Captivating the Witch

by Michele Hauf

  He stood, then strode quickly toward the south entrance and slipped through the unlocked gate. He spied Inego parked down the street in a black Audi and slid into the passenger side.

  “I posted guards at the front gate like you asked, boss.”

  Ed rubbed his lower lip, in thought. Would any future victims really enter through the front gate? If the victim was demon, he or she could enter by a number of means, through shifted shape or by simply leaping over the fence at any point in the periphery. More guards may be necessary.

  Beyond setting a demon out for bait, he had no idea why these killings were occurring. “Do you have any idea who the demon was?”

  Inego shrugged. “He was in the process of being made dead when I decided to get the hell out of there. But he did have this.” The lackey handed a bowie knife to him. “It was lying on a stone sarcophagus. I grabbed it ’cause you know how I like weapons.”

  The blade was crude iron, not polished steel. Demons worked well with iron, especially cold iron. The inlaid pearl handle was etched with a demonic sigil, but it was so worn it was difficult to determine the original design. In the hands of its owner the sigil may even glow and provide strength or serve some fierce magic.

  “This sigil...the curve of it and that crossed line... It looks familiar, but I’m not sure. I’ll have to clean it up and see if I can match it to a sigil on file. Looks like it’s back to the office.”

  “Will do.” Inego shifted into gear and turned the vehicle toward the Right Bank.

  Ed had shifted the other night and again tonight. Too much, too fast. Already draining numbness toyed with his brain, thanks to the most recent shift. He probably wouldn’t get farther than the couch in his office before falling into a dead sleep.

  He closed his eyes and tried to banish the dreadful scent of death and rot from his senses. Dead demons generally did not smell when they dusted, but this one had reeked of sulfur. It could have been ripped limb from limb. There was no way to know by studying the remaining ash. As with vampires who ashed when staked, so did demons. But also similar to vampires, the younger demons could die and remain in bodily form or even only ash partially. So Ed knew the victim had to be at least a few decades old. Which helped him little in identifying the demon.

  He absently tapped the blade on his thigh. The sigils could help in identification. He’d do that at the office. If he could get the memory of that awful smell from his nose. Think of something sweeter. Roses and pear trees that dotted the Luxembourg grounds. And lemons...

  “Why do I keep kissing her?” he whispered.

  “That pretty little witch?” Inego asked.

  “Huh? Oh.” He’d drifted into a reverie, lured by his exhaustion. He didn’t want to have this conversation with the idiot who would put a plastic bag over someone’s head thinking that was safe.

  “We did get the right witch for you, yes? If you’ll pardon me, boss, you two seemed familiar with one another.”

  “Yes, she’s the right one.” In ways even he couldn’t comprehend. Yawning, Ed settled, flexing his spine into the comfortable leather seat. “I’ve kissed her both times I’ve seen her. And I don’t know why. Witches disgust me. I had no intention—”

  “You’re bewitched,” Inego offered. “The witch made you kiss her.”

  Bewitched? At the time, he’d jokingly suggested that she had made him kiss her. Because if he had been in his right mind, he would have never so boldly done such a thing. Maybe?

  Bewitched. That made...a lot of sense. And what reason had she to tell him the truth? She’d wanted to soften him, keep him from harming her. Of course she had used witchcraft on him.

  The car stopped behind his building and Ed stepped out, telling Inego to remain on call and keep his guards posted at the cemetery. Next time, he said, call him at the sign of anything suspicious. He needed to catch the demon before it was torn asunder.

  “Bewitched,” Ed muttered as Inego drove off. “She isn’t playing fair.”

  * * *

  Balancing a shoulder bag full of books on demons and curses and sigils, along with her purse, a plastic sack that held the high heels she’d traded for flats for the walk home, and the small plastic cup of pineapple gelato she had picked up when walking down the rue de La Huchette in the 5th, Tamatha licked the tiny plastic spoon clean and almost groaned out loud at the goodness of the tangy Italian ice.

