by Michele Hauf
She could get back the missing soul!
“No, I definitely felt an exit.”
“Could have been the demon leaving.”
“No, that followed immediately after I felt the brightness pass through me.”
Ah. The brightness. Yes, that was the indefinable feeling.
“It was...wondrous,” he said softly. “As if a divine presence had, for but a moment, brushed against my soul. Trust me, there’s no way I’m carrying a wolf soul around inside me. Just a lust demon, a war demon, menace and grief, and a few others.”
“I need that soul back,” Vika said.
“Because of the soul bringer?”
She nodded. “He’s particular about receiving all the souls in his territory.”
“Then let’s make a deal, shall we?” He tilted a hip against the counter and eyed her up and down, for the first time showing some interest in her for more than what she could do for him.
She liked when men looked at her with blatant desire. Made her feel sexy. Never a wrong feeling. But Certainly Jones made her uneasy. It was the darkness surrounding him. Much as she trusted her grandmother’s nail would protect, she didn’t want to step too close to him without a shield ward to protect her own soul. Nor did she trust her impulsive desire to touch his power.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked.
“I must have a connection to the werewolf soul. Maybe?”
“If it’s still in the vicinity of its death, it may be compelled toward you. On the other hand, it may try to reattach itself to me. I was headed there now—”
CJ clasped her hand. “Let me go along with you. If I can help you locate the soul, will you agree to expel another demon from me?”
“But I don’t think I can.”
“It’s the only thing I’ve got going for me right now. You. Please, Vika. Help me.”
She dropped open her mouth because never had she heard such a sincere plea. And while her neat and ordered heart cringed at the idea of letting this unruly, bedraggled mess into her life, the part of her that squealed over creating order and establishing calm wanted to take the man in hand and clean him up, body and soul.
She nodded, and replied without reservation, “It’s a deal.”
“Thank you.”
“But just this once. If we don’t find a soul, I’m not obliged to help you further in any way, shape or form.”
Chapter 3
In all his long life, never once had CJ sat inside a hearse, and he hoped to never repeat the experience when dead because he intended to prolong his life with the classic witch’s immortality ritual—consuming the blood from a beating vampire heart once a century.
Setting the morbid thought aside, he admired the car’s beige leather interior. It was surprisingly clean for an old model. Vika said it was from the seventies. It looked brand-new and smelled like lemons. Certainly was afraid to touch the dashboard for fear of leaving behind the slightest oils from his fingers.
Viktorie St. Charles’s round house and the spell room had been equally as immaculate. He had gotten a chuckle over the little plaque inside the front door that had read A Clean House Is a Happy House. The woman was all about cleanliness. And her appearance reflected the same motto.
Her bright red hair was pulled into a tight braid down the back of her head, not a strand out of place. Her face was like porcelain, her narrow brows perfectly arched and her lipstick red. All contrasted exquisitely with her inquisitive emerald eyes. And the dress she wore was a tight sheath wrapped about her slender figure in a dusty purple color, as if a bunch of roses bound with ribbon.
She was gorgeous, in a tidy way. He shouldn’t think to muss her. But oh, to unloose that hair and watch it fall over the purple satin and down her narrow back. CJ’s oft-ignored sensual desires hummed for attention.
“What are you looking at?” she asked as she turned the hearse down the alley, their destination.
“Perfection.” He turned and faced forward, not sure if he’d meant it as a compliment. “Was that your sister who answered the door when I arrived? Libertie?”
“Yes, Libby left for the witches bazaar. You ever go there?”
“The one behind the Moulin Rouge? No, it’s a bunch of old hags selling mandrake and love spells.”
“Times have changed, CJ. Now they’re into cyberspellcraft and digital conjuring. When was the last time you’ve been?”
“Decades. Digital conjuring?” What the young witches wouldn’t think of next. He hated to admit he didn’t know about a particular magic.
She nodded and pulled the car over to park. “You said you know many magics. Is digital one of them?”
It would be as soon as he could dig up some information on it. Cyberhacking, he’d heard of, but to use the computer to digitally conjure magics? Truly, he’d been stuck in the archives too long.
“I’m adding it to my arsenal soon. So this is it? How does the Mistress of Neat like you find herself on the cleaning end of a spattered werewolf? And are you always dressed so elegantly for such a messy job?”
“When I’ve a call, I wear simple clothes under my hazmat suit. And this isn’t elegant. It’s my normal dress. Cleaning is my passion,” she said in a tone that invoked more sensual means to passion for CJ. She opened the car door. “Come on. Let’s see if your dark and weary soul attracts anything.”
“Certainly won’t be an uptight witch,” he muttered as he stood up from the car and closed the door.
“What was that?” She pursed her gorgeous lips and eyed him narrowly over the top of the car. “Did you call me uptight?”
He braced his forearms on the top of the car and smiled at her. “I did, oh, Beauty of the Bizarre and Unnatural Cleaning Jobs. But now you’re going to cut me down for the comment and make me feel like the dirt you think I am, right?”
She tilted her head, considering. “Not worth it. I haven’t made up my mind about you.”
“So not a derelict.”
