This Wicked Magic

by Michele Hauf

  A good man would dress her and push her out the doorway, and then change his address and set up wards against her.

  He’d never claimed goodness. The things he did were oftentimes selfish and egotistic. He wouldn’t deny that.

  But he could see that denial had gotten him into this mess.

  As it stood, if they remained together and opened their hearts to one another, that was doing nothing to remove his demons. Would the sex reversal spell he’d found torn from the grimoire in the archives work? The possibility to try it was more real now that they’d made love, but the idea of broaching the subject while lying in bed didn’t feel right to him. As well, he could not fathom allowing Vika to have sex with one of his demons, because the opportunity would present itself only when he was not in control of his body.

  It was either try that or find more souls for Vika to shoot through him with her air magic.

  Kisses tickled down his spine, and he closed his eyes to the delicious wonder of her tender regard. Truly, he’d been missing out on a lot over the decades not to have indulged in a relationship. He didn’t deserve her, but he wasn’t going to kick this luxury from his bed or his life. Only she could save him. He wasn’t too proud to admit he’d accept her help. If she would give it.

  “I was thinking,” he said, as her kisses moved along his hip and up his torso. “Could I come along when you get another cleanup call?”

  The kisses stopped and she moved in to spoon against him, wrapping her arm around and across his chest. “Yes. We’ll give that a try.”

  He kissed her fingers. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “No, you don’t. But for some reason, I am smitten by you, dark one.” She tumbled to her back and stroked her fingers as close to his cock as she could reach. “Wake me up with this marvelous wand of yours, witch.”

  “As you command.” He turned and with but a few kisses fit himself inside her, and the twosome slowly welcomed the day. “It’s too good here,” he whispered. “Inside you. Don’t want it to end.”

  “Why must it end?” Her body seemed to squeeze about his cock and Certainly clung to her hips, pulling her closer. “Don’t think beyond the moment, lover. You like this?”

  He nodded, let out a tight moan.

  “Then open yourself to me, and only me. Let’s cast a spell between us with this movement, this delicious tug and push of you inside me. Oh, CJ...”

  Her breath hushed against his cheek. Her body stiffened against his, and her fingernails dug into his skin. He held her as orgasm swept through her like magic, and when it spilled out from her pores and into him, he cried out in joy.

  Be damned, wicked demons. He would hold this light in his arms as long as he was able.

  * * *

  CJ walked Vika out to her car. It was well after noon, and the sun beamed white high in the sky. It warmed the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. Almost felt as tingly good as her hand did, the one clasped by CJ’s spellwork hand. She’d grown accustomed to the gentle hum when their skin touched, which was stronger when this particular hand touched her. It made her feel alive and vibrant.

  And it also made her feel as if she belonged to him. That her magic responded to his so positively, and not dangerously, was a good thing. Stopping at her car door and clicking it unlocked, she turned and swung her lover’s hand. “Our mix of dark and light must offer the universe a balance it appreciates.”

  “I was thinking something similar. We meld together well. No sparks, no reactive, vicious magic. It can sometimes be a problem for witches of opposites practices, or so I’ve heard.”

  Vika touched the nail at her neck. “Apparently, grandmother approves.”

  He kissed her and slid his hands down her hips, coaxing her against his body, the hardness of him making her moan and pull him tight against her. “That guy never rests, does he?”

  He pumped his erection against her a few times. “Not around you, no. Is that a bad thing?”

  “Bad?” She thought of how shocked her sister would be to learn she had finally made love with her bad-boy witch. “I’m not sure bad is so awful anymore. I kind of like your sexy badness, dark one.” Running her fingers through his hair, she drew out the length and pressed it to her cheek. “I don’t want to leave. Not you. Not this.” She nudged her hip against his erection.

  “Return to me directly after the cleaning job, please?” He toed her shoe; he’d padded out barefoot.

  “I will.” She slid inside behind the wheel, and CJ leaned in to kiss her. She couldn’t get enough of his commanding kisses. When his hair spilled over her face and neck, she felt as if he were marking her with a sweep of a midnight veil.

