by Michele Hauf
But as she bent to pick up her book bag, she had a thought. Standing close to the building, so he couldn’t see her, Tamatha pulled a white light over her body.
“Now I’m ready. For good or for ill,” she muttered.
* * *
Ed paced the floor before Tamatha, who had refused to sit after he’d offered. She clutched the shoulder-bag handle before her, the book-laden bag hanging heavily before her knees. Her hair was tousled and she had apologized for her appearance because she’d slept in the Archives overnight. She looked a disheveled schoolgirl in her short tight skirt, high heels and white blouse that did not hide the perky nipples beneath.
And that turned him on.
Yet, the vibes flowing from her were anything but attractive or welcoming. In fact, he could feel the repellent electricity skitter across his skin from her white light.
“The day before yesterday we sat in a bathtub sharing confidences. Later, you traced my body with your tongue. And we had amazing sex,” he said, stopping before her with hands splayed. “What’s happened since then?”
She squeezed her eyes as tightly as her tiny fists.
“Tamatha—”
“Just answer the question I asked when I was standing outside,” she insisted.
“I...” So she wasn’t going to drop that one. An honest answer wasn’t going to win him any brownie points. And the definition he had of drug dealer was much different than hers could be.
“Tamatha, there are some things about me you are better off not knowing. I do what I must. The organization I head is focused on keeping the peace. This mortal realm is not always an easy place to exist for my sort. Nor can peace and anonymity be achieved with mere talk or passivity. Sometimes more persuasive methods must be employed.”
“So you have killed? And if you say ‘only those deserving’ I am so out of here.”
He didn’t know how to win against this woman. Not that he had to win. Did he have to win? He shouldn’t look at things that way. He didn’t want to spoil what felt so right to him.
So he nodded. “I trust details will not serve your curiosity. It is merely my confession that you seek. But it won’t change how I feel about you, Tamatha.”
“How you feel—Ed, you brought me into your life because you needed a witch. You didn’t seek me because you were interested in me or found me attractive or even—”
“And yet every time I am near you I am compelled closer. I forget the important thing, such as tracking zombie witches, and can only wonder how I allowed myself to become so bewitched.”
“Agg!” She dropped the bag and fisted her hands before her, shaking them. He couldn’t figure the source of her rage. But it was a beautiful rage. “Every time you say that, that you can only believe your attraction to me is because of some spell I’ve worked against you, feels like a slap in the face. Don’t you know how much it hurts me?”
“Tamatha, I would never hurt you.”
“And yet the only reason you can possibly be interested in me is because witchcraft made you do it?”
“No, I—” It did sound horrible when he put it that way. And he didn’t believe she’d employed a spell to attract him. “It’s a figure of speech.”
“That you should know better than to use with me. Oh! Do you have a sister? CJ said—”
“I’ll thank you not to rely on the dark witch’s information. Rumor is often distorted.”
“So you don’t have a sister?”
“I do have a half sister, as well as a half brother,” he said, but it came out more defensive than he wished. She was forcing it from him, and he didn’t like that. But he cautioned his anger. Horns were the last thing they needed in this conversation. “Blyss and Kir are blood siblings. They are werewolves in the same pack. Or they were in pack Valoir. They’ve both been banished. Blyss doesn’t know about me. Kir doesn’t think it’s such a good idea to tell her about her demon half brother. And I did provide her with some pills, but I’m far from a drug dealer.”
Tamatha’s mouth dropped open. So much information, and all of it so damning on his part. She’d wanted his truth. A lie would have only hurt her, and he’d meant it when he’d said he would never harm her.
“My half sister didn’t want to be a werewolf,” he provided in the quiet pause that filled the room. “I have a manner of putting my hands to strange and curious elixirs. I sometimes fancy myself a purveyor of essentials.”
Tamatha lifted a brow.
“A stupid title I toss out because it— Ah, never mind. I was able to obtain pills that could repress Blyss’s wolf. But she’s fallen in love recently and has gotten over that demented need to deny her heritage.”
“That’s...weird,” Tamatha said on a gasp. “Both the need to not be a werewolf and the part about purveying drugs.”
“Essentials,” he corrected her. Then he mentally kicked himself for the stupid assertion to be right. It was all about control. And he didn’t have the control with this witch. And...that suited him fine. He splayed his hands before him. “What else do you need to have verified about me that the dark witch has claimed makes me some mafia king? We might as well get it all out while you’re here. Not like I shouldn’t have expected this. Women never stick around me for long. If it’s not the horns, it’s something else. I knew I couldn’t trust a witch.”
“What?” Tamatha stepped around the book bag. “That’s not fair. You can trust me. But in order for me to trust you, I need to ask the hard questions. To get answers from you so I can then make up my mind about how I feel about you.”
He bowed. “Mafia king at your service, witch.”
“Don’t call me that in that tone. You’re mean today, Ed. And what happened to evil overlord? Are you a mafia king or the other?”
He shrugged. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Or in this case, ugliness.”
