Lost Souls (A Caitlyn O’Connell Novel)

by Delilah Devlin

  “In this circle, safely unbroken,

  Hear my words, truly spoken.

  I call the elements, this circle bound;

  Secure my path, while truth is found.”

  With all the Elements called into play, save Spirit, Cait prepared to give them their due. Drawing in deep breaths, she cleared her mind, seeking the quiet place inside, the place where she connected with the spirits. Then she carefully erected a wall in her imagination, enclosing the circle with strands of spider’s silk until she stood inside a floor-to-ceiling web, noting only dimly when the black candles laid at every point lit themselves, one by one.

  With a chirp from his siren, Sam pulled the unmarked sedan into a parking space in front of Celeste’s new-age shop.

  The garish neon sign announcing PSYCHIC INSIDE had been repaired and the large glass window replaced. The last time he’d stood on the sidewalk looking in, a tornado of flying debris had circled inside like a cyclone. At the center had stood Cait, facing a wispy wraith that had trashed the shop and flapped Celeste against the ceiling as though she weighed nothing.

  Ghostly wraiths didn’t appear to be their problem this time around. Still, he felt trepidation entering the shop. He’d never admit it, but he felt magic in the air every time he entered. A feeling that reminded him all too clearly of the part of Cait’s life he’d never truly understand or share.

  He pushed open the door, only to have to duck suddenly.

  Celeste stood to the side, holding up a long stick, the point thrust inside the bell above the door, muffling the chime while he closed it.

  Lowering the stick, she pressed a finger to her lips and then motioned him to follow her back to the room where she did her readings. At the opening in the counter, she turned. “You may stand at da door and watch,” she whispered, “but you may not interfere.”

  Sam nodded, then slipped past her, quietly parting the beads. The sight greeting him made his breath catch in his throat.

  Cait stood at the center of a web-like curtain, candles flaring high and warm golden light playing against her naked skin.

  His gaze flew back to Celeste, but she was gone.

  Sounds, like chanting but more musical, drew his gaze again. They came from inside the circle where Cait stood swaying. Her eyes were closed. Droplets of water glistened on her skin. A breeze lifted her thick dark hair to send the tendrils dancing around her head. Flames from black candles surrounding her feet blazed, the tips flickering, painting her skin with shadow and light, moving upward like the strokes of a fiery paintbrush to skim her belly, the tips of her hardened breasts, and then her face. She turned slowly, her lips moving with words impossible to hear. Her eyelids drifted upward, and her gaze found him.

  For a moment she held still, a swallow working the muscles of her neck, an embarrassed tinge brightening the flickering flame dancing on her skin.

  From one moment to the next, he blinked and the image was gone.

  Cait stood alone with smoke wafting from doused candles, the sickly sweet scent of incense in the air. She raised her arms to cover herself, then dropped them, perhaps realizing it was a little too late.

  “What’s going on, Cait?” he asked softly, still entranced by the vision that had dimmed and aroused as never before. His fingers itched to touch her skin and see whether it was hot.

  “A little begging, on my part.”

  “To whom?” he murmured, although inside he was intensely jealous her pleas weren’t addressed to him right now.

  She lifted her hands but then dropped them again, maybe growing nervous at being found standing nude and alone. “The Powers That Be.”

  To ease the thickness of his tongue, Sam swallowed hard. “You know ’em?” he asked, his words coming out nearly garbled.

  “Not personally. I have to take some things on faith.”

  Uncomfortable with yet another reminder of all the things he didn’t quite understand about her, he shrugged off the comment and headed back into familiar territory. “You were supposed to wait for me at the hospital. In case you didn’t realize it, the doctors never officially released you.”

  “I felt better after they got fluids in me. No damage, see?” she said, giving a little self-conscious twirl. “Good as new.”

  Her hair was still poofy, but he didn’t mention it. If she wanted to pretend everything was back to normal, he’d let her have her fantasy moment. From here on out, he’d watch her like a hawk. His body stiffened. Nothing was going to happen to her on his watch. Not again. “Do you know what we’re facing?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Let me guess.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “You need to see a guy about a book.”

