by Kat Turner
She forced her attention back to the crystal. Twin strands of beaded light flowed upward from rows attached to the floor, altering the hue of the rock into a prism of milk and butter tones.
Brian cleared his throat, the gesture neutralizing whatever sensual current wove through the lounge seconds ago. “Yes, well, I don’t do drugs, and my nonexistent sex life is the farthest thing from my mind at the moment.”
Nonexistent? Why wasn’t Brian—hot, classy, rich, talented, legendary—enjoying warm and willing job perks on a nightly basis? None of her business was why. And she had to play things cool, because he might be able to help her locate and recover the first clear crystal. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
Brian backed away from the counter and collapsed on the couch, resting both hands on the top of his head. His body slackened into the cushions, a physical language that both stirred her empathy and pleased in her in some forbidden way. Brian’s becoming unguarded in her presence, allowing her to see his search for physical comfort, did not go uncatalogued.
Helen took a seat beside him. His legs parted, enough to assert ownership over the space but not enough to convey macho disrespect in the form of the dreaded manspreading. He extended his arms over the top of the furniture. She scooted a few inches closer to his hip as if a magnet pulled her.
He cocked his head and tilted it to one side, surveying her out of the corner of one lidded eye. In that moment, Helen saw Brian’s X factor, the essence of his cool.
Brian didn’t need to flaunt his status to show off, which magnified his potency by a factor of a million. He was stately, composed, polite and kind though not quite warm. And stretched out on the couch, he communicated his prowess without uttering a word. He was the king of rock, unchallenged and free with nothing to prove.
He had a few miles on him, his lightly tanned skin was creased and a bit weathered, but that made his attractiveness that much more poignant. Model hot in his youth, present-day Brian had a mourning angel’s beauty, the look of a rock god past his prime and in full awareness of his age. A portrait of a man, not a denial-filled boy in an older body.
A puff of air, the smallest of audible gasps, broke from her lips. She sat in the presence of a god.
In an imperceptible atmospheric shift, intangible mystique fled through a crack in reality. Brian sighed, shape-shifting to a person once again. “I want to talk to you about these stones. What they are, where you got them, and why you gave two of them to me.”
Comporting herself made for a borderline laughable challenge given the circumstances, but she managed. “A situation with my business kicked the whole thing into motion.”
He lifted one eyebrow in a supreme gesture of British dryness. “What on earth do you do?” Cautious curiosity lifted his speech.
“I’m a yoga teacher. I own a studio with Lisa, the woman I asked you to put on the guest list.” Helen played with her hair, staving off the compulsion to slouch. “Owned, maybe. Not sure if we’re in past or present tense.”
“What happened?” he asked with petal softness, fingers twitching as his eyes roamed from her face to the piece of hair in her hand.
Helen let herself smile in response to his considerate question, though her heart clenched. “I did something stupid.”
“Ouch. I doubt that.”
“Why?” Unintended, her question flew out as a barb. She wrapped her arms over her midsection as if the dart would boomerang back and lodge in her underbelly.
He leaned in an inch closer. “You seem too thoughtful to be stupid.”
Her rogue smile spread. The air thickened to a pleasant perfume, supportive and cocooning. Easy on the eyes, Brian was easy to be around, to talk to. He knew how to listen and wasn’t one of those guys trying to mess with her mind, manipulate, or take advantage. He’d proven his goodness. The spikes on her armor retracted.
“Thank you. I made a mistake, for which I take full responsibility. And then in trying to fix the mistake, I seem to have made another one.”
A rumble stirred in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed. A traitorous flush spread between her legs at the sight of his neck captured in movement. How effortless it would be to kiss that inviting column of flesh, kiss her way up to his cut jaw, brush her mouth against masculine lips just plush enough to invite sensual thoughts.
“Which is why you asked me to return that clear crystal.”
The mere mention nullified her lust. “Yes.”
“Tell me they aren’t stolen or trafficked.”
“No. I’m no jewel thief.”
“What’s the gist?”
