This Strange Witchery

by Michele Hauf

  “Sure, but whatever you do, be careful. You can walk away from this life, but I’m pretty sure this life won’t allow you to walk away without keeping one eye over your shoulder.”

  Which was another fact Tor knew. Would he always be running away from that which he had once so freely run toward? Could he do normal?

  “Will you at least consult with me on this revenant issue?” Rook asked.

  “Of course. I won’t leave you a lone slayer standing amidst a bunch of wild vampires. It’s just this witch who hired me to protect her—”

  “Now I get it. You’ve got a pretty little witch to protect, eh?”

  “She hired me, Rook. It’s a business deal. Which...” How quickly he forgot. “...I ended earlier today.”

  “Uh-huh. You don’t sound pleased about that decision. You want my advice when it comes to pretty witches?”

  The man’s girlfriend was a witch. A very pretty witch.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Doesn’t matter, I’m giving it to you. If she makes you smile, then don’t ignore that. It isn’t often guys like us get to simply smile, is it?”

  Tor considered the strangeness of an easy smile, and before he could agree, Rook said, “She means something to you.”

  “She’s kind and beautiful and—”

  “Sexy?”

  “Weird.”

  Rook chuckled. “Those are the best kind.”

  He hadn’t expected that agreement, but now Tor smiled broadly and turned his head down to hide it from the man he had only ever been serious with, or stood alongside to slay vampires, or worked out a game plan with for media spin with the Order.

  “So should I destroy your phone number?” Rook asked.

  “Not until after the full moon.”

  He should get back to Mel—ah, right. He’d stormed out on her. Had given her his walking papers after learning she’d not told him a ghost was involved in the job.

  He slid a hand over the talisman, clutching it.

  “You want coffee?” Rook asked. “I’ll buy.”

  The two men got into the van cab, and Tor navigated toward the city center near the river. He’d handled things wrong with Mel. He shouldn’t have stormed out on her. He shouldn’t have been so mean. He should have explained himself.

  He should have. He should have. He should have.

  Now what was done was done. And he had not ended it properly. Not in a way that sat well with his morals or his soul.

  Stopping at a light, he swiped a palm over his face, leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. His fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel.

  He’d never quit a job before. Even when he’d faced insurmountable odds, such as the cover-up of a werewolf gaming den where they’d pitted tortured vampires against one another to the death. There had been dozens of crazed vampires left behind in a warehouse located in the center of the city. It had to be cleaned out and sanitized, and he’d had to field more than a few calls from the local police, fire department, news stations and even the EU-OSHA.

  Not to mention the werewolf pack that had returned to challenge him. He’d stood before them all, shown them his mettle and talked down the pack from angry retaliation, as well as handled all the city agencies with a flair that sometimes even impressed him. He walked away cut, bruised and sometimes near death, but he always survived.

  To do it again and again. And always because he knew if he didn’t do it, no one else would.

  So why couldn’t he allow himself to even be close to a woman who may or may not have an instance where he would be in the vicinity of a ghost? The ghost incident that had pushed him over the edge had been years ago. He’d moved on. There was no way to change what had happened. He should fear nothing.

  “Tor?”

  “Huh?” He pulled across the intersection, driving toward the Rue de Rivoli, where Rook said a late-night coffee shop was located. “Sorry, man.”

  “You’re distracted. Is it the pretty witch?”

  “She’s a client. Was a client.”

  “Was?”

  “I...don’t work with ghosts. You know that.”

  “Uh-huh. Who’s protecting her now?”

  Tor cast the man a glance. He knew the answer to that one.

  “Ghosts are assholes,” Rook offered. “But I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge. You surprise me, Rindle.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I’m over it all. The life. The weirdness—”

  “This side of normal is a hell of a lot more interesting than the one you think will change your life. Pull over. I’ll run in and grab us a couple.”

  Tor did so, and Rook got out, closing the door behind him.

  “This side of normal,” Tor muttered.

  He clenched the steering wheel. Normal. Normal, normal, normal. Why was it proving such a hard concept to grasp? And when had he backed away from a challenge? That wasn’t him. While he’d avoided anything that reminded him of that horrible night, he—well, he could avoid it forever. But that would be...

  “A lie,” he whispered.

  He couldn’t run away from his truths. Because to hide was like being haunted all over again. A constant haunting that would always cling to him, and never relent. He’d seen ghosts since he was a child. Had never feared them, even thought they had intrinsically guided his life to exactly where he stood this day. He’d never seen his mother in ghostly form but had always sensed when she was near, with the presence of a cicada that would show up in the most unexpected times and places.

  A few winters ago, he’d found a cicada in an old house, tucked between two books. It had peered at him with wise eyes. And the books had been titled Always with You and I Love You to the Moon and Back.

  His mother’s way of saying she had his back. She had never left him.

  And now Mel and her family were being tormented by a ghost in such a personal way. A family member sought to harm Star? That was terrible. He could imagine the grief and pain associated with it.

  And that was the part that tore at him. He knew that emotional pain.

