The Zombie Billionaire's Virgin Witch (Zombie Category Romance)

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  “Did you broach the subject with her yet?”

  Dmitri sighed. “This kind of work takes time. Real communication and trusted exchange needs groundwork. So no, I didn’t come right out and ask her how to break the curse yet. Do you honestly think she’d tell me after one or two nights? Besides, look at how well Remy’s did last night. There’s no need to…”

  Yiorgos tossed the papers on a distant corner of his desk. “Whether Remy’s sinks or swims isn’t a financial concern to me. I need her to think I care about whether or not the restaurant retains its fifth-star qualification, but honestly, I don’t. I couldn’t care less about this little diner or its previous owners. I want this curse broken so I can return to my life. I feel like I’ve put everything on hold to be here.”

  “You’ve put everything on hold to be here?” The disbelief in the man’s voice drew Yiorgos’s gaze to his manager’s face. “My wife is upset because I dragged her to yet a new restaurant for you, after I already promised the only move we’d make again was to the Twin Cities area so she could be near her family. Now I’ve uprooted her and the kids yet again and we’re no closer to the dream we have. My life is on hold too, Mr. Michelopoulos. All of your employees feel the same way.”

  He kept his tone measured and even, although his temper threatened to bubble up and make him slam his fist down on the desk. “You’re my employee and I pay you very well to do as I order.”

  Dmitri nodded. “Absolutely. You pay us well and most of us would move to Siberia if you asked us to. But it’s not just the money you pay us, sir. Many of us value your skill as a businessman and your ability to step into a restaurant or hotel and make something average a world-class destination. I would even be so bold as to call you a friend. It’s not the impressive salary that keeps me moving my family as you direct. Money doesn’t motivate everyone, and if you make that mistake with Ms. Remy…”

  “Are you saying money doesn’t motivate her?” He didn’t think so either, but he was curious to see what the other man thought of the woman. “Why else is she here? In its heyday, Remy’s was worth a tidy sum to a woman like her, and I’m offering to give it back to her.”

  “I don’t think Clare Remy gives a rat’s ass for your money. All she cares about is getting her father’s restaurant back and clearing his name since you botched it with this curse.”

  Yiorgos ignored the man’s subtle dig, since they were all in this mess because of the curse he’d accidentally unleashed. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “No, no, there’s something else that she wants. Why the interest in her father’s ring? Why drug me into a stupor with her magical cake in order to write that line into the contract?”

  He stared down at the hateful thing. He’d rip it from his finger and fling it and the woman out on her delectable ass if he could do so without starting a panic. News flash: Zombie tycoon starts apocalypse in Timbuktu, Missouri.

  “Why don’t you like her?”

  Yiorgos arched a brow at his friend. “I’m that obvious?”

  “I’ve seen you at your worst, and your temper has never been this short. Nor have you scowled quite so much. Is it simply because she got the best of you with that contract?”

  His hackles rose and it was all he could do not to growl deep in his throat. “She drugged me. How can you not distrust her? She’s a witch! A dangerous one, obviously, if she can get the best of me.”

  Dmitri shook his head, a wry grin on his face.

  “What?”

  “Oh, I’m just amused at how conceited you are. A kitchen witch defeated the great Yiorgos Michelopoulos, tricking him into signing a contract he drafted.”

  “I did not…”

  “I think something else is eating you.”

  Yiorgos stilled, narrowing his gaze in a silent threat the other man ignored.

  “You’re attracted to her, and the force of that attraction scares you.”

  “I’m not scared of anything but turning into a rotting corpse in front of everyone,” he growled. “Her magic is an unknown power that gives her an amazing advantage. How do we know she’s not bespelling the entire staff into committing mass suicide or something?”

  Dmitri rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Not a person in this restaurant has a negative thing to say about her other than you. We’ve all eaten her food without ill effect.”

  “Then how can I trust your judgment? She’s probably brainwashing you with her magical food!”

  “None of us were affected by her food like you,” Dmitri said softly. “Maybe she affects you so strongly because you feel a physical connection in addition to her delicious culinary skill.”

