Night's Kiss

by Amanda Ashley

  A glass-fronted cabinet held many items that were basic to the practice of witchcraft. The first shelf held a variety of pentagrams, some plain, some with colored points. There were a number of pentacles in gold, silver, or copper. The second shelf held a variety of censers, some with feet to keep them from scorching the surface they rested on. The third shelf held a basket of feathers, bundled sticks of incense, several mirrors, bottles of oils, and pots of ink.

  An arched doorway hung with beads in all the colors of the rainbow separated the bookstore from the adjoining coffee shop. Glancing through the archway, Brenna saw perhaps a dozen small round tables. Half of them were covered with white cloths, half with black. Green candles burned in the center of each table. A long black counter lined with bar stools ran along the far wall. A pretty young woman with long black hair was waiting on several customers seated at the counter. A woman wearing a long gray dress and a floppy-brimmed black hat sat at one of the tables reading a newspaper.

  "May I help you?"

  Brenna glanced over her shoulder to see a tall, painfully thin woman with eyes the color of topaz smiling at her. The woman wore an ankle-length black dress and a pair of high-heeled black boots.

  "Are you looking for something specific?" the woman asked.

  "No." Brenna shook her head. "I was just…just curious."

  "Of course," the woman said, smiling. "Many people are curious about the paranormal and the occult these days, some seriously, some just because it's the in thing at the moment. Some are into crystals, others into palm reading or tarot. A few are into voodoo and black magick. There are others who are searching for something to believe in, something to hold on to in these days of unrest and trouble. Some are turning their backs on established religion and seeking new paths to follow."

  "Like witchcraft?" Brenna asked hesitantly.

  "Wicca," the woman corrected. "It's witchcraft of a sort, but it's also a religion, a way of living and believing."

  Brenna nodded. "Is it all right if I just look around?"

  "Of course. I'm Myra Kavanaugh. I own the shop. Let me know if you need anything."

  "Thank you."

  The woman smiled at her again. "Blessed be."

  Alone once more, Brenna turned to the bookshelf. Although many of the words in the books were familiar to her, there were others that were unknown, and others that, though familiar, were not spelled the way she knew them. Still, she was able to make sense of most of what she read.

  She thumbed through a book about rituals for modern pagans, including the history of the goddess Lilith. Brenna had never heard of Lilith and found the information quite interesting. Lilith was a seductress, tempting men with forbidden pleasures and desires. Strangely, she was also known as a night hag, hardly the description of a seductive maiden. According to the book, modern witches considered Lilith to be the patroness of witches, while others described her as an alluring siren, a seductive vampire, and the ultimate sex goddess.

  With a shake of her head, Brenna replaced the book on the shelf and withdrew a book of spells. It was amazing to her that she was standing in a store that made no secret of selling books and charms for witches. How times had changed! In her day, men and women suspected of witchcraft had been hanged. Now they owned coffee shops and mingled with their friends and neighbors without fear.

  She glanced at the owner of the shop. Was she a witch? And what of the patrons in the coffee shop? Were they all witches, or merely ordinary people who liked the excitement of mingling with those who believed in the occult?

  Turning her attention back to the book in her hand, Brenna read the ingredients for a spell to repel troublesome ghosts. It called for dried rosemary leaves, sea salt, garlic powder, and dried black beans.

  Brenna grunted softly as she read the directions. Black beans were, indeed, an ancient charm against ghosts and everyone knew that black was the best color for banishing. Another section dealt with the making of magick wands. She thought regretfully of the wand she had left behind. She had fashioned it herself from a willow branch and painted it in shades of blue and green. The wand was like a conduit, an extension of her will, used to help focus and direct power, cast a magical circle, or stir ingredients in a cauldron. Perhaps it was time to think about making a new one.

  She was about to put the book back on the shelf when she heard footsteps coming up behind her.

  And then a deep voice asked, "Is this your first time here?"

