Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble, a Paranormal Romance

by H. P. Mallory

  “Jolie, are you ready?” I turned at the sound of Rand’s voice and found him watching me.

  I nodded and slipped my hands in his as the now familiar current coursed through me. We sat cross-legged, facing one another. According to Rand, we were to concentrate on each other and envision a circle of energy around us—that was to act as a shield. A shield against what, I didn’t know and didn’t want to ask.

  Jack, the ghost, was nowhere in sight. It seemed a rude thing to be late to your own séance, I thought and closed my eyes once I noticed Rand doing the same.

  “When will Jack be here?” I whispered.

  “He is here.”

  My eyes popped open. Glancing around, I didn’t see anything. My gaze returned to Rand, who still had his eyes closed.

  “He’s sitting in between us, right in front of you.”

  Rand’s words jolted through me, and it was all I could do to stay seated. I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was with this whole ghost thing. I closed my eyes again and Rand tightened his grip, as if he were letting me know I’d be safe and more so, that I shouldn’t be afraid of a ghost.

  “Okay, Jolie, I want you to focus on Jack being here in this house, and there’s a man who will come through the door. I want you to scrutinize that man, until you know his face. Then use your abilities to find out who he is.”

  I tried, I really did. I concentrated like I’ve never concentrated before and…nothing. I opened my eyes and found Christa inspecting her nails. Rand’s eyes were still clamped shut, trying to get the charm to work. I closed my eyes again and focused on the ghost, trying to imagine a man shooting him in the head. All I could focus on was the intense heat of Rand’s hands on my own.

  “Jolie.” His voice belied the fact that he knew I wasn’t focusing.

  “Nothing is happening,” I answered with a sigh.

  “Try again.”

  I closed my eyes and focused again, trying to get through the darkness of my eyelids. I wasn’t sure what would happen or what I should be looking for but, undoubtedly, I wasn’t finding it.

  Two hours later, I still hadn’t managed to see anything. Christa was napping on the sofa, and Rand seemed quite over the whole thing as well—stifling a yawn and tapping his long fingers on his thighs. I still couldn’t see Jack the ghost.

  “Okay, let’s call it a day,” Rand said.

  I didn’t say anything but nodded and wiped the sweat from my palms on my thighs. Tears of frustration stung my eyes, and I averted my gaze, not wanting anyone to witness the pathetic display.

  “Jolie, you did well,” Rand said, and his voice was soft, soothing. “I think we need a bit more practice, though.”

  “Practice?” I asked, not sure what we’d be practicing.

  “Yes, I think I expected too much of you. I know you’re powerful, but you need to hone your skills.”

  “Sure, sounds good.” Even though it sounded far from good. I just hoped this wouldn’t mean another two hours of sitting uncomfortably while I focused on nhing and had only my disappointment to show for it.

  #

  I closed the door behind Rand as my heart sped up. I couldn’t say I was comfortable with him, and it didn’t help that we were now alone…in my hotel room. I glanced around, my vision coming to rest on the oversized bed in the center of the room. The emerald green duvet beckoned to me, trying to tempt me into its lush, pillowy softness. Taken in, I sat on the bed but then reconsidered and moved to an armchair next to the bed.

  Rand watched me with quirked brows.

  “I won’t bite, Jolie.”

  My giggle was forced.

  “You leave that to the vampires.”

  He chuckled and took a seat on the bed.

  “We need to work on your concentration.”

  “How do we do that?”

  He shrugged and looked around him, at what I had no idea. Maybe Jack the ghost was in our midst again.

  “See that glass over there?” he asked and pointed across the room. My gaze fell to the unobtrusive, dime-a-dozen glass sitting on the bar. I nodded.

  “We’re going to hone your attention, so you move the glass across the counter.”

  Right, good luck.

  “We are?” The tone of my voice was as dubious as I felt.

  “How do I even know that’s possible?”

  He focused on the glass and like a dog with worms, it skittered across the bar. I couldn’t mask my surprise and gasped. Rand chuckled. Okay, so it was possible, but maybe just for Rand. I sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to move it.

