Midnight Hour

by C. C. Hunter

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Miranda had relented. She’d pulled her shirt up and her pants down. No tattoos were found.

  Ms. Wales had left with promises that they would stay in touch and inform each other if anything changed. Holiday walked her out.

  Miranda moved to the kitchen table with Kylie and Della, all of them eerily quiet.

  And that made Miranda think … “She’s not here, the ghost’s not here, is she?”

  “I don’t feel her,” Kylie said.

  “Me, either,” Della said. “She probably passed over.”

  They got quiet again.

  “So what the hell is a mystic witch, anyway?” Della asked.

  Miranda looked at her. “I’m not a mystic witch.” The fact that she’d even considered it was insane. Whatever happened with Perry was … a fluke.

  “I asked what they are. I didn’t say you were one.”

  “They’re powerful in different ways. They can communicate with their minds, no spells required. Telepathic spells are extremely difficult for normal witches.”

  Kylie popped up and got out three Diet Cokes. “Before I knew I was chameleon and was exhibiting some witch-related powers, I read a few books on Wiccan traditions. I remember reading about how mystic powers were somehow connected to witches in Salem, right?”

  “You mean that witch hunt in 1692?” Della asked.

  Miranda took the soda Kylie handed her. “Yeah, legend has it that mystic witches arose from the need to communicate silently during that time. But you heard Ms. Wales, the tattoo isn’t related to being mystic.”

  “True,” Kylie popped the top off her soda. “But … the tattoo connects you to her, and she comes from a mystic.”

  “And you have some of that ESP crap going,” Della added. “You get those premonitions. That’s telepathic.”

  “No, not really. It’s not communicating.”

  Della opened her drink. “I disagree. When someone tells you bad shit is about to happen, it’s communicating.”

  “I’m not mystic.” Miranda said.

  Della looked puzzled. “Do you not want to be a mystic witch? Is it bad?”

  “It’s just silly to even think it. Mystics are powerful. But yes, they are a little weird.”

  “Then that seals the deal.” Della chuckled. “You’re weirder than neon-blue shit.”

  Miranda scowled. “What’s your thing with colored shit lately?”

  Della shrugged. “I was joking. Kind of. I mean you’re kind of powerful. You zapped those cages like bam. And I didn’t want to admit it, but that was—” Della tilted her head to the side, sniffed, then smiled. “Your wafer’s here.”

  “Perry?” Miranda asked.

  “Oh my.” Kylie appeared startled.

  “Isn’t that just bloody interesting,” Della said in a mock English accent. “Maybe the Queen of England was right. Those tattoos are associated with pleaaaasure. Because just after saying his name you’re covered in them.”

  Miranda looked down at her arms. Yup, covered.

  Not that it mattered. Perry had seen them. And right now, she wanted to see Perry. Voices echoed from outside.

  She didn’t mind if Perry saw them but she did mind if anyone else did.

  Miranda jumped up. “Send him in my bedroom! Just him.”

  * * *

  Perry spoke with Derek and Jenny as they walked past Miranda’s cabin. They were a real item now. Perry envied that. He wanted that with Miranda. He turned to her door and knocked. His stomach felt fluttery and light—in a good way.

  The last time he’d seen Miranda, he’d kissed her twice. But the whole meeting had been super tense and maybe she’d simply let down her guard.

  He really hoped it hadn’t been a onetime thing—because she was the one good thing he had going in his mixed-up life.

  The door swung open. It wasn’t Miranda. Della curtseyed. And Della was so not the curtseying kind. She waved her arm for him to enter as if she were playing a part in a play. “She waits for you in her bedchambers, my dear.”

  Okay, she wasn’t just acting strange, she was talking strange. He grinned. “You’re weird.”

  She looked back at Kylie. “Just like my friend, Miranda.” Accent hanging on, she waved an arm toward Miranda’s bedroom door. “Go. You have been summoned.”

  Kylie laughed.

