Black Magic Woman

by Christine Warren

  He ignored her and simply began towing her toward the exit. “Your ‘friend’ is long gone. He skittered away as soon as he saw the first sign of trouble.”

  That made Daphanie blink. Quigley had just left her? What if that D’Abo guy had really tried to hurt her? What if Asher hadn’t stepped in? Who knew what might have happened to her?

  “Why, that little … imp.”

  “Exactly.” Reaching the club’s exit, he pushed her outside and quickly followed, crowding her up against the cement wall at the entrance to the adjoining alley. “So why don’t you tell me what you were thinking coming here with him. Are you crazy? Stupid? What?”

  Daphanie stiffened. In addition to the conversational skills of a baboon, he apparently had the manners of one, too. Too bad the way he smelled, all warm and rich and elementally male, made her mouth water every time she drew breath. “At the moment, I’m mostly insulted.”

  “Pardon me. I didn’t realize I’d be offending your delicate sensibilities by pointing out the obvious.” He glared down at her, his large frame blocking both her view of the street and most of the light from the nearby street lamps and illuminated signage. “Do you have any idea the kind of danger you were just in?”

  “The kind I would have been happy to handle on my own.” She reached up to push him back a step or two and reclaim her personal space, but something inside stopped her. Somehow she imagined touching this man might be a bad thing for her equilibrium. Instead she folded her arms across her chest and contented herself with shooting him a dirty look.

  “On your own?” He barked out a dark laugh, one with little connection to humor. “Sweetheart, you were about as far from handling that on your own as it’s possible to be and still remain standing. Do you even know what that was you were doing such a great job of pissing off?”

  “Apparently his name is D’Abo and he’s some kind of roaming asshole who doesn’t know an apology from his own fat ass,” she shot back, beginning to resent this conversation. As attractive as she might find this man, she’d pretty much reached her nightly limit for being condescended to. “In fact, the two of you bear a remarkable resemblance. You related?”

  “Charles D’Abo,” he informed her with exaggerated patience, “is a witch doctor. He reeks of voodoo, hoodoo, and black magic. I could smell it on him. He was certainly more than you could handle. You’d be better off if you tried a little harder not to make a man like that hate you.”

  “I don’t care how that idiot feels about me one way or the other. I make it a practice not to spend time worrying about men with more arrogance than brainpower.”

  “Then you might want to change your practices. Men like D’Abo, men like any of those you would find here tonight, any Other you might ever find, are not the sorts you want as your enemies.”

  “Why? Because he might make a little doll in my image and stick pins in it? Let him. I’m not afraid of that megalomaniac.”

  He leaned in closer. “You should be.”

  The warm puff of his breath against her skin sent a jolt of electricity through her spine. Daphanie jerked her head back before she could stop herself. Damn him.

  “Why?” she demanded, forcing her chin higher. “What’s so dangerous about a charlatan with a god complex?”

  “What gave you the idea that he’s a charlatan?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You mean he’s actually a witch doctor? Grass-skirt, bone-through-the-nose, boil-the-white-man-in-a-big-black-cauldron witch doctor?”

  “Just how often do you spend your time watching late-night B-movies on television?”

  More often than she cared to admit. Especially to him.

  “So he really is a witch doctor?”

  Asher shook his head. “Did you think I was making this whole thing up? That I had nothing better to do with my night than save the neck of an ignorant human who was too blind to notice when she’d gotten in over her head? Because I assure you, that’s not the case.”

  Okay, that stung. Daphanie knew perfectly well that she was ignorant when it came to the Others, but that was why she’d allowed Quigley to bring her here—so she could learn. Having someone throw her lack of knowledge in her face didn’t accomplish anything other than making her feel bad. Frankly, it pushed her right to her limit.

  Seeing him open his mouth to continue berating her pushed her over.

  Boosting herself onto her tiptoes, Daphanie raised her hand and clapped it over his mouth, ignoring the way her palm tingled where it touched his skin.

  She leaned in until their faces almost touched and spoke to him very softly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sweetheart, but I’ve had a bitch of a night so far. I ducked out of my sister’s wedding reception, I trusted an imp to introduce me to the wider Others community, I was verbally and very nearly physically assaulted by a jerk with magical powers, and now I’m being lectured by another jerk who apparently gets his kicks by taking a baseball bat to the carcasses of deceased equines.”

  Asher watched her through narrowed eyes of silver and gold, but he made no move to tug her hand away from his mouth. He simply stood, still and quiet, before her, his chest rising and falling with every breath. She had to devote a considerable amount of her concentration to ignoring the feel of that breath tickling the skin of her hand with humid warmth.

  “How about this?” she hurried to continue. “What if I admit that it’s true I don’t know very much about the Others, you admit that lecturing me is not going to change that, and we both agree to go our separate ways? Does that work for you?”

  Since it was a yes or no question, she didn’t bother to remove her hand. It had nothing to do with the fact that the idea of ceasing to touch him made her stomach clench in protest.

  To her surprise, Asher shook his head.