  “I need you to focus on that glass, Jolie, and I want you to move it.”

  I turned to face my opponent, the glass.

  “Does it help if I’m closer to it?”

  Rand shook his head. “Doesn’t matter where you are. Now, stop stalling and try it,” he said sharply.

  I honed in on the glass, thinking: move glass, I want you to move. But it seemed the glass was uninterested—it sat there and mocked me as if to say, “I’m only moving for the incredibly hot warlock.”

  I didn’t blame it.

  Rand stood up and blocked my view of the uncooperative glass. He crossed his arms against his broad chest and appeared to be all hot and bothered, but not in the good way. Even so, he was still a treat to my eyes.

  A frown tugged at his handsome face.

  “Jolie, witches are very attracted to one another, so you have to move past that.”

  “Wait, what?” I asked in total confusion. What the hell was he talking about?

  “Your attraction for me is interrupting your focus.”

  Okay, did I mention I don’t like egomaniacs? I could feel my blood pressure increasing.

  “My what for you? You think I can’t move the glass because I’m thinking about you?”

  He nodded, and the volcano that was Jolie’s temper erupted. Of all the egotistical, narcissistic bastards!

  “What a self-centered and ridiculous thing for you to say!” I shot out at him, wishing I could slap the smug smile right off his face.

  “I can’t move the damn thing because I’m not a witch, not because I’m thinking about you!”

  “Focus it on the glass!”

  “Fuck the glass!”

  Pointing his index finger like he was Death incarnate, he aimed my attention at the glass again, and fury mounted inside me. If I was going to move the damn glass, I needed to do it now. I envisaged all his egoism filling the glass until it was brimming over, bubbles of narcissism and conceit brewing like yeast.

  And I moved that glass with my mind. The damn thing actually jumped off the bar and landed with a thud on the carpet. If I hadn’t been so livid, I might have been proud of myself but, instead, I was left feeling nothing but empty.

  Rand’s grin was wide as he took a step toward me.

  “I knew you could do it.”

  I held my up my hand to keep him at bay.

  “Don’t come near me, you bastard.”

  “I said it to get you riled up, Jolie, I needed some energy from you.”

  I hesitated, my brows snapping together.

  “You said that so I’d move the glass?” I asked facetiously.

  He sighed, as if expending all the air within him.

  “I needed to give you an outlet. It’s true that witches are attracted to one another, all otherworldly creatures are.”

  Then it dawned on me that I should never have been angry in the first place.

  “I’m not a witch.”

  He shrugged. “Call yourself what you will. You can see the future, no?”

  “It’s called being psychic, and there are hundreds of thousands of people who can claim the same thing,” I snarled.

  “You can see the life force of others.”

  “So what? That doesn’t make me a witch. I can’t wiggle my nose and make the cat litter take itself out. And, for that matter, I haven’t seen anything that would convince me you’re such a great witch. You’ve moved chairs and sl
ammed a door and moved a glass, but all of that could’ve been rigged, you know?”

  Rand smiled. The challenge was on.

  “Yes, it could be rigged. What do you want me to do? You name it.”

  Hmm, this was a good one. What did I want him to do? End world hunger? Abolish taxes? Take off all of his clothes? That last thought brought heat to my cheeks and I dropped my gaze to the floor, reaching for the first thing that next entered my mind.

  I brought my gaze back to his.

  “I want you to levitate.” I crossed my arms across my chest and smirked. The time of reckoning was upon him.

  He lifted a brow just before his feet left the ground, and he floated in front of me. My smile fell. Well, ask and you shall receive! The cynic in me searched for some plausible reason as to why this was happening, but not finding one, I faced the fact that maybe Rand was a warlock.

  If it looks like a warlock, sounds like a warlock…you get it.

  “You can come back down, I believe you.” Even if I was convinced Rand was otherworldy, it didn’t mean I thought I was capable of the same things.

  “What if I still don’t believe I’m a witch?”

  There was no emotion on Rand’s face as he neared me.