  “Libby is waiting,” she reluctantly said, and he relented the passionate kiss.

  “The shop fixed the ole hearse up nicely. I’ll pay you for the damages because it was my fault— What’s this?” He rubbed his thumb on the dashboard and showed her the rusty-brown color in the whorls. “Looks like—hell, is this blood?”

  “I...don’t know. You were in the driver’s seat when we crashed. And afterward you did have dried blood on your forehead.”

  “Shit. I forgot all about that.” He furiously rubbed at the blood, licked his fingers, and then rubbed some more. “Do you have some cleaning spray in the back?”

  “I do right here in the glove compartment.” She retrieved the small spray bottle and cleaning cloth and handed it to him. “CJ, what’s got you so frantic over a drop of blood?”

  “You know any witch can track you with your blood.”

  “Yes, it’s associated with the soul, it binds oaths and gives witches power over one another.”

  “Exactly. I never leave mine where it can be found and used.”

  “I get that. But seriously, it’s a minute speck. What reason do you have to think someone is tracking you? Certainly?”

  He gave the dashboard one last swipe and handed her the cleaning stuff. Not going to answer her question. And she sensed the answer must be a doozy.

  “A secret?” she tried. She hadn’t known him long enough to delve into the complexity of a centuries-old dark witch. Though she’d thought they’d given one another their trust. “Fine. You have yours—I have mine. I should get going.”

  “Don’t shut me out, Vika. I just can’t talk about it right now. I don’t even know if it’s anything to worry about. Will you cut me some slack?” He stroked his thumb along her cheek, his hope-filled gaze daring her to leave him in a huff.

  She couldn’t. She wasn’t the kind of girl who stomped away over matters left undiscussed. “You going to tell me about it sooner, rather than later?”

  He nodded. “See you after the job, Witch of My Dreams?”

  “You’d better have dinner ready.” She blew him a kiss and pulled away, checking the rearview mirror as she did to find the tall silhouette of her dark witch coaxing her to turn around and kneel before him, to worship him, perhaps even...love.

  * * *

  At every turn he was confounded! The powdered blood on the map had led him to a neighborhood tucked behind the Luxembourg Gardens, and he sensed one of the vehicles had Certainly Jones’s blood on it or in it, because it made sense if he’d been in an accident. Yet once again, the blood dispersed, this time, blowing completely off the map, as if wiped clean.

  Ian Grim looked up from the map. “He’s got to live around here somewhere.”

  He summoned a raven to his shoulder and fed it the blood he’d processed for the spell. “Give me your eyes,” he said, drawing his senses outward to connect with the bird’s.

  * * *

  CJ felt the tracking spell as it tore away from the threshold of his loft. When had it affixed to the threshold? Possibly last night when Pain had been in control.

  Not good.

  Running to his spell table, he grabbed salt and devil’s bane and began to mix as he chanted a ward.

  Grim was gaining on him.

  He glanced to the kitchen, where the small bone whistle sat on the
counter, warded from view by any others.

  “I won’t let you get it, Grim. You don’t get to play with mortal lives anymore.”

  Chapter 12

  “This call is peculiar,” Vika said to CJ, who sat with legs straddling the stick shift in the middle of the hearse’s seat. Libby sat to his right, and hadn’t stopped grinning since they’d all crammed into the front—and only—seat. “It’s at Pére Lachaise. Never a good thing. Could involve ghouls or imps, probably demons.”

  “Demons,” he muttered, clasping his hands into a ball between his legs. “Great. I’ll stay out of you ladies’ way and hope for the best.”

  “So what’s your soul like, CJ?” Libby asked gaily. She smelled like sugar, which he liked, and her body nestled against his was all curves and softness, a direct contrast to Vika’s slender sleekness.

  “Libby.”

  “I mean, is it intact?” Libby continued, ignoring her sister’s admonishment. “Do the demons control it all the time? Do you know if you left Daemonia with a soul?”

  Vika flashed the evil eye at her sister, but the rearview mirror was angled to catch CJ’s confused look. She rubbed a hand along his thigh, reassuringly.

