Witch Fire

by Anya Bast

  Her smile widened.

  He stood. "Now, do that one hundred and fifty times and we can move on to something bigger." Jack walked back into his bedroom.

  Oh. That was a buzz kill.

  Mira's smile faded as she watched him close the door. She sighed, glancing around at the carnage her magick had wrought, then stood and started cleaning up.

  * * *

  Jack stooD at the edge of a demon circle in the same place his father had stood when Jack had been a child. The sound of chanting filled his ears.

  Mira's mother knelt in her place, her gaze fixed on him as she endured the ritual theft of her power. Jack tried to look away, but couldn't. As he stood there watching her die, her face slowly morphed to Mira's.

  The scene changed. Now he stood in a cemetery under a night sky in high summer. Grass and weeds choked the bases of the crumbling tombstones around him, the air redolent with the scent of decay and rotting flowers. The stink gathered in his nostrils, in his throat. He gagged on it.

  "Jack," called a soft, feminine voice.

  He turned toward the sound and saw a woman lying at the foot of an enormous granite angel. Pieces of the sculpture broke off and fell in slow motion around the prone figure at its base.

  It was his mother as she’d appeared in the pictures his aunt had shown him, only the beauty she'd possessed in life was half rotted in death. Jack fought the urge to turn away.

  "Jack," his mother crooned, reaching out for him with dirt-encrusted, moldy hands. "Let me have Mira. I'll take good care of her, Jack. Jack—”

  "Jack!”

  Someone gripped his shoulders and shook him. Jack came awake with a jerk. He shuddered, disoriented, his eyes unfocused as reality settled over him.

  It had been a dream. All the Gods and Goddesses, only a dream.

  Mira rocked back on her heels. The moonlight streaming in through the window painted her in pale silver hues. One of the spaghetti straps of her nightgown had fallen down over the curve of her silky shoulder. Her long, loose dark hair shadowed half her face, but he could tell she wore a concerned expression.

  "You were yelling in your sleep," she said. "A nightmare?”

  He took a deep breath and pushed a hand through his hair. Gods, the dream had made him sweat. The nightmare still held him in its clutches, and he didn't trust himself to form words yet.

  He could still see Mira's mother in the circle, her face morphing into her daughter's. The cloying scent of the cemetery still clung to his nostrils and his own mother's voice echoed in his mind.

  "Do you want some water? I'll go get you some." Mira moved to climb off the bed, and he was on her in a moment.

  He caught her up and rolled her beneath his body, needing to feel her warm and alive, needing to feel the beat of her heart.

  NINE

  She yelped in surprise and fought him for a moment, but when his mouth came down on her throat to feel the flutter of her pulse under his lips, she let out a little sigh and relaxed. Her hands brushed uncertainly over his biceps before her arms closed around him.

  He inhaled the scent of her skin and hair, the light rose perfume mingling with the clean smell of her soap, and closed his eyes. The impulse to touch her had been sudden and uncontrollable, and now the situation had become dangerous.

  Jack dragged his lips over her throat, up her jawline to her mouth. He hovered there, not quite kissing her, simply enjoying the sensation of her hot breath on his lips. He dropped his head a degree to kiss her and groaned. Beneath his mouth, her lips felt like warm silk. When he flicked his tongue, she opened for him and he slipped inside sweet, hot heaven.

  His magick pulsed in his chest, sensing the physical contact of an air witch. Their magicks rose, brushed each other, and then settled down. It was a sign that her constant proximity was dulling the reaction of his magick to hers and vice versa. They were finding their balance.

  Finding that balance didn't dampen his desire for her, however. That was something to worry about.

  Her tongue rubbed against his, causing pure sexual need to jolt through him, and he forgot all the things he had to worry about.

  Jack reached down, found the hem of her nightgown, and dragged it upward slowly. His palm rubbed the smooth skin of her upper thigh, the sweet curve of her hip and waist. He savored every inch of revealed flesh.

