"I don't waste the craft on things I can do myself," he said quietly, "and neither should you."
And with that piece of unwanted advice, he left her, heading downstairs. After a moment, a door closed on the second floor, which--based purely on the familiar sound--was the room her sisters Kathy and Beth had once shared. Kathy was a schoolteacher in Savannah, and Beth was a nurse; none of her six sisters had inherited the Power, and all lived normal lives because of it.
Pulling at the band that held her ponytail, Cassie freed her hair so she could dry it with the towel. Blue, like Falco's eyes, and smelling of fabric softener. Rubbing and squeezing at the dripping strands, she moved back to the window, recalling other times and other towels, threadbare with washings and smelling of sunshine. They'd never had a dryer, making do with an old clothesline out back. It had been a lot of work, but she and her sisters had taken turns; chores were expected. No one had seemed to mind, for the house had been full of love and laughter.
Then, when she was seven, Granny died, and her sisters began to move away, one by one. By the time she was fourteen, a sudden stroke took her mother, and only she and her father were left to look after things.
As she rested her forehead against the glass, memories swept over her, and Cassie let them come.
She'd been the youngest, and the only one born with what Granny Jane had referred to as the "calling." She'd always been different, and even now it was sometimes hard to relate to her sisters and their husbands and their various happy, noisy offspring. She loved them all, of course, but normality didn't seem to be in the cards for her.
"It's good to have you home, dear."
Cassie whirled, and there was Granny, looking exactly as she remembered.
"You've grown into such a beautiful young woman." The figure before her was semi-transparent, but the smile on the elderly face was clear. "So much like your mother."
Without Falco around to see her show weakness, Cassie's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Granny Jane . . . I'm so sorry."
"Whatever for?" The figure drifted closer, wispy and incorporeal, yet so real that Cassie could see the buttons on Granny's shirt, smell the scent of the lavender water she'd always worn.
"For losing the house. For letting you down." Cassie hugged the towel to her chest, wishing desperately she could do the same to her grandmother. "I failed us. I failed the Calloways."
Granny shook her head, still smiling. "You haven't let me down, Cassie." She flickered again, beginning to fade. "Not yet anyway."
A hellacious pounding came from downstairs, making Cassie jump.
"Opportunity is knocking," Granny whispered, just before she disappeared entirely. "It's up to you to let it in."
Then she was gone, and the pounding came again, like the pounding of Cassie's heart, erratic and broken.
Chapter Three
THE POUNDING ON the front door caught James unaware, and at first, he thought it might be Miz Calloway, up to her old tricks. Then it came again, and he heard Cassie's hurried steps on the stairs. He opened the door to his room to find her on the landing outside, heading downward.
Seeing him, she froze, her eyes moving from his face to his bare chest; he hadn't had time to button his shirt. Despite the insistent pounding on his front door, he found himself hoping she liked what she saw, because he certainly did.
She'd freed her hair from its ponytail, and even damp, it framed her heart-shaped face perfectly. Her black T-shirt and jeans clung to her curves as though molded, and he felt his balls tighten at the sight of her nipples, pointed and erect.
His earlier offer to bring her a dry shirt had been for his benefit, not hers, but damned if he was going to tell her that.
"There's someone at the door," she said, turning those incredible green eyes away as she hurried past him, on her way downstairs.
"Wait," he ordered. "Don't answer it."
"Why not?" She reached the foot of the stairs a few seconds before he did.
"Think for a minute." He was right behind her, buttoning his shirt as he descended the steps. "You've already opened one doorway tonight . . . do you really want to open another?"
She paused, hand on the doorknob.
The pounding hadn't stopped. It grew louder, in fact, wilder, as though whoever--or whatever--was on the other side was determined to get in.
"Granny Jane just told me that opportunity was knocking, and it was up to me to let it in." Slowly, she removed her hand. "But as much as I hate to admit it, you may be right."
The admission surprised him, as did what she said next.
"You open it."