  “Or maybe she slipped an aphrodisiac into my food and not yours,” Yiorgos retorted.

  “Or,” Dmitri drawled out, “maybe you’ve finally met your match and it scares you to death.”

  He fought for a reasonable tone of voice. “Clare Remy doesn’t scare me one iota.”

  “Prove it. Quit accusing her at every turn and give her a chance.”

  “I’ve given her a chance—I’ve given her my restaurant!”

  “I mean for you. Give her a chance to show you what her magic can and cannot do. Get to know her as a woman and not a witch. Who knows what you’ll find?”

  Absently twisting the ring on his finger, Yiorgos stared into space, mulling over the other man’s words. Hatred was simply fear wearing a vicious mask. He’d never thought he would be accused of either hatred or fear, but he’d never had such a strong, visceral reaction to anyone before. He filtered his reactions through his mind, trying to decide if he’d been reasonable…or judgmental. Open-minded…or obtuse. High-handed…

  He sighed. Guilty as charged.

  His phone rang, and the identity of the caller gave him an idea. “Ms. Kettlewich, I’m so pleased you called.”

  “I was just checking on Clare to make sure she was doing all right.” He didn’t know the woman, but her voice sounded vaguely reproachful. As though the little witch might actually be in danger or harmed because of him. “I know she’s probably very busy, but she didn’t answer my call.”

  “Ms. Remy has been quite a fireball of enthusiasm,” he replied wryly. “If you’re so worried about her, why don’t you come by this afternoon, Ms. Kettlewich?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t intrude.”

  “Nonsense. I actually have a little experiment I want to try.”

  Now he had her interest. “What kind of experiment? I won’t set Clare up in any fashion, just so you know in advance.”

  “No, of course not.” His voice remained smooth. Thankfully she couldn’t see the wicked smirk on his face. “I admit to feeling some…reservations. I was hoping you could clarify a few things for me.”

  “Reservations about Clare? Mr. Michelopoulos, allow me to reassure you that I’ve never known a more trustworthy, hardworking—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he broke in. “My concern lies with magic itself. I admit to feeling rather unsure about her skills and what they mean to my clientele. I thought if I could see your magic in action and compare it to Clare’s, I might have a better understanding of what she’s accomplished.” And whether my suspicions are correct.

  “I see. Surely you know that I’m her mentor and a member of the Wizard Council, which means my power is much more refined and considerable than hers. If you’re looking to embarrass her in any way…”

  “Absolutely not. I simply want to sample another kitchen witch’s magic for comparison.”

  “Has she done something to make you doubt her ability?”

  “Not exactly.” He hesitated, trying to think of a way to disguise his true intentions, but he decided that perhaps the truth might be best in this case. “Honestly, I’m rather overwhelmed by her power. The rest of my staff doesn’t seem to be affected, but I made the mistake of ingesting too much of her food the first night, and I’ve been out of sorts ever since. I’m wondering if I’ve lost some of my independent will.”

  Ms. Kettlewich snorted
. “You mean you think she’s compromised you? Well, Mr. Michelopoulos, I’ll be right over. I have to see this with my own eyes.”

  SEVEN

  It was one thing to have her mentor pop into her kitchen and sample her dishes. It was an entirely different situation to have the same mentor cook something in her kitchen…and put it up side by side against hers. Clare fumed silently, her back stiff and hands trembling with nerves. Magic pulsed so thickly in the kitchen that she could barely breathe.

  Michelopoulos loomed in the corner watching everything with avid gaze and that hateful smirk. He couldn’t wait for her to screw up. He must be planning to humiliate her in front of her mentor. Did he think if she flunked his little test that they’d disqualify her from the trials? Quite possibly. In fact, she could be politely dismissed at any time. Only the finest teachers ever went on to work at the Wizard Council’s Academy.

