My Favorite Witch

by Lisa Plumley

  Compelled by an urge she refused to examine, she writhed and shoved her hand lower. She felt the sturdy barrier of T.J.’s canvas pants, the metallic kiss of the button at his waist, the hopelessly intricate hurdle of his zippered fly. Impatiently, she wrestled with it, utterly mindless of the room, the bed, their place in the world.

  Ah. For the briefest instant, she made contact with the stiffest and most unyielding part of him. Just as she realized it, T.J. caught her wrist in his hand. He forced her away.

  Disappointed, Dayna wriggled closer. “Please. I need—”

  “Stop.” His face appeared drawn with effort. “Deuce is—”

  A series of thumping footsteps canceled out whatever he’d meant to say. Deuce appeared in the doorway, burly and jovial.

  “Look, I know I’m just the driver on this gig, but—”

  Dayna froze. At the same instant, several of her bedroom furnishings—a lamp, a lacquered jewelry box, a digital alarm clock—crashed to the floor. She gaped at them in disbelief. Then she realized that she and T.J. had managed to levitate half her belongings, all of them human-built and thus twice as resistant to magic. The bed had collapsed, too; she and her tracer had burrowed into the very center of it, with the mattress jutting to both sides of their incriminating position.

  “Uh. Sorry.” Awkwardly, Deuce thrust his forearm over his face. “You two…go right ahead. I’ll just wait in the car.”

  He bolted, leaving Dayna heaped atop T.J. in the middle of her bed. She couldn’t feel…sorry for her position, exactly. Her body still thrummed with T.J.’s touch, sensitized to savor his callused hands and wandering mouth. Breathlessly, she looked down at him, wondering how she’d wound up straddling him.

  Sensibly, she knew she ought to follow Deuce and try to regain some semblance of dignity. Emotionally, she knew she wouldn’t. Not while T.J. still lay within reach, packed with all that intriguing muscle and those mysterious eyes.

  Not while she still wasn’t satisfied.

  She definitely wasn’t satisfied.

  But she meant to be. Soon.

  “I know it’s wrong,” she panted, “but I still want you.”

  “This was a mistake.” With movements so fast she might have imagined them, the tracer set her aside from him. He stood and grabbed her scattered clothes. In seconds, her duffel bag was haphazardly packed. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

  T.J. was as good as his word. For the third time that day, Dayna found herself in the grasp of a steely-eyed tracer, headed for a future she couldn’t begin to anticipate and destined to revisit a past she didn’t want to remember. This time, though, there might be perks involved, she decided as she followed T.J. to the Mustang and allowed him to slam her into the backseat.

  This time, she just might enjoy being in Covenhaven.

  Especially if T.J. was in Covenhaven, too.

  At five-thirty that evening, the Mustang skidded to a stop at the center of Covenhaven. T.J. opened the passenger door. He stepped out, then grabbed Dayna’s duffel bag from the backseat.

  He threw it on the ground. He added her backpack.

  Stone-faced, he reached in for her. But the moment T.J. touched her bare arm, he remembered the soft feel of her skin, the alluring scent of her body, the hungry, breathy way she’d moaned for him to keep touching her. All during the gritty, two-hour drive across the desert, he’d avoided her. Now, lost in an unintended reverie, he tightened his grasp. He wanted to pull her to him—to strip her bare of those scratchy human-made clothes and learn exactly what she liked…and how she liked it.

  Searching for control, T.J. lifted his gaze to her face. The maneuver didn’t help. In the afternoon shadows of the car’s interior, Dayna looked lost. Innocent. Unreasonably seductive.

  Feeling himself weaken, he slid his hand slowly up her arm. Instead of tugging her out of the car, he enjoyed the sensation of his fingers sliding over her warm, smooth skin. He did it again. Again. Again. Dayna squirmed and shivered in his grasp, leaning toward him with a wanting he recognized and shared.

  Time slowed. All that existed was the connection between them—a connection that demanded to be made complete. T.J. felt destined to touch her. He felt driven to kiss her. He needed to be with her. That was all that mattered.

  “I need you, too.” Dreamy-eyed, Dayna leaned nearer.