  Mira moved beneath him, making soft sounds. He inserted his knee between her legs and settled himself in the cradle the apex of her thighs made, grinding his cock against her through his pajama bottoms and the tangled sheets. She felt hot against his shaft through the thin material that separated them. He wondered if she was slick and sweet the way she had been that day in the living room.

  When she broke the kiss and arched her back, spreading her thighs for him, Jack nearly had a meltdown. He fisted the blanket with his wounded hand beside her head, using the pain shooting through his burn mark to try and maintain his control. With his other hand, he stroked her waist, loving the sensation of her silky skin.

  How easy it would be to slide that hand on her waist down, to stroke sweeter, more responsive parts of her body. How easy it would be to pull away the sheets between them, yank down his pajama bottoms, and bury his aching cock in all that soft, damp heat, to fuck her long and hard until she screamed his name.

  He closed his eyes, fighting the powerful urge. It would be a mistake, but it was a mistake they'd both really enjoy. They'd have one night of heaven before they hit hell full-on. Damn it. How could he want this woman so much? Mira was the one woman in the entire world he couldn't have.

  Gods, maybe that was why. If so, it was the wrong reason.

  Jack forced himself to roll away from her with a guttural groan of frustration. He lay on the mattress beside her and pressed his palms into his eyes. This was torture. Either Thomas had to call soon with permission to move to the Coven, or he would give in to the urge to seduce her.

  Mira had gone silent. The only sound in the room was their harsh, labored breathing and the gentle tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the living room.

  "Jack," Mira said slowly. "What the hell was that?”

  "Mira—”

  He reached for her, but she moved, abruptly sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed. "I can't take much more of this," she said in a soft voice with her back turned to him.

  "Damn it. You're my charge, my job, but I'm attracted to you." He ground his palm into his eye. "I fucking want you.”

  "Okay. Ditto, Jack. I want you too." She gave a little laugh. "We're both adults here, so what's the problem?”

  Needing to tread carefully, he took a moment to answer. Thomas had instructed him not to tell her about his past yet. Thomas believed Jack to be the best person to protect Mira—and Jack believed that too—but Mira needed to trust him while he did it.

  "It would be wrong," he answered. "I'm your bodyguard. I have a job to do and I need to keep my mind on it. I can't guard you if I'm preoccupied with you in my bed. Tell me you don't see that sleeping together would be a mistake." All true.

  She picked at the blanket beside her. "I agree that it would be a mistake for me to sleep with you," she finally replied. She turned toward him, her voice angry, "But if I'm just your charge, just your job, then explain all those pictures you have of me.”

  He pushed up on his elbows. "What? What—" Realization bloomed. "You broke into my photography room?”

  She stood and turned away from him, folding her arms over her chest. "That's not at issue right now.”

  He bolted from the bed and stalked to her. "The hell it isn't! You broke into a private room, broke the goddamn lock on a door in my home!”

  "I didn't break the lock, I just picked it.”

  "Semantics!”

  She turned to face him. "Considering I'd been abducted by a strange man claiming he wasn't quite human, I think I had a right to fully explore my surroundings.”

  Jack stared at her for a moment and then turned on his heel. He walked through th
e living room, pounded up the spiral staircase, and kicked the locked door of the photography room open. The door splintered under the force of his anger. The lock was definitely broken now. He flipped the light on and strode to the center of the room. Mira followed.

  He swept his arm out. "You want to explore? Go ahead, explore. I have nothing to hide." Liar.

  Glaring, she stood for a moment with her arms crossed over her chest, then went straight to the oak desk in the corner and flipped open the book containing the pictures of her. Mira motioned at the album, glaring at him accusingly. "Why, Jack? Why did you take all of these?”

  He pushed a hand through his hair and went to stand beside her. She turned the pages, revealing picture after picture of herself. Gods. He had lost control a little.

  "Surveillance," he muttered.

  She glanced up at him, her eyebrows raised. "Oh, surveillance was it?”

