Don't Stop Believing

by Eve Langlais

  It made sense, light and heat being related. Under fire, another sigil labelled, “Wind.” A comment beside said, “Can propel or repel. Located on the roof, used by the tiles to prevent damage?”

  Wait a second. Winnie had studied the sigils in the house? She never told me. Then again, why would she? I had more or less mocked the spells she’d tried to replicate from the recipe book. She didn’t understand my epiphany. That not only did I now believe but I also wielded magic.

  Should I tell her the things I’d experienced and seen? Would she believe me?

  I knew Kane would.

  Bending, I retrieved more balled sheets from the basket. Winnie had drawn symbols I’d seen around the house, and some I hadn’t. She hypothesized their meaning, crossing things out as she dug deeper. A few she slashed and scrawled, “Fuck this.” I assumed it meant she couldn’t decipher it.

  How had I not known she was doing this? Had she tried to activate any of the sigils? Did she have the same magic I did?

  And for a moment, the horrible person in me was jealous that perhaps I wasn’t special. That my child would take it away.

  The wrongness of it filled me with guilt. Why shouldn’t my daughter achieve great things? We could share this. The Rousseaux witches, doing magic together.

  It made me want to seek her out and tell her everything. Explain our roots. Maybe omit the father part. We’d cry and hug. Make high protein waffles together.

  I kept her drawings as I rose from the bed where I’d unconsciously sat. I took a step to the door and saw it. Opened wide on the desk. Grandma’s missing book of spells. It never even occurred to me Winnie would have taken it. Why hadn’t she said anything when I’d mentioned it being lost?

  As I entered her room, and neared the book, was when I noticed the damage, the sliced edges of sheets where pages had been removed. A utility knife sat beside it, a damning clue as to the culprit.

  Why had Winnie done this? It boggled the mind. One did not just cut stuff out of a family heirloom. Maybe I’d not instilled her with a sacred duty toward the written word, but surely, she knew how wrong it was to desecrate a book like this.

  I grabbed the tome and flipped through it, searching for more damaged spots. Only the single section. Four pages in total. No idea what used to be on them.

  I tucked the book to my chest. How would I deal with this?

  It wasn’t Winnie taking it that bothered me. I would have loaned it if she asked. But to destroy it was wrong on so many levels.

  It also raised another point. If Winnie had gone into my room and taken the spell book, she might have glanced through the family tree.

  I doubted she could have read it. After all it, took a combination of a ring that I wore on a chain around my neck and UV light to see anything.

  What about Martin’s books though? I glanced at the ceiling. I should hide those in a better place. The family tree and Martin’s musings went into the trunk of my car. I’d leave them there until I could properly dispose of them.

  I drove into town and parked by my shop. Standing outside the front door, I took a deep breath. Time to see the damage.

  It turned out better than expected. Especially where I’d drawn my circle of protection. It remained untouched and appeared to mitigate the issue even a few feet out from it. The back was a sooty write-off, but luckily, I kept the antiques wrapped. Fingers crossed it was enough to seal them off from damage.

  I could fix this with a little bit of elbow work.

  I set my bucket down, rolled up my sleeves, and started searching for cleaning companies. I had some funds left over from the divorce, and if my insurance paid like it should, I’d be reimbursed. Especially if I kept the claims reasonable. The place didn’t need a gutting but a good mop and wipe.

  I also added more spells.

  12

  As I used the wood-burning tool to engrave the very edges of my store, I couldn’t help but notice the number of people pausing outside my shop, trying the door despite the closed sign. It killed me. I so wanted to be able to greet them and match them with something they just had to have.

  I didn’t think I’d be out of business for too long. Most of the damage was soot related. The cleaning company said they’d have it done by January third: walls, shelves, counters, and the salvageable items. The painters could come in the fourth, giving me a few days to find some new stock.

  Ironically enough, my sign survived intact.

  Darryl came to see me mid-morning, knocking on the door until I glanced over and saw him smiling in my direction. Butterflies exploded in my tummy.

  I set down my cleaning rag and let him in. “Darryl. I wasn’t expecting you.” I probably looked a mess.

  “Thought I’d check in, especially given your incident last night. I’m surprised you’re here today.”

  My shoulders lifted and dropped. “Better I get started than mope at home.”

  “You work too hard.”

  “I like it, though.” I really did. A sense of purpose really helped.

  “So the reason I popped in was because of something strange. Remember that puzzle box I gave you to sell?” Darryl queried.

  Of course I remembered it. Stupid thing disappeared on me the night the imps attacked my house. I’d been thinking of telling him I’d sold it and paying for it out of my own pocket. Should I lie? Did he know?

  I blinked as he pulled the missing puzzle box out of his pocket. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this is mine.”

  “Where did you find it?” I blurted out, grabbing for it, only to grimace. It vibrated in my grip, the sensation unpleasant.

  “Well, that’s the weird part. In my truck after I got home from your place last night.”

  Had my house placed it there? “Thank goodness you found it. I wondered where it had gone. Darned Grisou. He’s worse than a magpie, stealing stuff and hiding it.” I lied my face off rather than tell him I’d lost it and my magical house gave it back.