  On the days when she walked home after work, she always treated herself to gelato from Amorino. But as the first drops of rain hit the creamy treat, she cursed and rushed across the pebbled grounds of the Luxembourg. Her apartment backed up to the royal garden.

  Pausing outside the lush hornbeam shrub that bordered the park because the angle of the rain didn’t reach her there, she finished the last of the gelato, then made a toss for the nearby garbage bag the city posted near trees and street poles—when a demon caught the empty cup and made the slam dunk for her.

  “You.”

  “Me,” Ed said as he approached. An irrepressible smile curled his mouth into something she could only wish he would press against her lips. “You didn’t expect me? Didn’t we have a date?”

  “I thought you needed to think about it?”

  “I thought. And here I am.”

  “Well, then here.” She handed him her heavy bag, and when the rain began to pummel them both, they dashed down the alleyway that hugged her building. Once inside the cobblestone courtyard and sheltered by the roof over the landing, lightning crackled the sky.

  “Inside. Quick,” Ed said, and Tamatha followed orders without even thinking that he’d sounded demanding. “We’ve got to stop meeting in the rain,” he offered as he followed her up the three twisting flights of timeworn stairs.

  “I like the rain.”

  “It annoys me. And sometimes it hurts.”

  She pushed her key in the lock, turned it and shoved the door inward. “It hurts? I think I read something about that. No, that was faeries. Rain in the mortal realm can burn their skin.”

  “It works the same on some of us demons. Especially so when there’s lightning. It crackles in my veins like electricity and messes with my ability to shift.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. But I’m going to make a note of that.”

  “I’m learning to expect nothing less from you.”

  “You can drop my bag there by the door.”

  She strolled past the tiny kitchenette and into the living room. Her bedroom was on the opposite side of the room beyond the curvy pink velvet sofa. With a dash she deposited her shoes before her bed, then returned to the living room to find Ed looking around. The pale pink sheers were pulled back to reveal lightning splintering the sky.

  “It’s not the Shangri-La, but it’s my home. So, another date?”

  “Sure, but first I’d like to get straight to the point.”

  “The point?”

  He walked right up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. Not so gently. And he wasn’t giving off “I’m going to kiss you now” vibes. “You’ve bewitched me.”

  “I—” Tamatha’s apprehensions dropped. Aww. What a sweetie. Mr. Darcy redone in demonic flesh and blood. Although...he hadn’t said it in quite the manner Darcy would. Not a hint of romance in his tone or mention of his body and soul. Which meant... “Are you serious?”

  “That’s the only explanation for my compelling need to kiss you every time I see you.”

  Was he for real? The guy couldn’t accept that maybe he wanted to kiss her? Way to make her feel special. Not.

  Tamatha pulled from his grip and pushed her rain-jeweled hair over a shoulder. “I don’t work love spells or anything romantically related. That’s trouble waiting to happen. No spells cast as a means to provoke you to kiss me, I promise. Though, bewitchment is a term that encompasses a certain romantic desire or feel
ing toward another. Seriously, you think I’m making you kiss me? And you can’t imagine any other reason, on this entire planet, why you’d want to kiss me? Maybe you just...want to?”

  “Well, sure, but...” He sighed and swiped a hand through his hair. The move made her yearn to know the feel of his fingers gliding through her hair. “I thought... Uh...hmm...” He tapped his lip. “Because when we do kiss, it’s so easy. And I’ve never been this way around a witch before. Because I have trouble with— And things never seem to last. Most especially if she—”

  “She what? Ed?” She touched his cheek and then dared to stroke across his horn nub.

  He gripped her hand quickly. “You shouldn’t do that.”

  “What? Touch your horns?”

  He tilted a serious stare at her.

  “Does touching your horns make you...horny?” She tried not to laugh, or even giggle, but the idea of it was clearly ironic. “I’ll keep my hands to myself. I didn’t know.”

