by Anya Bast
To her right the full moon hung in the sky, silver and swollen, visible through the glass wall of the greenhouse. Normally, she did this outside, no matter the temperature, but she needed earth and that was hard to come by on the roof of a ritzy downtown apartment building.
Mira set the glass down and mounded the earth with her hands, enjoying the feel of it against her palms. Then she closed her eyes and murmured a small prayer.
In her chest, the warmth of her magick purred strongly, responding to the meditation, perhaps, or the prayer. Her breath caught in surprise. It was an alien sensation, and it made her uneasy. As she finished her prayer, her voice trembling, the magick warmed through her body. She wondered how to call it, how to control and use it.
She opened her eyes and picked up the glass.
"From my lips"—she took a deep drink of the milk— "to your bosom," and poured the rest of the glass of milk into the mounded earth.
The door to the greenhouse opened, startling her. She dropped the glass to the planting bed. The lights snapped on.
"Mira?" came Jack's voice.
She let out a slow, careful breath. "You scared me near to death.”
"What are you doing out here?”
She gripped the rim of the bed, the metal chilly against her fingers. "Making my monthly offering to the full moon.”
"To Artemis? Is that the goddess you follow?”
She shook her head. "Not specifically. It's just a ritual to show respect for powers greater than I am and for the earth.”
He took a few steps toward her and she turned to face him. Oh, hello ... he was barefoot, wearing only his dark blue pajama pants and no shirt.
His lips twitched. "You have a milk mustache.”
Horrified, she went to wipe it away, but he caught her hand. His eyes heavy-lidded, Jack reached out and slowly drew the pad of his thumb across her upper lip. The touch made her feel warm in places that had nothing to do with her mouth.
She'd never had any idea milk mustaches could be so sexy.
"How did you know I was here?" she asked.
"You couldn't be anywhere else. I have wards set on all the entrances, but the door to the roof is the only one regulated to allow you passage. I figured you might enjoy the greenhouse. I forgot to show it to you, but I see you found it on your own.”
"You could've stayed in bed. I would've been right back.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. "The door locks automatically when it shuts.”
"Oh.”
"Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?”
She shook her head. "Aren't you cold?”
"Fire witch, remember?”
"Why do you have this place?”
"You ask a lot of questions." He reached out in an easy, unhurried gesture and took her hand. With his index finger he lazily brushed the dirt from her palm. "There's a conservatory at the Coven. It's my favorite place there. I guess I wanted to recreate a little part of it in my home." He looked up at her. Small laugh lines crinkled around his so-blue eyes as he grinned. "All witches have a thing for the earth, don't they?”
She cleared her throat and fought the urge to pull her hand away from his before she did something she'd regret. "I don't know. I've known very few honest-to-Goddess witches, just lots of people who labeled themselves witches but didn't really have any true magick to call.”
He dropped her hand. "All the ones I know have a thing for the earth, you included.”
It felt so strange to be called a witch. She fidgeted and glanced away. All she wanted was a little normality in her life, a little stability. Was that so much to ask? Instead she got bizarre magickal powers and a hunky witch abductor named Jack.
Her life had really taken an overwhelming and strange turn. As if cheating husbands and messy divorces weren't enough.
"So you do this every month?" he asked.
A distracted smile flitted over her mouth. "Every month since I was a child. I've only ever missed giving an offering twice.”
"I'm impressed. Why did you miss those times?”
"I had the chicken pox when I was eight. The other time was .. ." She flushed.
"Was?" he prompted.
"When I was out on my first date with Bryon Richards. It was the night I lost my virginity." She laughed.
He smiled. "Come on, let's go in.”
She put his coat on, picked up the gloves, and followed him back into his apartment and down the stairs. He eased the coat off her shoulders when they reached the living room.
She paced to the kitchen and back, feeling out of sorts because her routine had been disrupted.
"Is there something wrong?" Jack asked, hanging up his coat in the closet.
"Sorry. I've been doing the same thing for so long. Normally, I drink rose verbena tea after I make my offering. I don't suppose you have any green tea leaves, dried rose petals, and a dash of lemon verbena?”
He smirked. "Gee, I'm fresh out. I think I have a package of chamomile tea someone left here.”
She shrugged. "Sure.”
He moved to the kitchen to make the tea, and she sat down on the couch. She curled up in the corner of the couch and rested her head against the cushion and listened to him making noises in the kitchen, feeling safe and comfortable. Despite the edge of awkwardness that remained between them, being in his apartment felt good. She nodded off, but she woke when he came back with two mugs of steaming beverage.
He took a drink and leaned back against the couch. "Your magick, it smells faintly like fresh linen and lemon.”
She looked up in surprise. "My magick ... smells?”
He nodded. "Not all magick has a distinctive scent or taste, but yours does. I just thought you'd want to know that.”
"Fresh linen and lemon. Interesting.”
"About Crane: you have a right to know everything you can about him. I'm sorry I ditched out on an answer earlier today.”
"It's no big deal.”
"Crane's wife never went warlock. She committed suicide. His son left to live with his aunt at age ten, and Crane adopted another little boy, one with qualities he could nurture and mold.”
