For the Love of Magic

by Natalie Gibson

  Don Quixote cursed and then stepped into the gap, disappearing in the light.

  A crash behind her made Tara Kay turn. The roof of the SOFE house erupted, and five huge creatures flew out of the hole. Four flew toward the circle and the other, carrying a couple of people, soared away.

  One of the quartet landed in front of her, a giant nude man with arms and bat-like wings spread wide. The pain stopped, and Tara Kay sagged. The angel reached to both sides, touching wingtips to those of another angel. They stepped forward in unison, closing the circle with wings overlapping. The blood disappeared from around the angels’ legs as they closed ranks, as if they soaked it up.

  Tara Kay was free but she stood mesmerized. The angels sang. The breeze, and every cricket and car horn chorused in a sound more beautiful than any song she had heard before. They sang about home. She had to get back to family land.

  The light emanating from the center brightened, silhouetting the angels, then it dimmed and died away. Tara Kay drew a shuddering breath and looked around. Where was she, and who were these people? Dazed, she padded barefoot past the house. A Chevette sat on the street. Her Chevette. She had to get home.

  AARON HELD Maeve so tightly he thought he might hurt her, but he couldn’t stop himself. Hugging her was the only way he could believe she had come back. She’d stepped right into the shower with him in all her naked glory, unexpected but not unwelcome. “No corset?” he whispered over the pounding of the water on his back.

  “I don’t wear it in the bath.” Pushing back, she looked up at him and swallowed audibly. “I don’t have to wear it with you anymore, anyway.”

  His heart swelled. “What does that mean?” he asked. For us? For your place with the Daughters?

  “Can you just hold me for a minute longer? I feel like I almost lost you.”

  Aaron could certainly relate to the feeling. He’d endured weeks of the same agony. He would hold Maeve in the shower as long as she wished.

  She put her cheek on his chest and tucked her chin down. Abruptly she pulled back, her eyes searching his body. “Are you hurt?”

  “What? No. Why?” She pointed to the floor between them. The water pooling there was tinged pink with blood. She pushed him around and smoothed her hand down his back. He asked her without thinking, “You sure it isn’t just your time of the month?”

  “I won’t have my moon time for the next nine months.”

  “Oh, right.” The big man’s baby. Aaron didn’t relish the idea of raising another man’s child but it would be Maeve’s child too. He had decided almost as soon as they’d met that he’d tolerate anything to be with her.

  “About that—”

  “Do you love me?”

  Her face passed through confusion and softened. “Yes, I do. I love you, Aaron.”

  “You want to be with me?”

  She nodded.

  “We can work out the rest.” He kissed her, savoring that sweet flavor uniquely Maeve. She moaned into mouth and rush of blood filled him with intention. Reaching behind his back without breaking the kiss, he cut off the water and jerked open the shower curtain. Wrapping his hands around her tiny waist, he lifted her out of the tub and set her feet down on the fuzzy bath mat.

  Her body of perfect extremes, large breasts above a narrow waist that flared to rounded hips, made his dick jump. He palmed it. Sensing what she needed, he rasped, “I need to be inside you.”

  Stepping over the tub’s lip, he joined her on the island of carpet in a sea of tile, dried his feet, then slid his hands over her heart-shaped ass and lifted. She wrapped her arms around his neck and encircled his hips with her legs. He carried her into the bedroom, kissing her the whole way.

  Laying her on top of the bedspread, he covered her torso with his own. The head of his cock slipped along her slit, wet from more than the shower.

  He pushed into her slowly, wondering at the miracle of her reaction to him. He’d always thought of himself as below average in appearance and yet this centerfold beneath him, this woman that the whole world desired, responded to him. She wanted his body, loved his voice, craved his presence. His eyes burned and a hot tear slipped out from each of his closed lids.

  He whispered against her lips, “I love you, Maeve Lovejoy.” He said it as much for himself as for her.

  Movement in the doorway caught Aaron’s attention. The Guardian stood there in his monk-like robes staring at them with a less than pious look on his face. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and flames twinkled in his eyes.