  She wrinkled her nose and looked around, stepping quickly to her pile of clothing and beginning to dress. “I tried a location spell, but it didn’t work. So I had to cleanse my aura.”

  “Will the spell work now?”

  “Guess we’ll see. Ready to chase some birds?”

  As the streets grew still and the sky darkened in an instant, Sam couldn’t deny a little thrill of wonder. Running behind Cait as she chased her murder of crows, he could see how magic could be every bit as addictive as scotch to someone like her.

  She’d tossed the dried herbs into the air and then crouched while a mini-whirlwind caught the grit, funneling it tightly before it exploded into a swarm of birds. He’d watched her face, the almost childlike delight she took in seeing her spell work.

  Chasing her through alleys, they wound their way to Beale Street toward a small alcove café where diners sat frozen with their forks held in midair, where a street musician’s pick clanged against guitar strings and the sound stretched eerily.

  The red door with the shiny brass knob—a door that didn’t belong there—appeared once the crows bunched together before sweeping upward to disappear into the dark sky.

  Cait reached out, twisted the knob, and then entered the dimly lit bookstore. Like a place out of time, gaslights flickered from old-fashioned wall sconces. Candles sat on tables awaiting a match.

  Out of habit, because he could never quite believe it, he glanced over his shoulder at the large plate-glass window that looked out on the café alcove. A window where a brick wall should have been. He glanced to his right, noting a long marble counter he hadn’t paid attention to before. Behind the counter was a cabinet with small wooden cubbies, each with purple glass knobs glinting in the pale sunlight.

  Footsteps scraped from the raised dais straight ahead, and he faced forward again, girding himself against Morin’s appearance.

  The other man’s tall, dark figure appeared from around the corner of one of the bookshelves. In the golden lamp glow, Morin’s expression was wary as his gaze met Sam’s across the distance.

  Morin was right to be hesitant. Every fiber of Sam’s body was taut. His fists curled at his sides. All it would take would be one risqué remark, and he’d let loose his fury at the man who’d taken Cait’s innocence and then continued to play with her, hoping she’d be the one to unlock him from his self-imposed prison.

  Morin was the one who had made the demon that had nearly killed Cait. All because he’d desired a girl who’d wanted nothing to do with him. He’d knowingly unleashed evil and then pretended regret, trying to pluck at Cait’s heartstrings to feel sorry for him in his self-imposed exile.

  Only she wasn’t seventeen anymore, and she wasn’t innocent. She’d lived in the intervening years with her personal curse.

  Morin wet his lips and then offered Cait a tentative smile. “I’m so glad to see you looking well,” he said in a low tone.

  A soothing voice Sam was sure would charm snakes.

  Cait wasn’t as immune to his charms as she liked to believe.

  She touched her hair. “Don’t flatter me. I need something. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

  “I assumed as much. A cup of tea?”

  Cait hesitated. “And a bite to eat? I’m starved.”

  Morin nodded, and then tu
rned to lead the way toward the small kitchen beyond his library.

  Sam snagged Cait’s wrist, holding her back but not knowing exactly what to say.

  She gave him a sideways glance. “I’m okay,” she whispered. But when he released her wrist, she tucked her hand inside his. “Don’t worry, Sam. I won’t ever trust him again. Not like I do you.”

  Sam felt the tension inside him ease a fraction. He was right to fear Morin’s influence, but the man didn’t hold her in thrall. Cait was all grown up. If the things he’d seen her do were any indication, her powers might one day outstrip her mentor’s.

  For now, she needed him, wanted him. He’d hold that knowledge close to his chest and hope that Cait’s determination to keep her feelings for Morin unentangled from her past wouldn’t falter. His thumb rubbed along her pulse. If ever her determination weakened, Sam would have her back.