"He lost his heir so he obtained another. So Crane's biological—”
"You likely know the adopted son," he interrupted. "His name is Stefan Faucheux.”
She gasped. "Stefan Faucheux?" He was always in the society pages, a darling of the media. The man was wealthy, gorgeous, and always seemed to have a movie star on his arm.
Stefan Faucheux's story was famous because it was such a compelling rags-to-riches one. As a child he'd run away from France's protective services, preferring to live on the streets. One day billionaire W. Anderson Crane had come across him and adopted him.
W. Anderson Crane ... William Crane.
She closed her eyes, realizing she knew exactly who Crane was. She hadn't made the connection before. Her parents' murderer had been staring at her out of the pages of magazines and newspapers her whole life.
Jack nodded. "Crane found him in Paris. He did a good job raising him. Stefan is a powerful witch, loyal to Crane as far as we can tell, but still deadly ambitious. So you see why it's important for you to train your magick. Crane and Faucheux have more than just magickal power, they have real-world power, too.”
"If I want to keep my soul attached to my body, I understand I need to control my abilities, Jack. I thought you were supposed to help me learn." Mira gave a melodramatic sigh. "But since I'm all sexy and you can't resist me, I guess I'll have to wait.”
He took the cup away from her and set it on the coffee table. Then he nestled his warm palm between her breasts. Mira's breath caught in her throat, her amusement abruptly gone. Her magick instantly responded to his touch, flaring in her chest.
Her body reacted, too, flaring in places further down.
She licked her lips nervously. "Uh, Jack?”
"Can you feel it there inside you?”
She nodded. "I felt it when I made my of
fering just now, too.”
He held her gaze while he spoke. "Your magick is powerful and you are an intelligent witch. You'll learn how to wield this sooner than you think.”
Jack removed his hand. Her skin felt cold with the absence of his touch. She rested back against the couch, and her magick withdrew, coiling back into her center. Mira willed the last remnant to stay, and it did. It sat there inside her like a little warm fuzzy, relaxing her.
He picked up his cup and took a drink. Mira noted that his hand was shaking just a little. "Tell me about Annie.”
Jack listened to her ramble on about her godmother, her childhood, even about Byron Richards. He seemed interested, and she talked until fatigue overtook her and she fell asleep there on the couch.
The last thing she remembered was Jack gently lifting her and tucking her into his bed.
Mira sat in the living room, pressing a hand to the place between her breasts.
Jack's kiss, touch, his presence, his fire ... something about him had awakened her magick. But it had been Mira who'd willed it to stay instead of recede.
Now, it was an ever-present warm glow, reminding her that all she'd ever thought was true about her reality ... wasn't. It reminded her that she was more than she'd ever thought she was, and not quite human. Despite these uncomfortable truths, she'd grown used to its presence. It was a part of her, a constant companion.
She felt compelled to let it free from its prison inside her. The compulsion had been growing steadily. It was almost as though the power needed to be bled off.
Mira knew there had to be a way for her to access that magick on her own, without Jack's fire to draw it out, she just wasn't sure how to do it.
Jack was in the bedroom. He had shown no interest in helping her learn, so she'd just have to do it on her own.
Mira found a comfortable position and closed her eyes. She'd always been faithful in practicing meditation. Maybe her skill in that area could help her now.
She allowed herself to drift a little, find a comfortable place in her mind where she could rest. Her breathing deepened and the sounds in the penthouse—the gentle click of the grandfather clock in the corner, the soft noises of Jack rustling paper on his desk in the bedroom—faded to the back of her mind.
Once she felt centered, she shifted her awareness to the middle of her chest, feeling for the magick she knew resided there. But it didn't feel any different to her in this slightly altered state of consciousness than it had before. It felt locked in a box, and she didn't have the key. With her mind, she explored the edges of the "box," looking for any way in, some fissure in the walls that penned the power.
Mira quickly grew frustrated. There seemed to be no way to access it at all. Would she always need Jack's fire to draw it? She hated that idea. If this was her power, she should be able to access it on her own.
She clenched her hands in her lap. This magick was hers to command, no one else's.
The power in the center of her chest exploded into a flare of brilliance at her declaration. Wind rushed through the penthouse, making her hair swirl around her face and practically toppling her from the couch.
Mira opened her eyes to see something akin to a windstorm sweeping through the room. The pretty blue vase on the pedestal crashed to the floor, papers on the table in the corner were swept up high into the air and scattered, something in the kitchen smashed.
The center of her chest glowed with warmth and the magick brushed over her skin like a velvet-gloved hand.
She stood and walked a couple of paces to the center of the room, letting the air rush around her, buffet her hair, and pull at her clothes. Euphoria rushed through her and a smile spread across her face.
It wanted out of the confines of the apartment. It begged her with big puppy dog eyes to let it off its leash. As tempting as it was to release the power and allow it to play, Mira clamped down with all her will, forcing it to stay within Jack's walls.
"Mira!" Jack yelled over the sound of the rushing wind. "Tamp it down!”