  Daphanie frowned. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  He reached up and took her hand in his, carefully pulling it away from his mouth. But he didn’t drop it. His fingers remained curled around hers and sped her heart up by at least twenty beats per minute.

  “I mean, that’s not the way this works,” he explained, his voice soft but implacable. “Weren’t you listening inside? You’ve been taken under guard. You’re my responsibility now. Where you go, I go.”

  The memory of those huge white wings flashed in Daphanie’s mind and she drew back a few inches. “Are you saying you’re … my Guardian angel?”

  His jaw flexed. “ Not angel. Just Guardian.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Of course.”

  “And would you care to explain that to—” Daphanie broke off and held up a hand. “No. You know what? I don’t really want to know right now. Right now, all I want is to go home, climb into bed, and pull the covers up over my head. Maybe if I say my prayers and I’m really lucky, I’ll wake up and find out none of this ever really happened.”

  Asher just shrugged. “Lead the way.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Lead the way.” He took a full step backward so that he no longer crowded her against the wall and swept his hand out before them. “I’ll follow you.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “No you won’t. I said thank you for helping me out in there, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to take you home with me and show you my gratitude. Frankly, it wasn’t that impressive a rescue.”

  He rolled his eyes and took her elbow to urge her forward. “I’m not trolling for sexual favors, human. I’m simply informing you of the way things stand. You are my responsibility now, and I intend to see you safely to your home. As I am not currently aware of that location, you are going to have to direct me.”

  “I’d be happy to direct you to hell,” she snapped. “There ain’t no way on God’s earth I am telling a total stranger where I live, let alone leading him straight to my front door. I don’t care how many good deeds you think you’ve done me. I don’t know you, and I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “Guardian.”

  “
Whatever. I don’t need some strange man to protect me from the boogeyman.”

  “A bogie would be easier to deal with than D’Abo. They’re vicious, but they’re not very smart. I think D’Abo is more intelligent than he seems.”

  Daphanie gritted her jaw until she thought her teeth might snap. “You’re missing my point.”

  “No, I’m ignoring your point, because it’s invalid.” He halted at the corner and looked down at her. “If you’re worried that you don’t know my name, it’s Asher. Grayson. But whatever you choose to call me, you are stuck with me. I have declared you under Guard, and myself as your Guardian. That is the end of the story.”

  “And if I don’t like this story?”

  Again, he shrugged. “Maybe you’ll find it grows on you.”

  Daphanie stuffed her hands in her pockets, partly because she was restless and upset and impatient and needed to move something, and partly to keep from wrapping them around Asher’s throat and squeezing.

  “Look,” she sighed, tired of fighting. “Like I said, it’s been a really long night. I am perfectly prepared to admit that when it comes to the Others, I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do. I get that. Whatever mistakes I made tonight, I regret, but all I can do is not repeat them. I can’t go back and change them. Agreed?”

  “Agreed…”

  He sounded suspicious.

  “So the only thing you’d be doing by coming with me is making sure I don’t get into any more trouble on the way home, right? But that’s not necessary, because I promise to be a good girl. I’ll go straight to the apartment, I won’t talk to strangers, I won’t pass go and collect two hundred dollars. Fair enough?”

  He shook his head. “That’s the least of my concerns. What’s going to happen once you get home? What’s going to stop D’Abo from attempting his revenge? Do you think walls can keep out his kind of magic? Or any magic at all?”

  “They can if they’re warded, right?”

  That made him blink. It actually made his head jerk back just a little and a look of surprise settle over his features. “Your apartment is warded? How?”

  “I don’t know the particulars, because it’s not really my apartment. I’m staying at my sister’s place while she’s out of town, but she mentioned it was warded. That means I’ll be safe there, right?”

  His frown returned. “That depends on the wards. And who is your sister that she needs or even knows about that kind of protection? You’re human. I know you’re human.”

  “And so is my sister,” Daphanie explained. Now that he actually seemed to be paying attention, she found she had a lot more patience when it came to answering his questions. “But she’s married to a changeling, and she’s friends with half the Council of Others, and most of their wives.”

  “What’s her name?”

  She hesitated only a second. Surely a man so obsessed with keeping her safe wouldn’t have any reason to harm her sister. And besides, by now Danice and Mac would be halfway to their secret honeymoon destination. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to get to her. Plus, Daphanie had a feeling Mac would tear anyone who tried to harm his new wife into little bloody shreds.

  “Danice Carter,” she said. “Well, Carter-Callahan now. She recently got married.”

  As recently as eight hours ago.

  “And she knows members of the Council?”

  “Regina Vidâme is one of her best friends. Wasn’t her husband the head of the Council for a while? And Graham Winters, too. Missy Winters is another of her close friends.”

  Asher muttered something under his breath.

  Daphanie felt a surge of confidence. “So under those circumstances, can we agree that once I get to the apartment, I’ll be perfectly safe and will no longer require your … Guardianship?”

  “You should be safe enough,” he muttered with obvious reluctance. “But—”

  “Good. In that case—” She interrupted forcefully and held out her hand for the second time in one night. Maybe this time he wouldn’t turn his nose up at shaking it. “Thanks for everything you’ve done. I know you went out of your way to help me, and I appreciate it, whether I needed it or not.”

