An American Witch in Paris

by Michele Hauf

  Leaning over the scattered salt, which designed a pentagram inside a circle, Tuesday closed her eyes and spread her arms wide. She chanted words that Ethan would never try to decipher. Witch words. Dangerous words. Yet he could feel them forming sentences in his veins, warning that she could take him out if he dropped his guard.

  With a snap of her fingers, the salt suddenly illuminated and jittered on the floor, moving, ordering and aligning. The tiny grains jumped and crackled. The scent of salt tinged the air. And when it settled and continued to glow, Tuesday sat back on her heels, hands propped on each thigh.

  “A map of Paris,” she said with a gesture over the salt. “What do you think?”

  Ethan leaned over to inspect the map. It included both the right and left bank, and the Seine and the main island. It even showed faint demarcations for the twenty arrondissements. “You’ve dazzled me, witch. Now where are all the demons? Or just the one in particular?”

  “That requires more intense chanting. And an elemental callout. You stay there. Don’t move, because I don’t want the bond between us to tug me out of concentration. Deal?”

  “I am a captive audience.”

  She looked at him a moment, and he couldn’t decide if she thought she was peering into an idiot’s eyes or, in fact, seeing beyond his irises and into his very soul. He’d witnessed it when she’d peered into Certainly Jones’s soul. Was it a skill they could only perform on other witches? Or need he worry, too?

  “What?” he finally asked.

  “There’s something about you, Ethan Pierce. Something that keeps me from stabbing you through the heart with this athame.” She twirled the knife she’d bought from the store. The hilt looked to be carved from opal. That was why the bill had registered in the hundreds of euros. “I’m not sure what that is, though, so I’m going to keep the blade close.”

  “Whatever works for you. You couldn’t harm me if you tried.”

  “Probably not. But you are racking up the points against you for when the bond is lifted. Know that.”

  “I’m not afraid of a witch.”

  Her head tilted and her gaze narrowed as she said simply, “You should be.”

  And Ethan realized she was right. But he wouldn’t show his anxiety.

  Casting her focus over the salt map, she moved up on her knees, spread out her arms and began to chant.

  * * *

  Tuesday felt the presence of every demon inhabiting the city prick at her skin. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t painful, either. Rather a sort of vehement and inner knowing. The elemental spell had been successful. She opened her eyes and looked over the map.

  Ethan kneeled on the opposite side of the map and scanned the results as well. “What are all the glowing red salt crystals?”

  “Demons,” she said.

  “There’s so many. Thousands.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “No. But how is this going to help our search?”

  “Hold your horses, big boy. The real magic comes next.”

  Tugging loose the ribbon ties at the bodice of her new shirt, Tuesday tossed the obsidian crystal over her shoulder and then pressed her fingers against the sigil between her breasts. She lowered her other hand over the map, moving methodically as she silently thought Gazariel’s name. The sigil warmed and she could feel the tendrils of it creep through her chest and toward her extremities. It noticed her.

  And that was not a good thing.

  Wanting to abruptly end the spell, she suddenly noted the violet glow at one edge of the map. “There! Where is that?”

  Ethan turned his head to assess the map. “Looks like the Bois de Boulogne. A big, forested park at the edge of the city. Is that purple spot The Beautiful One?”

  “It is. And now I’m cutting the connection before he catches on.”

  “Wait!”

  Tuesday pulled her fingers from the sigil. The violet light snuffed out.

  “If you would have held on longer, I could have marked the exact location,” Ethan protested. “That would have made our job easier. Are you helping me or hindering me, witch?”

  “What do you think I’m doing? You think I enjoy being your captive? I want this over as quickly as possible. But I will not call the demon directly to me. He could manifest within me. And then what will you do?”

  “That can happen?”

  “It’s likely. But remember what Edamite said. If he’s smart he’s not going to come near me. And he is.”

  “Sorry. I, uh... I don’t intend to place you in harm’s way. I just want to utilize your expertise.”