  “What?” He sensed he’d missed part of a joke. Or was the joke on him? He recalled Miranda somehow knowing he’d kissed Bell. This morning, she’d seemed to believe him about only kissing her for an alibi, but maybe now …

  “Everything is bloody fine.” Della laughed. “Your girl is just covered in pleeeaasure tattoos. For your eyes only.”

  Perry didn’t follow, but … “Her tattoos are back?”

  Kylie nodded.

  Was that freaking Miranda out? It would him.

  He started toward her door, then remembered and turned around. “Burnett wants you and Kylie in the office. Now.”

  “Trouble?” Della lost her accent.

  “He’ll explain.”

  Miranda’s door swung open. Hungry for the sight of her, he turned. And what a sight. She stood there in running shorts and a pink tank top. Every inch of bare skin was covered in pale tattoos. He’d never thought of himself as a tattoo-loving guy, but that could change. It had changed. She looked … hot.

  Before he could stop himself, he envisioned her naked and with the pink swirly pattern painting her curves.

  “Hey.” He wanted to move in for a kiss, but hesitated. Miranda didn’t like to be pushed. Nudged, maybe. Pushed, no. But there was a fine line between those two.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I promised I would be, didn’t I?”

  She stared at him. Just being in the same room somehow lightened the weight he’d flown here with.

  “We’ll go,” Della said.

  Perry had completely forgotten they were still there.

  “The room reeks of pheromones.” Della chuckled.

  “Drop it,” Miranda snapped.

  “Come on.” Kylie used her “bad Della” tone and she caught the vampire’s elbow and pulled her out.

  Just before Kylie shut the door, Della called back. “Hey, bird boy, you can thank me later.”

  Perry looked back at Miranda. “What do I need to thank her for?”

  Miranda rolled her eyes. “With Della? Who knows?” She glanced away quickly as if it wasn’t altogether true. But that was okay. Girls kept secrets.

  Realizing they stood in silence and were completely alone, he let his gaze move over her again, taking in every painted inch. Like a canvas, her body was covered. “So they’re back.”

  “Yup.”

  “I’d say they kind of look hot, but I’m not sure you want to hear that.”

  “I don’t.” She frowned. “They freak me out.”

  “Can you still make them go away?”

  “Don’t know.” She looked down at her feet in flip-flops. “Go away.”

  A spot of bare skin appeared on the top of her feet and chased the tattoos up her legs leaving clear skin. In a few seconds, the tattoos were off her arms and face.

  “Have you learned anything about them yet?” he asked.

  She frowned. “One of Holiday’s old college professors, an Englishwoman, was here, but she didn’t have answers, just more questions.” Miranda told him about the woman’s tattoo and what she said about her mother and grandmother being mystic witchs.

  “That explains Della’s accent?” He grinned.

  “She can be such a twit.”

  He considered what else Miranda had told him. “I still say you called me when you were hurt. So maybe—”

  “It was a fluke.”

  He remembered her knowing about the kiss, and wondered if that was a fluke, too. He started to mention it, but bringing up the kiss didn’t seem smart.

  Then when he least expected it, she stepped closer. Closer was good. Perry wished she’d walk
into his arms. Let him pull her against him. He needed it as much as he sensed she did. But again, he didn’t want to push.

  Flipping her hair off her shoulder, he shifted his gaze to the curve of her neck. Everywhere he looked at her she had curves and he longed to explore each and every dip and valley. The earlier image he created flashed in his mind. So beautiful, so naked.

  “Perry?”

  “What?” He realized she’d been talking while he’d been enjoying …

  “I asked if you found anything out.”

  “Yeah. I—”

  “Tabitha? Did you find anything out about her?” Desperation sounded in her voice.

  He wished he had news on that. He wanted to be her hero.

  “No. But I think I have a location on the guy who’s behind the robberies. We’re about to go there now.”

  Worry filled her eyes. “I’ve texted her like five times today. She hasn’t answered. Do you still think Tabitha’s with Anthony?”

