An American Witch in Paris

by Michele Hauf

Sliding forward on the wheeled office chair, Tuesday licked up from the base of his thick rod, slowly, following the pulsing vein to the sensitive foreskin below the crown. She took her time, making sure every bit of him received her tongue. His fingers slipped through her hair, clasping greedily, and he groaned and rocked his hips slowly.

  He was right. She didn’t feel every slow, lazy lick reciprocating on her pussy as she would expect because of their blood bond. Their connection had depleted. But that didn’t make this any less exciting.

  “I’m going to make this better than cherry cake,” she said.

  Ethan bent forward, pressing his hand over her crotch and finding her aching pinnacle with a firm touch. “I’ll help.”

  The pressure of his fingers over her clit prompted her to answer with a careful nibble to the side of his mighty shaft. With a growl that must have birthed in his core, he bent his head over hers and muttered, “Take me in your mouth, Tuesday. Please.”

  The desperation in his tone would not allow her to tease at him, nor would her own desire to take him past her lips and feel the press of him against the back of her mouth. Cupping his testicles with her other hand, she fed on him greedily, slicking and lashing and sucking.

  He slid his hand inside her leggings and slipped a finger between her folds, curling into her and gliding in deeply. She pressed up her hips, hilting him within her pussy and her mouth. Having lost direct contact with the vibrating chair, she could still feel subtle movement from it, and that coaxed her body to the high from which she wished to fall.

  Ethan’s fingers in her hair gripped and squeezed and his body began to tremor. Control was impossible. Surrender unthinkable. Meeting at a mutual peak and then plunging together was the only option. He swore, and came in her mouth. She, in turn, came in bucking thrusts against his hand.

  Dropping to his knees before her, Ethan buried his face in her hair, his fingers caressing over her pussy and maintaining a firmness that extended her orgasm.

  “Witch, you own me.”

  She liked the idea of owning him. Sexually. But no other way. He was a fierce, powerful vampire. The only kneeling she required of him was to satisfy her sexual needs.

  “I’ll share myself with you, lover. But let’s never take ownership. Agreed?”

  He nodded, then kissed her hard and deep, showing her an exquisite glimpse of the control he masterfully claimed as his own.

  A knock at the door paused them both. Ethan hastily stood and zipped with a wince and a curse. “Sit up,” he muttered as he approached the door.

  Fluffing her hair and tugging down her shirt, Tuesday sat up on the chair and grabbed a pen, assuming...well, she wasn’t sure what she was trying to reflect but the fake-secretary-looking-busy act seemed like a good move.

  Ethan opened the door. “Cinder. I didn’t think you were coming up. I don’t need you until tomorrow night. I thought I made that clear in the text. Is there a problem?”

  The tall, dark-haired man entered the room and Tuesday saw his red, ashy aura. But also...hmm—he was something beyond vampire, but she couldn’t quite make out what that else could be. He eyed her a few seconds, sniffed, then smirked. What was that about?

  “No problem,” Cinder said. “Just wanted to ask you about the outer wards on the building and your phone was on forward.”

  “Right.” Ethan took out his phone and tapped a few keys.

  “If you’re trying to pull a demon in,” Cinder said, “you need the building to be open. But I’m not cool with letting down all the wards. The Archives could go crazy. All the captive beasts on the premises suddenly set free?”

  “It would be for a brief period,” Ethan assured him. “Is it possible to let them down only around the holding cell and then be on standby for immediate reinstatement?”

  Cinder blew out a breath. He didn’t look like any kind of tech guy Tuesday had ever met. Broad-shouldered and built like a bruiser, but oh, so pretty. Her sigil warmed. And that alerted her.

  “Angel?” she suddenly said.

  Cinder turned to her. “What?”

  “I, uh...what are you?”

  Cinder chuckled and swung to face her, crossing his arms high on his chest. “What are you?”

  “I’m a witch. Your boss had me kidnapped from Boston, and flew me across the ocean while under the influence of a nasty but powerful drug to help him track the demon. Didn’t you get the memo?”

