Anne struck the man in the face, stunning him for a moment. He grabbed her wrist, bending it painfully. Anne started to scream but he clamped a heavy hand over her mouth. Paul! Anne cried out silently, her eyes filling with tears, nearly wetting herself in her panic. This couldn’t be happening on the roof of the Waldorf-Astoria with two hundred people dancing and laughing just down the hall. Paul, help me!
As Langley bent down, his mouth open, spittle gleaming on his lips, the sound of feet pounding down the corridor preceded shouting. “Get away from her, you bastard!” It was Paul flying toward them, as if he’d somehow heard her call and come to her rescue.
Langley stepped back a moment, looking confused. His face settled quickly into a sly grin as Paul came upon them. “She came on to me, buddy. Threw herself at me. You’ve got yourself a slut for a girlfriend, pal.”
Anne, nearly sick with adrenaline, sagged against the wall, fully expecting Paul to slam his fist into Langley’s finely featured face. But to her surprise and no doubt Langley’s, Paul didn’t raise his hand. Instead he murmured something, something in a strange tongue, the vowels rounded, the consonants sibilant.
All at once Langley seemed to crumple in on himself, his eyes rolling back, his legs simply giving way as he slid to the ground, his head hitting the marble floor with a resounding thunk.
Anne stared at the unconscious man and then at Paul. In an awed whisper she said, “You did that, didn’t you? You did that! How did you do that?”
Taking her in his arms, Paul debated what he should say.
Chapter 8
“Is he all right?” Anne asked, worried despite her intense dislike of the man.
“He’ll be fine. He’ll come to in an hour or so with nothing worse than a headache. He was quite drunk already. A whisper of a suggestion was all it took to render him insensible.”
Paul had waited while Anne at last had the opportunity to use the bathroom. When she came out, he was standing near the still-unconscious man lying sprawled ignominiously on the floor. “We’ll leave him here. Let his friends come to his rescue, if he has any. They’ll assume he was drunk.” Touching her cheek he asked, “Did he hurt you, Anne? Did he compromise you in any way?”
Anne had to smile at Paul’s quaint turn of phrase. “No, he didn’t get a chance. But he frightened me. I called to you. Not out loud but in my head. You heard me, didn’t you? Somehow you knew to come to me. And you did that too,” she said, pointing to Langley. “Tell me what’s going on.”
They were distracted by three women walking toward them, laughing and talking as they moved in a pack toward the restroom, their coiffed heads gleaming blonde, red and brunette, their diamonds glittering. The blonde squealed when they were close enough to see Langley lying inert in front of the ladies’ lounge. “Is he okay?”
“I can call 911,” the redhead said breathlessly, whipping a slim pink cell phone from her evening bag. “Or did you do that already?” She stared at Anne and then looked up at Paul, her expression softening as she took in the man’s handsome face and tall elegant form.
“He’s had a bit too much to drink, I believe,” Paul said. “I was just going to get him over to that couch—let him rest a bit. If you think medics and sirens are in order, by all means, make your call.”
The woman flipped open her phone, looking very self-important while the other two women went off to find someone from the hotel to assist. Anne couldn’t help grinning as she said, “He’s not going to enjoy all the negative attention, I shouldn’t imagine.”
As Paul dragged the large man, lifting him by his armpits and hauling him toward a couch set along the wall, he agreed, “No, I don’t imagine he will.” He settled Langley in a semi-sitting position, still out cold, his mouth slack, a line of spittle running down his chin. “I suggest we make our exit before the hullabaloo ensues. Shall we?”
Paul offered his arm and Anne took it as they moved down the hall back toward the strains of music and gay laughter. After making their farewells, they were settled into the limo at last.
Anne said, “Okay. Now you can tell me what’s going on. How did you read my mind? How did you make Langley pass out? What other magic have you been working on me without my knowledge?”
Paul gazed at her intently, as if weighing her trustworthiness. Finally he said, “Remember Clara’s book?”
“My spell book, you mean?”