  She flipped to a page of her sitting in a cafe on one of her breaks, sipping a cup of coffee all alone in a corner booth. She turned to another picture, this one of her outside, with her coat on and her scarf around her throat. She was looking up at the sky for some reason. The wind whipped dark tendrils of her hair across her pale face. Her eyes were closed and a slight smile played on her lips. He loved that picture of her. It was one of his favorites.

  "Why did you need such intimate shots of me for surveillance, Jack?" she asked softly. "These don't seem like business to me. These seem personal.”

  He stood at a loss for words. They were personal. They were pictures of the daughter of the woman who'd haunted him for the last twenty-five years.

  Or that's who Mira had been at first.

  As he'd watched her at work, at the grocery store, going to old film festivals by herself, Mira had begun to emerge as a person independent of what she'd originally represented to him. A gorgeous woman, adrift in the world around her, alone and looking for pieces of herself she wasn't even aware were missing.

  Jack had found reflections of himself in her.

  After that he'd wanted to take pictures of Mira for her own sake, because her soul had been on display and he'd been able to capture the truth of her life so easily in those vulnerable moments when she'd thought no one had been looking.

  "I took them because you're beautiful, Mira, and my hobby is photography. That's the only reason.”

  Mira snorted. "Beautiful? Now I know you're lying.”

  He blew out a breath of frustration. "Yeah, beautiful. I think you're fucking gorgeous actually. I'm sorry you don't see that when you look in the mirror, but I see it every time I look at you.”

  She closed the album and stared down at it, quiet. He wished he could guess what she was thinking, but he had no idea.

  "It was an invasion," she said almost inaudibly.

  "I know. It was wrong. I'm sorry." He seemed to be making mistake after mistake with her. Why did it feel like more were on the way? Why couldn't he just stop, just leave her alone? She was irresistible to him and he'd never dealt well with temptation.

  Silence.

  "I guess we're even then, as far as invasions go, considering I broke into this room," she said finally.

  "Okay.”

  She turned to face him. Scowling, she blew a tendril of dark hair out of her face and crossed her arms over her chest. "What were you dreaming about, anyway?”

  "You," he answered. "And my mother." He glanced away, not wanting to reveal with his eyes that he wasn't telling the whole truth. "I dreamt my mother wanted to take you with her into her grave.”

  Mira shuddered. "Your mother is dead?”

  He nodded.

  "I'm sorry." She motioned to the photographs on the wall. "I assumed she was your mother.”

  He shook his head. “That's my aunt. She raised me. I never knew my mom. She was an earth witch, I'm told.”

  She pursed her lips together for a moment. "Did Crane kill your mother, Jack?”

  His gaze snapped to hers. "Why would you ask that?”

  She didn't know how close to home she was hitting. His mother had probably killed herself because of his father. The doctors had diagnosed her with postpartum depression, and that may have played a role in her suicide, but Jack would never know for certain. Regardless of the reasons, she'd killed herself and left him behind to suffer life with his father alone.

  "I don't know." She shrugged. "I thought maybe Crane had done something to hurt you on a personal level.”

  Jack glanced away. "He did, but it wasn't that.”

  "Okay." She paused. "Is your father still alive?”

  He could hardly blame her for peppering him with questions, and she deserved all the answers she could get. Jack only wished he could give her the whole truth. "He's alive." His lips twisted into a rueful smile. "We don't talk much.”

  "If your mother was an earth witch, what element was your father?”

  "Fire. I got my ability from him," he answered.

  She bit her lip. He watched that pink bit of flesh caught between her white teeth with interest. "Been meaning to ask you. Where do witches come from? I mean ... you know, are we aliens, or what?”

  He exhaled the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. She'd navigated away from the personal questions. "We don't know. There are theories. Maybe we're a different race, or humans who have evolved a bit further. We know we date back to Sumer. We know that once we lived among the non-magickicals and were worshipped like gods and goddesses for our control of the elements.”

  "So witches were out of the closet once?”