She had nerve, this one, and while it annoyed the hell out of him, a part of him secretly admired it. "Why would I do that?"
Cassie shrugged, stepping away from the door. "You keep telling me that this is your house, not mine."
"I don't need more trouble than I already have," he told her. "You cut through the veil between the living and the dead on All Hallows' Eve . . . there's no telling what's out there."
A flash of lightning, followed by the loud rumble of thunder, punctuated his statement.
"Help," came a voice from the other side of the door. "Help me, please!"
The voice was distinctly feminine, and very much in distress. "Is anyone there?" The doorknob rattled as someone tried it from the outside, and James was glad of his unconscious habit of locking it behind him. "Oh, help me, please!"
Cassie's eyes went wide with surprise, and if he wasn't mistaken, more than a touch of relief that the voice was human.
He, however, was yet to be convinced that opening the door was a good idea. He gave her a warning look, and shook his head.
"We can't just leave her out there," Cassie hissed, reaching for the knob again. "She sounds terrified."
James caught her hand, unprepared for the surge of power that raced up his arm. Maybe it was those pert nipples, but what he felt was definitely sexual in nature, heating his blood in a way he'd never felt before. Whatever it was, Cassie felt it too, for she cried out, trying to wrench her hand away.
He wouldn't let her, in large part because it felt so damn good, but mainly because he really, really didn't want her to open that door.
Something wasn't right, and he wasn't going to let the bolt of lust that shook him put them both in danger.
"Please," the woman shrieked, her voice nearly drowned by another clap of thunder. "My boyfriend's hurt! He's bleeding!"
Cassie's breath was coming fast, as was his. She'd stopped trying to pull away, and was just staring at him with those big green eyes; eyes he could lose himself in, if he let himself. Her breasts rose and fell, her damp hair tumbling over her shoulders like moonlight.
"Shit," he muttered, and let go of her hand. Turning away, almost eager for a fight, a distraction, anything to keep himself from crushing her against him, he jerked open the door.
WHEN CASSIE SAW the blood, her heart sank. When she saw the teeth, however, she sprang into action.
The girl lunged at James, fangs bared, but Cassie got there first, sending a wave of energy that knocked the girl backward. Stunned, the girl threw up an arm to cover her eyes, cowering away from the sudden flash of green light.
"It's a costume," Falco hissed, grabbing Cassie by the elbow. "Calm down."
The girl whimpered, lowering her arm, and Cassie got her first good look at their uninvited guest.
Soaking wet, wearing a black fright wig and vampire teeth, fake blood smeared over her chin and throat. Thick-soled boots and torn fishnets, black leather jacket and short black skirt, much too short for such cold, wet weather.
Falco stepped forward, helping the girl up.
"Help me, please," the girl gasped, clinging to his hand. "My boyfriend's out there, in the woods. Please . . ."
"Take it easy," James murmured, leading the girl inside. "Come in. Tell us what happened."
Closing and locking the front door behind them, Cassie followed James and the girl into the living room, where
he led her to a seat on the couch near the fire.
"There's a blanket in the hall closet," he murmured, and Cassie rushed to get it, doing her best to ignore the belated warning bells that were going off inside her head. What was the girl doing out here, alone in the middle of the night? The house was well off the beaten path, and on the way to nowhere--town was at least fifteen minutes away.
When she came back, James was adding more wood to the fire, while the girl, who appeared to be in shock, rocked back and forth on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
"Here you go," Cassie said gently, draping the blanket across the girl's shoulders. She sat down next to her, resting a hand on her back. Unbeknownst to the girl, she sent calming vibes, fearing the girl was on the edge of hysteria.
To be honest, she felt a twinge of hysteria herself; whatever had passed between her and James when he touched her hand had left her deeply shaken, and she couldn't believe how instinctively she'd reacted to what she'd perceived as a threat to his safety. "You're safe now. Tell us what happened."
"I don't know what happened," the girl wept. She was trembling, goose pimples showing through the torn rents in her stockings. "One minute we were laughing and having fun, and the next minute a storm came up, and he just sort of went nuts."