  “Yes, well, now you do. Lesson number one in Basic Demon Knowledge. Don’t touch the horns unless you’re invited to.”

  She nodded respectfully. “Kind of like faeries and their wings. You touch their wings and it’s supposed to be sexual, like touching their breasts or their...” Her eyes dropped to his crotch, where a noticeable thickness caught her attention. “Wine! I’m sure you’d like some wine.”

  She hustled into the kitchen and was glad for the half bottle in the fridge. Needed to restock. And ugh, this was a white. Not the most romantic of wines. But then, apparently the demon was feeling put off by romance. Unless, of course, she considered what had appeared to be a hard-on.

  So was he hot for her or not? She couldn’t shake the awful feeling that he believed his kisses had been commanded by a force outside him instead of a reactionary pull to make contact with her.

  To her, using magic to mess in the affairs of love and romance was almost as big a no-no as commanding demons against their will. Love spells could be quite effective. Until they were not. Be careful what you wish for and all that.

  “Stick to business,” she reminded herself. “But he did mention something about a date.”

  And she was keen on love. Often. But to be clear, the family motto encompassed all kinds of love. Familial, friendly, social, romantic, love for animals, love for food. Heck, love for bugs, grass or old cars. One must simply love life.

  Out in the living room, Ed had opened one of the tall windows, and the noises from the restaurant below mingled with the clatter of rain on the windows and streets.

  “Close it halfway,” she said. She straightened the black velvet pillows on the pink sofa and cast about a glance to make sure no stray underthings were lying about. It was a chick’s apartment; that stuff happened all the time. “Or the pigeons will come inside. I hate to bespell those poor things. They never seem to fly right afterward. Though I do use the occasional stray to practice ornithomancy.”

  “Divination by birds,” he said and adjusted the window to make sure the opening wasn’t quite so pigeon-wide. “That should make for interesting times, me being a corax.”

  She hadn’t considered that, but cool. “Would you allow me to divine your conspiracy?”

  “That sounds strangely sexual,” he said with a wink.

  And Tamatha actually blushed. So he did know how to flirt.

  “White,” he said as she handed him the goblet. “I do love a dry sip.”

  “Is that a demon thing?” she asked, slipping into research mode. From the table she grabbed a notebook that she always left lying around for moments of inspiration. And she put on her glasses, as well.

  “No, I just love a good white. So we’re right to business.” Ed sat next to her. “I guess our dates always start that way, eh? That’s cool— Wow.”

  “What?”

  “Those glasses are incredibly sexy on you. All the rhinestones and the way they draw focus to your bright green eyes.”

  “Hmm, must be the librarian thing you mentioned.”

  “You’re not put off that one of my fantasies is exactly what you are?”

  “Why should I be?” She leaned in close enough that his cedar scent overwhelmed the wine. It stirred her desires and softened her muscles so she felt like falling into his arms. “I like to play with danger.”

  “Right, the dangerous-demon thing. I’ll give you that. I’m not safe, by any means.”

  “And how does not being safe play into your work, which is to bring peace? I don’t understand that. What kind of peace and between whom? Other demons?”

  “I said that was personal. You want basic demon facts, and that’s what I’ll give you. You know about our sigils.” He pulled back his coat collar to show the black ink work, which wasn’t ink work at all but an innate coloring in his skin. “You know about our sensitive taste.”

  “Right. And you can travel by shifting to a conspiracy of ravens. Can I see you do that?”

  “Not now that I’ve learned you might like to use my ravens for divination. Besides, I’m all tapped out for a while. Just getting my strength back after doing it twice in a week.”

  “It drains you that much?”

  “Shifting to dozens of birds and then re-forming back to a complex human body? That requires a lot of energy.”

  “Then why did you do it recently?”

  “Next question.”