She slammed her arms across her chest, then splayed them out and grabbed the bag. “I need to get away from you and think about this. About everything. About us.”
“There can never be an us,” he said, following her to the door.
“Is that what you want?”
No. But he wasn’t about to bow down to her standards of what was acceptable in a mate and how he should live his life. “Of course it’s what I want. Better to nip this romance in the bud while I’m still standing. Not that you haven’t attempted to knock me down.”
“You’re being defensive.”
“Coming from the witch wearing a white light.”
She bristled, but didn’t say anything.
“I’m being truthful,” Ed said. “But apparently, you can’t accept my truths.”
She started to reply but stopped, checking herself. “I’m in no mood. I spent the night paging through books looking for answers to the dilemma you posed to me. I’m trying to help you, Ed! I woke an hour ago with my cheek smashed against a night-terrors spell. That’s just wrong. And then you are some mafia kingpin. And you think you can only be interested in me because I bespelled you. I want to go home and—”
“Then leave!”
“Really?” Her bottom lip wobbled. Was that a tear glistening at the corner of her eye? One blink and it would spill over that soft, pale cheek. Damn, she was pulling out the big guns.
And he couldn’t resist.
Ed pulled her close and, despite the horrible electricity zapping at his veins, kissed her. Because he didn’t know what else to do. Because he was one step away from falling apart and confessing his need for her. Because...
He hadn’t meant any of those things he’d said to her. He didn’t want this to end. But he didn’t want to feel the pain of another woman’s rejection. He’d been trying to waylay that, but he was too damned stupid when it came to emotions and relationships.
He did know he needed this int
imate contact. And falling into her was a cure for any madness, even lack of sleep, betrayal and the weird mix of witchcraft and demonic magic that seemed to keep drawing them together.
She didn’t relax in his embrace, but she didn’t stop kissing him. He held her against him, wanting her to know he would always be gentle with her and ever respect her. And he might never get her from his heart now that she had etched a place into it.
But saying those things was too hard. He hadn’t the right words for actions best performed in a moment of panic.
When their mouths parted, she said, “I will never bewitch you. Never will I use magic to win you. But if that’s the way you feel about me...” She sighed and picked up her things. “Your amazing kisses are not going to change my state of mind. I have to mentally sort through everything I dug up while researching. I’m going to call you later, whether or not you like it.”
He nodded, unwilling to refuse that contact and so desperately wanting to be in the kiss again. What was his problem? He’d given her good reason to turn and never want to speak to him again. Hadn’t he been harsh enough with her?
But he couldn’t be. The witch’s rede was something like Do No Harm, and he agreed with that completely.
He held the door open as she passed through. Much as his heart twisted and his fingers ached to run through her hair while he whispered to her how much he wanted her to stay, he resisted that fall to weakness. “I can have Inego give you a ride home?”
The look she cast him told him what she thought of that idea.
“Or not,” he said. “The Métro is always good transport. I’ve things to do. Zombie witches to track. Mafia-kingpin things to, er...sort out.”
She didn’t reply. He caught a palm over his heart and watched her walk away. He didn’t want to lose the best thing that had entered his life in...ever. But he’d never had a good thing before, so he wasn’t sure how to keep said good thing.
He touched his lips. She’d accepted his kiss even after he’d fired cruel words at her. Could she possibly care about him as much as he did her?
And that was it, wasn’t it? He cared about her.
Chapter 13
Tamatha’s notes from last night’s research in the Archives were scattered—neatly—on the living room table. Beside them sat chunks of amethyst and quartz for clear thinking. And she’d added a hint of rosemary to her usual lemon perfume this morning for awareness. But after a few hours bent over the notes and not getting anywhere, she’d decided to distract herself from the project. A watched pot never boiled, and a brain forced to come up with a solution did best when it didn’t know it was needed.
The vacuum glided over the dark-stained hardwood floors in the apartment. She glanced in the bathroom mirror as she passed by. The green face mask she’d slapped on needed to sit twenty minutes. That was about how long it took to get into all the nooks and crannies with the brush attachment.
Dancing her way down the hallway, she vacuumed up scattered lavender petals as well as rose, saffron and thyme. She hung her herbs and flowers from a double row of hemp twine strung along the hallway ceiling because it was drier there in the inner part of the building, and also, she loved the scents that infused the very walls and floor when walking through the front door.
Cleaning always put her in a good mood for reasons she would never admit to anyone else. Perhaps she’d share that detail with the witch Vika Saint-Charles, CJ’s wife. Vika was a clean freak, and she also owned a business that cleaned up dead paranormals from crime scenes.
Tamatha decided she could go forever without viewing anything dead, but that thought switched her brain back to the looming elephant crowding her forebrain. A whole pack of elephants, actually. The demon Edamite Thrash, who could be more evil than she’d ever suspected. And her grandmother and her zombie coven.
She had tried to call her mother again, but she still wasn’t answering. Petrina Bellerose would know what to do about this situation.
She hoped.