  Asher took her hand, but he didn’t shake it. Instead, he grasped it firmly in his and used his other to press the button on the pedestrian traffic signal beside them. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you might be safe in your sister’s apartment, but you aren’t there yet, so I’m not through with my everything.”

  Daphanie sighed and shook her head. She should have known he wouldn’t give in easily. “But once I’m inside, you’ll go away and stop acting like my babysitter?”

  His gaze remained focused on the orange hand glowing on the opposite corner. “Once you get inside the apartment, you’ll be able to pretend like I don’t even exist.”

  She could live with that, Daphanie decided. Right now, the important thing was to get home and get to bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so exhausted.

  “Fine,” she said with a sigh, stepping off the curb as the signal changed. “Follow me. We’ll take a cab to midtown. That will get me home that much sooner.”

  “You’re that anxious to get rid of me?” he asked, shooting her a sideways glance.

  “As anxious as I imagine you are to get rid of me.”

  She quickened her step toward the nearest main avenue, practically dragging Asher along behind her. With her gaze focused on her destination, she couldn’t see his face, but she thought she heard him hum something.

  Something that sounded almost like …

  “Interesting.”

  Four

  As humans, we occasionally have difficulty understanding the manner in which seemingly old-fashioned or even antiquated concepts continue to hold sway in the society of the Others. We might think terms like “honor” or “vows” or “duty” went out with the Round Table, but to certain factions of Others, those words mean as much as a legal contract.

  —A Human Handbook to the Others, Chapter Two

  She smelled smoke, both the sweet smoke of burning incense and the thicker, sharper tang of charcoal. She felt her pulse throbbing, heard it in her ears, tasted it in the back of her throat. It grew louder and louder, increasing in tempo, the rhythm changing and stuttering until it became the beat of drums. They drove the beat of her heart, flooded through her body until the rhythm found her feet and lifted them each in turn. She could feel the dry grit of dirt beneath her soles, feel her body bending and swaying to the music of the drums.

  She felt the cool thickness of humid night air against her skin, then the soothing glow of firelight. Then the air again, fire again, back and forth, each in turn as she twirled and dipped and moved in the dance.

  Now the drums beat faster. Voices joined the sound, chanting with increasing urgency, driving the dance, driven by the drums, driven by the spirits. She felt the fullness in her body, felt her tit ange step aside and let the greater ones in. She could feel the power welling up within her, feel the excitement, the exaltation. She lifted her arms to the roof and gave herself over to the communion with the divine, the dark, the eternal. Only moments, she knew. Only moments and she would be consumed by the power—

  The strident peal of the doorbell intruded like a scream of pain.

  Daphanie bolted upright in her bed, her heart pounding and her skin slick with sweat. A bitter, metallic taste lingered in her mouth as she struggled back to awareness. It felt like walking against a fast-moving current. Nothing seemed quite real, quite right. She didn’t recognize her surroundings. Where was she? The room looked wrong, smelled wrong. This wasn’t her little gatehouse on the canal. Where was she? Why did it smell like her sister’s perfumed soap?

  Soap tinged with the ashen bite of charcoal.

  Fire and amber.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. She felt as if the dream clung to her the same way the smoke di
d, infusing her hair, her clothes, her pores with an offensive taint. She shook her head, but in the distance, she could swear she still heard the beat of the drums.

  Someone pounded on the door.

  Throwing back the covers, Daphanie stumbled out of bed, tripping and weaving as she fought her way through an unfamiliar maze of furniture. Even her vision seemed dark and hazy, and the current still pushed against her.

  “Who is it?” she called out, collapsing against the bedroom doorframe and giving thanks for its solidity. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d never called herself a morning person, but this lethargic confusion wasn’t like her.

  “I was kind of hoping you’d tell me that,” a woman’s voice answered with wary amusement from the next room. “You know, if you’d told me you were going to have company, Daph, I could have rescheduled.”

  Daph. Daphanie. That was her. She was Daphanie. But who was the woman in the other room? She struggled through the thick confusion. She ought to know that voice. Or did she know that voice? What was that voice…?

  “Daphanie?” This time the woman’s voice held no laughter. A note of concern entered. “It’s Corinne. Are you okay? Is something wrong? Is this guy supposed to be here?”

  Corinne.

  Daphanie. Corinne.

  Corinne. Niecie. Daphanie.

  Memory blew in like cold wind, forcing back the fog and slapping her cheeks as if she were some swooning Dickensian heroine. She was Daphanie Carter, artist and blacksmith. Niecie was her younger sister Danice, married just yesterday, and Corinne was their friend Corinne D’Alessandro. She and Corinne had arranged to meet this morning because the other woman was a reporter and she’d offered to do a feature on Daphanie’s work for her newspaper.

  And the guy in question was her newly acquired barnacle, better known as Asher Grayson.

  And he had apparently answered Corinne’s ring without bothering to wake Daphanie up.