  Her fingertips pulsed with magic, weaving the intricate layers of cake together, sealing in the deathly goodness of her chocolate cake. Of course she hadn’t been able to resist making the same cake that had defeated him before, a blatant slap on the bull’s nose. If he wanted to put her up against the most powerful witch in America, then he’d best be prepared for the consequences.

  I hope he doesn’t try to eat three pieces again. I think this one’s even more powerful than the last.

  Emotions did that—they fueled the magic into something else, serving as a catalyst for an even more extreme magical reaction. With all her anger and doubt pulsing through her gift, she had no idea how well…or badly…the cake would turn out.

  Until they stood before their plated dishes waiting for Mr. Michelopoulos to sample, Clare had no idea what her mentor had prepared. One look at the perfectly shaped truffles on the dish made her heart sink. I’m fired. Might as well hang up the apron forever. Maybe Wal-Mart is hiring.

  “Before you begin sampling,” Helga said, “Might I make a suggestion?”

  He winced at the intensity of her voice, even more as he scanned her attire. Today, Helga had dressed in black and pink. For her, a more subdued palette. Of course the skulls and hearts made up for the missing rainbow effect. “Of course, Ms. Kettlewich.”

  “I’m a healer as well as a cook. If you’re seriously worried about your health because of Clare, I should evaluate you before and after you taste the dishes.”

  “That’s a very good idea.” He cast a smug smirk at Clare, and she fisted her hand, aching to punch him again. This time, in the nose. “I’m very concerned about the effects of that chocolate cake in particular.”

  Helga placed a hand on the top of his head and closed her eyes. Goose bumps cascaded down Clare’s arms, making her shiver. He didn’t react at all, which seemed strange after the way magic flared each time he touched her. She’d assumed he was a sensitive, one of those rare humans who had no power but could sense it in others.

  “I sense nothing new in your condition, Mr. Michelopoulos. None of Clare’s magic lingers in you or affects your body in any way.”

  Clare made a mental note that her mentor had found nothing new. Which means she’s examined him before. He’s definitely being affected by this Remy curse, then, but how?

  Warily, he picked up his fork and cut into her chocolate cake. He hesitated, the fork hovering before his mouth, and met her gaze. Eyes hard and cloaked with suspicion, he slipped the bite into his mouth. For a moment he didn’t chew, simply allowing the flavors to melt on his tongue.

  His eyes flared. His skin darkened, and even feet away, Clare could see the flutter of his frantic pulse in his neck. A yawning pit widened in her stomach and she swayed slightly, shaken. Dear God, what did I do to him? Maybe I really am poisoning him.

  Helga laid two fingers on the side of his neck. “Increased pulse, blood pressure rising, as well as body temperature.” She smirked, though, and shot a wicked wink over her shoulder at Clare. “Normal side effects of arousal. Well done, Clare.”

  Rough as sandpaper, his voice tore into her, each word shredding at her pride. “So she is bewitching me. I knew I couldn’t trust the little witch!”

  “Oh I didn’t say arousal was a side effect of her magic, Mr. Michelopoulos.” Helga smugly stepped back to her place by Clare. “The only magic I sense working in you is the natural endorphin high created by extremely good food. A kitchen witch knows how to imbue each bite with that indescribable feeling of luxury and delight through taste alone. You just happen to be aroused by such feelings.”

  His face was so dark that Clare began to wonder if a vessel would burst in his forehead. At least he had the world’s most skilled healer at hand to heal any aneurism he gave himself. “What exactly are you saying, Ms. Kettlewich?”

  “You’re a man, Mr. Michelopoulos,” Helga replied slowly, enunciating carefully like he might be too stupid to follow along. “You find her sexually attractive. These feelings are increased when you taste her magic.” She laughed, a deep-belly chuckle that rumbled into a roar of amusement. “You should see your face.”

  Now Clare did sway on her feet, so much so that her mentor laid a steadying hand on her arm. If his face was red, hers must be purple. The tips of her ears felt crisped and charred, like they’d exploded into flame.

  “Are you saying that kitchen magic makes me…” He sounded like he was strangling. “That even if I taste your dish…”

  “Find out,” Helga taunted. “If you’re brave enough. Eat the one drizzled with white chocolate first.”