  Maeve had spoken of the swinger’s lifestyle on the night they’d met. Aaron had told her about his parents’ open relationship. He knew how open sexually she was. Perhaps Maeve wanted to be with Aaron but wanted her baby-daddy too, maybe even more people. She’d always been honest with him, about herself, her magic, her life. He would share Maeve if that were what she needed.

  He continued to move inside her. “I think your baby-daddy would like to join us.”

  She made a questioning sound in her throat, as if words were too hard to form. Aaron glanced at the door, found it empty and knew he had misread the man. The Guardian wasn’t lusting after Maeve; he wanted what she and Aaron had together.

  He angled his thrusts, stroking that secret spot inside her. Later he would worship her, but right now Maeve needed him to lay claim to her. He caged her body with one arm behind her neck and the other around her waist. Only his hips moved. Watching her face, Aaron waited until the second before she crested and commanded, “Say it, Maeve. I need to hear it again.”

  “I love you, Aaron.” She took a deep breath, her pupils dilating. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” became her mantra as her body stiffened.

  When she tightened around him, Aaron released his control. He pushed deep and held still, letting her contractions replace the friction. Dropping his head, he kissed her neck and grunted against her soft skin as his dick jumped. She still whispered that she loved him as he caught his breath.

  Maeve pushed on one of his shoulders. “I need to tell you something.” He let her roll them over so that she sat on his hips and groaned as his cock slid out of her. His hands explored her smooth curves and his eyes searched her face, fearful about what she might say. “The baby is yours.”

  He released a breath. “Mine?” How was that even possible to know? They’d only been together a few weeks ago. But then again, she was a witch.

  She nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, but it’s complicated.”

  Sitting up, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers. Pulling back to look into her beautiful green eyes, still magnified from their lovemaking he said, “No, it isn’t.”

  “I can’t leave the Daughters.”

  He fisted a handful of her hair. “And just what gave you the impression that’s what I want?”

  “You’ll have to leave your home.”

  Aaron shook his head at her foolishness and released her hair, smoothing it. “This is a building. You are my home, Maeve.”

  Why did she look so anxious? He waited for her to come out with it.

  She rested her hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know how to do this.” Sliding her palms down to his pecs, she finger-combed his chest hair. “For so long, the only thing I’ve been allowed to love is my magic. I’m going to mess this up, I know.”

  “Not possible.”

  NATHALIA SAT at her vanity and studied herself in the mirror. She let her hair down out of the knot she had been using to keep away bad dreams and set to brushing it out. Her long hair wasn’t as dark or shiny as Maeve’s, but it was thick and healthy. It was better than Maeve’s for knotting because of that. Maeve’s always just slipped out of whatever they put it in.

  As always, everything made her think of Maeve. The woman she loved could only be a friend. The loss had been palpable at Jolie and JD’s wedding, so often had Maeve’s eyes sought out Aaron during the ceremony. Margaux’s prediction had been off slightly. Nathalia had been in danger of loosin
g what she loved most and she’d sacrificed Maeve as a lover to keep her as a Daughter.

  Aaron would move onto the compound with Maeve. He’d not be allowed to do blood magic ever again but he had accepted those terms. He’d assured Nathalia that he’d never intended to harm Maeve. He was lovesick and separated from his mate, desperate enough to try anything to get Maeve back.

  Nathalia twisted a section of hair around and around her finger. Noticing a few split ends, she used the scissors on her dresser to give herself a quick trim. Sitting back, she admired her work. She looked like a medieval maiden on her wedding day. She allowed herself a few moments of vanity before deftly knotting it back up.

  A sliver of light hovered behind her, reflected in the mirror. A hand came through the sliver, then another hand holding a knife. Nathalia squinted at the image. She must be hallucinating. A man stood silhouetted against the light. When the slit closed she recognized the face in the mirror.

  “Hello, Nathalia.”

  Nathalia jumped. For years, she had only heard that voice within her nightmares. This was no hallucination. This was real. Michael had found her.