  “It’s in there,” he said. “But that’s about all I know. An incorporeal demon wouldn’t be able to hitch a ride if I hadn’t a soul.”

  “That’s interesting. I wonder what it’ll be like after the demons are gone.”

  “You’re thinking my soul will be left in tattered condition?”

  “Probably. I don’t mean to be rude, but you know...”

  “It’s one of the drawbacks of practicing the dark magic,” he offered. “My soul has never been clean, at least not your sister’s definition of clean.”

  Vika cast him a wonky look, but he merely shrugged at her. The idea that they had attracted one another—dark to light—was something he wasn’t going to argue.

  Libby asked, “Why do you practice dark magic?”

  Vika and CJ said at the same time, “Someone has to.” They exchanged grins in the mirror, and CJ added, “It balances the universe. Good and bad. Evil and bright. Without the dark there would only be good.”

  “I don’t see much wrong with that.”

  “You would, if it were to occur. Trust me, the world needs the other side of the coin for balance. So, Libertie, you are Vika’s younger sister?”

  “Yes, by two years. Our other sister, Eternitie, is the oldest. She’s off tromping through the wilds of Africa.”

  “I have a sister, too. Merrily is older than my twin and I by ten years. I have no idea where she is right now. Haven’t seen her for decades.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “It may seem like that, but I know wherever she is, she’s fine. She’s an adventurer and often gets caught up in her travels. I think she’s studying shamanistic traditions.”

  “Sounds like Eternitie,” Vika said. “She’s an adventurer as well, and likes to learn new things. But she does check in with us every month or so. I’d go mad if I went as long as you did without hearing from her.”

  “Eternitie kicks shamanistic ass,” Libby agreed. “What kinds of magic do you practice, CJ?”

  “At the moment, very little. Though some magics I still possess in full strength. I’m a skilled allotriophagist.”

  “An allo-what?”

  “He can make others vomit strange things like pins, stones, worms,” Vika said.

  “Toads are my favorite,” CJ added.

  “Eww. So not hitching a ride on your vibes, dark witch,” Libby said. “Tell me about those tattoos on your hand. They’re so black, and they look evil.”

  CJ turned his hand over and again caught Vika’s look in the mirror. This hand hadn’t served evil earlier this morning in bed with her. “The designs are fine-tuned spells put there by an ink witch. This one here is bespelled for transprojectionary dislocation.”

  “Ohmygoddess, you can move things through the air? That’s so cool. Can I look closer?”

  Vika slid her hand through CJ’s tattooed hand as she turned the hearse and pulled it through the gates to the cemetery. “No time. We’re here. You don’t mind graveyards, do you, CJ?”

  “Some excellent ingredients for spellcraft can be found on such grounds. I think I’ll have a look around while you two are busy cleaning.”

  * * *

  Pére Lachaise boasted over a million occupants, seventy thousand tombs and ten miles of labyrinthine paths. The Parisian necropolis also sat on unconsecrated grounds. Excellent shopping for a dark witch.

  Certainly used his pocketknife to scrape the thick layer of yellow mold from the letter E on a tombstone around the corner from where the St. Charles sisters were cleaning up a pile of vampire ash. After he’d asked for something to store his finds in, Libby had given him a few plastic zip bags. So far he’d collected the mold and some grave dust, and he now headed toward the dead cat behind the next tombstone. It had been reduced to bone by the efficient rats that scurried around even now, unwary of human or paranormal presence.

  He sat on the edge of the raised stone tomb, pinching his fingers along the zip bag to seal it. He closed the pocketknife. Observing the sisters revealed an exercise in efficiency and professionalism. They both had their roles, and each worked with zeal. The determination on Vika’s face was impressive. She did take cleaning personally.

  “Can’t believe she hasn’t picked up my place yet,” he said, sort of as a spoken wish, but then, “Nah. That would be forward of me.” He liked his disorder as it was, because within that array he knew exactly where everything was.

