Hot Magic

by Catherine Kean

  “Yes,” she said aloud. Ignoring the puzzled gaze of the man who’d just gotten out of the truck parked beside her, Molly started her car’s engine. Mentally putting together a list of what she’d need to cook dinner, she drove to the grocery store and did her shopping.

  When she unlocked the front door to the house, all four cats greeted her with loud meows.

  “Poor babies. You didn’t get breakfast, and you’re starving.” After closing the door with her foot, Molly carried the bags of groceries to the kitchen. She fed the cats and put away the shopping then headed outside to check the house and yard for storm damage. Thankfully, apart from a few downed branches and shredded leaves, all seemed to be in good shape.

  As she walked to the front porch to go back inside, a gray SUV stopped at the curb. She shielded her eyes to better see the magnetic sign on the side of the vehicle: Dennis Crow, Real Estate Agent.

  A blond-haired man holding a stack of papers got out of the SUV. Even though the subdivision had a no-solicitation policy, she’d still found flyers for lawn cutting, tree-trimming, and other services tucked in the handle of the front door.

  By now, local folks knew Molly intended to sell the home. If the real estate agent had come to leave a flyer for Molly in the hope that she might hire him, he was out of luck. She’d already chosen a realtor and didn’t want to be drawn into a conversation with him.

  Hoping Crow hadn’t seen her, Molly hurried inside the house. When the front door shut at her back, she sighed in relief. If he came to the door, it would be a wasted trip, because she wasn’t going to open it.

  This afternoon, she’d planned to go through the kitchen cupboards. It was time to get to work.

  Standing at his bathroom mirror, Lucian applied more hair gel with his fingers. He liked the shorter style the hairdresser at Claws-N-Coifs Salon had given him.

  A short while ago, he’d also shaved off his beard. He hardly recognized his own reflection now. Getting rid of the facial hair, though, which he’d let grow from the day Stephanie had walked out, had felt a bit like a rite of passage; a fresh start.

  Galahad, sitting on the counter, meowed. “Impressive.”

  “My hair gel skills?”

  “The whole look. Molly’s going to loooove it.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Lucian dried his hands on a towel and straightened his pale blue, button-down shirt, worn with his favorite dark-wash jeans. “Tonight we—”

  His cell phone shrilled: The dark magic alarm.

  Lucian grabbed his phone and read the incoming data. “It’s almost a Category Three now.”

  “Three? How?”

  “We need to get to Molly’s.”

  “It’s too early.”

  “I’ll say I mixed up the time.”

  “Whatever. I’m ready to go.” The squire jumped down from the counter.

  Lucian headed to the living room. His keys were on the foyer table, next to the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and box of gourmet truffles he’d bought on his lunch break. Just as he reached to pick up the wine bottle, his phone rang.

  Crap. He really didn’t want to talk to Julius right now. But, The Expert would keep calling if he didn’t pick up.

  He answered. “Julius.”

  “The magic—”

  “—is now a Category Three. I know. I was just heading out the door.”

  “Well, don’t leave yet.”

  A muscle jumped in Lucian’s cheek as he fought another growl.

  “I have information to pass along to you,” Julius said.

  “Can it wait? I’m—”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Struggling for patience, Lucian pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table.

  “It took some digging, but The Archivists found some very faint hallmarks. They managed to enhance one.”

  “And?”

  “The magic’s English.”

  A lot of ancient magic traced back to Lucian’s home country. Since magic had existed there since the earliest days of mankind, English magic ranked with Ancient Egyptian as among the most dangerous.

  Resting his elbow on the table, Lucian asked: “What era?”

  “Sixteenth century, they think.”

  If Lucian’s memory served him correctly, the first woman condemned for witchcraft in England had died in the mid-sixteenth century.

  “But, we’re still trying to make a final determination. The ancient power must be isolated and filtered out, which requires care. As I mentioned before, the data has been affected—altered, it seems—by modern contamination.”

  Lucian frowned. “Altered? How’s that possible?”