If he booted her out for the truth, he booted her out for the truth. “I visited a local mystic for help saving my business. Rumor has it she’s a witch, and she gave me a book and told me to drink a potion. She also gave me the crystals to give away to others and, I guess in a moment of impulsiveness, I saw you standing there with Joe and I thought you needed some positive energy.”
Helen masked her wince, waiting for Brian to stand up and show her to the door. Instead, his movement seeming to slow time, he slid the piece of hair she’d toyed with between two of his fingers. Her scalp throbbed with pleasurable awareness, registering his gentle tug.
Particles seemed to vibrate in the inches of space separating his hand from her neck. The promise of his touch on her skin, the absolute slightest of sensory thrills, proved enough to ignite her sex. She was more attracted to him than she’d been to anyone in years. Not that it mattered. Seducing him would escalate a problem into an utter fiasco.
“Your gift worked. I’ve been in a bad way for awhile now, unable to write or make new music. But I don’t know if the power of suggestion kicked in or if I awakened again after realizing someone else cared, or what, but when I was up on that stage tonight, I felt my potential returning. My passion, my breath, my reason. And I’m so sorry I lost your crystal. I looked everywhere, because I wanted that reminder of you up there with me. Wanted to feel it in my hand, to touch it while I sang.” His eyes revealed oceanic depths true to their rich color and reflected his poetic, complex intensity.
She played with her hands, grappling with an emotional mix of humility, validation, attraction, and fear. The crystal was powerful. Where was it? There was an evil force with a vested interest. How to stop the demon? Was this monster doing something messed up as they spoke?
“I wanted you to have it for that exact reason. We don’t know each other, obviously, but in the moment I was compelled to give something special to you. And my intentions were good and pure, if spontaneous. But those stones can carry a charge, otherworldly powers that act like a magnet, sucking in dark forces.”
The hex loomed large, unseen and unspoken.
“Not too long ago I’d have dismissed such talk as utter rubbish.” Brian toed off his loafers. Good. Meant he was adjusting to her presence. Still, best to proceeded with caution.
“What changed?”
Slapping his thighs, Brian rocked to his feet. “That subject calls for a bit of social lubrication. Fancy a drink? I’m having one.”
“Sounds great.” Alcohol could lessen awkwardness and facilitate conversation.
“What would you like? There’s red and white wine, beer, whiskey. Soda and sparkling water, too.”
“I’ll have what you’re having.” Her core softened. In some different scenario, she’d be all about getting this older, dignified, more than a little guarded and enigmatic rock god into bed.
Alas, sexual escapades didn’t align with the purpose of her visit.
Brian walked to a minibar and got down two lowball glasses and a bottle of whisky with a brand label she didn’t recognize. He pulled a plastic bucket from a freezer and used metal tongs to grab ice balls. He dropped an icy sphere in a cup, ball meeting glass with a soft clack. After depositing the second orb, he whisked back his tongs like a magic wand. A meticulous quality colored Brian’s mannerisms.
Helen held back a clap of appreciation. Brian Shepherd,
always performing.
He kept up the performance, or she noticed new dimensions his mini-show. His movements, the way he held the liquor bottle high to make an elegant arch pour from a long-nosed spigot capping the bottle, added a touch of elegant flair to otherwise mundane action without crossing the line into cheesiness. Brian rocked top-notch style, an aesthetic of living that he executed with unique panache. Her knees drifted apart as he mixed their drinks with cocktail straws.
Brian handed her a glass and eased back into his seat, clinking his cup into hers with a melodious note that cut still air with intrigue and promise. They were allowing the tiniest steps of a mating dance to happen. Chemistry would emerge despite or because of their fighting it, so no point in denying their feelings space to breathe. This needed to go unsaid, imbuing their flirtation with an intoxicating charge.
“Cheers.” Brian lifted his glass and brought the rim to his lips.
“Cheers.” Her first drink delivered notes of oak and ink followed by an ethanol bite.
