An American Witch in Paris

by Michele Hauf

  But she was kissing him to make a point. And she’d hate to let him think she actually wanted this kiss. She did not. Mostly. Yes, she did!

  But that was not how she intended to play her hand.

  Shoving away from him, Tuesday swept her hair over her shoulder and assumed a cocky stance. “I won that one, vampire.”

  If a smirk could get any sexier, she didn’t know. A few fine wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes, and she even noticed glints of gray strands silvering the hair at his temples. So sexy. Urm, in a completely uninteresting way, of course.

  “Sounds fine by me,” Ethan said. “You can have the win, partner.”

  “Right. Partner.” She wrinkled her nose at that one. She had suggested they could be partners, hadn’t she? “About that food?”

  “Just up the street, there’s a cheesy little bar that might still be open. It’s owned by a couple of expats. They serve American food.”

  Intrigued beyond what she wanted to convey, Tuesday muttered, “Lead the way.”

  An hour later, Tuesday was full from pulled-pork tacos with pickled jalapeños, and a fruity drink that had a lot of alcohol and even more sugar in it. She would not even require magic to fly now. And Ethan had watched her gobble the food with little more than that constant smirk and a gleam in his eyes.

  They were pretty gray eyes, and added a touch of niceness to his usual dour expression. While he was a handsome man, she could tell he dared not show too much. He had been honed and hardened over the centuries. Much as she had been. And she well knew it was never wise to let life play out on her face for others to interpret and use to their advantage.

  “How long have you been walking this seriously whacked planet?” she asked as she noisily sucked the last bits of the red slushy drink through the straw. She wasn’t drunk, but she was feeling fine.

  “Conversation now?”

  “Yes. I’m finished stuffing my face. I’m feeling relaxed for the first time since my captivity—” She caught his scoff. “I was in a freakin’ cage.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry, okay? It had to be done. But now you’re out, so get over it.”

  It took a snap of the rubber band not to flip him off.

  “What did you ask?” he said. “How old am I?” He lifted his feet and propped them on a nearby wicker chair, leaning back against the wall in the stuffy bar that had announced last call ten minutes after they’d arrived. “I was born in...the 1500s.”

  “Can’t remember the exact year?”

  He shrugged. “Early part of the century. We weren’t known for marking our birth dates back then.”

  “Yeah. I was born in the 1640s, give or take a few years. Or decades. I remember at the time it was the great Puritan migration. They sailed to the New World by boatloads from England. All kinds of religious rabble, preaching and condemning. Fur traders and fishers, too. I dated a fisherman once. He smelled. So! That makes you the old man and me the sexy young thang.”

  “Which should grant me wisdom and you...?”

  Tuesday shimmied confidently on the chair. “A chick with a whole lot of experience on every single thing you can imagine.”

  “It is interesting walking through the ages, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” She teased a finger around the rim of her glass. “You ever get tired of it?”

  “Not yet. Immortality suits me.”

  “Save for the part about drinking all that blood?”

  “Coming from a witch who must have consumed how many vampire hearts to keep her immortality over the centuries?”

  “Five,” she said proudly. In order to maintain immortality, a witch had to consume a beating vampire heart once a century. Split the rib cage. Reach in. Feast. And try not to wretch. “Each one of those bastards deserved to die, too.”

  “And what qualifies as deserving in your book?”

  “Assholes. Murderers. And general idiots.”

  Ethan quirked an eyebrow. “I shall endeavor not to be an asshole or an idiot. At least, not too often.”

  Tuesday yawned. “You’ve had a pitiful showing in the trying department. But I won’t hold that against you.”

  “I thought you intended to hold everything that made you uncomfortable against me?”

  “Pretty much. But you’re lucky I’m tired now. I only got about two winks on your couch. Can we go back to your place? I need to seriously crash and recharge. If I can get some good sleep then I’ll be able to think clearly and maybe even stir up a demon-tracking spell.”

  “Then here’s to a well-rested witch.”

  * * *

  The witch nodded off within five minutes. Ethan had offered her his bed. It was around the corner in the loft. None of the rooms had separating walls, save bathroom, and he could see the end of the bed from the kitchen. The city lights beamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the bedroom area. He’d bought this place for those windows. The view was incredible. He’d wanted to point out Sacré Coeur to her, but she had literally dropped onto the bed and rolled into a snore.

  Now, he wondered what their next move should be. And if more kisses would be required to make her comply with his wishes. She hadn’t needed provoking to kiss him back after he’d initially kissed her. A retaliatory kiss? Bring them on.

  And in his next thought, he frowned. He’d kissed a witch. And...he’d liked it.

  Chapter 5

  A shower had never felt more welcome. Tuesday dried off in the steamy room. The floor and walls were grey marble that was deeply streaked with clear quartz. Gorgeous stonework. And she could feel some of the earth’s energies remaining in the stone when she pressed a palm to it, though they were weak. The manufacturing process tended to rape natural stone of most of its essence, but if she took her time, and had the inclination, she could restore its vital energy with an earthing spell.

  It was a hell of a lot more than Stuart could do, that was for sure.

  “Take that, Stuart.”