  Rook opened the door and handed him a coffee that warmed Tor’s fingers when he wrapped them about the cup. He noticed the elaborate artwork on the paper cup and realized it was a floral line drawing featuring flowers and one very prominent...cicada.

  The knight put up a boot on the dash and leaned back. “You think about what I said?”

  “Yes,” Tor muttered, knowing the man had ulterior motives. He tapped the cicada.

  “Good. Then drop me off and head back to the witch’s home.”

  Chapter 17

  At the sound of a knock on her front door, Mel startled awake and sat up from the floor. She’d fallen asleep? It was dark in the house. Down the hall, in the kitchen, a candle flickered softly. Bruce levitated before her. She peered at him through her goggles.

  Another knock. The frog tensed.

  Gripping the crystal athame in her left hand and the carrot shredder in her right, she turned onto her knees to face the door. “Who is it?” she called out cautiously.

  No response.

  Bruce ribbited.

  “I did ask,” she shot back at the amphibian.

  Another croak in response.

  “Not loud enough? Do zombies have ears? They could have fallen off.”

  She clutched the shredder against her chest and peered around the side of the inverted easy chair. Her heartbeats thundered. Something lurked on her front step. And yet, would zombies have the courtesy to knock?

  Calling louder, she said, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Tor. I’m sorry, Mel! Can I come in?”

  “Tor? Oh yes!” She pulled at the huge easy chair before her, but it didn’t budge. “Hang on! I’ll be right there!”

  Using the kinetic magic she�
��d employed to stack the chairs before the doorway, she now managed to shift the barricade as a tangled mass about a foot away from the door.

  The door opened, and Tor popped his head inside. “I know it’s late but—what the bloody mess?”

  “You can slip through!” she called. “Climb over the furniture.”

  He did so, and stepped awkwardly onto a wooden kitchen chair, finessing the obstacle course until he landed on the easy chair before her. Seated, he bent before her—she was still on her knees—and tapped the plastic goggles she normally wore when cutting onions.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” he said.

  Tugging down the goggles and tossing the grater aside, Mel felt her fears evaporate. Yet in the process, her anxiety gushed to the surface, and she began to cry anew. She didn’t want to, yet it was impossible not to.

  Tor slid off the chair to kneel and pulled her into a hug. He kissed her head and wrapped his arms about her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that.”

  “I thought I was alone,” she said between sniffles. “And you don’t know how I attract the weird stuff to me. I was afraid something would get through to attack. And I’m not sure if zombies would knock or just crash through the windows. I did the best I could. But I’m not very brave. Oh!”

  He pulled her up with him as he sat on the chair, and Mel bent her legs and snuggled against him. Hugging his hard chest, she clung and sniffled. Her anxiety lessened as she focused on the slide of his hand across her back, a soothing move. She was safe in his arms. Her protector had returned.

  “So you barricaded yourself inside?” he asked.

  “Bruce helped me. But I don’t have many weapons. I’m not into guns and garrotes like you. And when I’m upset, my magic always malfunctions. That’s why I couldn’t clear the chairs away now.”

  “I’ll put them back for you. It was wrong for me to walk out on a job. But more so? It wasn’t right to leave you alone when I know you need support. I’m here now. To protect you.”

  She looked up at his face. Minute stubble darkened his jaw. His hair was tousled. He looked as though he’d had a tough day. Yet truth glinted in his eyes. She believed him. He’d needed an escape, some time to work out his apparent issues with ghosts.

  Ghosts. No avoiding that topic any longer.

  “If you stick around to the end, I can’t promise there won’t be ghosts,” she said. “At the very least, one.”

  “I wish you would have told me about that from the get-go. But that’s neither here nor there now. If there’s a ghost, I’ll have to deal.”

  She nuzzled her head against his firm bicep, drawing his warmth into her bare arms and legs. She hadn’t realized how cold and small she’d felt barricaded on the floor. Now she could relax. “Tell me about you and ghosts. Did you say you could see them?”

  Tor hooked a hand along her thigh as he pulled her closer. He tilted his head back and exhaled. His heartbeat was steady. Fierce. A warrior in suit and tie. Mercy, but she adored him.

  “I can see ghosts,” he finally confessed. “I have been able to see them forever. At least, since I was about five or six and started to realize that the imaginary friend I would talk to wasn’t so imaginary, and it was like those spirits the little boy saw in that movie, The Sixth Sense. Only then did I realize I saw dead people, too.”

  He tilted his head forward, and his lips pressed the crown of her head. She sensed that he wasn’t keen on revealing this information, but he wanted to. In his way. So she didn’t barge in with all the questions bouncing inside her brain.

  “I never thought it was a problem until it did become a problem. I grew up believing there were always extra people around the dinner table that the other kids in the boys’ home couldn’t see.”

  “That must have been startling for you.”

  “Yes, well, the first few times, when I mentioned the extra guests and wanted to know why they didn’t get served, the nuns were having none of that crazy talk. And Miss Thunder was never there at the dinner table with a joint to relax my apprehensions. I learned to keep that information to myself if I wanted to eat.”

  “It makes me sad that you were an orphan. How old did you say your mother was?”