  Turning, Brenna found herself face-to-face with a man a few inches taller than she was. He had short blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a thin mustache. He wore a light blue sweater and a pair of charcoal gray trousers and was, she thought, very nearly as handsome as Roshan, though they were complete opposites. Light and dark, she mused. Sunshine and shadow.

  He smiled at her, displaying even white teeth and a dimple in his left cheek. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." He held out a slender hand. "I'm Anthony Loken."

  She hesitated a moment before placing her hand, briefly, in his. "Brenna Flanagan." Turning away to hide her nervousness, she replaced the book on the shelf and then, taking a deep breath, she turned to meet the stranger's gaze once more.

  "May I buy you a cup of coffee?" he asked politely.

  "No, thank you."

  "Please, change your mind." He smiled disarmingly and then, apparently sensing her uneasiness, he said, "You're perfectly safe here. It's a public place, after all."

  Myra smiled at the two of them as she passed by. "Tony's harmless," she told Brenna with a wink. "Just don't believe anything he says."

  "You'd better be nice to me, Myra," Loken said with a wry grin, "or I'll take my business elsewhere."

  Myra waved a dismissive hand in the air. "No, you won't. Try the Almond Amaretto, you two. Darlene just put up a fresh pot."

  Loken turned to Brenna. "So, what do you say?"

  "All right."

  He smiled at her, then stepped back so she could precede him into the coffee shop. Brenna chose a table near the window. Loken held her chair for her, ordered two cups of Almond Amaretto from the waitress, and then leaned back in his chair.

  "I take it you're interested in magick and the like," he remarked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Yes," she replied cautiously. "Since you are also in here, I gather you are, too."

  "Oh, definitely."

  Brenna bit down on her lower lip, wondering if she dared ask him if he was a witch. He solved the problem for her.

  "This is a well-known meeting place for those who dabble in magick. Of course, we get outsiders from time to time, but most of Myra's customers are serious practitioners." He leaned forward. "Are you by chance a witch?"

  She shook her head, unable to voice the lie.

  He settled back in his chair again. "Were you looking for anything in particular?" he asked. "Or are you just curious?"

  "Just curious," she said. Although Anthony Loken seemed gentlemanly enough, she was reluctant to trust him, though she couldn't say why. She certainly had no intention of telling him that she was interested in finding a cure for vampirism. She wasn't even sure why she was looking for one. Roshan had never said anything about wanting to be mortal again.

  "Thanks, Darlene," Loken said, smiling at the pretty serving girl who brought their order.

  Darlene smiled back, a blush rising in her cheeks. "Would you like a cinnamon roll or a tart?" she asked. "Nicole just made some fresh."

  "Nothing for me," Loken replied. "Miss Flanagan, would you care for anything?"

  "No, thank you."

  With a last adoring look at Anthony Loken, the waitress left the table.

  "So," Loken said, stirring a bit of cream into his coffee, "are you new in the city?"

  Brenna nodded. Picking up her cup, she sipped it slowly.

  "I didn't think I'd seen you in here before," Loken remarked. "I must say, I hope you're here to stay. We can always use another pretty face."

  "That is very kind of you to say,"
Brenna replied politely. "But you should not pay me such compliments."

  He studied her for several moments. "You're not from around here, are you?"

  "No."

  "And not very talkative." He lifted his cup and took a drink. "I can tell you're wondering if I'm a practitioner. Well, I am. I specialize in channeling and cartomancy."

  "You don't care that people know you're a"—she lowered her voice—"warlock."

  He shrugged. "Why should I care? This isn't seventeenth-century Salem. No one cares about witchcraft anymore. There are too many other scary things going on in the world for people to worry about witches and warlocks, even if they believed in them."

  Though he spoke openly of being a warlock, she couldn't bring herself to tell him that she was a witch. She had spent too many years hiding what she was to share such personal information with a man she had just met. Back home, the villagers had thought of her as a healer, or so she had foolishly believed, until the night her neighbors came to accuse and condemn her.