  “And this, eh?” She tapped the sigil.

  “Can I take a look at that?”

  She studied his curious gaze. He wasn’t aware that a childlike wonder could overtake his normally serious expression. Nor could he be aware how much that relaxation of his outer shield attracted her. Because it made him everything he probably didn’t want to be—soft, kind, accepting.

  Tuesday nodded her consent.

  Ethan reached over and pressed two fingers to the sigil. It was an intimate touch and her skin warmed. Her breasts hugged his knuckles. He flicked his wondrous gaze onto hers.

  “I can feel your fear,” he said. “I don’t want you to be afraid. I will protect you.”

  Tuesday wrapped her fingers about his wrist, holding him there at her breast. “There’s nothing a vampire can do to protect me that I can’t already do myself. You’re going to have to make a better plea for my continuing to work with you than that.”

  “All right. How about this?”

  And with that, he slid over the salt map, smearing the left bank of Paris, and cupped the back of her head as he pulled her in for another sudden kiss.

  His mouth warmed against hers and demanded she not ignore him. That she allow him to protect her. And at the same time, it teased her to submit in a way she generally didn’t care to with a man. It was the surprise of their connection, their easy manner of locking lips, that excited her, and made her want to not break it.

  On her knees, Tuesday scooched closer. He slipped one hand down her hair and clasped his fingers into it, easing her forward, into his arms. Into his interesting acceptance. She’d thought he didn’t like witches. So why was he kissing her?

  Did it matter? Not in this moment. She wanted to taste every sensual, hot bit of him. Inhale his cool, fresh-air scent, and every breath that he greedily gave and took from her. Moaning into his mouth, she grabbed at his shirt and straddled his legs with hers. They kneeled there on the scattered remains of the city map, a strange fusion of opposites who couldn’t resist the pull to experience one another.

  And when he put his hand again on the sigil, she moved his fingers to cup her breast. She hugged up against him, giving him permission to touch her, wanting to own the vampire’s desire... To control him as he sought to control her.

  Ethan broke the kiss and pulled his hand abruptly from her skin. “Uh...”

  Appearing befuddled, he probably wasn’t sure why he’d kissed her. And had manhandled her boob. So she wouldn’t let him consider it too long. Because if she had to use normal skills instead of magic to control him, it was best to keep him unsure and wondering.

  “Feel like a walk in the park?” she asked.

  “Sure. I um...”

  She stood and knotted the ties of her shirt into a bow. “Then let’s get to it before I shove you down and have some hex with you.”

  She’d let him ponder the use of that word for what she really wanted to do to him. The man had ignited something within her. And she had never been a witch to deny herself the pleasures life offered.

  Chapter 6

  Parked at the curb, Ethan waited for Tuesday while she purchased food from a stand. He didn’t use the BMW often because he walked to work even in the winter. Vampires could easily
regulate their body temperature. But the trip to the park would prove long on foot, and he didn’t want the witch to suffer the cold, especially walking in those high-heeled boots.

  Tuesday slid in and closed the door and settled back to chomp on a savory-smelling crepe.

  “You want a bite? It’s got weird French cheese and ham in it. This is amazing.”

  “I’d rather suck dead blood,” he muttered.

  “Oh, yeah? What’s wrong with a little taste once in a while? I know vampires can eat small amounts of food.”

  “I don’t have a taste for meat. I get enough of the flavor when I drink blood. And you just dripped fontina onto the leather seat. Would you be careful?”

  “Fontina, eh? Don’t tell me you don’t steal a taste every now and then.” She swiped a napkin over the seat and then leaned forward, pointing. “That’s the—What is it?”

  “The Louvre,” he pronounced carefully.

  “Louv-ra, with the ra-ra shout at the end,” she mocked. “You’re not French, are you?”

  “I’m English. Born in London, actually, but I didn’t stay there more than a decade. I’ve lived everywhere. Spent some time in the Americas in the 1700s. Right around the time Massachusetts became a state.”

