Your friend?
The woman who hired me is his daughter.
Well this was quite the quandary—would the daughter be pleased her long dead father was now alive and probably three times younger than she was? Or would I be in a serious pile of crap?
“What are we doin’ sittin’ around here?” Jack asked. He stood up, then swayed as if he were a bit rocky on his feet and not used to the weight of his body. I guess being a ghost for nearly ninety years will do that to you.
It was just a matter of time before Christa chimed in. I gave her less than five seconds.
“Yeah! We should go out!” It had taken her about two seconds.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea …” Rand started, looking at me as if he thought I needed some recuperation time. At least someone was thinking about me.
Jack neared the door and threw off Rand’s caution with a wave of his jelly-like arm. Apparently, Jack didn’t realize that if Rand didn’t want him to leave, he wasn’t going to.
“There’s a whole city alive out there that I haven’t seen in nearly one hundred years …” Jack began. Christa was right beside him.
I faced the glum countenance of Rand and smiled, thinking I needed a drink. Yeah, that’s exactly what I needed—a drink or five.
“What harm could it do?” I asked.
“Bloody hell,” Rand grumbled and apparently realizing it was three against one, reached for his coat. So it was set, we were going for a night on the town—quite the motley crew: a warlock, a witch in denial, a badly dressed woman, and a re-animated dead man.
~
I sat in an over-stuffed booth and tried to breathe through the cloud of smoke that billowed out of the nightclub. And I don’t mean cigarette smoke. This smoke was white pina-colada scented puffs that served no purpose other than irritating me. Hip-hop blared out of the one-room club, making it tough to hear myself think. There were another four booths that circled the small dance floor that was so packed with people, they only had enough room to sway in place.
To the casual observer, the other four booths would’ve been entirely more engrossing than ours—their occupants either making out, fighting, or partaking of some illegal substance.
Rand had ordered a round of drinks, and now he and I sat in silence, keeping a sharp eye on Jack, who was dancing with Christa and seemed about as happy as happy could be. As was to be expected, Jack had been shocked by the Chicago of today when compared to one hundred years ago. He seemed to deal with it well enough, though, with the help of a few shots of whiskey and a toast to the death of prohibition.
Rand on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as jovial. It’d been a good five minutes that he’d said nothing. He continued to scour the place, as if afraid someone was waiting in the shadows to snatch Jack away.
“So what do you suppose happened?” I yelled, trying to best the volume of the club’s sound system. “How did I manage to bring Jack to life again?”
Rand faced me with a small smile, so small I couldn’t see his dimples and felt cheated.
I’ve never seen anything like it before. There was a brilliant light and then Jack was lying on the floor in the kitchen … alive.
I grinned as I realized I didn’t need to scream to compete with the noise of the club. I’d forgotten we could converse through thoughts. Wow, that’s pretty much what happened to me. I saw a bright light too and it felt like energy was flowing out of me or something. When I came out of it, Jack was dead. Then I started screaming.
And I slapped you. Sorry about that, by the way.
I wasn’t concerned with apologies at the moment. I was still caught up in the why and the how of it. Maybe I’d managed to lend some of my own life to Jack? I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that, though. I’d rather keep my life to myself, even if it did make sense. I’d had the distinct feeling, at the time, that I was losing some part of me. And if such were the case, I had to wonder what that meant for me. Would it shorten my own life? I certainly felt fine now, as if it had never happened.
I hate having unanswerable questions.
How do you think your friend will react to us resurrecting Jack? I asked.
I don’t know. His daughter is a witch … a strong one at that and one I don’t want as an enemy.
I sipped my amaretto sour, my drink of choice. And she hired you?
He nodded. Sort of. It’s more of a favor.
So if she’s a witch, does that mean Jack has special powers?
Rand shook his head, and I imagined we must’ve looked mighty odd to anyone who hazarded a glance our way. Neither one of us talking, but making gestures as if we were ...
No, Jack was … well, is a normal human.