“Yes. The one written for mortals. For a particular mortal actually.”
“Mortals. As if she were a real witch! As if there were such a thing.” Anne said, laughing. When Paul didn’t laugh with her, she faltered. Turning toward him, she worriedly scanned his face in the reflected lights of the city outside the car windows.
His expression was serious, his gaze intense. “My God,” Anne said softly. “You’re saying there are witches. Are you a witch?” She was confused a moment. “I mean, a…a warlock? Can you do magic? Cast spells? You’re kidding, right? There’s no such thing as magic. Everyone knows that.”
Paul smiled. “Normally I’d encourage your disbelief, Anne. I don’t make it a habit of sharing my true nature with mortals. They are rarely discreet and usually too simple-minded to process the concept of real magic. But with you it’s different. I sensed it right away. Your intuitive awareness of the magic on some deep level—that’s rare in a mortal. To even be aware of my magical intervention is highly unusual. But beyond that…” He paused as if gathering courage. “With you it’s a matter of…”
He paused again while Anne waited, her expression incredulous. Paul laughed a short mirthless laugh. “Look at me. I’ve had centuries of experience but I can’t even say out loud what has been ringing in my heart since I first laid eyes on you.” He took a deep breath, looking as if he were about to plunge into a river of ice water. “I love you, Anne.”
“Oh,” Anne said softly. A part of her wanted to answer in kind but somehow the words wouldn’t reach her tongue. As she sat there mute, she began to process the rest of his statement…centuries of experience… Was this just a turn of phrase or did he mean it literally?
The effects of the Champagne were wearing off but Anne still felt dizzy. Paul continued. “Because of that love, I want to be honest with you. I want to share who and what I am. Finding Clara’s book at your house was a kind of omen to me. A sign I could confide in you without scaring you away or making you think I was delusional.”
“Confide in me…” she echoed inanely. This was too much. And yet, hadn’t he been presenting her with evidence all along? The way he seemed to read her mind, the way she’d felt enthralled that first night, as if under a spell. And then tonight. He’d come to her when she’d called him in her mind. And with a few strange words he’d made a man fall unconscious to the floor. It was too much to take in. “I’m sorry,” she said, finding it hard to breathe. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s time. Let’s get to your place first. We can talk more freely there.” The window was up between the driver and their large passenger compartment but Anne nodded, needing time to gather her thoughts.
They rode along quietly for a while until Anne turned to Paul and said, “If you’re magic, prove it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Prove it. You know, turn me into a toad or something.”
Paul laughed. “I don’t think you’d really want to be a toad. I could do it actually, but it’s not just a matter of waving one’s hands over you and shouting, presto chango. Changing someone’s form is quite complex and requires skillful magic, the proper powders and herbs and cooperation of the subject.”
Anne stared him, not sure if he was putting her on. He had to be surely. “Okay then,” she acquiesced. “Do something simpler. What’s something easy to do?”
Paul pondered a moment. “I can make people do things by dropping suggestions into their minds. It’s a kind of telepathic coercion, I suppose. I don’t generally engage in it but I can do it. Less invasively, I can drop thoughts into your head and you th
ink you’ve thought them yourself.”
Anne looked skeptically at him. He added, “I told you Langley’s name. You didn’t remember his name at first, did you? I plucked the name from his head and put it into yours. I didn’t like him even before he revealed what a cad he was. He was taking pleasure out of trying to humiliate you.”
Anne remembered how his name had seemed to drop into her mind. But one often suddenly recalled things when one concentrated. That proved nothing. He’d have to do better. “What else you got? Show me some real magic.”
You don’t need parlor tricks to convince you, do you, Anne? You already know in your heart I can weave spells. You’ve woven a spell around me with your beauty and charm, my love.
Anne jumped in her seat and gasped. “Hey! You’re in my head. Get out of there. This is so freaky! Paul, how did you do that? You weren’t speaking but I heard you in my head. I heard your voice.”