  The man who loved to hurt her, who had butchered her parents, grinned from behind her. Terrified, she glanced around. The alarm was on the other side of the room.

  Michael’s reflection followed her gaze and landed on the alarm. He shrugged. “Sure the guards would kill me, but how many of your beloved sisters could I take down before they did?” He stepped toward her, dangling a knife between his thumb and forefinger. “Let’s just keep tonight between the two of us.”

  She nodded, fighting to keep from shaking as he ran the knife down her face and neck. The blade wasn’t cold like she expected. It felt warm, almost alive. She watched its dull bleached patina in the mirror. He traced the neckline of her gown, peeling it back to get a better look. He rubbed his knuckles, wrapped tightly around the knife hilt, on her bare skin. “I missed ya. D’ya miss me?”

  Again, she nodded. If she could keep from looking scared or crying, he would get bored and stop. Eventually.

  “The tough act ain’t gonna work tonight. If I think you’re lying to me or working your hoodoo, I’ll bust your ass.”

  Michael kept the knife hooked in the crook of his thumb but flattened his hand so that his palm pressed against her chest. He slid the hand into the bodice of her gown. He gripped her breast roughly, pinching the nipple between his fingers. The edge of the dagger sliced through the seam of her dress.

  He glared at her knotted hair. “I miss being in your head. I look forward to climbing inside and making a home there.” He pointed to the scissors on the vanity in front of her. “Cut it.”

  She picked up the scissors and thought about stabbing him. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pushed, smashing her head into the wooden vanity. He yanked her head back. The impact split her forehead open. A trickle of blood ran between her eyes, down her nose and onto her lips. Michael leaned around and licked her lips. “Your blood’s even sweeter than your tears. I am gonna get my fill of both tonight.” He twisted her hair. “I want this gone. You can do it or I can, but if you make me do it, you’re gonna regret it.”

  Her hair was a small loss if it bought her the time she needed. “No, I’ll do whatever you say.”

  He grinned. “I know.”

  She cut her hair off while he ran his hands all over her. The knife grazed her skin. She knew how his mind worked. He was reacquainting himself with her body and making plans for pain he would cause her.

  Section by section, Nathalia lopped off her locks at the root until no more than an inch of hair remained on her head. She threw the scissors across the room, where they slid under the bed.

  His empty hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat. He clenched down, cutting off her air supply, and lifted her by the neck up to stand facing him. The vanity chair clattered, falling on its side. Gasping, she used both her hands to try to pull his away. He grinned at the panic in her eyes and squeezed tighter, pushing her back toward the bed. “Don’t act like you don’t want this. I can smell how excited you are. Take off that dress. I need to see my marks on your skin.”

  She clenched her teeth to fight back tears, and did as he said. Reaching behind her, she unzipped the long zipper and shrugged out of her gown. Her dress dropped to the floor at their feet. Never taking his hand off her throat, he lowered the dagger, tracing her hip with it. He sliced through the waistband of her panties on both sides and the garment joined her dress on the floor. Then he trailed down her stomach and traced a few of his favorite scars with the oddly warm weapon.

  Nathalia was not the same young girl he had tortured. She was now the leader of a very rich and connected organization, with skilled witches and a pool of energy at her beck and call. But she was more helpless and alone than ever. She could not involve the sisters. She couldn’t stand the thought of Michael hurting one of them.

  Michael put his cheek against hers and whispered in her ear, “Tonight I introduce you to my new blade.”

  No, she thought.

  “Yes,” he argued.

  How was he doing that? Nathalia certainly wasn’t intentionally broadcasting her thoughts to him.

  “Your parents’ deaths gave me the blood I needed to bind you to me. I’m inside your head. You can’t help but share everything with me. You read from the matchmaker’s accomplishment book and gave me the names of our victims.”

  Taking a step back, he waved the knife in front of her face, close enough that she could see the tiny holes and cracks and chisel marks. Nathalia wondered which kind of animal had given their life so that Michael might have an exotic weapon.