Thousands of questions percolated through my head like a swarm of locusts. Why couldn’t she just find out who killed him herself? Seems weird for her to wait so long.
Rand sighed as if he wasn’t in the mood for explanations. Witches and warlocks all exceed at certain things; we don’t all have the same powers. She couldn’t have done the spell herself. Perhaps we could’ve done it together in time, but I don’t trust her, never have. I needed someone I could trust.
So he didn’t trust the Wicked Witch of the West, but he trusted me? The thought made me tingle with pride, like the feeling a nerdy kid gets in PE when the popular kids pick him to be on their team.
There was a lull in the music, so I thought I’d give my voice a try.
“Why did she wait so long?”
“Witchcraft is a lot like technology, we make leaps and bounds over the years. Neither she nor I would’ve been strong enough to attempt something like this forty years ago.”
Hmm. That was interesting. So what did it mean that I was able to bring Jack back? Maybe I did have more ability than I thought. That was sort of a nice feeling. I’d never excelled at much in my life. Sure, I’d been a good enough student, but I never stood out. No homecoming queen or valedictorian for me. I was just the girl next door, the one on the sidelines. And now? Well now, I did have something to feel proud about, something infinitely better than homecoming queen or class president.
“Does this mean Christa and I can go back to LA?” I asked, sipping the last of my sour. I noticed Rand was already on his second double Jameson. Apparently, warlocks could hold their alcohol.
The music started up again.
I suppose so. You did the job I hired you for.
The very beginning of a smile tugged at his lips, his dimples just barely cresting. My blood warmed at the expression, and I had to look away. I couldn’t say I shared his amusement with the whole situation. The stupid truth of it was that I felt an infinite sadness with the prospect that our little mission was at its end. I downed the remnants of my sour, hoping I’d swallow my gloom at the same time.
It occurred to me I was developing feelings for Rand, and I was definitely not okay with that. Having a crush, or whatever you want to call it, on anyone was dangerous—that whole broken heart thing not sounding especially appealing. But someone like Rand … I couldn’t even contemplate it. True, I was a bit lonely but other than that, it wasn’t half-bad. I had a nice house and a reliable car, a cat that needed me, and a best friend. The last thing I wanted was an emotional devastation. Yes, feelings for Rand were not a good idea.
I looked up and found Rand studying me. A flush crept up my neck like a thief in the night, and I faced my drink again, playing with the ice cubes. I blinked and the glass was full. I had to stifle a gasp and looked up with wide eyes.
Looked like you needed another one.
Why’d you buy them the first time around? I thought, taking a sip. It tasted even better than the first—stronger, sweeter.
He shrugged. Best not to arouse suspicion.
It seems like you’re very careful about people’s suspicions?
There are rules in this lifestyle and one of them is that we have to blend in with everyone else, not draw attention to ourselves. It wouldn’t be a good situation were
people to find out we exist.
I nodded, as if I could commiserate. Well, thanks for the drink.
I scanned the room, my attention falling on Jack and Christa who were dancing pretty close. Oh no, tell me she wasn’t going to go for the newly undead? Christa amazed me. Find a good-looking guy and she was all over him. I was somewhat surprised she’d given up on Rand. He was definitely more the prize than Jack.
What’s on your mind?
Hmm, might as well tell him the truth. I’m just watching Jack and Christa. I’m surprised she’s set her sights on him. I didn’t think she’d give up on you quite so soon. I held my glass up as if to cheers him and his incredible looks.
Rand chuckled. Ah, well, about that … I put a halt to it. Now, she thinks of me as her brother.
Surprise pulled on my eyelashes, forcing my eyes wider. Why’d you do that? Christa’s a beautiful girl.
Yes, she is, but not one I’m interested in. I don’t mix business with pleasure.
I couldn’t help but recall our near kiss, and my heart suffered as if Cupid was stabbing it with his little arrow. Maybe he’d known I’d pull away? Either way, Rand was right; it was common sense not to mix business with pleasure. I should be thinking the exact same way; I was thinking the exact same way.