  It was weird to think that an inanimate object was listening in, all the time, waiting for a cue to turn on some function in the apartment. Electronic witchcraft was not her thing. But apparently Ethan was one of those spoiled rich bachelors who could afford life’s luxuries. But he didn’t seem to flaunt it, with million-dollar wristwatches or fancy suits, so he earned credit for that.

  The bathroom was attached to the bedroom, which was open to the rest of the loft. A nice setup, and she suspected the view out the picture window was awesome, were the shades not blocking the bright sunlight now. She hadn’t realized how dead tired she had been last night. Her face had hit the pillow. Snores had commenced.

  Now she didn’t hear Ethan puttering about in the kitchen, but then, why should she? The guy was a vampire. He didn’t eat food. But she certainly hoped he played the charming host and either ordered in or found something for her to nosh on.

  Fingering her black silk shirt, which revealed a nicely toned tummy, she sighed. She’d worn it for two days straight and a long flight across the Atlantic Ocean. She needed clean things to wear. And at the very least, some basic magical accoutrements.

  Combing out her hair with Ethan’s comb, she then snapped her fingers and whispered, “Dry,” and a whoosh of air fluffed up and through the wet strands, instantly drying them. Sometimes Latin wasn’t necessary to kick in the magic. Keep it Simple, Stupid was a motto she followed with her spellcraft. She wove her thick hair into a loose side plait and left some in the back hanging free.

  Without makeup or a toothbrush she felt out of her element. Not quite in top form. She scanned the insides of the medicine cabinet and spied the wood-handled toothbrush. Nah. She wasn’t going to use a vampire’s toothbrush. She squirted a blob of toothpaste on her finger and scrubbed the old-fashioned way. Centuries ago, this had been her only option to dental health. That, or use a bit of twig or the corner of some r
ough suede. It worked. But her kingdom for a dash of dark eye shadow and lip gloss.

  “Ugh. Nature witch,” she muttered to her reflection. “I should concoct a makeup spell.” She tapped her fingernails against the mirror, thinking it odd that a vampire even had one in his home. “Yeah, I’ll worry about the lacking glamour later. I’ve got bigger problems to solve.”

  Putting the obsidian crystal around her neck, she held it a few moments. Grounding herself. Finding a calm tone for her personal vibration.

  Now ready to face whatever adventure the vampire with the attack kisses had in mind for her, she wandered out into the living area. Seated on the leather sofa, Ethan was focused on an iPad, but he nodded over his shoulder and said, “Ran down to the creperie an hour ago when you were still sleeping. Got you some croissants and pain au chocolat. Fresh juice, too.”

  Points for the vampire. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

  “You mean Stuart is incapable of such errands? Not sure you got your money’s worth with that guy,” she said gaily.

  Sliding onto a bar stool and tearing into the paper bag, Tuesday bit into a still-warm pastry loaded with gooey chocolate. Crisp, thin layers of pastry engulfing sweet, dark chocolate? By the seven sacred witches, it was amazing.

  “What are the plans for today?” she asked around chews.

  “Thought you could summon the demon. Witches can do that, right?”

  “Right, but I can’t summon a demon who has marked me. Just doesn’t work that way. I can track him, perhaps even locate him, but he’s not going to come when I call like a little bitch.”

  Ethan’s sigh echoed across the room. “I thought you’d be more useful.”

  “Way to boost a chick’s confidence. Besides, Edamite Thrash confirmed The Beautiful One wasn’t going to come when I call. So get over it, will you? I know what is first on today’s list of adventures.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Shopping! I can’t wander around in this same getup. I mean, I can work it, but I seriously prefer clean clothes. And I need some lip gloss and eye liner. I feel naked without the black stuff.”

  “Is that going to help you to locate the demon?”

  “It will.” She turned and fluttered her lashes at him. “Don’t you know a woman’s power is all in how she feels about herself? When I look good, I do my best.”

  “I think you look great.”

  “You’re a guy. Guys always say dismissive things like that.”

  He shook his head and set aside the iPad. “Shopping it is. And then?”

  “And then, I also need to pick up some spell supplies. Outfit myself with a makeshift hex-and-spell armory. Then I should be able to set up a grid to map the city of demons. And hopefully, by incorporating the sigil’s power, The Beautiful One will stand out on that map.”

  “Hopefully? I’m going to need more than that. I require assurance.”

  Tuesday shrugged and bit off another piece of chocolaty pastry. “You get hope from me for now, vamp. Say, do you mind that I used your comb?”

  “As long as you didn’t use my toothbrush, I don’t care.”

  “What if I did use your toothbrush?”

  “We’re stopping at a pharmacy, first thing.”

  * * *

  The witch could work the tight black jeans and floaty flowered shirt. Her vibe was definitely bohemian, with her thick white hair braided down one side and the furred spangled coat topping it all off. In the pharmacy, she tore open the makeup packaging and performed a quick makeover on herself, fluttering her newly blackened lashes at him and pursing her deep violet lips.

  Ethan nodded approval because the sooner she served her personal needs, the quicker he could be done with this stupid stuff and get on to the important work. But he had to admit the deep color she wore on her lips stirred his desires. The violet lipstick emphasized her plump, heart-shaped mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes from them. They might taste like sweet grapes warmed under the Tuscan sun.