  The tech guy swung a look to Ethan, who shook his head. Then he offered his hand toward Tuesday, so she got up from the chair to shake it. And then she knew.

  “Demon,” she said. “But...you’ve fallen.”

  “Labatiel, the Flaming One, Angel of Punishment,” he explained. A bit of pride in his tone, though. Expected of demons. “Used to be trapped under Paris until a sinkhole released me and I came to ground.”

  “Cool. Maybe. But...you’re also vamp?”

  He nodded. “It’s a long story.”

  “I bet it is.” Angel of Punishment, eh? That could prove an interesting history. “You got any suggestions for how to handle the demon we’re going after tomorrow night? I mean, you two do hail from the same place.”

  “I don’t know who you’re after. The boss didn’t enlighten me.”

  “It’s need-to-know. Or it was,” Ethan said with a glance to Tuesday. Oops. She’d said too much. But Ethan relented. “Demon’s name is Gazariel.”

  Cinder hitched a clicking sound out the side of his mouth. “The Beautiful One. A primping idiot. That’s who you’re after? Why are you finding this so difficult? Just hold up a mirror and catch him while he’s preening.”

  Tuesday giggled. “Oh, you men. Always thinking there’s an easy button for everything.”

  “He’s proving an evasive catch,” Ethan said. “And the witch I thought could lure him to us is actually repelling him.”

  She did not miss Ethan’s admonishing glance. She’d take it in retaliation for spilling the intel beans.

  Cinder’s gaze took her in none too kindly. “Then why is she still around?”

  “She’s, uh...” Tuesday could sense Ethan’s sudden discomfort yet he hid it with an authoritative lift of his jaw. “Can you do it or not, Cinder? You’ll have a day to figure this out. I’ll need you to be on call to drop the wards only around the holding cell and then set them back up.”

  “The building wards will need to be briefly shut down as well. It’s not as easy as flicking a switch. Dropping them is. But resetting them?” He shook his head. “That’ll require a witch.”

  Tuesday stepped forward. “I, myself, happen to be a witch.”

  “I will only work with a witch who works for and has been approved by the Council. I can’t do it, man,” Cinder said to Ethan.

  “I’ll send CJ to assist you. That will work, yes?”

  “The dark witch.” Cinder exhaled heavily. “Fine. I’ve got to get things started. This is going to be a bitch.” The vampire strode out, leaving the door open behind him. “You owe me, man!”

  Tuesday looked to Ethan and said, “Now he’s a Richard.”

  Chapter 19

  Back at his place, Ethan wandered into the living room after kissing a sleeping Tuesday on the cheek. She had muttered something about needing to catch a few winks, had hit the bed as soon as they’d gotten back, and two minutes later she was out. The woman had a talent for dropping into a dead sleep.

  Tugging off his shirt, he tucked it behind his head and slumped down on the sofa into a comfortable position. Then he took out his phone and checked texts and emails. He’d gotten an email marked urgent from CJ with intel about Anyx. The dark witch had looked her up in the Archives’ vampire room. He’d checked The Vampire Codex, the book on all vampires—similar to the witches’ Book of All Spells—and this was what he’d found:

  Anyx—no known surname following marriage to Etha
n Pierce in 1540 and subsequent divorce in 1600—has been observed to collect memento mori and death spells. 1720, she was stopped from using a plague hex on a village and was added to the Council’s watch list. One incident in 1878 with a volatile organic poison resulted in the Archives seizing her eclectic collection from home in London, but other residences were not checked.

  The vampire has remained under the radar but must always be kept on the watch list for occult fascination with bringing pain, suffering and death, or even possible experiments that could lead to mass genocide.

  Known residences in Tampa, Florida, and Paris, France. Known former love affairs with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Rasputin and Henri Telluir, a geophysicist of little renown. Current relationships unknown.

  Ethan slapped the phone against his chest and muttered, “Anyx, what the hell have you gotten in to over the centuries?”

