A Demon's Witch

by Tena Stetler

  “Yeah, ok.” Willow sighed and reached for the phone. She punched in a number and drummed her perfectly manicured, long, hot pink fingernails on the glass showcase waiting for an answer. “Hey, I need a favor.”

  ****

  The base of Bruce’s neck prickled, announcing Angelique’s arrival. Why does she have that effect on me? He wondered idly. A quick sidelong glance confirmed she was staring directly up at him. For a moment, he considered looking away but decided against it. If she wanted to play this game, he wasn’t about to back down. If anything, he’d turn up the heat. His lips twitched in amusement considering his next move. Bruce pushed up from the chair and strolled across the room to prop the door open, then stood, one hand in his pocket watching through the glass.

  Angie averted her eyes and sauntered across the floor to the desk where Owen stood. “Good afternoon.”

  Owen looked up from the computer and smiled. “That it is, Ms. Shandie.” He waved a hand toward the desktop. “Leave the flyers here at the reception desk.”

  Angie reached into her briefcase and slid out a stack of papers. “Thanks so much for doing this. But could I trouble you for one more teeny tiny favor?” She peeked coyly from underneath her long blonde lashes. “Could you put a few of them on the tables with the magazines so your customers could peruse them while they wait?”

  Owen nodded. “I suppose we could do that.”

  “Thank you so much. Would it be possible to thank the owner in person?”

  “Afraid not, he is a very busy man. I will convey your appreciation.”

  “Ok, maybe another time. Thanks again.” She strode toward the door and pulled it open, waited a couple of beats, then looked up, smiled, and blew another kiss to Bruce as he watched her turn and walk out.

  Owen tilted his head up and glared at his boss. Bruce raised his hands, palms up and shrugged, then returned to his desk and the paperwork scattered across the top.

  Tobi made her way across the floor to Owen. “What was that all about?” she demanded giving him the evil eye.

  He glared in Bruce’s direction. “Nothing.” Owen growled. “Bruce is considering toying with Angelique. We disagreed about his intentions. That’s all.”

  “Huh? Angelique? I was talking about you and that…” Her voice trailed off as what he said sank in. “She was flirting with Bruce?” Her voice softened, the angry lines around her mouth smoothed out.

  “Yeah, and I don’t like it.” Owen stared at the computer screen slamming his crooked index finger down on the enter key.

  “Since when did you start controlling Bruce’s personal life? I thought his business entities kept you more than occupied.” Tobi patted his arm affectionately. “Might want to take it easy on the keyboard. You don’t want to replace another one this month. Do you?” Her eyes glittered with amusement as she glanced upstairs. “He’ll start taking them out of your salary, if you keep it up.”

  “Like hell he will. It’s his fault.” Owen swore vehemently, swung out from behind the counter, and stalked over the tawny tile floor toward the employee’s lounge.

  Bruce laughed silently to himself at Owen’s frustration then returned to his desk and the stacks of paperwork requiring his attention.

  Chapter Three

  It was long after closing when Bruce finished his paperwork and checked the e-mail reports of his Region Commanders for Greenland, Canada, and South America. He breathed a sigh of relief after reading the last report. Nothing in the reports required his immediate attention. He wasn’t a micro manager and he’d appointed responsible, trusted confidants to the commander positions. He replied to the necessary e-mails, shut off the computer, and pushed back from his desk. It was a quiet ending to a hectic day at the salon and a brutal day as Territory Overlord.

  He had sent Tristian cross-country to check on a rumor that demons in the South were setting up business as protection specialists. Allegedly, they were forcing their services on mortals with the threat of going out of business—or worse—if the mortals refused to pay. Evidence connected the same demons, assisted by vampires and a few shape shifters, to a politically motivated arson resulting in deaths, which the local police were currently investigating.

  The situation made him cringe. Mortals investigating paranormal activity created a recipe for disaster or at the very least, discovery. It was against the code for otherworldly creatures to draw mortal’s attention, be involved in their demise or intimidation, among other things. Tristian would verify the validity of the rumors and if true, neutralize the parties involved without a trace and alter memories of the mortals, if required. The necessary brutality of Bruce’s position had never sat comfortably with him.