“That’s apparent. You’ve a job working for the Council. I assume you’ve a home. Derelicts can’t usually claim as much.”
“Your home is a fascinating study in white and roundness,” he said, moving around to the front of the car to lean against the front quarter panel and watch her walk the bricked-in area in small paces. “That spell room of yours. It was so...”
“You said sterile.”
“To a fault. Tell me why someone who is so into cleaning chooses white? I mean, wouldn’t it be easier to keep a darker color clean? Or even wood or steel?”
“It appeals to me,” she said without looking at him. Arms held out, she walked the area as if trying to capture something in an invisible net held between her arms. “It gives me satisfaction to do a job well.”
“I can say the same.”
“What does your job involve, CJ? I’ve always thought librarians—”
“I’m an archivist, and I handle all the records for the Council. That includes all grimoires written throughout the ages, all spells and potions, objects of magical means and nature, contained creatures of mysterious origin, etcetera, and so on. I also keep the database on the paranormal nations.”
She paused, bent over, the gorgeous lines of her body playing deep shadows in the folds of the dress at her knees and hips. Mmm, the woman needed to be bent over the end of his bed...
“All of us?” she prompted, whacking him out of the sudden and illicit fantasy of foreplay on his big, comfy bed.
“Witches, werewolves, vampires, demons, familiars, mermaids, trolls, imps, shape-shifters. The whole lot.”
“No faeries?”
“Absolutely not. The sidhe can take care of themselves, and more power to them.”
“That’s quite a monumental task, keeping track of us all.”
“And I do it well.” CJ spread a hand over his gut and cast a glance skyward. Daylight waned due to what he suspected would be rain before evening. A twinge in his elbow confirmed the weather prediction. “That is, when
I’ve not a soul full of demons trying to take over my body and fucking with my magic.”
“Are those spell tattoos on your hand?”
“Yes.” He tucked his hand along his torso. “I’ve quite a few all over. You ever hear of Sayne?”
“Yes, he’s an ink witch who travels Europe. I’ve never thought it an effective form of magic.”
“My tattoos are powerful. Much like your grandmother’s nail.”
“Sure.”
He sensed Vika wasn’t warming to him in any way. And why should he care? He only meant to use her to see if another exorcism was possible. And yet, CJ’s interest continued to stray to the woman beneath the sexy gown, and her sure voice and the confident tilt of her head. Tidily gorgeous. Not his type of woman at all.
You don’t have a type, Certainly Jones.
True. But it was high time he got a type. One of the things he realized he’d been missing after his return from Daemonia was a life. A life shared with others. And if on his bed? Hell, yes.
“So, you feel anything?” he prompted.
“No, but you could walk around and help. See if the soul is attracted to you.”
CJ wandered the enclosed area, focusing, eyes closed, to see if he could sense or feel the same brightness he had last night. What he did sense was the demons inside him chuckling and writhing in accusatory glee. Idiot witch, they screamed at him. Just wait until nightfall.
Perhaps by nightfall Vika will have exorcised another demon from him. It had to be possible. He wanted nothing more than freedom from the bastards inside him. And if he needed a stray soul to do so, he’d stand here all day waiting for the little bugger to attach its intangible essence to him.
“So when you’re in the light the demons don’t bother you?” she asked over her shoulder as she strolled along the brick wall blocking in the small parking area.
“Mostly. The incandescent stuff only works for so long. Daylight is iffy when the sky clouds up.” He glanced skyward. Many gray clouds. Should he be here? “A few months ago, I discovered prismatic is the best kind of light to deter demons, keep them back, if you will.”
“And what happens when the demons take over? Do they do it all at once?”
“Fortunately, no. Usually there’s an inner struggle I feel, as if the lot of them are ripping at my insides, and then one comes to the fore. Takes over my very being. I’m aware of what it’s doing and not. Depends on how strong it is. The damned lust demon took me out to a nightclub last month and I ended up—”
Yeah, he wasn’t going to finish that one. He’d never had sex with a dryad before. Wasn’t sure how it had gone down, and he didn’t want to think about it now. At the least, it had broken his dry spell with women. If she had been a woman. Yes, she’d been female. It was too wrong to think any other way.
“So you’re not in control of your body when the demon comes to the fore?”
“Not one hundred percent. It’s different each time. Some are more powerful than others. I can fight the demon, but it looks like I’m spazzing out, and sometimes it’s easier to surrender. I never stray too far from home.”
“Which is where?”
“In the fifth. I live in the DeMarck Building.”
“I know that place. Gorgeous iridescent tile work on the outside?”
“That’s the one.”
“You said it’s been six months since you returned from...that place?”
She didn’t want to speak the name Daemonia? Probably for the better. Smart woman.
“Yes. I do have one good demon in me, though. It’s a protection demon. I let that one out because it has a tendency to paint protection sigils on the walls and floors of my home. Haven’t noticed they’d done much good, though. They’re wearing me down.” He stopped and put his head into his hands. “It’s getting so hard, and I’m tired. I want them gone.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have gone into the place of all demons in the first place. Why did you go there, and what did you do? You must have pissed off someone or something, or apparently, a whole host of demonic somethings. Whatever it was, you probably deserve the punishment.”