  “Why was it at your house? Shouldn’t it be in the store to sell?”

  “It was, but I wanted to study it more. Maybe take some better pictures to figure it out.” More lying. Would it never end? Please let my nose stay smallish.

  “Good thing he didn’t bury it in the woods.”

  “Yeah. Good thing.” I slid the cube into my pocket, vowing to dunk it in a bucket of salt water later to see if it helped with its seriously bad vibe. How had I not noticed it before?

  “I can’t wait until tomorrow night,” he stated, grabbing my hands and squeezing them.

  “Me too,” I squeaked. Gawd, I had so much landscaping to do. And decisions to make. Trimmed Venus, landing strip, or was he the kind to want it all gone? I didn’t think I could do that, not after years of thick covering down below.

  “The party doesn’t start until nine. I’ll pick you up about quarter to?”

  I blinked at him. Party? It took me a second to realize he must be referring to the one at the mill. “Maybe you want to come over a bit earlier so we can spend some time together?” I heated at the boldness of it. Could I be more obvious I wanted to jump him?

  “I’ll try. It will depend on a few things.”

  I struggled to hold in my disappointment. “No worries.”

  “Don’t forget an overnight bag,” he teased.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  He leaned in and gave me a soft kiss. “Until tomorrow then.”

  It seemed too long.

  Forever.

  Not enough time. What would I wear? What would I pack? He told me to have an overnight bag.

  Help!

  Since I was too distracted to scrub the floor after Darryl’s departure, I set aside my scrubbing brush and called Trish. No answer. Texted Marjorie. Got a short reply: Working. My own fault for cancelling our original shopping trip. My friends made other plans.

  Wendy… I hesitated. Did I really want to enlist my daughter’s aid in getting laid? Our relationship hadn’t achieved that l
evel yet.

  I had no one to help me.

  The bell over the door chimed. I’d forgotten to lock it after Darryl left.

  Someone came inside, as I said, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

  “That’s a good look for you. On your knees.”

  A tingle went through me, a sense of awareness that bloody well only ever happened with one person.

  “Kane.”

  13

  “Hello, sweetheart.”

  As I popped to my feet, cheeks hot at his innuendo, I wanted to be angry at him. To rail and rant and rave. But I saw that cocky smile, remembered him with his sword.

  My guardian. I also wanted to kiss him.

  He glanced around. “It’s not as bad as it could have been.”

  “I would have preferred it happen to someone else.” I’d had more than my fair share of bad luck.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” The soft words gave me an urge to get close for a hug, to hear that gravelly voice let me know everything would be all right. Kane, my protector, was here. He’d fix this for me.

  I was immediately pissed at myself. A woman didn’t need a man to fix things for her. But I could use a friend. Someone who wouldn’t think I was crazy when I talked about magic.

  “Do you think this is happening because I’m cursed?”

  “You do seem to have an unnatural string of luck.” Kane stated, glancing around at the sooty walls and shelves of my store.

  “Especially with fire. First my house. Marjorie’s place. My car. Now this.”

  “You make it sound targeted.”

  I rolled my shoulders. “Technically my house and car were.” Martin had burned down the first with me in it and then apparently tried to Molotov cocktail my car. This after he chopped down a tree to land on it. “Marjorie’s place was classed as an accident caused by candles.”

  “You think this is an accident?” His tone implied a skepticism I shared.

  “So far, it appears that way. Murphy says they think it started in the box.” He’d told me when he called earlier that day. “It looks as if something sparked inside of it. Which is annoying, given I had someone come in to make sure everything was up to code before I bought the place.” I’d gotten the shop for a song. Betsy liked me. Even named a goat after me. Said maybe the bad spirits would be fooled and take it instead of me when the moon bled and the orcs rose to rule.

  Again with the orcs. Trish believed in orcs, too, and yet I couldn’t find anything about them online other than they were popular villains in video games.

  Kane frowned. “No, there was nothing wrong with this box. I had Brigda check this place over when she came to fix the windows.”

  I glared at him. “You had your lackey snooping?”

  “I asked her to make sure the place was safe, especially given the vandalism.”

  Even then, protecting me. Why? And why not take credit for it earlier? Unless he lied. Except…I didn’t think he was.

  “Accident or vandalism, my insurance company is freaking.” Meaning my premiums would probably hike.

  “If you need help, you just have to ask.”

  “I doubt I’d like your price.”

  “What if I said it would cost you nothing at all?”

  I couldn’t help but snort. “I’m sure you’d shove it in my face that I owed you.”

  “There is only one thing I want to shove in your face.”

  I gaped at him.

  His grin was slow. Mischievous.

  Sexy.

  “You would make a crude remark. Isn’t that just like a man who can’t win an argument?”

  “And you keep deflecting. It’s going to happen.”

  “Not even if you were the last man on earth, so stop with the desperate attempts to get in my pants.” I tossed my hair.

  Me.

  Tossed my hair.

  Holy crap, I was living my own soap opera.

  “Sweetheart, you are too much.”

  “If you don’t like it, leave.”