  Bruce raked his fingers through his hair considering whether to contact Lady Rose, leader of the Vampire Council. Vampires were difficult creatures to control ordinarily, but once they went rogue, it was always a violent, bloody cataclysm. In his early years as Territory Overlord, he’d negotiated an agreement between the other Overlords and several high-ranking vampire officials allowing vampires to govern their kind, which had worked to the benefit of all concerned. He picked up his cell phone and scrolled to Lady Rose’s number, his fingers hesitating. Maybe it would be better to get confirmation from Tristian that a vampire was involved before contacting her. A born vampire, Lady Rose’s path to the top of the vampire hierarchy resulted in the death and destruction of her own kind, but her firm belief in a civilized vampire society won out and she was now a respected leader. Bruce exited the screen and pocketed the phone.

  Reaching up he turned off the crystal light that hung over his desk and leaned back in his chair rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He tapped the button under his desk closing the curtains around the inside of the glass office. An ornately carved, polished mahogany wardrobe stood in the back of his office. He reached in, plucked out a pair of well-worn jeans, black cotton t-shirt, and a pair of comfortable boots. Ready for a couple of days at his country estate in Virginia, he grabbed his leather jacket and keys. Took the stairs two at a time to the main floor, set the alarm, and walked out the back door, locking it behind him.

  A red custom-built sports car sat in the parking lot. Yeah, it was an older model, but still one of the best vehicles ever built, in his opinion. He started across the parking lot and caught movement out of the corner of his eye, yet didn’t sense any danger. Soon, he felt the surge of magic wash over him, along with something more subtle. Faery dust? What the hell. Angie? He continued his scan of the parking lot and adjacent buildings as a precaution. There was no one in the area.

  A whoosh of wind rustled the dry leaves and the traces of magic and faery dust disappeared. Hair tousled by the breeze, he shrugged and walked to his car, folding his large frame inside then turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, his foot hit the gas pedal and tires squealed as they spun, spewing gravel, and dirt in his wake. The vehicle barreled out of the parking lot and turned toward the beltway to pick up Highway 66 headed west.

  ****

  Twin gaslights sat atop tall copper poles and framed the entrance to a driveway winding its way to his family’s turn of the century Queen Anne Victorian home. The house was too large for just one, but he enjoyed the memories it held. He pulled into the four-car garage behind his home and parked, closing the door after him. Nostrils flared as he breathed in the fresh air, grateful to be out of the city at last.

  The security alarm’s red LED glimmered in the darkness. Pressing his left hand to the glass beside the panel, he waited for a key pad to appear, and then tapped in a code. The LED changed to green and a wall panel slid open. Light spilled onto the garage floor from the underground corridor as he stepped, inside and the panel silently slid closed.

  As he wound his way down the passageway, he noticed a couple of the sconces remained dark and made a mental note to have them repaired immediately. Arriving at the house, a steady rainbow of LED lights on the security panel assured him it was safe to enter. He stared dir
ectly at the right top section of the panel, heard a click, and turned the door handle.

  Megan, his housekeeper, had left a light burning in the kitchen to welcome him home. He tossed his worn brown leather jacket on the back of a chair. Kicked off his boots and stood, his eyes closed and listened. Nothing but silence, he loved it. He’d given his staff a few days off, so he could have the house to himself. They’d return upon his departure.

  Tonight prowling the confines of his home, the peace, and relaxation he normally enjoyed here seemed to elude him. Finally, he slipped out of his shirt and into his running shoes. Mindless physical exercise would clear his head, drain his emotions, and banish that gorgeous blonde from his mind and body. He sprinted out the front door and ran laps around the perimeter of his 100-acre property until sweat trickled down his face and dripped off his chin, every muscle in his body screaming. At last, the driveway came into view and he slowed to a walk, rolling his shoulders and stretching his body. He raised a hand toward the front door, which swung open immediately. Usually, he didn’t waste magic for his personal comfort, the cost was too high, but tonight…the devil be damned. He walked through the door, shut it firmly, and climbed the stairs to the master suite.