  “Good times,” she said, sitting back. “Puritanical shame, Indian genocide and witch hunts. Go, witch hunters! Not.”

  Ethan shouldn’t have brought that up. If she knew about the travesties he’d committed against witches when he had been a young vampire only set on impressing his tribe leaders? He’d be very thankful for the binding spell that prevented her from using magic against him.

  “Have you been in Paris before?” he asked.

  “Once or twice. Never for longer than a month or two. And never in a mood to do any touristing. Once I was here looking for a bastard imp who stole my voice. Little creep isn’t singing or snickering anymore. What’s that?”

  “The Luxor Obelisk.” Ethan drove by the seventy-five-foot-high yellow granite obelisk placed in the center of the Place de la Concorde at the end of the Tuileries Garden. “Originally located at the Luxor Temple in Egypt—a gift from Muhammad Ali Pasha, the ruler of Egypt at the time.”

  “You know the city’s history.”

  “I’ve lived it. Of all my centuries, I’ve spent the most time in Paris. And up ahead is the Champs-Élysées.”

  “Oh, I know that’s a good shopping street. Should have waited to get my togs up ahead.” She scanned the signs screaming for customers to come in and spend their precious euros. They passed luxury-car dealers and high-end clothing retailers. And... “There’s a McDonalds on the classy upscale shopping street?”

  “And movie rental stores,” Ethan said. “Go figure. It’s all a big tourist trap. But then, this street has been ever since Napoleonic times.”

  “More good times,” Tuesday offered. “The Inquisition was still around then. You gotta love a self-righteous maniac intent on destroying that which he does not understand. And if it’s a woman, then even more reason to put her in her place.”

  “Do you remember any good times that were actually good?”

  “Oh, sure. I loved the late nineteenth century. So bohemian. We witches really got to shine then. The seventies and the hippies also welcomed us with open arms. What’s that? Wait! I know this one.”

  Ethan stopped the car at a light before he would enter the roundabout before the monument.

  “The arch of triumph, right?”

  “Right.” He wouldn’t correct her too harshly. “Napoleon’s Arc d’Triomphe, erected to honor those who served in the Revolutionary and Napoleonic wars. There’s a tomb of an unknown soldier beneath it. If you go to the top it offers a great view of the whole city.”

  “Then let’s do it. Yeah?”

  “After the demon is found you can take all the time you like for sightseeing.”

  “Because then you’ll cut my leash and set me free?”

  He didn’t like hearing it put that way, but it was the truth. “Exactly.”

  Ten minutes later they pulled in to the park, which was massive and filled with sports areas, a zoo and playgrounds, housing and entertainment complexes. And yet there was still a preserved forested area, an oasis set at the border of the big, cosmopolitan city. A light dusting of snow clung to the trees, giving the forest a faery-tale touch as sun twinkled on the snow.

  Ethan parked in a lot before a hiking trail. He kept the car running because the witch would probably appreciate the heat. He pulled on his blue-lensed sunglasses. He could walk in direct sunlight a few minutes without feeling the burn, and much longer in the winter sun. And these lenses were also charmed to view wards, which served as more than a means to protection from sizzling retinas.

  “What’s the plan?” Tuesday asked. “Are we going to tromp about the park and call ‘Here, demon, come on, demon!’”

  “Won’t that sigil you wear lead us to him?”

  “Right.” She touched her chest and closed her eyes. “Or him to me. Not that he’d come running with arms wide open to embrace me.”

  Ethan sensed she plummeted to some place very low whenever she touched the sigil. He had to ask. “Tell me how you got the sigil? It could be helpful to know what I’m dealing with here.”

  “Now you decide to ask about the stakes? You are so not a romantic, vampire.”

  “What does romance have to do with anything?”

  “Nothing.” She crossed her arms over her chest and averted her gaze out the window. “Kisses don’t have any place between us, either.”

  “I beg to differ. They have proven a useful tool for me.”