  He nodded. "There's speculation that we were the reason Goddess worship was labeled evil. There were non-magickal factions who feared us, so they tried to destroy us. We were forced to go underground. Once in awhile one of us would be exposed and it would ignite an inquisition. We try very hard not to be exposed these days." He paused. "That's a point both the Coven and the Duskoff can agree on.”

  "I always thought the inquisitions were all church politics, mass hysteria, or greedy people persecuting others for their own gain.”

  "There was lots of that, but our own have been killed too. The Salem witch hunts were sparked by a case of demon possession. A demon the Duskoff birthed possessed the bodies of several young girls in a village. The hysteria that followed had nothing to do with us. No real witches were executed.”

  "So our origins are mostly unknown.”

  He nodded. "Cloaked in mystery.”

  "Hmmm." She stared up at him with her deep, penetrating eyes. "A lot like you," she said softly, holding his gaze.

  "Mira...”

  She didn't respond. She only dropped her gaze, rubbed her finger along the photo album meaningfully, and left the room.

  "He's got her," said William Crane, tenting his carefully manicured fingers on the top of the shiny boardroom table.

  David, a tall, thin water witch he treated as a go-to boy, stood in front of him with his pale narrow hands making a fig leaf in front of his crotch. It was an annoying nervous habit of his that made Crane itch to hit him, if hitting people wasn't so loutish.

  Frankly, Crane hadn't expected any problem lifting the air witch from her apartment in Minneapolis, but it was true, what they said about having to do it yourself if you wanted it done right. Now they were out some hired muscle, and he was forced to gear up for a goddamn trip northward where it was even colder than his home in New York City.

  His bones ached just thinking about it. Time wore on him more and more these days. It was coming to the point he needed Stefan to step in for him once in awhile. Crane clenched his jaw. He hated to admit that truth.

  "I'll bet anything Thomas sent Jack to stand between me and this witch." Crane snorted with derision. "It's just like the bastard.”

  They'd been playing games for years now, he and Thomas Monahan. Just like Crane had played games with Monahan's father, the previous head of the Coven. He'd eventually killed him, and he'd get around to killing Thomas, too, one of these days. Monahan was an annoying gnat
buzzing around his head. Unfortunately, once Monahan was gone there'd just be another Coven gnat standing in line to replace him.

  "With respect, sir, we have no reason to suspect Jack McAllister is handling this air witch at all. We've been watching McAllister's place in downtown Minneapolis. We've found no evidence of her presence, or his, for that matter. I've tried to gain knowledge of her presence through the flow of the water in the building, but haven't found anything. Most likely Thomas didn't use Jack because of his ... history ... and they moved her directly to the Coven in Chicago.”

  Crane raised his gaze to David's. Was he daring to tell him he was wrong? He spoke slowly so David would understand him. "Thomas would use Jack because he's the best, regardless of his ... history. If he or the woman became injured, or some other unforeseen event occurred, he would likely take her to his Minneapolis apartment for quick, safe cover.”

  David took a step back away from him at the tone of his voice. His fig leaf tightened a degree. "We'll keep trying to verify her presence, Mr. Crane.”

  He cast an irritated glance at him. "My son's no fool. He's got powerful wards in place. You're never going to be able to use magick to discover her presence. You can take your water and pour it down the drain.”

  "We can place men at each of his apartments across the country, though he may have taken refuge in his rooms in the Coven. Perhaps while we keep investigating the Minneapolis possibility, we should begin to prepare for an alternate plan to pry her from the Coven?”

  Crane stared at him, letting his anger bleed into his eyes. "I admire your initiative, even though you're second-guessing me, David. You do realize that, don't you?" His voice sounded like a whip in the boardroom.

  Another half step backward. David would be out the damn door soon. "I'm sorry, sir.”

  "Concentrate on Minneapolis. They didn't move her to Chicago yet. They stashed her somewhere close, and it has Jack written all over it. I feel it in my gut. He's got the woman. Bring in the best wardbreakers you can find.”

  Crane sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and cursed himself yet again for his bad judgment regarding Jack. His decision to allow Jack's aunt to raise his son had been the biggest mistake of his life.