Good motto, I thought with a grin.
He nodded, but his eyes held a vacant stare, like a mannequin. He strummed his fingers on the table and continued staring into space. I couldn’t say I was enjoying my evening with Vapid Man and my stomach churned with the liquor I’d forced into it. Hmm, maybe Rand’s magic amaretto sour was much better quality than its unmagic cousin.
My hotel room started calling my name.
“I think I’m going to call it a night,” I said and made a motion of standing, swaying with the effort.
Rand wore a look of surprise. “So early?”
“Yes, I’m not feeling great.”
Rand stood and scanned the crowd, his gaze resting on Jack. Then he faced me again. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
“No need. I can find my way back.”
“I insist.” It was futile arguing with him. He sure took this gentleman stuff to extremes.
“What about Jack?”
He held my arm, and we neared the door. “I put a charm on him. He won’t be able to move from that spot.”
“Can you do the same for Christa?”
“Already did. They won’t notice a thing.”
We walked out of the club, and I found myself in the rain again, the drops plastering my hair to my face until I’m sure I looked like a drowned rat. Rand hailed a cab and opened the door for me as I crawled in. I was careful to keep to my side of the cab, not wanting to give Rand the wrong idea—especially after his comment about separating business and pleasure.
The five-minute cab ride was a silent one. Before I knew it, we pulled up to the hotel, and a squat valet opened the door for me. I ran for the lobby, not wanting the rain to further destroy any semblance of attractiveness I might have left. My hair was beyond repair, but hopefully my mascara wasn’t running. Rand caught up with me and the rain dripped down his face, testing my restraint to dab the drops away.
“Well, thanks for getting me back to the hotel,” I said.
“I’d like to see you to your room, if you don’t mind.”
I swallowed my surprise and didn’t have a chance to respond before the elevator dinged and opened its doors. Rand took my arm and led me in, hitting the button for the sixth floor as the doors closed behind us.
“Your hands are freezing,” he said and rubbed them between his. I didn’t respond, and the elevator dinged again, announcing my floor. I stepped out and watched Rand do the same. I guess he was serious about walking me to my door.
“Well, thanks Rand,” I started.
“Do you mind if we talk some more?”
I shrugged, secretly delighted he wanted to stay. “Sure. I should start to feel better soon, I hope.”
I slipped the room key into the slot and pushed against the door when it blinked green. Rand followed me inside and shut the door behind him. I turned around and had to stifle my gasp when I found him directly in front of me.
“Where do you feel sick?”
I backed away a step. “My stomach hurts.”
With no hesitation, he sealed the distance between us, placing his hand on my belly. His other hand went around my back to steady me. Before I had a chance to squirm, wish my stomach were smaller, or ask what the hell was going on, I no longer felt sick.
He backed away then and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Wow, I feel a lot better.”
Rand took a seat on a wingchair near the bed. “You can do that to yourself as well. Next time you have a headache, just put your hand on your head, and focus all your energy on removing the pain.”
Good to know. “Thanks. What else can I do?”
He kicked his long legs up on the ottoman and I couldn’t help but notice how large his feet were. Ergh.
“Whatever you want, you just have to make sure your focus is there, that’s all it is. Focusing on what you want to happen and then making it happen.”
Wow! This sounded pretty cool. I took my jacket off, contemplating some of the different things I might want to do with this newfound power. Change the curtains in the room? No, not that interesting, and I’m sure hotel management wouldn’t approve. My gaze settled on my reflection in a mirror at the far corner of the room.
Perfect.
“Teach me how to change myself.”
Rand’s brows knitted together as he stood up and closed the distance between us. “Why would you want to do that?”
“I want to see what I’d look like with different hair and …” His frown deepened. “It’s just for fun, Rand.”
He shook his head, the beginnings of a smirk toying with his sumptuous lips. Setting his hands on my shoulders, he pushed me toward the mirror. He stood so close behind me I could feel his heat and had to fight the urge to sink into him. His face in the mirror behind me was so perfect, I imagined he’d done some magic work on himself. How could anyone be so handsome?