  “No animal, even the human one, has bones like this.” He turned it around, showing her the other side. “This is a gift from the Gods of Old. One from their very own body. Once I have bathed it in the right kind and amount of blood it will be all-powerful. I will be unstoppable.”

  He released her throat and she collapsed on the floor coughing and gasping for breath.

  Swiping the blade across her back, Michael sliced the skin with the edge. Though it had been many years since she’d felt it, the familiarity stung as much as the bite of his knife. She knew this wound joined hundreds just like it. Michael had taken so much from Nathalia. Anger swelled and she glared at him.

  “The old gods await their release. They came to me when I was just a boy. They chose me. They told me to find you, to hurt you, to make you my own. You are the key to letting them through.” Grinning so broadly his gums glistened, he drew an elaborate design in the air with the bloodied knife. When nothing happened his smile faded. His eyes glittered through squinted lids as he chewed the inside of his cheek. Turning over the upturned vanity chair that had fallen in their struggle, he sat in it and considered Nathalia.

  She recognized that look. Something hadn’t gone how he expected. Nathalia would feel the weight of that disappointment.

  “You know, not taking your virginity years ago almost got me in trouble. If you’d given it to some other man, I might not have been able to keep my hold on you. I convinced you that all men were dangerous and evil so you’d never go near another one. I did it with dreams. I had to settle for the minor hurt I could get you to do to yourself until you started talking in your sleep.” Though he laid the knife down on the vanity, he kept his hand on it, stroking it like a favored pet.

  “Mary was easy; that website was a wealth of information. You gave me everything I needed to get to that dike couple too. Nasty whores. That was really fun. After you told me about killing a couple during sex, I was so excited I almost botched it. I was thinking of you the whole time.”

  No, this couldn’t be true. She would never share her secrets with Michael.

  His chin jutted out, he radiated superiority. “Oh, yes. You betrayed your loved ones. You’re the cause of all this death and pain. You can’t help yourself.” Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his thighs. “Tell me, who do you love most in this world?”<
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  No, she thought, not Maeve.

  “Maeve? Now this night just keeps getting better and better. Call her.”

  Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper, “No.”

  “After you have killed the one you love the most, your blood will be ripe. It will allow me to slice through the veil.” He turned toward the mirror and straightened his shirt, smoothed his hair. “Call her.”

  No, not her Maeve. She had just gotten together with Aaron. Nathalia wouldn’t be the cause of another mated pair’s death. She refused to add blackness to the storage or pain to the Capacitors. Scrambling to her feet, Nathalia pushed off the floor and nearly tripped as she clambered for the alarm button just over her bed. Just before she reached it Michael launched out of the chair, reversed the knife in his grip, and slammed it down against the lower ridge of her skull.

  Numbing warmth followed the sharp pain of the blow and spread through her brain and then body. She bounced off the mattress and found herself laying on her side, her head lolled, too heavy for her to lift. Blood ebbed from the wound on her head and pooled on the stone beneath her cheek. His voice sounded hollow, as if he spoke through a steel pipe, as he said, “Yes, you will.”

  Helpless, she could feel Michael sifting around in her brain, moving some thoughts aside while shuffling through others and pulling them out. He found how to gather the energy and broadcast a call using her skills. She knew when he read the ritual words because he used her mind to do it.

  He was casting with tainted power. The blackness burned like ice. Nathalia fought through the fog and pushed through the pain. The power crescendoed as he used her to broadcast his summons, Maeve, office now. Her head felt like it was going to explode and she clutched at the sides to keep it together.

  He laughed at her. “You’ve been keeping that part from me. I didn’t know using the black power brought you pain. Do it again; I want to feel you hurt.”

  “Never again,” she swore, more to herself than to him. Nathalia had done this. She had brought this man, this evil, into her utopia. She alone could remove it. Nathalia gathered the power. Dark and light alike could be used if one didn’t care about the damage. Savoring the cold sting, she broadcast to him, doing what he’d attempted to force her to do to Maeve. No one uses me or my ability to hurt another. You wanted it. Here it is.