Flavors mingled with her desire, spurred by Brian’s dignified air, his British-isms, and the shape of the peculiar night. Contours tapered into points, spiky reminders of danger. The form of the evening, those knife edges, made their rendezvous sexy in an unspeakable, impossible way reserved for the two of them. “As you were saying.”
He winked, the look smart and tart and white-hot. “Right down to business.”
“I think something terrible is happening, and I need information to figure out how to stop it.”
Brian’s nonverbal reply spoke volumes. A strong chin tipped upward in a dry show of detachment, a courtly parry. His eyes glistened with the effect of a stormy sea at night. Suspicious, aroused, or both?
In one of his exacting movements fit for an observer of the world, a born storyteller, Brian fingered a miniscule chip on his glass. Her breath snagged. Did thoughts of fingering a small spot on her body teem in his head?
Helen had never met a man as opaque as Brian before. Most were obvious, in the puppyish, endearing and uninspired way men were. But not this one. He had the whole puzzle wrapped in an enigma thing down pat, and holy hell his gamesmanship got her motor running.
“Can I trust you?” His posture didn’t shift from the statuesque, careful arrangement he’d cultivated. But a quiver in his posh speech unmasked vulnerability, albeit a small peek. The first show of openness slipped through Brian’s shell, a secret she was privileged to see.
Perhaps he wore armor like she did, a brittle veneer covering skin bruised by letdowns and betrayals.
She organized her thoughts before gushing out an emphatic “yes,” so as not to come off short sighted, too thirsty to prove herself.
“I’m going to be one-hundred percent honest with you. I mean you no harm. I was trying to help. But with the first crystal I did something without meaning to. So I want to say yes, you can trust me, but I hesitate to say so because I’m not positive I trust myself at the moment.”
“Let’s take it from the top. Why did the witch give them to you to give away? What’s that got to do with saving your business?” Brian sliced a stare from Helen to his drink. He prodded his ice sphere with the straw, sending frozen water bumping into the sides of the glass. The effect was one of an aloof deity moving a planet, a presentation of self that drew her in while keeping her at an emotional distance.
“She said I was a witch and gave them to me during my initiation. I was supposed to give two clear crystals away to good people before starting my study of spell craft. But I missed a crucial step before giving you the first one.”
Brian sipped his beverage. Liquid glistened on his bottom lip, bringing attention to its kissable fullness in proportion to the top one. Ugh, why did he have to be so alluring? She had to concentrate.
“You’re also a witch?”
“Yeah.” She shifted in her seat, running the pad of a forefinger along the rim of her cup. In the painful silence that followed, she wished the movement of flesh against glass made noise, a warbling tone to create parlor trick distraction.
“Where’s your cauldron and broomstick?” He winked again, diffusing some tension while stirring a different sort between her legs.
“Who knows? When it comes to domesticity, I’m pretty much trash.” A well-timed joke had its place, such as strategic application of self-deprecation used to lighten an encounter.
He chuckled, tipping a finger at her. “You can take the piss. I like you. Do you believe her claims?”
“About being a witch?”
Brian nodded, slipping back into his practiced countenance of neutrality.
“Yes. I’ve had visions for most of my life. The woman I saw seemed to know about them and proved she could read my mind. She convinced me.”
Brian set his cup down and ran the tip of his tongue back and forth over his top teeth. “What do you see in the visions?”
“The ancient past, like the European witch hunts. I’ve flown through air and seen what seems like different parts of the country or world. It’s hard to explain. Like an out-of-body experience, I guess.”
“Flying through the air. So you’re familiar with remote viewing I take it?” His question was pointed.
She’d heard of the phenomenon but hadn’t studied remote viewing with any sort of intention or dedication, which he seemed to insinuate. And more to the point, why did the subject of remote viewing pique Brian’s interest? “Somewhat. Why?”
“What’s about to happen that’s so terrible?” His syllables crisped. Brian searched behind her eyes. She didn’t blame the man for his directness, straightforward questions, or hesitance.