  And had the book on vampires been updated recently? He’d thought it was a living book, always updating and rewriting the vampire history. Yet if Anyx was involved with Gazariel, the book had missed that. Unless Gazariel had lied to them about their relationship?

  No, Ethan had seen the two in the restaurant. There was something going on between them.

  As he’d told Tuesday, he’d witnessed Anyx’s strange fascination for death early on and had extricated himself from a relationship that had no longer felt comfortable or safe for him. He and Anyx had lived as husband and wife for sixty years! And for the most part, they had loved and enjoyed one another’s company. But they had spent a lot of time apart as Ethan served his tribe elders and fought in the Blood Wars. And Anyx, well, she’d traveled and tended her collection and kept it away from him until that one night he’d stumbled upon it.

  Perhaps Gazariel was doing much the same after learning what a morbid and wicked vampiress he’d gotten involved with. Surely, for a demon who thrived on love and adoration, Anyx would present a challenge to his vanity.

  It saddened him now to know that his ex-wife was so...strange. So dark and apparently evil. Was there a way to appeal to her? If she had been gifted the book with the Final Days code by The Beautiful One was there a chance Ethan could talk her into handing it over to him?

  Judging from the report he doubted that would happen. She didn’t seem mentally stable. So he had to set aside any lingering compassion he may have for the vampiress in order to help the greater good. And he could do that. He just...didn’t want to know her reason why she had such a morbid fascination. He really didn’t.

  He texted CJ back with a request to recheck The Vampire Codex for updates, and for Anyx’s Paris address. The report did not list it, but it should be entered in to a database somewhere in the Council’s vast system. He’d send out a team to bring her in, but he didn’t expect to find her. Something in his gut told him she had already received the gift. And that she may very well be trying to crack the code right now.

  Heart sinking, Ethan clicked off his phone. He should be out there, looking for Anyx and Gazariel. But he had a solid plan for tomorrow, and it would work. He had to be patient.

  There was one thing he could do. He paged through the dossier on the mission file on his phone and landed on the name of the muse who had created the book of names and sigils.

  “Cassandra Stephens.”

  Stephans’ location was currently unknown, but she had formerly lived in London and Berlin. Generally, phone numbers remained the same if the move was not a long distance. It was late, but he’d give it a try.

  He dialed up the muse and as the phone rang he thought how odd it must be to know, as a muse, you were a human female—not immortal—who had been born to this realm and were connected to a specific fallen angel. And that angel’s only goal was to find his muse and impregnate her in hopes of birthing a nephilim. Nephilim were monsters, and one had actually been born years ago. Cassandra Stephens and her Fallen One had helped to destroy the monstrosity. It was a long story, but Ethan could be thankful the woman was obviously kick-ass and determined not to let a label stop her from rising above her terrible fate.

  After five rings, a sleepy voice answered. Ethan apologized for the late time. He told her who he was and who he worked for. “I don’t know where you are, and I won’t ask. But I need some information about the book of angel names and sigils you created.”

  “I...” A yawn was abruptly cut off. “Sorry about that. Uh, the book. It’s been a while since I’ve had my hands on it. I thought it was with Raphael?”

  “It’s been stolen.”

  “Ah, shit. You need my help?”

  “No, we’ve got things under control. But you wrote the book. Can you tell me how you created the code to enact the Final Days or even give me the code?”

  “I’m sorry, Mister Pierce. I didn’t think I was creating any such thing while writing the book. The code sort of magically formed and became the awful thing it is now. You know how this weird paranormal stuff works. Add in angelic magic and you’ve got some mysterious ineffable shit going on.”

  “So, not a clue what the code is?”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  And if she hadn’t created the code she certainly wouldn’t have an idea if there was a way to stop it or call the whole thing off.

  “I had to check.”

  “I understand,” she said with another yawn. “Are you sure you don’t need help? I can hop a flight and be...heh. I don’t even know where you are.”

  “I’m in Paris, and I’m not sure what you could do to help. I’ve got a crew ready to take down the demon who has the book.”