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s a knack I have. Most witches and warlocks can read minds or plant thoughts in the minds of others, but as with anything, there are levels of skill. I’ve always had a natural ability. It’s what caught the attention of the warlock who became my mentor. I could enter the minds of the horses I trained and—”
“Horses? You talk to horses?” Anne practically snorted in her incredulousness.
Paul laughed. “Anne, I’m getting way ahead of myself. Let’s get home first. Maybe I should take you to my place. Show you a few of the objects of my craft. It will make it easier to convince you and to explain the nature of my magic.”
Anne thought about this a moment. She had yet to see how the mysterious Paul Windsor lived, though she was sure it was lavishly. He’d certainly proved himself the gentleman since that first night when she’d practically thrown herself at him. “All right, as long as you have no expectations about, er, anything else.” She blushed, realizing she had revealed her own thoughts, instantly turned toward sex. Paul only smiled as he pushed the intercom button, directing the driver to his address.
They were quiet as the limo weaved through the traffic. Anne’s mind cast back to that amazing night. She felt heat in her cheeks as she recalled how she’d felt enchanted, all inhibitions lowered as if she had been under a spell. Whipping her head toward him she demanded, “Did you do that? Did you make me have sex with you with your witchcraft? Did you?”
She didn’t need to be a witch or mind reader to see the guilt in his expression before he turned away. Anne sat back in the seat, feeling sick, feeling—violated. Had those feelings she’d felt for him been a sham? Had he created a sexual desire in her with his devilish magic? Was he no better than those creeps who put pills in their date’s drink in order to get sex?
“Anne,” Paul said softly. “Please. Please don’t do this. Give me a chance first to explain. You have no idea how that spell has haunted me since. It’s why I left you alone. It’s why I promised myself since that night not to use even the most innocent spell or incantation with you.”
Anne continued to look away from him but she was listening. “This is not easy for me. I do not fall in love. As confused as you feel now, I am doubly so. For a warlock to love a mortal—it’s absurd.”
Anne roused herself from her wounded indignation long enough to be insulted anew by this remark. “What? We aren’t good enough for you, is that it?”
“Please, this is not going as I had hoped,” Paul said earnestly. “Look, we’ll be at my place soon. I want to explain myself to you. If you’d rather I took you home at once and not trouble you again, I’ll do that instead. It’s your call. But if you agree to come with me, I want a promise you’ll hear me out before making your judgment. That’s all I ask. Where we go from there is up to you.”
Anne nodded. Whatever he was, warlock or mortal, magic or just a magician, Anne knew her heart was too involved to pretend she could just say goodbye. “All right, Paul.” She touched his hand, her mind still grappling with the stunning evidence of a reality that if true turned her whole world on its head.
“Thank you,” Paul said, smiling gently at her. Anne did her best to smile back. She didn’t succeed but hopefully he took the intention for the deed.
The doorman at Paul’s apartment building nodded deferentially as he opened the door for Paul and the lovely young woman on his arm. The building was imposing with a large center courtyard and an impressive arched entrance. Paul moved through the marbled lobby to a separate smaller lobby. Using a key, he opened the private elevator that would take them to his penthouse suite. They were quiet on the ride up.
It was disconcerting to know Paul could read her mind at will. Anne wasn’t sure that was something she could get used to. She stole a sidelong glance at him, but he was staring up at the numbers as they flashed by. She was distracted by their arrival on the top floor of the building. Paul’s was the only apartment on the floor. He unlocked the massive front door and said, “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Anne couldn’t help the small gasp of appreciation as Paul flipped on the lights to a large living room. The wall facing Central Park had huge windows from floor to ceiling set at intervals. There were numerous bookshelves and display shelves full of unusual artifacts and crystals. The furniture was primarily of black leather and silver chrome, highlighted by dramatic lines and elegant curves. Vivid geometric area rugs were scattered over the blond hardwood floors.
It was the paintings on the walls that caught Anne’s eye, that made her gasp with admiration. “Gustav Klimt,” she breathed. “Danae.”
