”

  I couldn’t argue with his taunting response. The colony wasn’t my concern. I cared about the covens at large. But I’d have to give up at least one closely held secret to explain that.

  I let puffed a martyred breath much like he would have. “What do you want me to do, oh swami swan?”

  Desmond sighed. “Set up a meeting with him. And then use Water to manipulate him into telling you if he had anything to do with Dea’s enthrallment. A visiting vampire is flouting our agreements, and I need to know if he’s working autonomously.”

  “It doesn’t work on Maximo. I don’t know enough about vampires to know if that’s normal or not, but it didn’t work for me.”

  “When have you tried to manipulate de Sole?”

  “Last night.”

  “You were with him last night?”

  I didn’t like the implied accusation in that frosty voice of his. Desmond hadn’t said when he would call yesterday, and he’d blown me off for the emergency anyway. He didn’t have any right to be miffed.

  “No, he came to the shop to check up on me. Just like you did.”

  “Then why did you manipulate him?” The question had been voiced in his original neutral tone—frost and accusation missing.

  “He had something of mine I wanted back.”

  “And it didn’t work?”

  “No. It bombed big time. But it didn’t seem like he’d noted the empathic link.”

  “I’ve been able to manipulate vampires. But I wasn’t sure if they noticed it or not, so I’ve never tried it on de Sole.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said in my best sardonic tone. “Send in the sorceress to do what you’re too chicken shit to do.”

  “He wouldn’t hesitate to attack me. You, on the other hand…”

  I waited for him to finish his statement. He never did. “Me on the other hand what?”

  “He bid on your date at the charity auction. He claimed you as part of his faction despite your attack on Ascencion. And he threatened me with vivisection if I ever accused you of a crime again. Obviously de Sole is willing to tolerate more from you than he would anyone else.”

  Uneasy with my inability to refute that, I reacted with snark. “He probably just wants me to be his mole, too.”

  “You’re on the fringe, and he knows that. You’re of no use to him until you infiltrate our ranks, but that will never happen because you aren’t one of us. I think what he wants from you is personal.”

  His declaring I’d never infiltrate their ranks rankled me. Infiltration was precisely why I’d been sent to Wipuk. But the final declaration worried me more. What if he was right about Maximo?

  “I tried to manipulate him, Marino. It failed. I can’t make him tell me anything, so there’s no point in trying.”

  “You failed with Water. Women have any number of manipulative tools that don’t require magic.”

  I shot into a seated position, upending the laptop onto the futon with a noisy thud that probably wasn’t healthy for the device. “I can’t believe you. No, that’s not right. I can. You’re Desmond the dick, and this is just another dick move of yours.”

  The Water witch retorted in a stiff, condescending tone. “We all have to do distasteful things occasionally to further our ends.”

  “What distasteful thing have you done lately, Marino?” I made an angry noise. “Let me guess, it involved cooking dinner for a certain frustrating sorceress.”

&nb
sp; “It involved cooking dinner for a certain frustrating society matron with grabby hands.” The words were stilted and hollow as though he’d spoken them from between clenched teeth.

  Did he mean the woman who had won his date at the solstice ball auction?

  Still, he hadn’t said cooking dinner for me had been pleasant. He’d only said the latest unpleasant thing he’d done was with the society matron. For all I knew, he could have cooked for her on Tuesday after our Monday date.

  I heaved another martyred breath. “I’m going to dinner with him tomorrow night. I’ll find out what I can, but I’m not sleeping with the guy to do it.”

  “You already had a date set up?”

  The icy question had me quickly replying. “It’s not a date. He has something of mine, and he won’t give it back unless I have dinner with him.”

  “What does he have?”

  “Nuh uh uh uhhh.” I shook my head even though he wouldn’t see it. “You don’t get to ask that.”

  Desmond gave one of his irritated puffs. “Just remember one thing, Ms. Walsh.”

  I held my breath while contemplating all of the delicious things Desmond might want me to remember. Perhaps the zing of heat that had passed up my arm when he’d pulled my hand close to his warm breath. Maybe his look of arousal in the middle of the arboretum moments after he’d made me take off my panties to prove I wasn’t using weaves.