“I don’t need the admonishment right now.”
But she was right; he deserved any bad karma coming to him because of what he’d done. But as long as he’d gotten there before Ian Grim, that was all that mattered.
It was always about Grim.
“I’m sorry, I— Well, no,” Vika said. “It’s what I feel. A guy goes into the place of all demons, he’s got to expect retribution.”
“Do you always follow the rules, Vika? Live by the book? Make sure your life is as clean as it can possibly be, from outside to soul?”
She lifted an indignant chin and nodded minutely.
“You ever have any fun?”
“Of course I do.” She cast him a glance through her lashes, which stirred CJ’s passions again. “But I suspect my idea of fun and your idea of fun are vastly different.”
“I suspect so. We’re very different souls.”
“That’s no understatement,” she agreed.
He gave his arms a waver across his chest. “Not feeling anything.”
“You haven’t gone over there.” She pointed toward the end of the hearse. “You know, there are other methods to casting out demons.”
“Tried them all. Even ventured into a Catholic church and had the priest lay his hands on me. I suspect he got frightened when the chaos demon starting chewing on his cross. I was spitting out marble for hours after that one. Think I chipped a molar.”
“So the demons inside you are impervious to exorcism? That’s remarkable. I’ve never heard of that.”
“I suspect because there’s a whole gang of them inside me. They’re not particularly friends, but I think they band together to hold the fort, if you know what I mean.”
“And they’ve come directly from Dae—er, the place of all demons, instead of being summoned here through a conjuring, so I suspect that makes them stronger, as well. A witch can only control a demon they have conjured personally.”
“Exactly. Yet they can’t access my magic, which is a good thing. Just wish I had more control over it.”
“There must be something. Some spell?”
“I haven’t had a lot of free time to research in the Council archives, though I wonder if the answer isn’t there.”
Vika stopped before him, crossing her arms over her chest. The position emphasized her small breasts and revealed the hard peaks of her nipples beneath the thin fabric. Sexy, yet controlled, and perhaps a little curious. CJ entertained mussing her up. She would be a challenge he wasn’t prepared to take on because his record with women—well, he hadn’t established much of a record over the decades.
You need to change that, buddy. But probably not with a witch who called him a derelict and couldn’t even utter the name of Daemonia. Much too uptight for him, though he’d seen glimpses of the sensuality she probably tried very hard to keep under control.
On the other hand, he needed intimacy, plain and simple. Dare he imagine he could find it with this beautiful creature?
“You’re staring at my breasts,” she said drolly. A shadow passed over her face as the sky darkened.
“I am.” He spread his hands before him. “They’re nice and neat. Just like you.”
“That’s the strangest thing a man has ever said about my breasts.”
“You prefer suckable? Lickable?” Her eyebrow lifted. “Sorry, that was vulgar. I’m not up to speed with accepted comments on a woman’s anatomy. But isn’t that what most men think? Hell, it’s what I’m thinking, but I thought we were still on polite terms.”
“I think you’ve moved on to lewd and tasteless.”
“Woman, get off your broom.”
“Seriously? Did you just say that?”
Before he could retract the callous comment, she marched to the driver’s door and opened it. “We’re finished here, Monsieur Jones. Do not return to my home, because I warn you,
it will be warded against asshole witches from this day forth.”
And she drove off, leaving Certainly shaking his head and laughing. Yet deep inside, he felt the gang of demons curl their fists and shout triumphantly.
* * *
Once the hearse reached the end of the alleyway, Vika stepped on the brake and slammed a fist against the steering wheel. “I will not let that arrogant man get to me. He doesn’t know a thing about me.”
So why did she feel as though the dark witch had peeled away a layer from her, and what he’d exposed beneath was still as pin-neat as the top layer? Uptight? She was not. And she was hardly a prude. Men had spoken much more vulgar things to her, and often she warmed to the dirty talk. Let it not be said she didn’t enjoy a lusty make-out session with a sexy man.
But she was not aroused or interested in Certainly Jones. Because he was wrong. Tainted by devious demons.
“Someone has to keep a tight grasp on sanity around here.”
She checked the rearview mirror. The dark witch stood at the end of the alley, hands in his jeans pockets, looking her way. She couldn’t see the expression on his face. Was he waiting to see if she would back up? Or was he laughing that he’d sent her running with her tail between her legs?
Maybe it was the demons? Had it been a demon spouting crude comments about her breasts back there?
“He said he was fine in the light.” Most light, anyway. Prismatic light protected him best? “Interesting.”
Everything about the man tweaked at her curiosity. He was scruffy and pale, while she preferred her men neat and sun-kissed. When she looked in his eyes, she couldn’t see beyond the flat jade there. Most men’s eyes gleamed and gave away their thoughts before they had them. And his unabashed willingness to say what he thought offended her, but only because she was taking offense.
If she did not take offense, then he had no power over her.
Vika shifted into Reverse but didn’t take her foot off the brake.
Certainly Jones. What a name. Must be English. He did have the slightest hint of a British accent. Accents did appeal to her carnal passions, as they did Libby. Yet she was calm and cool when around an attractive man. A wise woman never let loose and gave away too much too soon.