  "Yon are not into the dark arts, are you?" Brenna asked. Black magick was used to bring harm to others and reeked of negative energy. White magick, intended for doing good to one's self or others, was always positive. If there was one thing Granny O'Connell had instilled in Brenna, it was the law of threefold return. Any witch who used her power for evil could expect to reap three times the amount of whatever harm she caused another.

  "No," Loken said. "We only practice white magick here. Healing, finding lost objects, things like that." He leaned forward again. "Do you need help with something, lessons in witchcraft, perhaps? I'd be happy to instruct you."

  "No, I was just taking a walk through the city, finding my way around, as it were."

  "So you just stumbled in here by chance?"

  "Yes. And I really should be going," Brenna said. "Thank you for the coffee."

  "My pleasure." He rose when she did. "I'll walk you to the door."

  With a nod, Brenna left the coffee shop, conscious of Anthony Loken walking at her side. She stopped at the door that led to the street. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Loken."

  "Please, call me Anthony," he said. "I'd like very much to see you again. Perhaps I could take you out to dinner one evening next week?"

  "Thank you, but I cannot."

  "I see. Who is he?"

  "He?"

  "My competition."

  "I do not understand."

  "I'm assuming the reason you can't go out with me is because you have a steady boyfriend."

  She started to deny it and then decided it would be easier to let him think just that. "Yes," she said, "and he can be very jealous."

  Loken laughed good-naturedly. "Well, perhaps we can have coffee together again."

  "Yes, perhaps. Good day to you, sir."

  She left the shop, conscious of Anthony Loken's gaze on her back. She didn't relax until she was in the car and headed back to the relative safety of Roshan DeLongpre's house.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 12

  Roshan woke as the setting sun slipped behind the horizon. One minute he was caught in the web of the death-like sleep of his kind, the next he was fully awake and alert. He knew, with his first in-drawn breath, that he was alone in the house.

  Throwing back the quilt on his bed, he sat up. A moment later, the overhead lights which were hooked up to an automatic timer came on, illuminating his lair. It was a large rectangular room, usually furnished with little more than his bed and a comfortable chair. However, since Brenna's arrival, he had moved his clothing down here. At the moment, his entire wardrobe was arranged in several neat piles on the floor. Since it looked like Brenna was here to stay for awhile, perhaps it was time to think about furnishing one of the empty bedrooms upstairs so he wouldn't have to carry his clothes back and forth from his lair to the shower.

  On the other hand, he might be wise to wait. She had taken his car and left the house. Who was to say she would return? And if she didn't, who could blame her? Even though she had said she wasn't afraid of him, what woman in her right mind would want to live here, with a creature like him?

  Rising, he collected a change of underwear, a pair of slacks, a sweater, and a pair of black leather boots. Unlocking the door, he made his way up the winding staircase to the portal that opened onto the first floor.

  He unlocked that door, as well, ducked into the hallway, then locked the door behind him. Bent on a shower, he bypassed the small half bath on the main floor and went up the stairs to the master bathroom, noting, as he passed by, that the door to Brenna's bedroom was closed.

  He thought about her as he turned on the water in the shower and stepped under the spray, surprised at how empty the house felt without her. How empty he felt without her. He hadn't shared a dwelling with anyone since he became a vampire and yet, in a matter of weeks, Brenna Flanagan had moved into his house and into his heart.

  Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist, ran a comb through his hair, brushed his teeth.

  He knew the moment she entered the house. Moments later, he heard a gasp from the doorway. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Brenna standing there, gaping at him. She wore a pair of jeans that outlined the sweet curve of her hips and a white sweater that clung to the swell of her breasts. No one, looking at her, would ever guess that she had been born in another time and place.

  "I… I'm sorry," she stammered, her eyes wide, her cheeks rosy. "I… I didn't know you were in here. I was just…"

  Her gaze moved over him, her cheeks growing redder by the minute. Looking up, she met his eyes, then turned and fled.