  “He murdered his last lover,” he said, dashing the memories.

  “So very chivalrous of you to remind me of that, Marino.” I smashed my thumb down on the disconnect button before he could respond.

  Not that he would have. Desmond didn’t care who he had to throw in front of the bus so long as it stopped before it reached him.

  Chapter Four

  I paced the lower floor of the shop at ten ’til nine on Saturday night, dreading what was to come. Desmond’s words echoed in my mind with each stride. We all have to do distasteful things occasionally to further our ends. So much in my life fell under that umbrella, and yet it wasn’t my ends I furthered. It was the gods’ ends.

  And so I’d dressed with manipulation in mind—in a mini skirt, complete with lacy petticoat and striped thigh highs. Even though my hosiery hadn’t slipped once, I still fidgeted with the bows. They would probably fall off before the clock struck nine if I wasn’t careful.

  I’d sent Nell home at eight because it had been a slow night and she’d said she had to get ready for an event her mother was making her attend. The truth was I hadn’t wanted her to be at the store when Maximo arrived. More importantly, I hadn’t wanted her to see the clothing I’d brought from home. Glancing down for the umpteenth time, I made sure my ebony shadow-striped corset covered everything important.

  A Cadillac Escalade pulled into the Sedona lot. Maximo drew himself out of the driver’s seat with careless grace. He was clad in form-clinging black jeans shoved into a pair of black leather motorcycle boots. A black knit T-shirt hugged his trim waist beneath the black and silver plaid patterned vest that swung open when he twisted around. He reached up, wiping a speck of something I hoped wasn’t blood from beneath his lower lip. Fingerless driving gloves coated all but the ends of his fingers. Muscles bunched in a scintillating fashion beneath the olive-sienna skin as he moved.

  The vampire looked like a rock star as he sauntered across the lot with the wind ruffling his carefully styled, seemingly unruly locks. A sly smile formed on his lips as he pushed through the front door, eyes locking on me.

  “I like the courtesan look,” he said in a sensually low voice. His gaze skimmed from my hair right on down to my lace-up, two-inch heeled boots. “It makes me want to learn your price.”

  I glanced at his pinky, in search of the ring. His finger curled. I drew my attention up, finding him watching in amusement.

  “Your assistant is missing,” he said. “I suppose we’ll have to wait the seven minutes until nine.” He settled back against the windows and set his hands in front of his pelvis in what might have been a relaxed pose.

  I had to admit I was a little breathless. It was the second time I’d seen him in casual clothing. And just like his ability to make simple suits look extraordinary, he rocked the casual clothing better than any superstar.

  “How was your week?” What had made me ask that? Probably the uncomfortable silence that had descended.

  “It may prove to be the best week of my life.” A wicked grin formed on his handsome face.

  Was that because he’d had something to do with the coalition’s leadership change? Or that he had a ring on his pinky capable of accessing every school of magic?

  He ought to be having a horrible week. His girlfriend was dead!

  I turned my back on him. The rolling cart behind the display case would be a good distraction. There wasn’t anything in particular I needed in it, but rummaging would give me something to do other than looking at him for six minutes.

  “And yours?” he asked.

  “It’s been a crap week.”

  He inhaled one of his soft breaths. “I’ve been dying to ask how your auctioned date with Desmond was.”

  “Uncomfortable.”

  “Should I assume he didn’t get lucky?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Even if I hadn’t intercepted the message from Desmond’s assistant—the one about him “sexing me” for the crystal he’d been obsessing over for days—Desmond wouldn’t have gotten lucky.

  While infidelity technically wasn’t an offense that would tarnish the soul according to the modern-day Greek mythos, cheapening the act of lovemaking was. The Greek gods took their sex very seriously, and paying or accepting payment for it was unequivocally unacceptable. Desmond had given fifty thousand dollars to charity for a night with me. It would have fallen under the accepting payment clause.