  Stepping out of the shower, he felt renewed, relaxed, and ready to enjoy his time away from work. He toweled off, pulled on black silk lounge pants, and padded downstairs barefoot. Behind the bar, he poured a glass of red wine and carried it to his favorite recliner in front of the crackling fire. This is more like it. He sighed sipping the wine and reclining his chair completely to accommodate his six foot seven inch body. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Damn it. Angelique was back, dancing around the fringes of his mind. What the hell was the deal? A woman never captivated my interest like this. Apparently, ignoring her wasn’t going to be an option.

  He powered on the laptop that sat on the table to his right and moved it to his lap. For a moment his fingers paused over the keys, then typed Angelique Shandie in the search bar and hit enter. The screen filled with information. She’d graduated top in her class at Yale, a premed student with degrees in psychology and sociology. Accepted to Harvard Medical School and graduated with honors. She disappeared off the grid only to reappear a few years later in the residency program at John Hopkins. “What was a highly educated doctor doing as a co-owner of a New Age Store in D.C. of all places?” he mused aloud to the empty room. Maybe it was a different Angelique Shandie. He stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes. Further research could wait until tomorrow. He yawned again, finished his wine, and trudged up the stairs to bed.

  Warm sunlight streamed through ivory lace curtains that hung in large bay windows. Bruce rolled over and squinted against the brightness. Wound up in the patchwork comforter he’d crawled under the night before on his king size bed, he kicked his way free, and stretched his arms above his head as he let out a jaw-popping yawn. Sitting up he swung his feet to the floor and glanced at his cell phone on the nightstand. No messages. Fantastic.

  His mother had decorated the house before giving it to him when she and his father relocated to Tahiti. Bruce never saw a reason to redecorate it, though it wasn’t as masculine as he’d prefer. But since he rarely entertained guests here, the décor really didn’t matter. Besides, he liked the homey look, feel, and scent of the rooms.

  Foregoing a shirt, he pulled on jeans and riding boots. Truth be told, he liked the feel of the wind on his bare chest as he rode through the property, his shoulder length hair flying behind him. Freedom. That’s what he liked, freedom from responsibility, and from the judgment of others for his behavior or attire. Not that he really cared one way or the other, but at least here, he could just be, pleasing no one but himself.

  The aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled the house as he took the stairs two at a time, bouncing on the balls of his feet on the landing. He strode into the kitchen, surprised by the basket of huge blueberry muffins sitting on the counter. Funny…I don’t remember them being there last night. Silently he thanked Megan, his housekeeper of many years, for her thoughtfulness. She’d served his parents and elected to stay on when they moved. He shrugged, grabbed a couple muffins, and poured a steaming mug of coffee. Glad he’d remembered to add water, a couple of scoops of Columbian, and set the coffee maker’s timer last night. Rounding the breakfast bar, he reached out, snagged two apples from the fruit bowl, and pocketed them. He pushed the back door open as he took a big bite of muffin and ambled down the path to the stables. Further research on Angelique could wait.

  “Morning, Jason.” Bruce called out cheerfully, watching the tall, lanky stable manger stride toward him. Jason’s bright red hair and brilliant blue eyes left no doubt of his Irish heritage. The freckles sprinkled across his face made him look younger than his forty something years. Bruce tossed the other muffin to Jason.

  He stretched out a long arm and caught it in his large hand with little effort. “Thanks!” Jason grinned wide in appreciation. “And a good morning to you sir. Want me to saddle Satan for you?”

  “Nope. Do it myself. Just go about your duties, as if I wasn’t here. And drop the sir crap, when it’s just you and me.”

  “You got it.” Jason raised a bushy eyebrow, but turned back to mucking the empty stall.

  Bruce strode into the tack room and threw a blanket over his shoulder, hauled his saddle from the rack, and grabbed a bridle. Satan snorted, pawing the ground with his hooves impatiently, flicking his ears back and forth.