  “Seventeen when I was born. She died in the hospital a day later.”

  Mel’s heart tugged. “I’m sorry.”

  Tor stretched out his arm and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the tattoo on his inner forearm. The candlelight from the kitchen glowed softly into the hallway, and for the first time Mel saw what it was. She traced the intricate artwork. The wings were so finely crafted, it appeared as if the insect might lift off and fly away.

  “Most cicadas have a seventeen-year life cycle,” he said. “They come out of hibernation for a short time. Bring new life into the world. Then die. I got this in memory of my mother.”

  “It was a cicada who told me to look for you,” she recalled. “That’s the universe at work.”

  “I believe that. My mother has always been in my life in the form of cicada sightings. Once I even saw one in the wintertime.”

  “Wow. She’s a very strong spirit.”

  “But I’ve never actually seen her ghost. Not that I would recognize her if I did. I was never given a photo or description of her. It’s something that has always bothered me. Did I get my brown eyes from my mother? And who was my father?”

  “I’m sorry that you never got to know your parents, Tor.”

  “I’ve never known anything else, so that’s my normal. There are times I feel I’m being directed by an unseen force. And...I like to think it’s her. It’s never pushed me in the wrong direction. It’s what made me return to you now. Earlier, I saw another cicada. On a coffee cup, of all things.”

  “Some souls lost in this realm are very powerful. Too powerful,” she said with a sigh.

  “So.” He sighed heavily. “That’s the story on me and ghosts. And why I’m a freak about working with them.” He tapped the quartz crystal at his belt, and Mel was almost going to touch it when she pulled back. A talisman was a personal thing. Only if invited would she touch it.

  “When I was in my early twenties and had moved to Paris from London, I met a woman who also saw ghosts. She’d been from mental institution to mental institution, and was living on her own, but barely clinging to sanity. She was haunted by some vicious entities for reasons, I believe, that had to do with her growing up as the daughter of a murderer. Anyway, she wasn’t crazy. Too much. And I understood her. We became friends. Never dated. It wasn’t like that. Charlotte was more a sister than someone I’d want to date. Then she had to move. Whenever the media got too hot regarding her father, she’d pack up and change addresses.

  “Five years ago we met again after not seeing each other for some time.” Again he tapped the crystal. “She spoke of the voices that wanted her to kill herself.”

  Mel clasped his hand. She could feel his pain as a shiver wrapping her spine. The Jones family had been dealing with their own ghost issues. It was not easy. And it was real, as strange as that was for most to believe. Ghosts were not friendly little white blobs. Or sheet-covered spooks. Some could be vicious, homicidal, and could even influence a living person’s mind.

  “I was supposed to meet her one night for supper,” Tor said, “but by that time I was working for The Order of the Stake. I got called to a job, so I was late by four hours. I went immediately to her place because she’d texted me a dozen times. I hadn’t paid attention to the texts. It was a particularly busy night talking to the media about—I forget. Probably vampires. I’d turned off my phone to focus.”

  He drew her closer and gripped her tightly. Clinging as she so wanted to cling to him. A minute shiver traced his torso, and the reverberations hurt her heart desperately.

  “Anyway, when I got to her house...” He tensed. “I found her in the bathtub, her wrists sla
shed. She’d been dead an hour. If I hadn’t been late, she might still be alive. It was my fault.”

  “No, it wasn’t. You couldn’t be there for her all the time. And ghosts can be nasty. Evil. Malevolent... Oh.”

  Now she realized how hard it had been for him to return this evening. His issue with ghosts and not being there to protect the girl? It was happening all over again for him. And she had dragged him into this.

  Oh, Mel, what have you done?

  “After that night I made a strict no-ghosts rule. I went out the next day and found a witch to charm this talisman so I couldn’t see ghosts. And so they could not make contact with me. They’re still around me, I’m sure, I just can’t see or sense them. And since then, my life has been going as well as it can.”

  “Until I dragged you back into it all.” She sat up on his lap. “What kind of a person am I? I can’t ask any more of you.”

  “But you have to. That’s why I returned. Had to return. This has become more than a job, Mel. I care about you. You can ask anything of me. And you should. I want you to. I want you to—well, I like you. Those kisses we’ve shared? I want it to be a beginning.”

  “You don’t know how much I’d like that, too. But if that happens, I’ll be stirring up all your issues.”

  “Maybe they needed a good stir.” He kissed the crown of her head again.

  “But you were ready to walk away from this part of your life. And look what I’ve done. I feel terrible.”

  “Don’t ever feel bad for coming into my life. I’m a better man for it. And for now? This is what I do. I protect others from harm. And if I can’t stand up to one little ghost—hell, you said there might not even be ghosts.”

  “Amaranthe, my sister, has only been haunting my mom. She’s in my parents’ home. Mom can see her, but Dad and I cannot. Though we can both sense her. Yet we see when Mom is being tormented, both in human and cat form. I don’t think Amaranthe’s ghost will show tomorrow night at the crossroads when I need to do the spell. Because I’ll be raising her dead body, not her ghost. Right?”

  “You’re asking me?”