  “No, he most definitely didn’t get lucky,” I said. “We fought the whole night. Frankly I’m still shocked he bid on the date in the first place.”

  All the truth.

  “Desmond doesn’t know how to treat a woman of your caliber,” Maximo said.

  Yeah, I was probably too low a caliber for Desmond. He was embarrassed to be seen with me.

  I rummaged deeper into the drawer for an index card I knew was at the bottom rather than share any of that.

  Maximo tapped a fingernail against the nearby window, sending up a grating pinging. “In fact, he may not know how to treat a woman of any caliber. Did you know there’s a rumor floating about that he’s gay?”

  “Nell mentioned it.”

  “I was so hoping you’d find out once and for all. I thought for certain you’d be more his type than Ascencion.”

  I shot a glance over my shoulder. Did his expression match his rueful tone? I couldn’t tell. “You had your girlfriend try?”

  “No. She attempted without input from me.” He made a dismissive gesture. “She thought it her duty to test every priest in Wipuk.”

  “Let me guess. He refused her, so she started the rumors about him being gay?”

  “They didn’t catch on until the populace noted he never dated.” I could tell by his voice that he was smiling.

  This was quality info here. I kept him talking. “You had an open relationship then?”

  “No.” It was a flat, bitter response this time.

  There was a long pause. Perhaps he’d leave it at that.

  Maximo broke the silence. “Ascencion did whatever she pleased, but I’d be painted the beast if I took more than blood from another woman.”

  “That sounds fair,” I said sarcastically to cover a shudder. This man drank blood as a matter of survival.

  “Precisely.” I’d gotten my fingers on the index card by the time he continued. “Rarely did I find a woman worth her wrath. You were worth her wrath.”

  I felt my cheeks flush.

  “Never had she disliked someone so much as you,” Maximo said. “In the end you were her downfall. I wonder if she knew you would be.”

  He
was blaming me?

  “I wasn’t her downfall,” I said coolly. “I wouldn’t have killed her.”

  “You were foolish not to.”

  If I had, I wouldn’t be debating with him right now. But I probably wouldn’t have lived long either. With the mark of murder on my soul, Trip would have arranged for an early demise.

  “But let’s discuss happier topics,” Maximo said. “I’m a free man now, and your life is no longer in jeopardy. It’s cause for celebration. I hope you drink tequila, for I intend to get you very drunk, Miss Walsh.”

  I pushed the drawer to the rolling cart shut and then started for the Wipuk storefront. “I need to lock up. Then we can go.”

  “Excellent.”

  I didn’t like the slow, suggestive spread of syllables. I hurried upstairs, lingering there as long as I could. It would be the only peace I’d have until he dropped me off later tonight.

  That had better be tonight … and not tomorrow morning.

  ****

  We were shown to an intimate table near the cantina within the colorful Mexican restaurant. The clientele was a mixture of locals and tourists. Sedona locals couldn’t keep their eyes off Maximo while the tourists couldn’t keep their eyes off the moonlit scenery.

  Maximo ordered two large margaritas made with a tequila brand I’d never heard of, plus an order of guacamole and plenty of chips. He dug a corn chip into the green stuff and shoved it into his mouth at the first chance. Apparently vampires could eat people food. That might be part of why they’d been able to blend in with the vanilla populace for so long before they’d come out of the coffin.

  A live mariachi band played within the cantina to our left. Maximo’s smile was lively as he patted his hand against his thigh in time with their beat. The music was a little too loud for us to carry on a conversation without the other diners hearing. It meant I’d have to wait until later to bring up the subject of the enthralled priestess.

  The band began playing the familiar refrain of the tequila song. His lips spread wide. He motioned for the waitress to bring us another round of margaritas. Thus far I’d taken a mere sip of mine to wash down the nasty guacamole.

  Maximo waved at my full glass. A challenging lift of his dark eyebrows and a glance at his pinky suggested my drinking with him was part of the deal for the ring. Reluctantly I brought it to my lips, certain to get a bit of salt on my tongue to soften the lime juice’s tart taste.