  His hand trembled as he stretched it out toward the plate. Studiously, he avoided looking at either woman. Clare held her breath, afraid and yet filled with hope and delight, followed quickly by drowning doubt and confusion. He’d kissed her, yes. She’d felt his response then. But his words and manner said otherwise. Was he that accomplished in deceit?

  The truffle was the perfect size to eat in one heart-stopping bite. She had to admit she was pretty impressed with his courage when he did just that. Hands placed palm down on the table, he closed his eyes and waited while the chocolate melted on his tongue.

  She didn’t need her mentor’s healing gift to see that he didn’t react. His skin was already returning to its normal hue and his fingers no longer trembled.

  He cracked an eye open. “Well?”

  “You tell me,” Helga replied.

  “It’s a wonderful truffle. The filling is sweet and rich yet not overpowering. I taste cherries, sweet and tart at the same time. Very good.”

  “But…?”

  He finally glanced at Clare, his eyes hot, and then her mentor. “Not like her cake.”

  Helga nodded sagely. “Try the truffle rolled in crushed hazelnuts.”

  He did so more confidently this time. His lean, long throat swallowed down the chocolate, mesmerizing Clare so that it took her a minute to notice that something was wrong. He breathed rapidly and sweat dotted his brow. White-knuckled, he gripped the edge of the table like his life depended on it.

  Helga glided closer and planted her hands on the table, leaning down to present him with her impressive cleavage. “Now you feel the full effect of a love spell, Mr. Michelopoulos.”

  He averted his face, gripping the table so hard that wood creaked. As though he would tear it apart. To get away from her? Or to keep himself from leaping across it and taking her to the ground?

  “It’s not very pleasant, is it? No honest witch would ever prepare such a spell for anyone because they’re so unpredictable. A man is as likely to suddenly fall in love with a cup, a chair, the first object he lays eyes on after tasting the spell, rather than the intended target. A woman casting such a spell is likely to find her man with his pants around his ankles humping a tree rather than eagerly awaiting her with open arms.”

  He squeezed the table so hard his shoulders shook, his fingers digging in like claws.

  “Luckily,” Helga said lightly as she retreated to stand by Clare, “the spell doesn’t last long. Keep your eyes closed another minute or two, Mr. Michelopoulos, and the
spell will dissipate. Notice, however, that you were able to resist its affect. You possess a very strong will, sir. Very strong indeed. I kept the spell small and contained, but they’re very unpredictable and powerful. You felt it immediately and withstood its assault.”

  Clare clasped her hands in her apron and tried not to look at him. His struggle tugged at her, some deep instinct drawing her toward him to help. But this kind of help would only get them both into serious trouble. His reaction to her cake convinced her of the very real danger threatening her every single moment she stayed at Remy’s with him.

  If I get out of this assignment intact with my power, it’ll be a miracle. The last thing I need to do is mesh myself in Helga’s love spell.

  Finally his breathing no longer rasped so loudly. He raised his face and glared at them both. “That was…evil.”

  “Yes, yes it was,” Helga said with a laugh. “But you need to feel the difference so you’ll understand what you’re feeling from Clare. You also mentioned that you feared your will was compromised. Shall we begin the last stage of the demonstration?”

  He swallowed hard and looked down at the last truffle on the plate like it was the most revolting creature he’d ever seen. “Actually, I’m not particularly inclined to do so.”

  “It’s a very small spell, Mr. Michelopoulos. Just enough to give you a taste so you’ll know what to watch for if any witch tries to override your independence.”

  Clare couldn’t restrain the gasp escaping her lips. Such spells were certainly whispered about, but she’d always thought them fairytales. It certainly cast a different light on her mentor, exposing an unexpected mar with its harsh glare.

  How large a part did Helga play in Daddy’s unfortunate bet? Was his cancer truly beyond her healing?

  Yiorgos stared at Clare, searching her face. She gave him a small shake of her head. Don’t do it. There’s no need.