  That she even tolerated him being around her was immense. He’d seen the bruise on her shoulder last night while they’d made love. The pain demon had shoved her around, and he was surprised, and thankful, she didn’t have broken bones.

  “You allowed it to happen,” he muttered, feeling he should be able to control the demons from within.

  Must be more than half a dozen remaining. It wasn’t as if he could do a roll call, but he suspected he’d experienced all that occupied his soul. There was or had been: Carrion (whom Vika had obliterated that first accidental meeting), Menace, War, Lust, Protection (whom he wished would appear more often), Chaos, Pain, Grief, and, well, he hoped that was it.

  Why hadn’t a desire or gratitude demon hitched a ride? Any man could appreciate either of those two. Although he should be thankful he’d attracted the one benevolent demon, he’d yet to notice that any of the protection sigils worked against the other demons, save to make them flinch.

  Sighing, he waggled his tattooed fingers, smirking at Libby’s curiosity and Vika’s sudden discomfort when her sister had asked to examine them more closely. Vika had swooned at the use of his magical touch. He hadn’t been aware of that particular magic since he’d only recently completed the glove tattoo. Nice bonus. He suspected Vika wouldn’t mind if he practiced on her until he’d achieved mastery.

  “Ready, CJ?” Vika called.

  “Ready for what?”

  His heart stuttered. She must have found another wandering soul. Plastic bags in hand, CJ dashed down an aisle between tombstones and rushed over to the hearse.

  “Stand right there!”

  He stopped abruptly at Vika’s held-up hand.

  She nodded at him, as if anticipating something big. He couldn’t see the corpse light, but he noticed her eyes followed something in the air before her. Sweeping out her hand, Vika chanted an air spell.

  The brightness blasted him in the chest and toppled him backward to land on the aboveground stone coffin of Jacques Letendre, Beloved Father. Arms splaying back and chest lifting as the soul traveled through him, Certainly gasped in the fetid air. Brilliance burst through his extremities and tugged at his muscles, as if attempting to peel them from his bones. He clenched his fingers, his entire body stiffening. The entrance ward on his palm burned, and then his muscles relaxed. As the soul moved through him, he cried out joyously to experience the warmth and utte
r gentleness. It all happened within five seconds.

  Libby rushed to the tombstone and preened over his prone figure. A red curl slipped out from her Tyvek cap and dangled over her purple-dusted eyelid. “Hell. That was some kind of kinky! Did it work?”

  CJ slapped a hand on his chest. “Goodbye, Menace.”

  Vika leaned over him. “I got the bastard who tried to total the hearse?” She pumped a fist. “Yes!”

  He pulled her down onto him and kissed her, she in her hazmat suit and white Tyvek hat, and he with his bags of grave dirt near his head. The two made out there on the coffin while Libby packed up the back of the hearse.

  “Thank you. Again,” he said, tugging the white cleaning cap from her head to let the garnet waves spill over his chest. “Was that the only soul?”

  “No, I’ve collected half a dozen at least. They are already attached to my soul. Can’t use them. But I felt one approaching apprehensively, so knew I could use it. Now, let me see if I can find it.”

  She climbed off him and wandered about behind the tombstone, and gave a triumphant whoop.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, sitting up and brushing the grave dust from his sleeves. “My Intrepid Gatherer of Corpse Lights. Were they all vampires?”

  “Yes.” Libby hitched her hip onto the tombstone and sat beside CJ. She tugged out the earbuds and they dangled at her chest, tiny strains of rock music echoing out. “Weird, huh? We’ve had a rush of multiple vamp deaths. Generally Vika and I are never called in for such a job. Who’s taking out all the vampires? And they’re going for the hearts first.”

  “The hearts. How do you know that?”

  “The heart is the last to ash if it’s been previously removed from the body. We found one tossed under those dead weeds over there. Completely drained of blood, and not ashy. You want to see?”

  “Uh, no, I get the picture. So it’s not a slayer?”

  “I doubt it. Why would a slayer take the time to rip out the heart? Unless he’s a psycho. And I do have a fond place in my heart for The Order of the Stake.”