  “I’m coming, ol’ boy,” Bruce said with a smile.

  A soft nicker came from the stall next to Satan’s.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t forget you girl.” Bruce leaned in and put his forehead against Harbor’s cheek, as he drew an apple from his pocket and handed it to her. “You’re free to join us,” he said, unlocking her stall gate then walking to Satan’s stall.

  Harbor pushed the gate further open and followed Bruce.

  Satan stood obediently while Bruce settled the blanket and saddle on Satan’s back, then checked the girth strap and adjusted the stirrups. He pulled another small apple from his pocket and offered it on his flat palm, while opening the paddock gate. He swung into the saddle and urged the horse into a trot with his heels, Harbor trailing close behind. My own piece of paradise. Contented, Bruce sighed, easing Satan into a canter down the path to the woods and twisted in the saddle to check that Harbor was still with them.

  It was dusk before Bruce returned to the stables and handed the reins over to the waiting Jason. Bruce ran his hand over Satan’s neck and patted his shoulder. “See ya in the morning, fella.” He reached for Harbor and rubbed her cheek. “Good night, girl.” Then Bruce turned to his stable manager. “Have a good evening Jason.” Tired but happy, he trudged to the house, stretching his arms above his head and rolling his shoulders.

  He toed his boots off and ambled across the hardwood kitchen floor to the frosty gray carpet of the family room. Bruce tossed several logs in the fireplace, with a flick of his wrist the dry wood burst into flames, then settled into a warm cozy fire. He descended the stairs to the wine cellar, pulled out several bottles before finally selecting a bottle of his favorite, a unique semi-sweet, light red, with raspberry overtones. A Colorado wine he favored. After opening the slightly chilled bottle and setting it on the table to breathe, he walked upstairs to shower. Feeling invigorated he returned to the kitchen, pulled out the meat and cheese from the fridge, and set them on the counter beside a loaf of home-made wheat bread. He sliced the bread, layered meat and cheese, mayo and spicy mustard, then put the sandwich on a plate.

  Finally, settled in his recliner in front of the crackling fire, he poured the sparkling red liquid into a crystal glass, and sniffed appreciatively before taking a sip. Ah, nothing better than an evening spent sipping my favorite wine by the fire and relaxing. He bit into the sandwich and chewed slowly, idly wondering what Angelique was doing this evening. He shook his head, bemused at his fascination with her.

  Chapter Four

&n
bsp; Angie arrived at the store bright and early, unlocked the door, and flipped the sign to OPEN with flourish on her way to the backroom to prepare for the days business. Willow had the morning off, so it would be this afternoon before Angie could break away to deliver more flyers.

  The front door chimed, and Angie emerged from the back room, rainbows danced on the walls as the crystal beaded curtain swung back into place.

  “Mrs. Staret, how nice to see you. Did your daughter like the amethyst earrings you purchased for her birthday?”

  Absently, Mrs. Staret nodded. “Oh, yes, yes she did. Willow called me yesterday and said my book on healing herbs had arrived.”

  Angie leaned down to look under the counter. There neatly wrapped was a book with Mrs. Staret’s name on it. “Willow isn’t in until this afternoon,” she said, straightening up. “But I believe this is what you are looking for.” Angie handed the package to her.

  “Wonderful. Thanks so much.” The impeccably dressed older woman paid for the book and continued to examine various items for sale in the display cases. She looked up at Angie and smiled, tucking a stray silver strand of hair back into her French bun. “I heard you created quite a stir the other day during your visit to the Wycked Hair.”

  “Now where did you hear such a thing?” Angie laughed, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. “I dropped off flyers at the salon, but that’s all.” She turned away and placed the money in the cash drawer, glad to have a moment to compose herself.

  “Not what my granddaughter said.” Mrs. Staret shook her head. “No indeed. She said you flirted outrageously with the owner of that establishment.” Clicking her tongue, she smiled knowingly. “He’s a right handsome male, but dangerous. You watch yourself Angie. He’s not one to be toyed with.”