  “In very special circumstances, it can happen. There’s a less than five-percent chance that’s what we’re dealing with, but The Archivists will work 24/7 until we have more answers. In the meantime, I’ll contact some other Experts and send them to Cat’s Paw Cove to assist you.”

  “No,” Lucian gritted. “Not yet.”

  “You know the rules. It’s protocol.”

  “I can still resolve the matter myself. If you send more Experts, the situation’s going to get complicated.” The last thing Lucian wanted was Molly getting pulled into the conflict between The Experts and The Dealers over a magical object she might know nothing about—not to mention the hassle of having colleagues underfoot.

  “Look, after what happened in Boston—”

  “Give me tonight,” Lucian said. “Just another twelve hours. You can decide whether to send reinforcements after reading my report in the morning.”

  A pause. “All right. Let’s hope you make headway this evening.”

  Lucian glanced at the time, relieved to see he wasn’t due at Molly’s house for another half-hour.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Julius said then ended the call.

  A short distance from their destination, Lucian stopped the Mini, leaned over, and shoved open the passenger side door.

  Galahad leapt out onto the sidewalk.

  “Be careful,” Lucian said.

  “Okay, Dad.”

  “Dad?” Lucian snorted. “Don’t get sidetracked. Go straight to Molly’s.”

  “I will. Now, quit talking so I can go into spy cat mode.”

  The feline glanced to the left and right, snuck a short ways down the sidewalk then ran under a large bush. In his mind, was Galahad hearing the theme song of a secret agent movie?

  Lucian shook his head then approached Molly’s house. As he pulled into the driveway, he scanned the yard. All appeared perfectly normal, but that was an illusion. He’d muted his phone, but it was still receiving readings. The corrupt energy hadn’t vanished this time, as it had done previously. He could sense its dark power inside the house.

  After reinforcing the protective magical shield around himself, he got out of the Mini and retrieved the wine and chocolates as well as the sword he’d stowed in the car earlier. Since Molly had shown interest in his grandfather’s blades, Lucian had brought a favorite from his collection to show her. He’d used the weapon in the past when battling dark magic. While he might not use the sword tonight, at least he had it at his disposal.

  Lucian walked up to the front door, but as he raised his hand to knock, he saw a rolled sheet of paper pushed into the handle. He leaned the sword against the wall and took a quick look at the flyer. It advertised the services of a real estate agent; his business logo incorporated a cobra.

  Damn.

  If the Dealers had found Molly, why hadn’t they already seized the object of dark magic? There had to be reason. Reining in his misgiving, Lucian shoved the paper into his pocket and knocked.

  The door opened, releasing a waft of tantalizing smells, including sautéed garlic and simmering tomatoes.

  With her hair curled back from her face, smoky eye makeup, and her curves accentuated by a figure-hugging black top and floaty skirt, Molly looked incredible—

  The source of the corrupt power was in front of him.

  Molly?


  Oh, no. No!

  She smiled. “Lucian.”

  He managed a smile in return. “Hi.”

  Lucian’s gaze found her necklace. The jewelry oozed dark magic. The insidious power flowed like invisible smoke into the space between them.

  He had to get the necklace, as soon as possible. But, he must be careful. The corrupt magic could injure or kill her or even destroy half of the neighborhood. That might explain why The Dealers hadn’t acted: They’d avoid unwanted attention until they were prepared for it.

  “Please, come in.” Molly’s high-heeled black sandals clicked as she stepped back, allowing him to enter.

  He crossed the threshold. For now, like the Dealers, he’d be patient…until he could snatch the necklace from her.

  “I come bearing gifts.” He held up the items he’d brought. “I hope you like red wine and chocolate.”

  “I do. Those truffles are my favorites.”

  “Lucky guess on my part, then.”

  Molly shut the door and flipped the locks. Gesturing to the sword, she said, “Were you planning to hunt and slay our dinner?”

  He chuckled. “No. I brought it to show you.”

  “It’s one of yours?”