Others would have laughed and dismissed her as a nut. Still others would have reacted with fear and told her to get lost. Brian, on the other hand, sought facts and information from a level-headed, calm place. Suited him, or what she knew of his personality. He’d steered the conversation away from remote viewing for a reason. She ought not to press the issue and risk alienating him. They already treaded tricky ground, maneuvered around land mines.
“After I gave you that first clear crystal, I saw a cloud of smoke I’d seen before. I think there might be a force attached, an entity without the best of intentions.” She didn’t need to spill every single detail. Not yet, at least. Best to keep Brian close, and an excess of alarming information about hexes and voices in her head could backfire.
He knocked back what remained of his drink, walked the glass to the kitchen, and set it down. Bracing his hands on the counter, Brian sighed. “The thing I don’t understand is why, as you say, you gave me the stone for positive energy and a good show, but then a bad entity shows up.”
“I don’t fully understand either.” Fully was such a weasel word. She was holding back big chunks of the truth. But what would unfiltered honesty accomplish? If she freaked Brian out, odds were she’d never see him again. He had to be a difficult man to get to, and she wasn’t tight with his staff by any means. “Do you have any idea where the first one might have gone?”
“Do you?” he fired back in less than a second, his reply not aggressive but toeing the border of an accusation. Brian wasn’t dumb. He knew she was hiding things.
Sensing she’d been moved to some category designated for suspicious people, Helen loosened the reins on a bit more of the story and proceeded with caution. “I think so. Earlier at the fair I overheard Joe on the phone. He mentioned summoning and forces, energies, and Wyoming. A book and a vessel came up as well. I think the vessel in question might be the original crystal.”
“You just so happened to stumble across Joe saying all of this?” Dragging out the syllables of his dry speech, he rinsed his glass and set the tumbler in a rack.
“Yes. I did.”
Brian stood still, his stare distracted. The effect was uncanny and sad, like his outward expression resulted from inner labor to spackle over whatever machinations went on in his head.
Watching Brian Shepherd locked in a struggle with whether to op
en or close, whether to lower his wall or buttress his defenses, she connected with how weird, how squirmy in the most existential of ways, being famous must feel.
Plenty of creeps angled and leveraged and schemed to exploit the celebrity of others for personal gain. In her estimation, having to forsake the ability to let one’s guard down would be crazymaking. Especially with someone like Joe having breached Brian’s inner circle.
She took her peace and relative invisibility for granted and wouldn’t trade it for all of the Yogi Tea in Whole Foods. “What are you thinking about?”
“I don’t buy it.” His response popped out in a snap, though his voice trembled. “You want him out of the picture for some reason. Why? To assume his place at my right hand? Easy access to whisper influence in my ear? Put spells on me?”
Shit. He was degenerating into paranoia, some self-defense mechanism. Concern for Brian trumped any impulse to get annoyed or offended by his implications, though. Over the course of his life in the spotlight of fame, he’d no doubt been burned by many a malicious goblin.
She joined him behind the kitchen island and offered an assuring touch above his elbow. “No, I’m not gunning for leverage over you. I’m going to figure out more, but if I had to guess, I’d say he knows the same witch I went to. Or he’s a member of a coven with a big tent, one that’s connected to her. I know it’s hard, I know I sound like a lunatic, but please believe me when I say I care and want to help. And to do so, I need that first clear crystal. Can you work with me to help us recover it from Joe?”
Brian lobbed a dark look at her. He cut his gaze to the stone on the table. “Pick it up. Please.”
Helen made eye contact with him and scooped the object into her palm.
He blinked, a muscle in his jaw feathering. “No response?”
“No. What were you looking for?”
“No pain, discomfort, or burning?” Putting his drinking glass in a cupboard, Brian snorted a laugh bereft of good humor. “Christ, I’m proper gobsmacked at what I’m saying aloud today.”
“No pain. Why does my reaction matter?” She set the rock back on the counter, showing her palm as proof. Sure, she could pocket the stone, get the thing away from him, but rash behavior might make him balk.