  She pressed her thighs together in unconscious yearning—a yearning he knew he could satisfy. T.J.’s hot-blooded warlock ancestors wouldn’t have hesitated even this long, he knew. But they would not have had an IAB mission to complete either.

  With great force of will, T.J. turned his mind toward the task at hand. He hauled Dayna out of the car. He told himself he was only finishing his mission—making sure his final cusping witch was delivered at last. That was all. But as soon as Dayna swayed and leaned against him, he knew it was a lie. All he wanted was to feel her—to know the pressure of her arms and hips and breasts and belly, all meeting his body in perfect rhythm.

  He lowered his head. A single kiss wouldn’t hurt…

  “Hey, I’m double-parked here. So if you two don’t mind—”

  “Shut up, Deuce.” Almost there. Just a few more inches, and he’d have possession of her mouth. He’d hear that tiny intake of breath she made, feel the wet slick of her tongue against his. Driven beyond all reason, T.J. stood beside the heap of Dayna’s belongings. He cupped her jaw in his hand, tilting her face to his. He inhaled. “Hold on to me. This is going to be good.”

  Obediently, she did. Her hands tightened. “I’m ready.”

  “Well done.” He almost wanted to smile. Instead, he nodded in approval. “If you’re this diligent about learning to control your magic, those cusping-witch classes should be easy for you.”

  With a roar, Deuce revved the Mustang’s engine.

  Irritated by the mind-clearing stink of the car’s exhaust, T.J. glanced in his partner’s direction. All edgy impatience, Deuce leaned across the passenger’s seat and stared up at him, his hand fixed on the wheel. His warning expression made something stir inside T.J.—something besides desire for Dayna.

  “Don’t you have someplace to be?” Deuce asked.

  With a muttered oath, T.J. remembered.

  He looked at Dayna, then hastily brushed her aside. He kept his tone harsh, his manner impersonal. “Check in with the InterAllied Bureau first. They’ll give you instructions.”

  He turned, then got in the car and slammed the door.

  Dayna stood motionless with surprise…but not for long. She pursued him to the Mustang and tried to open the door. Defeated by the lock, she rapped on the passenger-side window.

  “Holy shit.” Deuce flinched. “She looks pissed.”

  “That’s not my problem. Drive.”

  Dayna yelled something, but he couldn’t hear it.

  “Wow. That protective sound charm works both ways.”

  T.J. gritted his teeth. “Will you get moving?”

  His partner shot a dubious glance toward Dayna. “I dunno—her file said she hasn’t been back in Covenhaven for more than ten years. Maybe you should take her in yourself.”

  Picturing the scene, T.J. shook his head. Given the way he’d reacted to her so far, they’d probably drop to the hood of the nearest car and start peeling off each other’s clothes.

  “We’d never make it inside the building.” Uncomfortably aware of how much he liked that idea, T.J. made himself roll down the window. “Just get to the IAB,” he told Dayna tersely.

  “Fine.” Her whole body looked uptight. “Where is it?”

  “You can’t see it?”

  “All I see is the usual Covenhaven kitsch. New Age-y stuff. Adobe buildings. Cowboy hats. Native American handcrafts. Unless the IAB is located inside that shop selling cactus jelly…”

  As she yammered away, T.J. turned his face to the front, automatically scanning Covenhaven’s touristy main street. Everything seemed as it should be. Visitors to the desert resort town walked side by side—however unknowin
gly—with witches and warlocks. Legacy witches coexisted with Followers. Gifted Patayan gardeners made sure the town’s succulents, palo verde trees, and gnarled mesquite thrived in the waning sunshine.

  “The IAB entrance is hidden from human eyes,” he told Dayna, cutting her off. “You’ll need your magic to find it.”

  “Awesome.” Her frustrated gaze collided with his. “Exactly how am I supposed to do that? In case you haven’t noticed, whatever magic I have has been pretty unpredictable lately.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “You’re the one who brought me here!”

  “Good luck.”

  “Hey!” Dayna smacked her hand on the car. “Aren’t you supposed to help me? You said you’re a guardian. Don’t you have some kind of Patayan code that covers this situation?”