  Cait took comfort in Sam’s presence beside her as she took a seat at the small round breakfast table in Morin’s kitchen. Perhaps done with playing games with Sam, Morin had mustered up a third chair rather than offering Sam one of his tall workbench stools as he had in the past, leaving him hovering from a distance. A deliberate attempt to leave him physically outside the conversation. Not that Sam seemed any more comfortable now as he angled his long legs beneath the table.

  Cait cleared her throat and turned to Morin, whose face was clear of expression. Carefully neutral.

  Did he know she’d told Sam everything about her last visit? Was he actually playing it safe rather than tweaking Sam to get a rise out of him? She hoped so. She didn’t need both men posturing while the room reeked of testosterone.

  Morin sat still while she studied his familiar, masculine features: his black, shoulder-length hair, straight nose, and full lips. Although Morin was still every bit as handsome and alluring as ever with his unique brand of smoldering sensuality, she wasn’t seventeen anymore. He’d used her attraction then and had tried to draw her into his world again when she’d been forced to seek his advice with the last case. Yes, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever met, but she’d never trust him. And trust, she’d discovered, was something she couldn’t survive without.

  Morin moved around the counter, choosing a plain earthen teapot, which he rinsed with a dash of boiling water from the kettle sitting atop the old-fashioned gas stove. Then his hand hovered over a row of painted tins until he selected the desired blend of tea.

  She watched, knowing he was up to something, but with his back to her, she couldn’t see what else he might be adding to the brew.

  Shifting in her chair, she cleared her throat. “We have another problem.”

  “You do seem to attract exciting sorts of problems, Caitlyn,” Morin murmured, still turned away and swishing the teapot.

  Sam stirred, muttering under his breath.

  His impatience was evident in the curling of his hand on the tabletop.

  She cupped her hand over his fist and gave him a single shake of her head, telling him silently to behave. They were here because they needed help. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted the tea, allowing Morin to extend her visit. But they weren’t wasting time. Not really. While inside Morin’s domain, time outside the shop stood still. Part of her understood her old mentor’s need to prolong their stay. He was lonely and bored. No one but those he invited—and who had the magical skills to find him—ever came. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him, day after day, locked inside this prison he’d created for himself as penance for one tragic mistake in his past.

  Morin returned to the table with cups he set in front of her and Sam. Despite the fact he knew Sam wasn’t fond of tea, he poured him a cup, his focused stare daring her ex to complain. At Sam’s grudging nod of thanks, Morin’s mouth twisted, as though disappointed he hadn’t gotten the reaction he wanted.

  Cait’s lips twitched, and she raised her cup to hide a smile. A couple of small yellow blossoms floated in her tea, and her gaze whipped to Morin’s. “Tormentil flowers?” What was it about the herb? She couldn’t quite remember.

  “Sam’s tea is pure oolong,” Morin murmured. “In yours, I added powdered tormentil root. Take a sip. I also added chamomile to flavor it.”

  Still hesitating to drink, she asked, “And I need tormentil root why?”

  Morin shook his head. “Such a terrible student,” he chided cheerfully. “It’s a protection spell. Keep in mind I didn’t have to tell you. Your palate isn’t very discerning. The blossoms are only decorative. They were a clue I left for you, my little detective. Didn’t want to sneak anything into yours without your knowledge.” One dark brow rose, and his gaze held hers for a moment. “I’ve adopted a policy of full disclosure when it comes to you.”

  Sam sputtered and put down his cup with a thump.

  Ignoring his sideways glare, Cait narrowed hers on Morin, wondering how he could have known she and Sam had argued about that very same topic.

  Playing innocent, Morin raised his cup and sipped.

  “It’s more than a protection spell,” she said with a stony stare.

  “Ah, maybe you do remember something. When you enter the land of the dead, whether a graveyard or the mystical place, you need a protective shield. Do you want to be a lightning rod again?” At her glower, he tapped the rim of her cup. “Drink down the tea like a good girl, then hold out your hand.”