  “I wish you much luck. But if the demon is no longer an angel, then you won’t be able to attract him with his muse.”

  “I don’t think he ever had a muse. He fell directly to Beneath.”

  “Then no, he wouldn’t have a muse. If you’ve got a Sinistari blade lying around that could prove useful as a threat against the guy.”

  “Good to know. We may have one of those. Thanks, Cassandra.”

  Ethan hung up, and texted CJ to check the demon room for a Sinistari blade. He recalled Bron Everhart, the same retriever who had brought Tuesday to Paris and had taken such a blade in hand a few years ago on a mission to obtain the Purgatory Heart. Such a blade was formed from the halo of the fallen angel. Those specific angels fell beyond earth and to Beneath where they became Sinistari demons, those who hunted the Fallen Ones. An angel blade was supposed to be the only thing that could kill an angel, besides a halo. It might not have the same effect on Gazariel, but it could provide another good threat besides the reckoner. It wouldn’t hurt to go in fully armed.

  * * *

  Prepping for tonight’s adventure involved warding herself with the obsidian and a smoky quartz, both on leather cords hung around her neck. Tuesday had found a pair of spangled black leggings at the thrift shop the day she and Ethan had gone shopping. Perfect. On top, she wore a plain black T-shirt. Because when combined with her spangled fur coat, she certainly didn’t want to overdo the sparkle.

  On the other hand, some sparkly black eyeshadow was necessary. And she loved the matte violet lipstick. So did Ethan. It drew his hungry gaze, and that was all good.

  She rarely drew wards on her skin, and wasn’t going to put any on until she got to the headquarters and talked with Certainly Jones. If they were going to cast a spell together, they’d need to sync wards.

  Blowing herself a kiss in the mirror, she checked for the alicorn, which she’d tucked at her right hip in the waistband of her leggings. And the athame she would carry in her coat pocket. Ritual weapons, not things she expected to use in defense. Maybe? She could poke an eye out with the alicorn, if necessary.

  She strolled out by the bed and paused. Ethan paced before the window, back and forth from there to the record player. He didn’t notice her, and his brow was furrowed. Of course, the man must have a million things going on in his brain ri
ght now. But he seemed different than his usual stoic, controlling boss-man self.

  Padding over to him and waiting until he noticed her, when he did, she tilted her head. “Tell me why you chose this particular mission to step back into fieldwork,” she asked. “Was it because the bait was so sexy and you couldn’t resist spending time with her?”

  His smirk softened his tension and his shoulders dropped. He reached out a hand and she clasped it, but he didn’t tug her into an embrace. Instead, he turned to look out the window. They stood there, side by side, hand in hand, unable to pick out a star in the night sky, as the evening, while dark, was illuminated by millions of neon lights and streetlights.

  “I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t washed up,” he said quietly.

  The confession surprised her. Coming from such a confident and strong man? He had it all together. Except when he was winging it without a plan. Okay, so he might need some practice to get back to where he once was with the fieldwork. But washed up?

  “That’s crazy. You’ve impressed me at every turn on this mission,” she said.

  “I missed capturing the demon. Twice,” he said. “And I can’t seem to quit fucking the bait. Does that sound like a professional retriever to you?”

  She shrugged. “Not sure the qualifications for a retriever. I assume hexing the help isn’t one of them, but it doesn’t seem to be dragging you down.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’ve become lax in my methods. My targeting and reconnaissance. I don’t follow protocol—I make up my own. And—”

  “And it’s been a while, so give yourself a break, will you?”

  “Any breaks I take may result in the world being smothered by myriad angel wings.”

  He did have a point there.

  “You’ve got me by your side. That’s got to count for something.”

  “It does. It really does.”

  “Then we’re good to go? All confidence levels are high and alpha-charged?”

  He turned, and with a sweep, lifted her by the legs and tossed her over his shoulder. Heading toward the doorway, he said, “Alpha-charged and ready to go.”