  Roshan stared after her, his emotions tumbling over themselves as he listened to her footsteps hurrying down the hall to the bedroom.

  So, she had come back after all.

  The thought brought a smile to his lips.

  Brenna shut the bedroom door, then leaned back against it. Seeing Roshan wearing nothing but a towel was as close as she had ever come to seeing a naked man. It was an image she would not soon forget. Placing her hand over her heart, she took a deep, calming breath. She had never known a man's body could be so beautiful or so finely sculpted. And he was beautiful, from his broad shoulders and stomach ridged with muscle to his long legs.

  She jumped when she heard a knock at the door. It could only be Roshan.

  "Brenna?"

  She felt the heat climb in her cheeks again. Was he dressed now, or still clad in nothing but a towel? "Yes?"

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, of course, why do you ask?"

  There was a moment of taut silence. She pictured him standing on the other side of the door, his long black hair damp from his shower, drops of water glistening like dewdrops in the curly black hair on his chest.

  "I'm going downstairs," he said quietly. "Will you join me?"

  "Yes, if you like."

  "I'll be waiting."

  Sitting on the bed, she removed her boots and socks, then paced the floor for a few minutes. Finally, after taking several deep breaths, she opened the door. Her heart was pounding as she made her way down the stairs.

  She found Roshan in the living room, standing in front of the fireplace. A cheery blaze crackled in the hearth. It provided the only light in the room. Soft music filled the air.

  "It's going to storm," he remarked as she sat down on the sofa.

  "How do you know?"

  "I feel it coming." And even as he spoke the words, lightning flashed across the skies, closely followed by the low rumble of distant thunder. "So," he said, sitting down on the other end of the sofa, "how did you spend your day?"

  "I went into the city."

  He nodded, his gaze intent upon her face as he waited for her to go on.

  "I did not go to the mall," she said. "Instead, I explored some of the shops along the street. There are so many of them! And I had a chocolate malt," she said, grinning.

  Roshan smiled at her, pleased by her excitement, and by her courage to go explor
ing in a new city on her own.

  "And then," she went on, her green eyes sparkling, "I went into a bookstore. But not just any bookstore. It was for witches!"

  "Imagine that," he said, a smile evident in his tone.

  She nodded vigorously. "Imagine! It was right out there in the open. Oh! And I met a warlock."

  Roshan sat up straighten "Go on."

  "He was very nice. He bought me a cup of coffee. Never have I tasted anything like it."

  "Indeed?"

  She frowned. "I do not remember what the coffee was called, but it was quite good. I think I shall have to go back and see if I can buy some to bring home."

  "Perhaps the warlock will be there."

  She shrugged, as if it was of no consequence. "Perhaps. Wait until you taste—Oh! I am sorry. I forgot."

  He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. "Do you want to see him again?" he asked, his voice gruff.

  "No, though he did ask if I would."

  Roshan clenched his jaw, startled by the tidal wave of jealousy that swept through him at the idea of Brenna going out with another man.

  Brenna seemed totally unaware of his agitation. "So," she said, curling one leg beneath her, "tell me more about you. I know so little. You live in this large house. What manner of work do you do?"

  He shrugged. "I have no need to work."

  "Did someone leave you a great deal of money, then?"

  "In a way," he said with a wry grin. "When I was first made vampire, I robbed the homes of the rich to provide for my material needs, which were few."

  "Where did you live?"

  "I had no home. I slept in my coffin, and sometimes in the earth."

  Her eyes widened. "You mean… under the ground?" She shuddered at the mere idea. "How awful."

  He grunted softly. "It wasn't as bad as you might think. In truth, the earth makes quite a comfortable bed. In those days, I didn't trust myself to mingle with mortals, so trying to earn a living was out of the question. And so I robbed from the rich, saving what I didn't spend."