Up close, Cassie could see that the fangs were merely fake tips, obviously glued in place, as the girl made no effort to remove them. She and Falco exchanged a glance over the girl's head. "Went nuts?"
The girl shook her head, gathering the blanket more tightly about her. "I don't know . . . lightning freaks him out or something. He grabbed my hand and we started running for the car, but he tripped and hurt his leg. He told me to go get help but I didn't want to leave him, so I tried to help him get up and he just--" She put her face in her hands and started to sob. "He started yelling about something coming toward us in the woods. I didn't see anything, but he shoved me really hard toward the car and told me to run, to hurry, not to wait for him." She cried even harder, smearing mascara and fake blood all over the blanket. "I shouldn't have left him, but I did . . . I was so scared."
"Easy now," Cassie murmured, though her own heart was racing. Something in the woods?
"Where is he now?" Falco asked, and the girl shook her head. "I don't know! I got to the car and realized that he had the keys, so I went back for him, but I couldn't find him! It was dark, and I was afraid, and when I saw the lights come on inside the house I just came here."
Wordlessly, Cassie wrapped an arm around the girl's shaking shoulders, feeling more guilty by the second.
"We didn't think anyone lived out here, you know?" The girl sniffled, beginning to calm. "We didn't mean any harm, just figured it would be fun to do a little ghost hunting or something. Everybody in town says the place is haunted." She raised her tear-streaked face to Cassie's white one. "We were just having a little fun."
"I'll go look for him," said James. "You two stay here."
Cassie shot up from the couch.
"Can I . . . um . . ." She skewed her eyes toward the girl, then back to James. " . . . talk to you for a second?"
"We'll be right back," he told the girl gently, touching her on shoulder. The quick stab of jealousy Cassie felt surprised her, but she wrote it off as a by-product of her general unease, and headed toward the kitchen.
James followed her through the dining room where'd she'd eaten so many meals (the scratched-up old farm table was gone, replaced by a cherrywood dining set) and into the kitchen. The familiar creak of the swinging door as he shut it behind him hurt her heart, for it sounded like the protesting groan of an old friend. Taking a moment to look around, she noted that the black and white tiled floor was the same, but the old appliances had been replaced with shiny stainless steel new ones, and the walls had been painted a deep shade of red. Swallowing hard, she privately admitted to herself that the changes were a definite improvement.
"What is it?" His voice was grim, the gentle tone he'd used with the girl gone.
Cassie shook her head, pushing damp hair from her face. "Something's wrong," she whispered. "I don't like this."
Falco just looked at her, stone-faced. "You started this, Cassie, and now there's some weirded-out, injured guy wandering around on the property. If there really is something out there, do you really think we should leave him to it?"
"It was probably just Granny Jane, warning him off." Hopefully. "I'll call Sheriff Tatum, and . . ." With a sinking heart, Cassie remembered that she'd left her cell phone in the car; modern technology could interfere with ancient ritual, and she hadn't planned on needing it. Her eyes went automatically to the spot where a wall phone once hung, but it was no longer there, the jack removed, patched and painted over. "Where's your cell phone?"
Falco frowned, looking uncomfortable. "The charger disappeared three days ago." He ran a hand through already disordered dark curls. "I'm pretty sure your granny took it."
"Why would she do that?" Cassie asked, exasperated, but she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.
"Because she likes to mess with my head," he whispered angrily. "Bringing you out here tonight is a perfect example."
"She didn't bring me, I came on my own."
"That's what you think, sweetheart. She wanted you to think that the house was going to wrack and ruin, so you'd get mad enough to show up and try something drastic, which you did." His blue eyes bored into her own. "You took the bait, hook, line, and sinker."
"You didn't have to cooperate with her," she muttered resentfully.