  Sam cussed under his breath.

  Cait blew on her tea, then drank it as quickly as she could. Setting aside her cup, she reached across the table.

  The moment his hand enclosed hers, she felt a spark of power, a warm tingle that traveled up her arm and spread like a brushfire.

  “Close your eyes.”

  Just as she had all those years ago when she’d practiced her magic with him in this very room, she obeyed instantly. Another flash of warmth enveloped her, this one more like a soothing wave, traveling through her arm, prickling her skin, sinking deep within her feminine soul.

  “Not fair,” she muttered, not wanting to be more forceful about his psychic flirting because Sam was sitting right beside her.

  “Imagine yourself inside that dreary hotel,” he said, a hint of amusement in his melodic voice.

  Sam cursed again. “How does he know about the hotel?”

  Cait shook her head to quiet him while filling her mind with the images: the shabby foyer, the yellowed walls and puke-colored carpets, the room with a gaping hole in the wall.

  “Now…” Morin said, his voice softening, deepening, drawing her in.

  “Elementals, hear me, your humbled servant.

  Bless this wanderer, this stubborn novice—”

  Cait peeked open one eye to give Morin a stealthy glare.

  He winked and raised a forefinger, and then indicated downward for her to close her eye again. Which she did, but not without letting him see she didn’t approve of his humor.

  “I invoke your many blessings

  To hold quiet dark spirits rising.

  Let root and water insulate and shield,

  While powers mingle and knowing builds.

  I invoke your many blessings.

  To hold quiet dark spirits rising.

  So mote it be.”

  “So mote it be,” she repeated, then slowly opened her eyes.

  His features appeared a little haggard, as if somehow he’d aged. Then she blinked, only to find the old Morin, eyes glinting with devilish humor peering back.

  “That should do it, darling.” His hand withdrew. The warmth receded like an ebbing tide.

  She swallowed and met his dark, intense gaze and felt a weakening of her guard. She almost blurted that she’d missed him. Maybe the sentiment was something else he’d stirred into her tea.

  Determined to shake off the feeling, she straightened in her chair. “How do you know about the hotel? You aren’t psychic. Was Celeste just here?”

  “Since I don’t have any sense of time passing, I can only say she has been here twice since last I saw you.
But no, she didn’t tell me about the hotel.”

  “Then how?”

  “She brought me something for safekeeping.” His gaze slid away to land on the workbench behind her.

  Turning in her chair, she spied a crystal ball, its rosy hues unmistakable. “My mother’s ball? Celeste gave that to you?”

  Morin gave her one of his glib smiles. “It’s not mine. Or even Lorene’s anymore. You charged it last. I simply used its connection to see what you’ve been doing.”

  “You’ve been spying on me?” Disbelief had her voice rising.

  Morin shrugged nonchalantly while his gaze honed. “I wouldn’t call it that. Just keeping abreast. To ensure your safety, my dear.”

  “And just what have you seen?” She gasped and pressed against her chest. Good Lord, her mind went straight to the intimate parts of her life.

  “I’ve watched you studying your mother’s book. I’m pleased you’re resuming your studies.”

  “I’m not—” she started to lie, then had another thought. “What else have you seen?”

  “I know that your husband—”

  “Ex-husband—”

  “Doesn’t trust you. He can’t resist you, but he doesn’t trust you.”

  A low growl sounded beside her, and she slipped a hand to the bunched muscles of Sam’s thigh to warn him not to react. She’d take care of this. “This is outrageous. Even for you, Morin.”

  He pulled back as though struck, and she felt a moment’s remorse. But hey, he’d probably been watching her and Sam make love, something Sam was going to figure out pretty damn quick.

  Anger boiled up inside. However, Cait had always been honest with herself. Anger wasn’t the only thing she felt. Arousal wound deep inside at the thought of what this decadent man might have seen. Heat flushed her cheeks and tightened her nipples. Reactions Morin noted, no doubt, given his steady stare.