And after baking a chocolate cake earlier—and then eating a quarter of it—she’d finally banished the heavy dread she felt and had started to look at the situation rationally. Something did have to be done about zombie witches. And with the right information she would utilize her magic to help instead of hinder.
But what to do about Edamite Thrash and the possibility that, despite his dangerous and very mysterious lifestyle, she may be falling for him? Vika had recognized it in her, and so had CJ.
But did Ed feel the same toward her or was it as he suspected? Mere bewitchment. Could she enact a love spell without knowing it? Had she attracted him to her by crafty means even she hadn’t been aware of? Could a love spell work as her OCD magic did—reactionary?
He had been mean to her in his office earlier in an attempt to get her to leave. And then he’d kissed her! The man had to sort out his feelings for her because he was cold one minute and hot the next.
She wouldn’t let him go. She wasn’t ready to do that yet. She was only just getting to know him.
“Love often,” she whispered. “I could so love the crap out of you, Edamite Thrash.”
Even if he were a dangerous drug dealer? Or rather, a “purveyor of essentials.” He’d explained that had been about some pills he’d got for his half sister. A werewolf who didn’t want to be a werewolf? So strange.
Shaking her head to sweep away the negative thoughts, she spent extra time running the vacuum along the living room ceiling to get at any cobwebs that may be forming. She had nothing against spiders, but sometimes their webs could trap negative energy.
Even over the vacuum she heard the door buzzer, and without clicking off the machine, she grabbed the doorknob and opened it to Ed. His calm expression moved into a curious head tilt. The last person she wanted to talk to right now was him. Yet also, she really wanted to see him. He’d come for her! So maybe he wasn’t as ready to give up on the two of them as he’d thought he was.
And then she remembered.
“Oh!” Tamatha slammed the door shut and clicked off the vacuum. She touched her chin and the slimy green face mask slid off on her fingertip. “Oh, bother.”
“Come on, Tamatha. Open the door,” he teased from the other side.
“You shouldn’t see me like this. I completely forgot about it!”
“What’s wrong? I happen to like avocados.”
Seriously? In the two seconds he’d got a look at her he’d determined as much? Oh, mercy, a woman was not supposed to let her man see her en déshabillé with a vacuum in hand. Or with muck on her face.
“The door isn’t locked,” he said.
No, it wasn’t. Her fingers hovered over the lock. One twist was all it required. Too bad she hadn’t a spell for vanishing face cream.
“I can simply walk in,” the man on the other side of the door suggested.
Why didn’t she keep this place warded against demons? Then again, she’d have to take the ward down every time she did want him to cross her threshold. Like now.
Did she really?
Oh, mercy, yes. They needed to talk. And she needed another kiss from him. To know if he was really as interested in her as she wanted him to be.
Tamatha opened the door an inch. “Let me go wash my face first.”
“I’m coming in,” he announced.
She stepped back from the door as it opened. Resigned to accept that there was no reversing this situation, she shrugged and offered a weak smile. Hey, at least the man was here. That was twenty times more promising than when she’d left him. When he sniffed her face, then dashed a finger over her cheek and licked it, she could have died of embarrassment.
“Avocado and honey,” he said. “I like it.”
“And I am mortified. Now can I go wash my face?”
He kissed her then, so quickly she h
adn’t time to think. The heady falling into him swept away her worries, and then when he pulled away a few bits of green were on his mouth, which he licked. “Go for it. But first, I’m sorry. I spoke irrationally in the office earlier.”
“You don’t want us to end?”
“I...don’t. Much as we’d both be better off if we did end this thing we’ve started. But no, I’m not ready to give up on us yet. Or rather, I’m willing to give it a try. It’s not something I’ve ever done with a woman before. I mean, a relationship built around trust and truth. I want to be with you, Tamatha. To be near you.”
“Even with a green face?”
“Don’t some witches have green faces?”
“You’ve been watching too many movies. I don’t think green skin is a witch thing. It’s more for nixies and the sidhe. I’ll wash it off.”
He caught her hand before she could flee. “To be totally honest, I came here with an ulterior motive. It’s about the situation. I want to bring you somewhere. Show you something. Maybe then you’ll understand how much I need your help.”
“All right. But first things first.” She rushed into the bathroom, leaving the door open behind her. Bending over the sink and splashing water on her face, she lifted her head and called, “Where do you want to bring me? It’s ten in the evening.”
“I thought you were a night owl?” He leaned a shoulder against the frame in the bathroom doorway.
“I am.” She patted her face with a towel. Okay, fine, so she had survived that embarrassing moment and the man was still there. He hadn’t fled. Nor had he laughed. And now he was looking at her sans makeup. Another brave feat on her part. She deserved some kind of award for allowing him to see her like that. “Will I need walking shoes?”
“Yes—comfortable shoes and a sweater. It’s cool this evening.”
She touched up her hair with a few tucks of curls here and there and patted her face with some powder while Ed curiously observed. A dash of blush and some lip balm.
When she turned to him he caught her around the waist. “I liked the green-face look. It was tasty.”