  “Then you won’t be able to stop me from kissing you.”

  I wanted nothing more than for him to kiss me. I also wanted him as far away as possible because I couldn’t fathom the idea of being kissed. I wouldn’t be a good kisser. So, much though I hated the idea, when he came close, my frenzied mind pictured an invisible bubble surrounding me.

  A look of surprise seized Rand’s face when he moved in for the kiss and, instead, found himself buttressed by a transparent wall. He backed away instantly, as if he’d been burned. I guess, in a manner of speaking, he had been.

  “Rand, wait,” I started, my voice failing me at the most inopportune moment.

  His eyes were like those of a statue, stoic and revealing nothing.

  “That’s enough practicing for tonight,” he said, and his voice was empty. He started for the door before I could stop him, and I stood there like an idiot, not knowing what to do. I was so befuddled, I didn’t even get the chance to contemplate the fact that I’d stopped Rand’s advances with my mind—with, dare I say it…magic.

  The sound of the door slamming behind him ricocheted through me like alet and wedged itself right into my heart.

  FOUR

  Rand’s hands tightened on mine. I gazed into the rich chocolate of his eyes and thought I was an absolute moron. I had to be the only woman on the planet who wouldn’t allow herself to kiss such an incredible looking man. I closed my eyes against the idiocy of the whole damned thing.

  Sitting Indian-style on the floor in the Fords’ home, my gaze darted around the room and rested on Christa who sat on the sofa inspecting her nails…again. Then my eyes sought Rand who patiently waited for me to see something…again. And, as with the last attempts, nothing happened. I concentrated and tried to get angry, remembering how that had worked when I’d moved the glass.

  Nothing at all. Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for this.

  “Jolie, are you focusing?” Rand asked.

  “Yes,” I snapped. “If I focus anymore I’m going to focus myself right into a coma!” I hadn’t meant for my words to sound so acerbic, but by the smile on his lips, he hadn’t taken them as such.

  He squeezed my hand.“Okay, just wanted to be sure. Keep going.”

  I didn’t say anything but nodded and closed my eyes again, focusing as hard as I could. I tried to envision the room around me, as it would’ve been ninety years ago, but still nothing. Course, I didn’t really know what was in vogue ninety years ago, so I couldn’t make much of a mental picture for myself—just a room with one of those old model radios—the kind that are about four feet tall. And a picture of Clark Gable. Was good ol’ Clark even around in the twenties? Sheesh…history lesson on aisle five!

  My head began to thud, as if rebelling against the idea of concentrating anymore, and my butt had grown numb hours ago. In fact, my entire body felt strangely numb. Deciding I’d had enough, I opened my eyes.

  I was alone.

  I turned my head, expecting to find Christa and Rand hiding behind a wall, ready to jump out and scare me, but it was eerily quiet. Where the hell had they gone? Panic began a slow spiral through my stomach, working its way up my throat until I thought I might retch. Needing to calm myself, I forced my attention to the hardwood floors, taking note of every fleck in the wood. The floors gleamed in the light as if someone had just cleaned them, which was odd, as I could’ve sworn this place had carpeting. My gaze shifted to the curtains, and that was when I realized I’d actually done it.

  I was in 1922 and in 1922, this house had curtains instead of blinds.

  I breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth, repeating the process until the nausea faded into oblivion. After realizing Rand couldn’t be accounted for, I had to suppress the tide of anxiety welling within me. I guess I’d have to find out who killed Jack alone.

  I perched on the edge of the sofa while my eyes traced the large floral pattern of the sofa and matching loveseat, trying to find a sense of calmness in the pink blooms. My attention shifted to the coffee table where a newspaper lay in dishevelment, its insides gutted across the table. It was The Chicago Daily Times. I grabbed the section looking most intact. In large black print it read: What’s Wrong With the Criminal Court?

  The strangest feeling of euphoria washed over me as I considered I was living history first hand. Strangely enough, the feeling made my stomach heave again. Not wanting to throw up, I started my breathing exercises—inhale for a count of four, exhale for a count of four. I wouldn’t let Rand down.