“Look at yourself and focus on what you want to do.”
His breath tickled the fine hairs on my ear and I nearly forgot what I’d set out to do. “I want to change my eyes to brown,” I finally managed. I met his gaze, and he mouthed: focus. Pulling my attention from his male perfection, I focused. And focused.
“Nothing’s happening.”
Rand chuckled. “Maybe because your beautiful blue eyes are offended.”
Beautiful blue eyes? Wow, had that come out of his mouth? I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. Apparently, Rand caught the smile as his expression changed to one of contemplation.
“Jolie, you’re beautiful. You don’t believe it, but you should. I don’t know why you have so much self doubt, but a successful witch must believe in herself.”
“I’m not a witch,” I said automatically.
“Maybe not yet, but you’re a witch in training. You were born with the gift and now we just need to hone it.”
I turned from the mirror and noticed he was only inches away. His proximity caused a sense of breathlessness within me—the feeling you get when surfacing after holding your breath under water for too long.
He needed to understand I was no witch and never would be. I was just a girl from Spokane who could see weird stuff and sometimes see visions of the future. And okay, most recently bring back dead people. But I was no witch.
“I don’t want to be a witch.”
Rand’s brows drew together. “Why? You’re very powerful. You have more potential than I’ve ever seen in anyone.”
“Well that’s all fine and good, but I like my life as it is.”
Rand sighed and rubbed the back of his head as if he couldn’t grasp the fact that I wouldn’t want to be a witch, as if being a witch were like winning the Miss America title.
“This is a calling, Jolie, not
a decision for you to make. Witches are born this way, they aren’t created.”
If witches were born in such a way, then I was definitely not one. My mother was a very religious woman and had no witch anything about her and my father (rest his soul) had been pretty much the same. “Neither of my parents are witches,” I said with a knowing smirk, as if I’d bested the warlock.
Rand’s lips downturned, and his eyes filled with what I can only term annoyance. “That’s a subject for another day.”
“You aren’t going to tell me I’m adopted, are you?”
He shook his head. “No, nothing as dramatic as that. Your parents don’t need to be witches or warlocks. As long as one of them is the descendent of a witch or warlock, they can pass the trait to their offspring, and such is the case with you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “So who was the witch or warlock descendant then?”
“How the bloody hell should I know? Ask your mother.” Before I had the chance to respond, he continued. “You are a witch as much as I am one.”
“But how do you know?” I couldn’t keep the edge from my voice.
“You can see auras. So can I. Yours looks the same as you described mine—electric blue.”
I got him there. “I’ve never seen my own aura, so I know that isn’t true.”
“No one can see her own aura,” Rand said with tight lips, clearly not enjoying this argument.
I couldn’t say anything to that, so I didn’t. In angry submission, I turned toward the mirror again. Rand leaned down, his face parallel with mine. The planes of his face were so different to mine—angular and chiseled while mine were softer, rounder.
“Use your anger, Jolie, focus it, and use it.”
I focused and willed my damn blue eyes to turn brown. My pupils dilated until they eclipsed the entirety of my eyes and I looked like some sort of alien. Then the black slowly faded into a rich dark brown. I pulled back and stared at myself. “Did I …”
“You did it yourself,” he interrupted me.
I forced myself to concentrate on the mirror again, wanting to continue to test the boundaries of this new talent. What to do next … my lackluster blond hair hung around my face, just begging for an update. I focused on the dull strands and watched as a dark shadow started at the top of my head and like a cracked egg, seeped down the sides of my head, leaving my hair black in its trail. It seemed easier now. Maybe because the task was not a huge one. Changing one’s physical appearance had to be ten times easier than willing yourself to travel back in time or inadvertently reviving someone who’d been dead for nearly ninety years.
Fire Burn And Cauldron Bubble, A Paranormal Romance (Jolie Wilkins) Page 6