A grin spread across his face, and his eyes took on the far-off look of daydreaming. “I met someone.”
“You did?” My eyebrows shot up. “Tell me about her.” Wow, he really had moved on.
He bit his lip and glanced at the floor. “I think I want to keep this one to myself for a while.” He grinned like a child. “It’ll jinx it. This is too perfect. I don’t want to screw it up.”
He was serious. The vibe he was putting off screamed “totally whipped.” A weird emptiness expanded in my gut, a totally unfair feeling considering I was getting married in a couple months. Still, it stung. Logan had a secret I wasn’t a part of. I was officially outside looking in the window of his life.
“I’m happy for you,” I forced myself to say. “You look really, um, happy. Just … blissful.”
“I am, thanks. So, ah, you should get your book. I’ll help you.” He grinned that lopsided, boy-next-door grin.
“Yeah, the thing weighs a ton.” I swung my arms awkwardly. Why did this conversation feel forced? “Hey, before I go, I need to ask you a question.”
“Sure.” He led the way toward his home office where I’d sealed the book behind a protective enchantment.
“Will you cater my wedding? I’d like to have the reception at Valentine’s. It’s March twentieth.”
Logan’s face fell, and his hands moved to his hips to support a defeated shrug. “I can’t. The restaurant is booked.”
“What?” Of all the things that could go wrong, I never thought this would be one of them. Logan always came through for me, always.
“We’re booked for a private party. The entire restaurant and bar.”
“Can you move it?”
He furrowed his brow. “No, I can’t move it,” he said incredulously. “The couple booked months ago. Why don’t you move your date?”
“I can’t. Spring equinox. New beginnings.”
“Well, I can’t do it.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I popped my hip out, my tongue poking into my cheek. “I got it. What if I rented another venue and you catered it? Then you could have your staff cater the one at the restaurant. Win-win.”
Mouth dropping open, he looked at me as if I’d sprouted two heads. “You are not getting this, Grateful. The answer is no. I’m busy. I will not be catering your wedding. You will have to find someone else.” He snapped the words at me like he was chastising a child.
I squinted in his direction. “Logan, I’m not some diva demanding my way, okay? I just wanted you to be part of my wedding. I thought we were friends. Good friends. I spent months nursing you back to health after I resurrected you. I stored one of the most powerful books of magic in the world in your home. Excuse me for expecting that you might want to be part of a major life event for me.”
He sighed, head lolling forward on his shoulders. “Look,” he said, spreading his hands. “We’ve grown apart, okay? You made it clear the last time we were together that you chose Rick over me. I’ve moved on. Yes, we’re friends. But business is business. I can’t do it. You need to find someone else.”
I could understand the restaurant being booked. I could even understand him not wanting to be involved. But he was so cold about it, like he enjoyed telling me no. That wasn’t Logan. Not my Logan. But then again, he wasn’t mine, was he? The illusion that our friendship was indestructible shattered. Even when he thought he was in love with me, he wasn’t really mine.
“Are you even planning to come to my wedding?” I asked in a hushed tone.
“Are you inviting me?”
“Of course.”
“Then I will try to stop by.” His eyes softened slightly, but they didn’t warm to the twinkling green I was used to.
“Okay. I understand. Enough said.” I didn’t understand. After all we’d been through together, I expected more than “I will try to stop by.”
“Cool.” He opened the door for me.
I continued into the room where my giant leather-bound grimoire waited for me. The purple haze of my protective enchantment still surrounded the desk it rested on. No one could see my magic but me, of course. The purple was my own magical signature.
As I approached the barrier, I paused. “Hey, Logan.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you try to look at my book?”
“No, why?”
“There’s some damage to my protective ward.” I ran my hand through the magic. “More than a little, actually. Have you had any supernaturals up here?”
There was a pause while he walked to the door and leaned against the doorframe. “No one’s been in here since you. I keep this door closed.”
“Huh.” I waded into the magic, feeling the buzz of it against my skin. Whoever had tested it hadn’t succeeded in getting through. The ward was still functional. But there was damage, which meant someone had attempted to reach my book. With the enchantments I had around his place, it was either Logan, another human, or a supernatural he invited inside.