Paul followed Anne over to the large, very good reproduction of Klimt’s painting of the Greek legend of Zeus’ mating with Danae. The erotic image of the naked woman, her thighs drawn up with a stream of gold and silver flowing between her legs had always been one of Anne’s favorite.
Paul’s magic revelations for a moment forgotten, Anne peered closely at the painting, remarking, “Look at her fingers. The way they’re curled like that. I always wondered why she would curl them as if she were tense or stressed when the rest of her body shows such erotic languor.”
“She’s having an orgasm,” Paul offered.
“What?”
“Her fingers are clenched in ecstasy. At least that’s what I always assumed. She is in the act of being made love to by a god in the form of liquid gold. Bound to be a rather ecstatic experience, wouldn’t you say?”
Anne flushed as she turned to the next picture, this one much smaller, framed in gold with no glass to protect it. She peered closely at it—a small portrait of a woman with huge gray-green eyes and unruly curls falling about her face. She was sitting on a chair in a room cluttered with ornamentation in the trademark rich and lavish colors that marked Klimt’s work. In sharp contrast to the colors behind her, the woman was dressed in white, perhaps a wedding gown, her face very young, the eyes wide and innocent.
“I’ve never seen this one,” Anne said. “Where did you get it? It looks like an original.” Her voice was hushed with awe.
“It is. It was one of the lesser-known works, stolen by the Nazis along with hundreds of Klimt’s pieces. This one reappeared about thirty years ago in a private collection. When it went up for auction a few years back, I had to purchase it. You can see why I had to have it.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.” Anne felt strange. The girl in the painting could have been her, though the nose was slightly longer and the hair a lighter color.
“I don’t either, not entirely. When I saw the picture, I fell in love with it. With the delicate beauty of the girl depicted there. When I saw your self-portraits, I was reminded of the painting at once. This sounds very odd, even to my own ears, but it’s as if we were destined to meet, Anne. Destined to be together. You with Clara’s spell book, me with this painting.”
He turned toward Anne, who was swaying, the world seeming to shift as her legs failed to cooperate in holding her up. “Here, let’s sit down. It’s been a long, very strange night for you, I’m sure.�
� Paul led her to a black leather couch. Anne sank back gratefully, clutching a red silk pillow she found there, holding it over her belly as she rocked slightly forward.
Paul sat next to her, close but not touching. Anne could feel desire for him well up in her like a live thing. His scent was intoxicating—despite herself, she closed her eyes, breathing him in, longing for him. Her pussy felt swollen between her legs and her nipples stiffened. Angrily she shook her head. “Don’t do that. Don’t trick me into desiring you.”
“Anne. I promised you—I promised myself—I wouldn’t do that. I have not used magic with you since that first night. You have my word on that. Please believe me.” She looked into his dark, clear eyes and sensed he must be telling the truth. The sexual desire she felt for him was entirely of her own making. Anne hid her face in the red silk of the pillow, aware what her outburst had revealed. She felt Paul’s warm hand upon her bare shoulder.
“Anne, please don’t fight this so. I’m delighted you find me desirable, at least on some level. I’m not asking for you to love me. No one can ask that of another. I know you’ve only just found the will and desire to begin to truly live again. But don’t shut me out arbitrarily. Don’t shut me out because of fear or because you don’t understand things. Give me a chance. Give us a chance. Please.”
Slowly Anne looked up. “Okay. I’m listening. Tell me about witches and goblins and ghosts. Wriggle your nose, say abracadabra and turn me into a pumpkin. Wait, not a pumpkin—a fairy princess.” She laughed, feeling a little better. He was right—why did she have to cling to worry and fear with such ferocity? When was the last time she had just let go and truly trusted someone?
“Thank you,” Paul said softly. He began to tell her about witches and warlocks. About their place in mortal lives, about their secrets and their abilities. He told her about his own past and how he had been discovered by another warlock interested in his special way with animals.
Cast a Lover's Spell Page 10