She turned with wide eyes to stare at him as he stood in the doorway of his bedroom. Chaotic winds buffeted his hair and tugged at his clothing. Paper swirled in a mini cyclone around him.
The gravity of what she'd done struck her, dampening her exhilaration. She tried to direct the power like she had before to keep it within the penthouse, but when she reached with her mind ... there was nothing to control. Freed, it was uncontainable.
"How?" she yelled back.
He gave her a withering look and raised his hand. Something bright glowed in his palm and suddenly all the air in the room was ... gone.
Mira gasped in panic, unable to breathe for a few moments as the very oxygen disappeared from her lungs. She collapsed to her knees, wheezing. Air from beyond the apartment rushed to fill the empty space immediately, pouring in from under the door and through the tiniest cracks. Closing her eyes, she breathed it in big gulps.
Jack stood holding his hand and swearing a blue streak. "Gods, I hate doing that.”
Silence descended. Mira opened her eyes and surveyed the destruction. Broken glassware, scattered paper, an upended office chair, drapes partially ripped from the rod, books fallen from the shelf.
What had she done? She struggled to her feet. When she'd tapped her magick, she'd felt intoxicated. She hadn't realized the damage she'd been doing.
"Don't do that again," Jack said in a low, angry voice, still holding his hand.
"I won't do it again on purpose, but I didn't know I was doing it just now!" She chanced a glance at his grim face. "I'm sorry, Jack. I really am. I'll replace anything I destroyed.”
He only stared stormily at her.
She sighed and walked to him. "Let me see.”
He let her take his hand. "It looks worse than it is. It'll heal.”
She grimaced. A burn marked the center of his palm where he'd drawn the power to suck the air out of the room. "Jack, I really am sorry.”
He withdrew his hand. "Don't be." He flicked a hank of hair out of his eye. "It's my fault. I should've been training you to your magick these last couple of days. I should've realized that you'd be feeling pressure to access it.”
"I was, but I should've waited.”
"Yeah," he answered, "but it's still my fault." He walked around the couch, glancing at the vase that lay in shards on the floor. She followed him.
"Could've been worse," he continued. "We're lucky you didn't release more than you did. An untrained air witch sparked a whole line of tornadoes in Missouri once. Nobody could stop the power she unleashed. Thirty-five people died and a state of emergency was declared.”
Mira sat down on the couch abruptly.
Jack sat down beside her. "It's important you learn how much to draw at one time.”
Wow. That seemed like such an understatement considering his last remark. "How do I learn to do that without having the National Guard called in?”
"You have to know, to believe, that this power is yours to command. It's as simple and as complicated as that. It sounds easy, but true belief in your power isn't something that comes right away. If it does, you'll never be a good witch because that means you have too much ego. Assumptions with these kinds of abilities can be devastating and very dangerous.”
"Dangerous?”
"The funny thing about magick is the more you use it for violence and chaos, the more it twists you inside. A witch's magick is an integral part of her. Every time a witch uses her magick to harm, it's like adding a pollutant into the body and mind.”
"Crane must be a cesspool.”
Jack's lips twisted into half smile. "Something like that.”
"Well, he's definitely not following the tenet of harm ye none," she muttered.
"The time has come for me to train you." He sounded resigned. "I'm going to touch you now," Jack said.
She jerked. "Uh ... what?”
"It's okay." He reached out and touched between her breasts with his uninjured hand, right in t
he sensitive hollow of her cleavage. "This is the seat of your magick, but I see you've already figured that out," he said wryly.
He stroked her there, and she tried really hard not to purr. Her magick warmed in response to the pad of his index finger brushing over her flesh. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warm, soft glow filling her chest.
"Feel it?”
It took a moment for his question to register. She felt so relaxed. "Yes.”
"Concentrate on drawing a wisp of that power out. Nothing more. Just the tiniest thread of your magick. Visualize it in your mind.”
Mira forced herself to switch her attention from Jack's stroking finger to her magick. With care, she imagined a single smoky tendril of power, extracting it from the small bundle of magick tingling in her chest. It was hard to grab. Once she thought she had the edge of a wisp, it was difficult to draw it outward. Finally, she managed it, letting it hang in the air between them.
"Good," he murmured. "I can feel it rising.”
"What does it feel like?”
"Soft, beautiful, and tentative, but with an edge of unrealized power. Filled with possibility." He drew a breath. "It feels a lot like you.”
That comment left her speechless.
"Smells like fresh linen and lemons, too," he murmured.
It was very hard to concentrate under these conditions. His voice seemed like melted chocolate to her—rich, sinful... and very, very bad for her. His hand so near her breasts was even worse. It took all her concentration to pay attention to the task he'd set her.
"Now, what do you want to do with that wisp? It's yours to command.”
Mira concentrated on raising a breeze, just a small one. It felt cool and smelled of the woods. She let it blow over herself and Jack, let it play in their hair and caress their cheeks. The tendril dissipated easily as it expended itself.
Smiling, she opened her eyes and found Jack looking at her intently, his hair mussed from the breeze. Slowly, he removed his fingers from between her breasts. "That was excellent.”