by Michele Hauf
“It’s too awful.”
Ed hugged Tamatha tighter. “Don’t watch. Your mother has it under control.” And he swept his hand before him, sending a black cloud over the massacre, obliterating their view. “Rascon has gone.”
Tamatha nodded and hugged him tighter. “He served his part.”
Petrina stopped and dropped to her knees, exhausted from the spell.
And when the black smoke cleared, nothing remained but piles of ash, still smoking as if a funeral pyre. The white-boned skull the warlock had wielded rolled to the edge of the salt circle and cracked in half.
“We’ll bury them,” Ed said. “This time for good.”
“I can put a fastening spell on them to ensure that,” Tamatha said.
“You can?” He pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. “Did I mention that I love you?”
“Yes, but you can tell me again and again. I’ll never tire of hearing it.”
“Come on, you lovebirds.” Petrina snapped her fingers and three shovels appeared before them. “Save the lovey-dovey stuff for later. Pineapple gelatos for all after we’ve laid my mother to rest.”
Epilogue
It was three in the morning by the time they returned to Tamatha’s home. Petrina collapsed on the sofa and fell instantly asleep, while Tamatha led Ed into the bathroom and they showered together.
They made slow, quiet love under the spill of warm water. She didn’t want to think about what had happened in the graveyard. And pressing her fingers over Ed’s skin, tracing the dark ink and following that path with her tongue was a distraction she needed.
As the two of them came, their mouths together and their gasps muted by the connection, she hugged him tightly about the neck as he pumped inside her. “I love you,” she managed through tears.
“You’ve made me believe in love,” he said. “And if that isn’t bewitchery, I don’t know what is.”
“Look,” she said, holding up his hand. “The thorns chained about your wrist are gone.”
“So they are. I guess I defeated the death curse after all. Your grandmother did good work.”
“As did your grandfather.”
“I’ll give him a pass on his strange disappearance. Maybe we’ll talk someday. Hey. I made it to the end of the story!”
“What does that mean?”
“It means my mother’s faery tales weren’t always correct. Kiss me, lover. Give me some more of that love often.”
* * *
In the morning, the threesome headed out for the patisserie where Ed treated them to croissants and coffees. But they couldn’t pass Amorino without stopping in to buy pineapple gelato.
Petrina hugged Tamatha and then handed her her gelato so she could turn and hug Ed. “You be good to her,” she said to him. “You may have dodged the family curse, but I’m pretty sure Lysia put a new one on you.”
“She did. And not to worry. I adore your daughter and will spend every moment trying to earn her respect and adoration.”
“You won’t have to try too hard. You’re a good man. Cute, too.”
“All right, Mom, enough flirting.” She handed her mother her treat.
“I’ll be going, then,” Petrina announced. “All is well in Paris. And I’ve a plane ticket to Andalusia. I do love those bullfighters.”
“You need a ride to the airport?” Ed asked.
“No, I’ve Jacques, who is always willing to give me a lift when I need one.” She winked and blew a kiss to Tamatha. “Love you, Tam. Love often. I think this one will last longer than all the rest.” She turned and strolled off, her long pink skirts dusting the cobblestones and her blue-silver hair pulled up in a messy bun.
“I like your mom,” Ed said and sneaked a bite off the top of Tamatha’s gelato cone.
“Hey! You should have got some for yourself.”
“No sharing?”
Tamatha studied her treat. Seriously?
“So that’s the way of things, eh? You’ll share your magic with me and risk my very life to save a dead family member, but you won’t let me have the sweet stuff?”
“But...it’s pineapple.”
He tucked his nose against her neck and licked her skin. “Good thing I prefer lemon. Mmm...you saved my life,” he said. “The curse is lifted.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“I do. I feel great.”
“That’s what they all say. And then hours later they’re plastered to the side of a Mack truck or struggling within a straitjacket.”
“Sweetness, have some faith in our love. I know your family curse is broken. It’s as simple as that.”
“Very well. Simple as that. What about Grandmother’s new curse?”
“I will never harm you, so I’ve no worry about that one. If pineapple is your favorite, I don’t know what else we can do to celebrate.”
“I can think of a few more things.”
“Such as?”
She waggled her eyebrows and slid on a teasing smile. “Sex.”
“That’s always a celebration. You mentioned a few things?”
“Yes. Call me crazy—or wait. Don’t call me crazy. Call me impulsive, but...”
“What?”
“Would you be my boyfriend, Edamite Thrash?”
“I will. If you can handle being the evil overlord’s woman.”
“Why don’t you make that ‘his gorgeous sidekick, the most powerful witch in all of Paris.’”
“Works for me.” He kissed her and spun her in a hug that toppled her gelato to the ground. But it didn’t matter. Tamatha loved Ed. He loved her. And together they would make bewitching magic.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from HOUSE OF SHADOWS by Jen Christie.
I hope you enjoyed Ed and Tamatha’s story.
If you are interested in reading about some of
the other characters mentioned, you can find
their stories at your favorite online retailer.
CJ and Vika’s story is
THIS WICKED MAGIC
Blyss and Stryke’s story is
MOONLIGHT AND DIAMONDS
Kir and Bea’s story is
ENCHANTED BY THE WOLF
Libby and Reichardt’s story is
THIS SOUL MAGIC
Desideriel and Ivan’s story is
THE DEVIL TO PAY
Verity and Rook’s story is
BEYOND THE MOON
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Nocturne story.