  “You got here safely, didn’t you?”

  Mutely, she nodded.

  “Then I’ve done what I have to do.”

  “That’s your ‘code’? Getting me here safely?” She scoffed. “A bus could do that much. A taxi, a train, a ’67 Chevy—”

  “You left Phoenix without a scratch. That’s more than I can say for the people whose cars skidded through the intersection during your rainstorm.”

  “People were hurt?”

  “Yes.” T.J. gave her a hard look, forcing himself to be unmoved by her horrified expression. “Do what you have to do to master your magic. In the meantime, don’t come to me.”

  “But I—”

  “Don’t come to me, and don’t expect me to come to you.”

  He looked at her face, mobile with unexpressed emotion, and cursed whatever impediment had blocked his ability to intuit Dayna’s feelings. Blaming their bonding, he shot an irate glance at her golden armlet. His birthright mark throbbed in response.

  “Don’t wait for the IAB to find you,” he told her.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re already late. Get moving.” T.J. nodded at Deuce. Without looking at Dayna, he rolled up the window. “Let’s go.”

  His partner revved the Mustang’s engine. The vehicle peeled out from Covenhaven’s peaceful town square in a haze of burning rubber, leaving Dayna with her luggage at her feet. T.J. didn’t need to look back to know how lost she’d look…how alone.

  Deuce flicked a glance at the rearview. He frowned. “You sure about this? She looks pretty helpless back there.”

  “She’s a witch.” T.J. stared straight ahead, his mouth flat and his body fraught with resistance. “She’ll survive.”

  “Maybe so.” Deuce took a corner with his customary finesse. Unlike T.J., he relished human-made vehicles. He had yet to encounter the engine he couldn’t improve or the chassis he didn’t feel compelled to take apart and reassemble. “But she’s not the one I’m worried about.”

  Pushed to the edge of his limits, T.J. exhaled. “If she complains, I’ll take the hit from IAB. Don’t worry about it. None of the fallout will land on you.”

  “That’s not it either.” Deuce bared his teeth, not quite smiling as he reached the town limits and increased speed. “I’m tough. I can take it. What I’m worried about is—”

  Like the sun breaking through the clouds, T.J. could intuit Deuce’s feelings again. One emotion came through much more strongly than the others. “You’re worried about me.”

  Dourly, his partner nodded. “I’m not blind. I saw how you—”

  “You’re human. You’ll always be blind.”

  “Hey, fuck you, too, buddy. Just because somebody cares enough to watch out for your sorry ass—”

  “You should know better than to talk to me about caring.” Wearing his most stoic expression, T.J. stared toward the sun as it sank below the horizon. “Don’t pretend you’ve got any compassion for witchfolk. Not after what Anya did to you.”

  His partner glowered, his hands taut on the wheel. “You don’t know what happened. Don’t pretend you do.”

  “I know what it did to you.”

  “Yeah. So try to avoid the same fate, why don’t you?”

  T.J. shook his head. “It’s not a problem. I’ll probably never see Dayna again. She’s delivered. That’s it. Case closed.”

  Deuce shook his head. “It’s not going to be that easy. I saw the way you looked at her. And did you notice? Her armband matches your Gila monster tattoo. That’s one weird coincidence.”

  It wasn’t a coincidence. T.J. refused to admit it. His bond with Dayna Sterling didn’t matter, because it would never be completed. As long as he stayed away, everything would be fine.

  Do you always lie to yourself this way?

  Swearing under his breath, T.J. contemplated hearing that witch’s voice—sexy, vaguely husky, and all too knowing—in his head for the rest of his days. Either Dayna had sized him up completely after one encounter…or he was losing his touch.

  Either outcome was unacceptable.

  With a frustrated groan, T.J. lolled his head against the Mustang’s seatback. He turned his face toward his longtime partner. “You’ll keep track of her for me, right?”

  Deuce grinned. “I’m already on it, asshole. You never had to ask.”

  Chapter Six

  Stuck on her own in the middle of the hometown she’d thought she’d left behind forever, Dayna stared at the horizon. There, dust still hung in a choking line; closer to her, the smell of singed rubber lingered in the air, making her wrinkle her nose. Overlying all of it were the ordinary goings-on of Covenhaven, lending an unreal quality to the problem she faced.