  “Yes. I’ve had it a very long time.” If only she knew….

  “It looks old.”

  “It is. It was forged around eight hundred years ago.”

  “Eight hundred? Seriously?”

  He nodded. “I can tell you more about its provenance over dinner.”

  “I’d like that.”

  So would he. Lucian’s attention slid to her mouth; her lipstick was the crimson hue of Victorian garnets. “By the way, you look amazing tonight.”

  “Thanks. So do you. How about a drink?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Molly motioned for him to follow her to the kitchen. As she walked, her flirty skirt swishing to and fro, two cats padded into the living room.

  The gray tabby meowed.

  “Who is he?” a woman said, her voice low-pitched and gravelly.

  The ginger feline mewled.

  “No idea,” said another woman, who sounded younger than the first. “He’s hot, though. Look how he fills out those jeans.”

  Lucian glanced about the living room crowded with stacked cardboard boxes, piles of books, magazines, and furniture. Who had just spoken? He didn’t see any other people in the room, only cats.

  “Hey, Molly?”

  She glanced back at him.

  “Is someone else in the house?”

  “No, just us. Well, apart from Mom’s cats.” She motioned to the felines. “The gray one is Rose. The ginger is Marigold. I’m sure Petunia and Daisy will make an appearance soon.”

  The cats were directly between him and Molly now. If he didn’t know better, he’d say they were assessing him, to see if they deemed him suitable for her. Their stares were very direct and aware…like Galahad’s.

  Shock raced through Lucian. Had he heard the cats talking? The only animal he’d ever been able to understand was Galahad, and their relationship was the result of unique, supernatural circumstances.

  Galahad had met a kitty the other night who had talked, though….

  The ginger feline meowed again. “Why would he ask if someone else is here?”

  The gray cat’s tail flicked. “How the hell would I know?”

  “Could he have heard what we said?”

  “Even if he did, he wouldn’t understand us. He doesn’t speak cat.”

  “Maybe he’s different?” the other feline said, her tone conspiratorial.

  Lucian resumed walking to the kitchen, where Molly was taking wine glasses out of a cupboard. No, he didn’t speak the language of felines, so how could he understand Rose and Marigold? Had they somehow been affected by the magic of Molly’s necklace?

  Molly frowned at him and then the felines. “What is it with you, Lucian? No matter where you are, you get cats talking.”

  “Maybe they think I’m a hottie.”

  The orange cat’s ears flattened.

  Molly giggled. “Yeah, that must be it.”

  The gray cat growled. “He’s definitely different.”

  “I told you he understands us.” Marigold sighed. “I’m worried. This isn’t right.”

  “Come on. Let’s tell the others.” The two kitties scampered across the living room to an adjoining hallway.

  Lucian set the red wine and chocolates on the nearest kitchen counter and leaned the sword against the wall, where it wouldn’t be in the way. The kitchen, with its pale green tiles and older appliances, dated back several decades. A table with four chairs was set with a pair of green placemats, silverware, and a vase of pink roses that looked as though they’d been cut from the garden. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon sat open, breathing.

  As Molly headed to the stove and snatched up a striped apron from the counter, she gestured to the wine on the table. “Since we’re having beef, I opened red. I also have white chilled, though, if you prefer.”

  “Red’s perfect. How about if I pour?”

  “You would,” said a woman’s voice from across the room. “He plans to get her drunk.”

  “No!” Three meows sounded in unison.

  Glancing in the direction of the meowing, Lucian saw four cats marching into the kitchen.

  “Once Molly’s plastered, he’ll put his hand up her skirt.”

  “He’ll take advantage of her, the bastard,” another woman muttered.

  Crossing to the table, Lucian struggled to stay calm. He did not appreciate what the cats had said about him. They’d attacked his honor, and he couldn’t even defend himself against them—not without Molly thinking he was crazy.

  The cats jumped onto a stack of cardboard boxes in the corner and lay down side by side, watching him.