  She didn’t like that he felt he couldn’t be totally honest with her, but Tamatha would use caution. He was here and that was what mattered. “You know, I could help you with recharging your energy after a shift.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m sure I’ve a spell of some sort that’ll hasten your healing. Because that’s what it is. Healing from the shift.”

  “Something to keep in mind. But pardon me if I maintain a healthy distance from your witchcraft.”

  “Right. You and your caution.”

  On with the research. And yet she wasn’t as compelled to learn about the textbook stuff so much as delving deeper inside the man. A man who had just flirted with her, even if it may have been accidental on his part.

  “Tell me something daring. Intimate. Do demons have sex the same way most other species do?”

  He chuckled, shook his head. “Yes, we do. Though we come in all shapes and sizes, with different means, muses and fetishes. And some of us fellows are ribbed.” He winked and sipped his wine.

  “Ribbed?” She again averted her gaze to his crotch. “Like...you mean?”

  He nodded, his grin irrepressible. “For your pleasure, my lady.”

  Mouth open in awe, she didn’t know what to say to that one, so she let it sink in. Interesting. And...oh, baby. Now he expected her to continue with the interview without wanting to make out?

  “That was too much too soon, wasn’t it?” His gaze over the rim of the goblet reached in and caressed her thumping heart. Oh, how he had mastered the smolder.

  “No, that was perfect. Great. I’m writing that one down.”

  He tugged the notebook from her grasp. “I don’t want to be a footnote on your pages, Tamatha. Let’s stick to conversation and leave the dictation for some guy with an ego. Is that okay?”

  “Fine.” She crossed her legs and settled back with the wine goblet in hand. A ribbed penis? Oh, mercy, think about something else. Like her pattering heartbeats. No. Her moistening hands. Double no! “So you know how old I am. What about you?”

  “Thirty. Just turned.”

  “But you are immortal?”

  “Unless someone stabs me with a salt blade or injects my veins with a salty brew. That stuff is killer. And it’s everywhere. You can buy it at the local supermarché. It appalls me. I had to call in the building housekeeper to clean up the salt you left on the floor.”

  “I thought you said
you had a secretary.”

  “Out on maternity leave.”

  “Aww, babies are so sweet.” She caught his lift of brow and figured she’d better explain. “To look at. Not to have. Dear me, I don’t know that I’m very maternal. I like to play with them a bit, then hand them back to the mother when they start to cry.”

  “So you won’t be continuing the Bellerose family through your progeny?”

  She shrugged. Babies were so far off her radar right now. Had always been that way. And she suspected the conversation would never get where she wanted it to go if she delved into talking diapers and snotty noses.

  “Can you eat salt in food?”

  “Minimal amounts won’t kill me, but I have a chef who cooks meals for me once a month and leaves them in the freezer. Salt free.”

  She loved to cook, but sometimes cooking for one was a pain. Part of her desire to find a man who lasted longer than the family curse was so she could actually settle into the domestic-goddess mode and see if she liked it. Creating delicious meals for someone she loved? Sounded divine. Having children? She’d reexamine her priorities if and when she ever found a lover worthy of giving her children.

  “Have you ever killed anyone?” she asked Ed.

  “That’s a personal question.”

  “Sort of. Sort of not. If it applies to a demon’s necessary means to survive—”

  “It does not. I am not a vampire who sucks the life from mortals, nor do I thrive on skin contact as would an afferous demon.”

  Tamatha reached for her notebook, then relented. “I’ll remember that one. Maybe. Probably not. I’ll survive. So, no killing.”

  “Killing is sometimes not necessarily murder.”

  “Oh. Yes, you’re right. Murder is premeditated. A man might be faced with the kill to protect himself...”

  Yet the fact he had to designate the difference— No, she wouldn’t go there. Couldn’t. Not with him sitting right there, but inches from her, overwhelming her senses with his ice and cedar scent and his—his very being. Yes, just being nearby, the man captivated her. And he made her desire. And want. Simple as that.