  “There’s no reason not to believe it,” he offered. And with everything he had, he hoped it was true.

  She nodded. “Are you really okay?”

  He considered telling her about his newly found family member, but she had enough to worry about.

  “I feel better just seeing you.” He smiled.

  He moved in another few inches. When she didn’t back up he brushed her reddish-blond hair off her shoulder and let his hand linger against the soft curve of her neck “Are you okay? Between your sister and the tattoo stuff, it can’t be easy on you.”

  “It’s not,” she said. “But I’m not cratering. As a matter of fact, I’ve talked Della and Kylie into teaching me to fight.”

  “Fight, fight?” he asked.

  “Yeah, and don’t look as if you don’t think I can do it.”

  “No, it’s not … You just never seemed interested in that kind of stuff.”

  “Well, I’m interested now. I think it might be hard to kill someone, but at least I’ll be able to protect myself.”

  He grinned. “With your tattoos, you’ll really look like a badass.”

  His phone chirped with a text. “I’m sure that’s Burnett. I should go.” He inched back to the door.

  She came a little closer. “Are you coming back with Burnett?”

  “It depends on what happens.”

  She glanced up. He glanced down. Her lips looked so fresh, so sweet. “I really wish you’d just come back with him.”

  Her request brought part pleasure, part pain. “I really like that you want me to. But I can’t come home until this is finished. I need you to understand that.”

  She nipped at her lip. Holy hell, he wanted to kiss her. He dipped his head.

  She did one slight shuffle back.

  Damn that hurt. “Are we … still good?”

  The second it took for her to answer felt long, empty, and it left a hole in life’s plans.

  She finally nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Can I kiss you?” He didn’t like the insecurity in his voice, but that slight shuffle away had seemed intentional.

  “A hug,” she said. “Before we … I need to … I … soon.”

  She hadn’t made a lick of sense, but “soon” sounded promising.

  “I’ll take a hug.” He moved closer, didn’t stop until his tennis shoe bumped the toe of her pink flip-flop. He folded her into his arms. She melted against him.

  Soft where he felt hard.

  Warm where he felt cold.

  Whole where he felt incomplete.

  Perfect where he felt broken.

  He buried his face into her hair and inhaled. She smelled like flowers, vanilla, and berries rolled into one. She’d smelled like that the first summer camp when he’d met her. He was pretty certain he’d been in love with her since then.

  She stirred slightly in his arms.

  He didn’t want to let her go. Ever.

  Yet before he played the forever card, he had to fix what felt broken inside him. Only then could he truly be someone she deserved.

  * * *

  Alone, Miranda had studied longer than her agreement required. She’d even made up a jingle about algebra to help her remember. Crazy as it was, singing helped. Della was going to love hearing that.

  Then she walked around the cabin checking under beds and behind furniture, calling, “Here armadillo, armadillo, armadillo.” Chester and Socks kept circling her, probably confused by her come-here-kitty voice.

  Not that the voice helped. She never found the armadillo. Unfortunately, she did find a few mummified hairballs.

  Kylie had texted to say she and Della had gone with Burnett and wouldn’t be home until real late. This was why Miranda wanted to learn to fight. She wanted to help, too.

  Then she remembered … She texted Kylie back asking if Shawn was with them.

  He hadn’t been. Which meant Miranda had a job to do. A job that was … even less desirable than removing crusty hairballs.

  Miranda had only done the breaking up thing with one guy in her entire life. Herold Hanker. He’d been devastated, which made her devastated. How could she not be when he’d gone on a hunger strike, claiming he’d die of starvation if she didn’t take him back? And yes, he’d skipped lunch but then their kindergarten teacher had passed out Girl Scout cookies. Obviously, Herold loved Thin Mints more than he did her.

  Still, she hated the thought of making someone feel as if they weren’t good enough. It hurt. She knew. She’d lived with that feeling for as long as she could remember.