  “Again, not a romantic bone in your body, eh?”

  “What? Do you require emotion, some feeling next time I kiss you?”

  “You think you’re going to kiss me again?”

  “Probably.”

  She turned on the seat to look at him. “Why? Do you like kissing me?”

  “It was pleasant.” He sounded like an asshole, but what was she angling for right now with that teasing question? The woman was a curiously complex mixture of opposites. One minute she was trying to put a hex on him to make his dick limp, the next she wanted to make out. “Do you want to kiss me again?”

  She sat up, lifting her chin haughtily. “You haven’t been kissed by me yet, vampire. When I kiss you properly? You’ll know. And you’ll never have to wonder if you want another again. Because you will. You’ll crave my kiss, my touch. You’ll want to hex me every chance you get.”

  Ethan offered a shrug. “Have to say, that does sound intriguing.”

  “Damn right it does. So we heading out on the demon quest?”

  “First, I need the details.” He pushed back his seat and tilted to face her comfortably. Taking off the sunglasses, he asked, “Tell me how you got Gazariel’s sigil.”

  Boston, MA—1680

  Finnister McAdams was going blind. He wore a black strip of sack cloth across his eyes now because he had explained to Tuesday how the light bothered him. Made him blink and gave him headaches. ’Twas as if the devil was prodding his eyes with his mighty pitchfork.

  Tuesday knew well the Devil Himself did not wield a pitchfork, but to correct him would only put her in danger. She’d prepared Finn an herbal tincture in his morning tea. Rosemary, black salts and feverfew. Had cast a healing spell...without him knowing. Even laid mustard plasters over his eyes. Nothing proved efficacious.

  Now she considered calling up a demon to aid in healing her lover’s eyes. Such creatures did possess healing powers. At least, a few of them did so. If only the witch summoning them could find a beneficent demon. And that was the challenge.

  Tuesday loved her man, Finn. From the moment he’d settled next to her in the lavender field and compared her eyes to the sky, she had loved him desperately. Three months they had been sharing her tiny
cabin at the edge of the village with one another. Finn was strong and proud, and very handsome. His hair was copper, his thick beard as well. His skin was ruddy and pale, so he always wore a wide-brimmed hat when outside. He was fashioned of flame and earth. And when he held her in his arms it wasn’t tentative or rough. He knew how to hold a woman. And Tuesday’s heart fluttered when he kissed her.

  But if he knew she was a witch he would be displeased. The man was Puritan. His family had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean from England six months earlier. His father was seeking a congregation to share and spread the word of God. And Finnister, while a godly man, seemed more inclined to craftwork that involved turning wood into beautiful creations. He even fashioned lovely knife hilts, and had skill with a blade.

  With the witch trials and all the heinous accusations running rampant of late, Tuesday did not dare reveal her truth to her lover. Because even if he could accept her, she risked the townsfolk putting him on trial for harboring her secret.

  But she could no longer bear to see him stumble about the house, seeking wood for the stove and instead stabbing his fingers into the log pile and yelping as slivers cut through his skin. Or to watch him try to piss in the chamber pot and instead spray the stone floor.

  She would care for him. Because she loved him.

  But she must try one last thing before giving up on his healing. And that required she summon a demon. She wasn’t schooled in demons, didn’t know which to summon for the healing of sight, but would take whatever beast she could conjure. Surely, even a lowly demon might have some healing skills. And she had a way of winning a man’s trust with her gentle confidence and attentive manner.

  Shouldn’t be so different with demons.

  So just before midnight, on a hot summer’s eve, she kissed Finn’s forehead as he snoozed before the window, and snuck out with her cotton bag of charms and potions under her arm. Her wood-soled clogs took the soft red earth in quick strides and she was thankful for the fast-growing moss that muffled her steps. She would avoid the gatekeepers, and slip into the forest half a mile from the village. It was a haunted forest, or rumors told, so that kept out most villagers.