I glanced back at Logan in the doorway. I wanted to ask him again if he’d had any supernatural guests, but his expression dissuaded me—a cross between impatience and annoyance, his jaw was tight and his lips a flat line. I needed to take a different tack.
“Has your mom stopped by lately?” Since I put Logan back in his body, he’d been in communication with his deceased mother. She’d helped me out a couple times.
“Actually, no. I’m not having the weird dreams anymore either. I guess my life is back to normal. Well, as soon as you get that thing out of my house.” He smiled stiffly.
Jeez. The empty feeling in my stomach expanded to my chest. With a heavy heart, I drew Nightshade and cut through the space around me, breaking my enchantment. Then I placed my hands on The Book of Light. At least this was what I expected. My grimoire hummed to me. She was ready to go home.
Grudgingly, Logan stepped forward to help, but I shook my head. “Its okay. I can tell you’re busy. I got this.”
He tipped his head to the side. “That thing has to weigh a hundred pounds, Grateful. Let me help.”
Rounding my lips, I blew out a deep breath. Wind circled and lifted the book. I placed my hands under it, but with my magic at work, it weighed almost nothing. Logan reached for it anyway.
“Stop,’ I said, nudging him back with my power. We locked eyes for a second. I wasn’t sure what Logan was trying to prove, forcing his help on me, but I didn’t like it. “Maybe you can get the door.”
Cracking his jaw, he led the way out. He opened the front door for me and tapped the button for the elevator. I stepped inside the compartment. With a hasty goodbye, he disappeared inside his condo. When the doors closed, something inside me broke, as if the heavy steel had severed the last frail spiderweb of connection I’d had to Logan.
CHAPTER 8
The Offer
I lowered The Book of Light onto the desk in my attic and ran the back of my hand across my forehead. Out of principle, I had refused Logan’s help, but that momentary pride had taken its toll. The magic I’d used to move the gargantuan tome had drained me.
“Who are you?” A trembling voice came from behind me. “Where am I?”
I spun around to find the blurry outline of the murdered girl—Calliope—staring at me with wide green eyes. Her bleached-blonde head looked markedly different attached to her body.
“Holy fucking crow!” I scrambled to the other side of the desk.
Her face crumpled and her molecules broke apart and came back together.
“I’m sorry, Calliope. You just startled me.”
“You know my name?”
I pressed a finger into my chin. “Yeah…” How did I put this in the gentlest possible way? Better to rip off the Band-Aid. “You were murdered, and you’re here because your soul needs to be sorted. It happens sometimes when a soul is cut off before its time.”
“Murdered?” She pressed a translucent hand into her chest. “When?”
“Yesterday.”
; She stared at the floor absently and then began to weep. “There was so much I wanted to do,” she blubbered. Her frail shoulders bobbed with her sobbing. Her remains hadn’t given me a full appreciation of how thin she was.
“I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you about your death, but you’re in the right place. I can help you get to the other side.”
Her weeping intensified. Poor thing.
The sound of plastic on plastic heralded Poe’s arrival. He barreled through the pet door Rick had installed along with a cascade of icy air that cut off quickly when the door sealed itself behind him.
“That’s cool,” I said, walking to the window and pressing on the flap. “It only opens for you?”
Poe stared with concern at Calliope weeping in the corner while he lifted a foot to show me a tiny metal band. “Chip in the bracelet unlocks the flap. Rick thought you would prefer this version as a fail-safe. Who’s the dead girl?”
“Soul in need of sorting. She was the one killed at the Thames Theater yesterday.”
Calliope paused her weeping. “The Thames? What happened?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.” She was freshly dead. Her memory wasn’t going to get any better than this.
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember. I was on a date with Julius. We danced … made love.”
I tried to remain stoic but inside I gagged a little.
Calliope noticed my reaction. “Julius is a magnificent lover,” she said, widening her eyes. “The best I’ve ever had.”
“Okay,” I said. It sounded dismissive despite my best efforts. “What happened after you made love?”