  Kane laughed. “Never said I didn’t enjoy it.”

  “Why are you here?” I asked. He appeared better today, the pallor gone from his features.

  “Just wanted to check on you.”

  “Kind of late to come to my rescue.”

  “Are you upset I didn’t come sooner? I wanted to,” he purred, stepping closer.

  “Did your mommy stop you?” I taunted.

  Rather than appear angry, amusement creased his features. “You should know better than to think I’d care what someone else wanted.”

  “Obviously, or you wouldn’t keep ignoring my wishes and showing up.”

  “I show up because I can’t help myself.”

  As words went, they caused a flutter. “Maybe your mother should try reverse psychology.”

  His smile only widened. “Here’s the thing. I know you’re bad for me. There is no future for us.”

  “Obviously since I have no intention of dating you.”

  “Dating.” He snorted. “Is that what you think we’d be doing if we were together?” He stepped closer. His heat circled me, and his nearness had me tilting my head back.

  “I’m aware you don’t respect me or my boundaries.”

  “Is that what you think Darryl is doing? Respecting you?” He uttered a short bark of laughter and then turned an intent stare on me. “When I’m with you, the last thing I want to do is take things slow. I want to peel the clothes from you and kiss every inch of your body. I want to bury myself in you and feel you climax on me. With me. Crying out my name. Clawing my back.”

  With each word, my chest grew tighter and tension coiled inside me. Especially between my legs. God help me, I wanted it, too.

  I wanted to be taken with passion as if I were the most desirable thing in the world. Wanted to be one of those women tossed against a wall and ravished. It wouldn’t happen since it wasn’t Darryl’s style.

  And I was okay with that. For now.

  “You have no idea what I want or like. But you apparently like it a bit violent.” I huffed.

  “It’s called passion, sweetheart.”

  “My passion is reserved for Darryl.”

  “Ah yes, your boyfriend. The one you barely see.”

  How did he know? “Are you spying on me still?”

  “Yup.”

  He didn’t even deny it.

  “Stop stalking me.”

  “No.”

  “You can’t say no.”

  “Just did.”

  “I’ll get a restraining order.”

  He leaned closer. “Go right ahead, sweetheart. It will just make you more desirable. The forbidden fruit.”

  “You are so frustrating,” I grumped.

  “I have something that will fix that.” He winked.

  I gaped. I wanted to press my thighs so tight I could have pulverized some grapes into wine.

  “Is that open mouth an invitation?”

  I snapped my jaw shut. “You’re impossible to talk to.”

  “But at least I’m here to talk. Longer than your boyfriend, I hear.”

  It bothered me that he seemed to know so much about me and my love life. “Did you notice the time he spent alone with me in my bedroom after carrying me from the beach?”

  The teasing expression vanished. “Why was he carrying you? Did something happen? Were you attacked?”

  “Don’t tell me there’s something you don’t know,” I taunted.

  “What happened?” Gone was the outrageous Kane, replaced with the seriously intent one.

  “It was nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing if they managed to attack you during the day.”

  I stared at him. “What’s daytime got to do with anything?” It hadn’t occurred to me that my incidents happened mostly at night. “Wait, if The Chill can only attack at night, does that make it a vampire? It vants to suck my blood.” I snickered my way through a bad Count Dracula impression.

  “I’m surprised you find this amu
sing,” was his dry response.

  “It seems kind of silly. My magic doesn’t have problems with sunlight.” I’d done a small spell just that morning to heat the walkway and remove some ice so the house didn’t have to exert itself.

  “Not all magic is the same.”

  “What kind do you have?”

  “What makes you think I have any?”

  “How else would you know so much?”

  “I like to read.”

  Such a simple claim. Too simple. “I do, too, but there don’t seem to be any books on the subject.”

  “There are thousands of books on magic.”

  “Mostly fiction. Or stuff to toss in a cauldron. None of them cover the sigils.”

  “Because sigils are a funnel for magic.”

  “Because it has to have shape,” I mumbled aloud.

  “Shape. Intent. Focus. Strength.”

  “Are you a strong warlock?”

  His laughter showed off his straight white teeth. “I guess you could call me that. Although my blade work is also quite fine.”

  “How do you learn to fight with a sword?”

  “Very carefully. I’ll show you if you’d like.”

  I almost said yes. Almost fell into his personable trap. “Maybe I’ll see if Darryl wants to take lessons with me.”

  The reminder wiped the mirth from his expression. “Sounds like an excellent idea, given you were attacked.”

  “Not exactly. I’m thinking I got hit with backlash when a spell went wrong.”

  “What did you do?” His voice turned stern.

  “Nothing.” At his glare, I amended with, “Just drew one of the symbols I’d seen in Grandma’s book. It was just supposed to help me remember. I wanted to see if I’d forgotten anything in my past.” Because the more I tried to peek at my childhood, the more I noticed the holes in it.

  “You cast a spell of recall using what parameters?”

  “Say what?” Because I had no idea what he spoke of.

  “Magic needs to be bound. In your case, a combination of sigil and intent.”

  “Um. I drew the symbol.” But I didn’t know what he meant by the latter.