  Where in the world were the IAB headquarters?

  All she saw were false-front buildings, adobe-spackled art galleries, and gift shops promising crystals and other New Age items. In Covenhaven, free spirits reigned. Auras were cleansed, incense was burned, and counterculture types found solace with others who wanted to escape conventional lives. No one here looked askance at creative differences—unless the people doing the looking were witches…and one of them was an outcast witch who’d never mastered her magic and had run away because of it.

  According to T.J., the InterAllied Bureau entrance was in plain sight—if a person looked for it through witching eyes. With residents giving her curious glances and tourists strolling blithely along in their overly crisp Stetsons and elaborate hammered-silver belt buckles, Dayna slung her backpack over her shoulder and she picked up her duffel bag. She stepped onto the sidewalk and turned in a circle, squinting as she tried to identify the entrance she needed.

  Don’t wait for the IAB to find you.

  Anxiously, she sighted a gas station, a shuttered shop selling turquoise jewelry, and a café with dreamcatchers hung colorfully in its windows. None of them seemed right. Tightening her grasp on her belongings, Dayna swiveled one more time.

  But all she saw was T.J.’s face, infuriatingly impassive as he dumped her and left her behind. Filled with new frustration, Dayna frowned. She should have known better than to trust a hard-fisted tracer, especially one who could practice magic.

  Everyone in the witching community had let her down. There was no reason T.J. should be different—and every reason he should be eager to get away from her.

  You left Phoenix without a scratch. That’s more than I can say for the people whose cars skidded through the intersection during your rainstorm.

  Still chilled by his words, Dayna closed her eyes and gathered her focus. She had to succeed at this. She didn’t want anyone else to be hurt because of her. She didn’t want to be outed as a witch among her friends back home either. It was true that some witches felt free to live openly among humans, whether as pierced and pale Goths or practicing Wiccans, but those lifestyles weren’t for her. She wanted to live her life as she had been—unobtrusively and unmagically.

  It had been tough to start over, more than a decade ago now. But it had been worth it.

  In Phoenix, no one knew she was a witch. No one pitied her because she couldn’t summon a hex or cast a spell. No one made fun of her because she’d never maint
ained a familiar. For her, Buffy and Spike were enough. Her friendships were enough. Her work at the research library was enough. As soon as she settled her “cusping witch” issues in Covenhaven, she intended to go back home and forget she’d ever met T.J. or practiced witchery again. But first she had to find the IAB entrance.

  Focus. Focus…

  With a surge of emotion, Dayna opened her eyes. As though she’d willed it, all the bean pods blew off a nearby mesquite tree. They rattled to the ground in a clatter of dried husks.

  The landscaper frowned at her.

  No sign of the IAB headquarters. But at least nobody had been injured by her efforts.

  Counting that as progress, Dayna reassembled her focus. She tried a few half-forgotten incantations from childhood, spells that required not much more than memorization and aptitude.

  She failed on both counts. Worse, a man nearby had stopped to watch her—a warlock, if she didn’t miss her guess. His sexy posture and obvious self-confidence gave away his abilities.

  Feeling sweat seep into the armpits of her T-shirt, she pressed on. Reveal, reveal, reveal, she thought. Please.

  The café’s front door blew open with a bang.

  Surely that wasn’t the IAB headquarters? As far as Dayna knew, the InterAllied Bureau was responsible for policing the witching world—for making sure that witchfolk didn’t get out of hand. They were the magical realm’s FBI, for lack of a better description. They had to demand better stomping grounds than a roadside restaurant peddling ostrich burgers and slices of pie.

  A chuckle nearby broke her concentration.

  She turned, surprised to find herself surrounded by three people in dark suits. One was the warlock she’d already glimpsed; another was an amused-looking witch. The third was an imposing warlock with a shaved head and clear blue eyes. He was the obvious leader…and the one who’d laughed at her, too.

  Probably at her lame attempts to enact magic again.

  Damn, she hated being back among practicing witchfolk.

  “You’re right,” he said. “But we do like the pie.”