  Yikes. Ethan checked himself. What was he thinking? He was not attracted to a witch. Yes, he was. And what the fuck was that about?

  “Come on!” Tuesday skipped ahead, obviously on some kind of spending high.

  Ethan kept his credit card handy. Whatever made the witch happy.

  Now, she had managed to find a dusty candle shop that opened to a private room in the back that was filled with all the witchy accoutrements he imagined she’d ever need. And while he suspected the shop owner was one of those kitchen witches who spoke incantations from books she’d bought on the internet and thought she was casting spells, she wasn’t a real born witch like Tuesday Knightsbridge. And if she knew that the woman buying smudge sticks and candles from her really did possess natural magic, she would be in awe.

  Tuesday popped her head out from the back room with a bag full of goodies and winked at Ethan as she wandered by. “Homeward! Stuart waits for us!”

  At the very least, he’d gotten a new toothbrush.

  Back at his place, Tuesday dropped her shopping booty on the floor by the sofa, tossed her coat on the chair and beelined to the bathroom while he picked up the mess.

  Setting her heeled boots on the rug by the door, he then placed the bags neatly on the kitchen counter. He liked a clean, organized home. Which was probably why his few attempts at living with women over the years had failed. Also, the lack of privacy was jarring. Sharing a home with another person was hard work. And since he could have a relationship without moving in with the woman, he chose to stick with what worked.

  Although a few relationships here and there, over the centuries, had worked for him. Most had been so long ago he’d forgotten what it felt like or how it had lasted. That wasn’t exactly true. A man never forgot the women who had passed through his life. And the current one was moving through like a hurricane intent on settling and spinning about for a while.

  “Stuart, be sure to send the vacuum through when next I leave.”

  The home butler confirmed with a blip on the wall panel and a solid green light. Ethan had programmed it not to return voice reply unless necessary. It wasn’t like he needed to talk to the artificial intelligence to make conversation. He used it merely as the maid he liked to have available at all hours of the day, yet didn’t want a human stumbling around in his life discovering that he didn’t need to sleep and eat. And he’d bitten a maid once. Early nineteenth century? It was best not to drink from the help.

  Tuesday returned, flipping her hair over a shoulder, and stretched out on the sofa. “Where’s my stuff?”

  “On the kitchen counter. You can’t leave a trail of bread crumbs wherever you walk.”

  “I don’t need to. We’re attached at the hip. If you should lose sight of me, you’ll find me soon enough. Bring me my bags.”

  “Get them yourself.” He settled onto the big leather chair with the wide wooden arms. The wood was worn from decades of use and connection to life. And more than a few frenzied bang sessions. “Dazzle me with your witchy magic and this demon map you said you could conjure.”

  “I don’t dazzle on command.” She wandered over to the counter and pulled out things from the bags.

  “Then how do I get you to dazzle me?” Ethan asked. “Is there a magic word?”

  “Please seems to work most of the time.”

  He pressed his fingers to his forehead. He should have left the witch in the cage.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t hex him and he did need help with this case. He had absolutely no clue how to lure in the demon otherwise, so he would take her sassy mouth and... Well, he’d kiss her again if need be. Heh. That kiss had set her off-kilter.

  But the return kiss had surprised him. And then he’d accepted it for the retaliation it had been. Now a kiss from those grape-stained lips would give him what he wanted from her. Another taste. A teasing test of his abilities to
remain completely unaffected by her charms and attraction.

  She had some. Somewhere in that scatter of spangles, sass and black eye shadow.

  “Black salt and raven’s ash.” She waggled between them two vials of a dark substance that she’d purchased from the candle shop. “This will do the trick.”

  She wandered over and pushed the narrow coffee table up against the sofa. The wide dark-stained plank flooring was the original from when the building had once been a millinery factory. Ethan liked it because he’d known a man who had worked here in the 1920s. He’d taken immense pride in the cut of a woman’s hat, or even the specific froth of a silk flower adorning a sweeping brim. He’d also asked Ethan for vampirism after learning that the mercury used to cure the felt for his creations was driving him insane. Ethan had convinced him an insane vampire would be worse than a human prematurely dead from bleeding out.

  In all his centuries, Ethan had never created another vampire. And he didn’t intend to do so anytime soon. It was too much power to simply give away as if a holiday gift. And besides, he was blood-born, not a created vampire. His breed were superior to those who had been transformed in a back alley or at a lover’s lusty request. And he wasn’t about to tarnish the line. If he ever desired to procreate, he would have a child, who, depending on its mother’s lineage and paranormal species, would very likely be born vampire. He preferred to mate with another vampire, but he wasn’t rigid in that stance. Love was actually his key requirement to a happy, lasting relationship.

  But love was fickle and...well, he’d take it if it came his way, but he wasn’t on a quest to track it down.

  Ethan leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and watched as Tuesday sprinkled black salt in a pattern before her on the floor. He was curious about witchcraft, and knew it was powerful. No man should mess with a witch. But he was feeling cocky with the protective bind against her. So long as it lasted until they found the demon.