  Knowing Shawn was hot on the chase of another girl should have eased her guilt. It didn’t.

  His interest in another girl made her mad.

  The thought of breaking up with him made her feel bad.

  One sentiment didn’t nullify or lessen the other. Guilt and anger didn’t play well together.

  What was she going to say? I’m so sorry I don’t want you in my life, but how dare you want someone else in your life before I walked out of yours.

  Well, that wouldn’t work.

  Postponing it wouldn’t make it any easier, so she wrote him a text. Then deleted it. Deleted the next three. She’d even written one just calling things off. Then deleted it.

  Text breakups were tacky. Tempting, but tacky. She finally wrote one and hit send: What time do you get off?

  The three dots appeared on her phone, dancing on the screen. Dancing. Dancing. Dancing. The text finally appeared.

  Ten.

  Why had that taken ten minutes to type one word? It hit then. Did he know that she intended to break up with him?

  Before she chickened out, she sent: Can you come by?

  The dots started dancing again. His reply finally came.

  Ok.

  Della must have said something to Shawn about the flowers. Frankly, now that she considered it, she’d be surprised if the vampire hadn’t said something.

  Shawn had to know Della would tell Miranda.

  Was he sweating bullets? Miranda, the Angry Miranda thought, good. Guilty Miranda thought he shouldn’t feel bad because she was going to make him feel worse.

  Guilty Miranda also reminded her that she’d kissed Perry twice while being with Shawn.

  Angry Miranda reminded her that she hadn’t bought Perry anything and … Why hadn’t Shawn bought Miranda flowers when she’d been in the hospital?

  Coward Miranda—yeah she had that side of her, too—actually considered just telling him it was over and letting him assume it was all on him.

  Honest Miranda—she wasn’t all bad—knew she couldn’t do that. He deserved the truth.

  Not that she believed the old adage that the truth would set you free.

  Sometimes the truth was sharp and jagged and could gut you.

  Take her mom and Miranda’s argument for example.

  With that thought, she pushed Shawn concerns aside and tried to call her mom again. Still no answer. No text this time, either.

  Miranda kept hearing the spiteful words she�
��d tossed out. She kept seeing the look on her mom’s face when they made a direct hit right to her pride, to her heart.

  Yes, those words had been true, but … Miranda had used the truth as a weapon. And that wasn’t right.

  Anxious now about her mom, she called her dad. Not to dump her problems on him, but to assure herself she still had one parent who loved her.

  They commiserated over their concern for Tabitha. When she went to tell him the new information, he informed her he already knew. Burnett had been calling him with updates every few hours. No doubt her father had demanded it. And Burnett had indulged him—probably because Burnett was a father, too.

  Still, she’d have to thank Burnett later—indulging people wasn’t the vampire’s norm.

  “How’s your mom?” her dad asked, opening up the can of worms she’d tried to cap.

  Guilt had her heart swelling up in her throat. “Uh, I called her several times and all I got was a text saying she’d call later.”

  “That’s not like her.” Concern rang in his voice.

  Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him. “She’s mad at me. She hates me.” The words fell out.

  “No, hon’, she’s mad at me.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure I’m on her shit list, too.” Miranda gave him the short version.

  “Miranda! How could you say that? You have no right to—”

  Her chest ached with regret. “I know … I was angry.”

  With his next breath, her father said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blame you. It’s not your fault. Your mom … can be difficult. But you know, I never told her I was married. I lied. I did this to her. I should have handled things differently. From the very beginning, I … screwed up.”

  Her father’s quick defense of her mom spoke volumes and even eased the parents-breaking-up heaviness in her chest.

  Maybe her parents weren’t finished. Then she wondered … would it be fair to help things along? It wouldn’t take much. She could probably do it with just …

  It fell out. “Should you call her or better yet go check on her? I mean, I hurt her and she’s alone and … I’m worried.” It wasn’t a lie, but she recognized a ploy when she played one.