You harbor otherworldly desires.... Harlequin Nocturne stories delve into dark, sensuous and often dangerous territory, where the normal and paranormal collide.
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House of Shadows
by Jen Christie
Prologue
The grandfather clock tolled, echoing on and on. The sound reverberated in the tunnel until Penrose fell to the floor, covered her ears and buried her head in her skirts. The chimes came from everywhere at once, from all around her and even from within her own mind.
She couldn’t think, couldn’t move. She could only endure. Dust and plaster rained down and pelted her body. Please, she wished, let it be a dream. But she knew it wasn’t. A dream doesn’t hit you with plaster hard enough to hurt. Long, agonizing moments passed. It was as if time ceased.
Quietness returned slowly.
The rumbling grew less ferocious until finally the ground was still, and the clock fell silent. Only then did she lift her head and take a breath. Dust filled her nostrils. Coughing, wiping her eyes and face, she called out in a panicked voice, “C.J.?”
He didn’t answer. The only sound was a lone splatter of plaster falling to the floor somewhere in the darkness. She must find C.J. and see if he was okay, but it was too dangerous to crawl around without light.
Remembering that there were candles in the hallway, she began inching toward the door. She planned to grab a candle and hopefully find Carrick so that they could hunt for C.J. together. When she reached the door, she fumbled with the latch until it opened. The house was dark and quiet. Still on all fours, she took a deep, shaky breath and called, “C.J.? Carrick, are you here?”
No answer. She crawled out, stood up and brushed herself off, making sure she wasn’t injured. Her hands traveled the length of her torso, but the lack of pain did nothing to reassure her that she was all right. She was not all right.
The air in the foyer was cold—too cold for August in Charleston. The house felt different. It smelled odd, of lemons and lavender. Something was wrong. She knew it in her bones.
“C.J.?” Desperation turned her voice harsh. “Carrick? Please! Answer me.”
Still nothing.
Her eyes adjusted to the light, and she saw the grandfather clock standing against the wall. Standing. Not toppled over as she’d witnessed moments before. She looked around wildly. The table that normally held the candles wasn’t there anymore. The chandelier hung still and straight as if it hadn’t even moved, let alone swung wildly while the earth shook.
But what took the breath right from her lungs were the paintings. They were different—with odd, angular images in them. The more she looked around, the more uneasy she became. Yes, something was very, very wrong.
“Carrick?” she called again, taking minute, untrusting steps toward the great room, her hands pressing the air in disbelief. “Carrick! C.J.? Please?” she kept repeating in a whiny, almost begging manner. She held a last bit of hope that the world would right itself, and she’d see the familiar features of Arundell. Her Arundell. Not this twisted imitation.
When she entered the large parlor, she saw moonlight and shadows dancing around the room, revealing a dark doppelgänger of the room she knew and loved. The cold air around her made it scarier and even less familiar.
Yes, the bones of the room were the same. The same lofty ceiling, the same shape of the windows, even the familiar gouges in the doorway that marked the heights of the Arundell boys. But the essence had changed.
Everything had changed. She tried to reconcile the two different versions of her home—one familiar and one not—but she couldn’t. It simply wasn’t Arundell Manor.
Yet it was.
She went to the window and looked out. The world outside glimmered bright and white beneath the moon.
Bright and white. Snow.
No peaceful pond with a lazy oak tree beside it. No familiar road winding through the Charleston countryside straight to the front doors of her home. Only bare land covered in white stretched all the way to the horizon. Stepping away from the window as if it burned her, she found herself gasping for breath. She wanted to scream, to wail and cry for help, but she had no voice.
She took fast, short steps and went from room to room on the first floor, seeing unbelievable and frightening items everywhere she turned. The house had always been extravagant, but now it seemed garish. Every room was crammed with shiny and bizarre objects, things she didn’t understand and was afraid to touch.
A huge mirror hung on the wall by the kitchen and her own shadowy form reflected back at her. Even she looked different. It was as if a ghost stared at her, coated in dust, hair wild and tumbling, the whites of its eyes glowing brightly. She had a horrible thought as she looked at herself. She’d died.
“I’m not dead,” she said loudly, voicing that horrible thought. A worse thought sprang up behind it. Perhaps she’d been trapped in a kind of purgatory. A place between life and death.
“No.” She shook her head wildly. So did the shadowy figure in the mirror. Leaning forward, she insisted to the image, “I’m alive. Alive.” But her image seemed to stare back at her with accusing eyes and Penrose backed away, shaking.
The kitchen was unrecognizable, with silver equipment that had blue flashing lights on the different pieces. She knew it was a kitchen because of the sink, the knives that hung from the wall and the bowl of fresh fruit sitting atop the counter. A piece of paper lay beside the bowl, and by the dim blue light she read:
Dear Keat,
Welcome back to Arundell. Everything should be in order. The kitchen is stocked. The robots have been delivered and set up. If you need anything, just call. Enjoy your time by yourself. Please, try to relax. Stop worrying. You do your best work that way.
—V
The note called this home Arundell, but unless the world had changed overnight, this was not Arundell. Not the Arundell she knew.
Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Grannis
ISBN-13: 9781488004568
Captivating the Witch
Copyright © 2016 by Michele Hauf
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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