  Now, the only problem…where was Jack?

  I dropped the newspaper and stood up, deciding it was time to play detective. I needed to find Jack and preferred to do so quickly—I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to last in this vision. As I walked through the living room, I noted black and white pictures of Jack with a pretty woman and a smiling baby.

  In the kitchen, I paused to take in the squat, white refrigerator and the white enamel kitchen range—something straight out of a bygone era. Well, if nothing else, this little expedition was going to end up being quite the history lesson.

  At the sound of the front door opening, my heart dropped as if it had been on the top story of the Empire State building. What would Jack do upon seeing me? Steeling my courage, I ventured into the living room where I watched Jack hang his fedora-looking hat on a coat rack. He walked as if he were en route to the hangman’s platform.

  He turned, and his cold eyes drilled into me. I tried to come up with a plausible explanation as to why I was in his house, uninvited. He came closer, and if looks could kill, I’d have been pronounced dead on the spot. Jack didn’t say a word. Before I could duck out of the way, he walked right through me! It felt like a great wind blowing through my entire being. I braced myself against the wall, having a serious case of jello legs.

  Okay, so I was the ghost in this situation. I couldn’t say I was comfortable with that thought but forced it out of my mind, lest it interfere with my mission.

  After getting my wits back, I followed Jack into the kitchen. He made himself a chicken sandwich, the whole time banging and slamming this and that. It didn’t take a genius to figure out something was amiss.

  Then the front door opened, and I peered around the corner of the wall. A woman walked inside. I recognized her from Jack’s family photo as his wife. She was pretty with short bobbed hair, wide set eyes, and a trim body. Tears stained her cheeks, and the mascara smudges under her eyes gave her a zombie sort of look. She took her shoes off at the door.

  Her small, stockinged feet barely made a sound as she marched right into the kitchen where Jack ate his sandwich. She didn’t even bother putting her purse down or taking off her coat.

  Before I could comprehend it, she pulled a pistol from her clutc
h and aimed it at the back of his head. There was no hesitation before she pulled the trigger.

  I moved as if waist deep in molasses and tried to push Jack out of the way. As soon as I touched him, the brightest of lights seemed to penetrate through him until it completely encompassed us both. I glanced down and the white ray of light shone right through me, like I was merely a projection. I had to close my eyes against the intensity of the glare. As soon as my eyelashes met my upper cheeks, a jolt sailed through me and I had the vision of energy, of life leaving my body. The hairs on my skin stood to attention. I suddenly felt extremely tired, drained. I felt myself drop. I hit something hard and my eyes blinked open. I was on the floor, the yellow linoleum cold underneath my cheek. Pushing myself onto my hands and knees, I glanced at the wall before me. It looked like someone had thrown buckets of tomato red paint against the otherwise pristine white of the wall. Then I made the mistake of looking at Jack. Half his face was gone, pieces of bone, brain and other head debris decorating the floor behind him.

  Hyperventilating, I pushed myself away from him and clasped my eyes together, hoping the darkness would erase any residue of the hideous scene before me.

  You’re okay, Jolie, you’re okay. Just breathe. I tried to talk myself down but couldn’t shake the image of Jack’s brain spread out on the floor like spilled cat litter.

  I pried my eyes open, glanced down at myself and noticed my figure disappearing. My feet were already transparent and the rest of me was becoming cloudy, as if a fog were twirling up my legs, erasing me as it went. A scream of pure, unadulterated terror cut through the air like a razor blade and it took me a second to realize the scream was mine.

  “Jolie!” I heard a deep voice and felt a smart slap to my face.

  “Wake up, Jolie! Blast it, wake up!”

  I came to with a start, blood pumping in my ears until it sounded like a chorus of demons singing bass. I was on the floor with Rand hovering over me. I sat bolt upright and glanced around, trying to get a grasp of what the hell had just happened. I noted Rand and Christa but I could definitely feel someone else in the room. I turned and found Jack, in his corporeal body, staring at me with his mouth hanging open.