One dark eyebrow quirked. "Didn't I? Your granny was a pretty powerful green witch, you know . . . every single thing I did to clean up the yard, she'd reverse by the next morning. Every pulled weed, every trimmed branch, every cut blade of grass. Wouldn't let me do anything to the outside of the house either . . . no nails, no paint, no shingles. She knew you were keeping an eye on the place, and that the worse it looked, the madder you'd get."
"Why?" Frustration made her voice sharp. "Why would she do that?"
He shrugged. "You know her better than I do, but my guess is that she wanted you to come here and do exactly what you did. I don't have the kind of power it would take to make her visible, but you do."
Glaring at him, Cassie wanted to argue, but there was no point. Granny Jane clearly had some sort of agenda going, and damned if she knew what it was.
"We're wasting time," said Falco, moving toward the pantry. He opened it, taking a flashlight down from the top shelf. "I'll just go out and find this guy, and then we can send both him and his girlfriend on their merry way." He paused by the swinging door, giving her a significant look. "Then you, me, and your granny are going to sit down and have a nice, long talk."
He pushed open the door to the dining room and strode through it, only to stop dead in his tracks.
A stranger sat at the dining room table, sharp-eyed and silent, the formerly hysterical girl standing behind his chair, a smug look on her face. On the table before them lay Granny Jane's grimoire.
"Vincent." Falco's voice was hard as granite. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Chapter Four
"THAT'S MY BOOK," Cassie said, recovering quickly from her surprise. She eyed the stranger warily, for not only was the grimoire precious to her, but it could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.
"Is it?" The stranger put his hand on top of the worn leather binding. "Then you must be Cassiopeia Calloway." Ignoring James for the moment, he sent her an evil grin. "So nice to finally meet you."
The girl giggled, drawing Cassie's venomous gaze. There was nothing helpless or hysterical about her now--she even had the nerve to bare her fake fangs in Cassie's direction.
"What do you want, Vincent?" Falco edged in front of her, but no way was she hiding behind his back when her family heritage was at stake. She stepped around him, to stand by his side, and looked Vincent in the eye.
Brown eyes, like his hair, which was short, cropped close to his head.
/> "I have to thank your girlfriend," Vincent said, "for weakening the veil. I wasn't sure how I was going to get past it, but she's made it easy for me." His gaze flicked over Cassie's damp hair, traveled slowly over her figure, making her skin crawl. "Between this"--he patted the book possessively--"and that stupid little stunt she pulled earlier, I should have no trouble accomplishing what I came here to do."
"Which is what?" Cassie didn't like being spoken about as though she wasn't there. "What do you want?"
Vincent gave her a dark look. "My birthright, of course, and a place to enjoy it. Our father knew this place was special, that's why he bought it. The union of our families could've created a new generation of witches, stronger than any of those who came before."
Cassie felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her cold as ice.
"Too bad dear old Dad was too weak to force the issue. He actually thought that you and James might be drawn together without his help if he let nature take its course." He grinned at her, evil and leering. "Needless to say, he picked the wrong brother, and if I'd known what you looked like, I would've taken James's place much earlier in the game."
"Leave Cassie out of this," James growled.
"Bonded already, have you?" Vincent's grin faded, leaving a nasty sneer in its place. "That's too bad . . . fucked her yet, brother?"
Beside her, Falco was still as a stone, tension radiating from him in waves.
"Is it as good as they say?" Vincent's voice took on a mocking tone. "One witch, two witch, green witch, blue witch . . . did the earth move for you, James?"
For the first time in her life, Cassie felt an urge to hurt someone, badly. She wanted to wipe that smirk off Vincent's face in the worst possible way, but took her cue from James, who said nothing.
Vincent, receiving no response to his baiting, shrugged a black-clad shoulder. "No matter, I'll fuck the bitch myself when you're dead, and find out."
Falco moved so fast that he seemed a mere blur, and before Cassie knew it, he had his brother by the throat. The chair in which Vincent was sitting flew over backward, the girl stumbling out of the way. The grimoire was still on the table, and Cassie made a grab for it, but it flew across the room as though it had a mind of its own, landing on the floor near the window.
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