  “Look at that muscle ticking in his cheek,” a cat meowed.

  “He knows we know what he’s up to.”

  “We are just guessing. He might be a perfectly decent guy.”

  “He might. Or….”

  “Or?”

  “What if he’s up to something else?” Rose’s eyes narrowed. “If he can understand us, he may have magic.”

  “Girls! Hush.” Molly stirred the steaming contents of a large pot. “Behave, or I’ll put you out on the patio.”

  Cradling a stem glass in his fingers, Lucian poured some wine. “Maybe your cats are suspicious of people they don’t know.”

  “That could be. One of my friends in Seattle has a Siamese that hides every time she has company.” Molly raised the wooden spoon to her mouth to taste the sauce. When she licked her bottom lip, desire burned within Lucian. How he wanted to kiss her.

  Obviously satisfied with the taste, Molly set down the spoon. Finished pouring the second glass of wine, Lucian handed it to her. Dark magic skated over his skin, and he fought not to shudder.

  He raised his glass in a toast. “To a fabulous dinner.”

  “Cheers,” Molly said before sipping her drink.

  “He needs to leave,” a cat groused.

  “Shut up,” another said. “If Molly puts us outside, we can’t protect her. We already failed to—”

  “If we force him to leave, we are protecting her.”

  “From him, but not that accursed necklace.”

  Ah. The cats knew about the corrupted magic.

  Lucian downed a mouthful of his drink. Who knew what else he’d learn from the felines this evening?

  Molly’s skin tingled as she set down her stem glass. Lucian’s gaze had dropped to the necklace again. How odd, when she’d been thinking of it at exactly that moment.

  Truth be told, it had consumed her thoughts all day. As soon as she’d invited Lucian to dinner, she’d known she’d wear the necklace that night. Her whole body had grown warm with anticipation. While she’d sorted through the kitchen cupboards, her mind had kept straying to the jewelry and how much longer she had to wait before putting it on.

  When i
t had been time to get dressed for dinner, she’d shut the cats out of her room and, finally, her skin still damp from her shower, had fastened the gold chain around her throat. As soon as the pendant had settled at the top her cleavage, a sigh had broken from her. It just felt so good to wear the necklace. It belonged there.

  How and why did putting on a piece of jewelry evoke cause such feelings? Yet, even as she’d thought the questions, they were drowned by an addicting rush of desire.

  Tonight, I’ll make Lucian want me. He won’t be able to resist.

  She’d applied makeup in darker shades than she usually wore. Her outfit was bolder too, but she loved how the cross-over top put focus on the pendant.

  The timer on the stove beeped. Drawn from her thoughts, Molly pulled on a quilted mitt, opened the oven door, and took out the foil-wrapped garlic bread. She pulled apart the edges of the foil to check the bread was heated through—unnecessary, since she knew it would be, but Lucian was leaning against the nearby counter, watching her.

  “I couldn’t help noticing your necklace,” he said.

  She closed up the foil. “Mmm?”

  The cats were meowing again. Geez. What was going on with them?

  Trying to steady her nerves, she stirred the sauce in the pot once more.

  “I’ve never seen a pendant like the one you’re wearing.”

  Panic flared. Why was Lucian interested in the necklace? Had he realized it was valuable? Was he going to try to convince her to sell it to him?

  No. Lucian wasn’t going to get the jewel.

  It was hers.

  Now.

  Always.

  Nudging her chin higher, she faced him. As his attention shifted to her mouth, desire stirred within her. Two steps, and she could press up against him, rise on tiptoes, kiss him—

  “Where did you come by the necklace?”

  Meow. Meow.

  An inner cry of warning made her close her hand around the pendant. “I found it when going through my mother’s dresser.”

  “The dresser that held the other jewelry you brought to the shop?”

  “Yes.”

  “The necklace wasn’t mixed in with the other jewelry, though.”

  How had he known that? “No, it was in its own box.”

  His gaze flickered, as though she’d answered a question he hadn’t yet asked. “What kind of box?”