“He fed on me, like he always does.” She rubbed her neck as she said this as if remembering the bite. “And then I fell asleep.”
I waited a beat. “That’s it? You fell asleep?”
“Yeah.”
“When did the other woman arrive?”
“What other woman?”
“Are you saying you were alone all night?”
Calliope grinned. “Uh, yeah. The evening was … intimate, if you know what I mean. No one else was invited. I am not into group sex.”
“Hmm,” I said.
“She might not remember,” Poe said.
“Nightshade will sort out the truth,” I murmured. Marching to my trunk, I removed my silver bowl and placed it in front of the ghost. Then I drew my blade.
“What the fuck?” Calliope said.
“Don’t worry. This isn’t going to hurt a bit.” I threw my power into her and sifted her soul through it, straining out a series of memories.
Flash.
A platinum-haired ball of energy, six-year-old Calliope runs into a living room constructed of nothing more than a filthy couch and beer bottles. Her father, passed out on the couch, stirs, and she stops in her tracks, heart pounding with fear.
Flash.
She’s twelve and the gym teacher is drilling her about the scars on her back. Burns. Her father put them there, but she doesn’t want to tell.
Flash.
Calliope turns fifteen, now living in a foster home. Her foster father gives her a guitar for her birthday. She plays it until her fingers bleed.
Flash.
She’s eighteen, on her own, and singing her first set in a hole-in-the-wall bar. Her stomach growls and she’s afraid the audience can hear it through the mic. She’ll need to finish if she wants to eat tonight.
Flash.
Julius introduces himself. Asks her to dinner. She eats until she’s full for the first time in forever. He buys her a drink even though she’s only twenty. Then he tells her what he is and proposes a deal. At first she’s shocked, until they have sex. Then she’s smitten. There’s a new apartment, food in the fridge, and the wound on the inside of her thigh doesn’t hurt a bit.
Flash.
She’s holding a glass of Scotch, standing next to Julius’s bed at the Thames, and sporting an ear-to-ear grin. He licks a bit of her blood from his lip then presses a kiss to her mouth. There’s a knock at the door. “Who’s that?” she asks. Julius looks her in the eye and says, “Relax.” His pupils dilate. Blackness.
I tumbled out of her head, panting. Calliope’s ghost blinked at me in confusion.
“Calliope North,” I said in a clear, strong voice, “I release you to heaven.” I sliced my arm. A drop of blood splashed into the silver bowl. Calliope broke apart into a column of light and disappeared through my ceiling.
* * * * *
“That wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” Poe said. “She might have had information you could have used to find her killer.”
I shook my head. “Julius had compelled her. She doesn’t remember dying at all, let alone who killed her.”
“You might have been able to undo the compulsion. Maybe unravel a subconscious memory,” Poe said.
“Calliope North has been used enough in her short life.” I darted a glance in Poe’s direction. “Now she is finally at peace. The end.” I shivered remembering the girl’s life. Sadly, being a blood bag for Julius was the highlight.
“Understood.”
“I did confirm one thing.”
“What?”
“Julius didn’t kill Calliope. Gary was telling the truth about that.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
A yawn forced itself out of me, and I stretched in reaction. “I better try to get a nap in before tonight.”
The feathers of one of Poe’s eyes arched higher. “You need more than a nap, Witchy Woman. You need a visit to the caretaker to recharge your magical battery.”
“Rick and I are not exactly seeing eye to eye these days. I’m not sure I want to rattle that cage right now.”
“Your undies are in a bunch over Tabetha and the candle.” Poe pointed a talon in my direction.
“My undies are not in a bunch. I just have my reservations concerning what brought about the misunderstanding. Seems like Rick must have been stirring her cauldron to make her believe he’d become her caretaker.”
“You think he had an affair while you were between lifetimes?”
I paused, rubbing my palms together. “I don’t think he had intercourse with her. He told me he’s only been with me, and I believe him. I can tell when he’s lying or when he’s blocking me mentally.”
“But?”
“But I wonder if it was an emotional affair. Late-night dinners. Days prancing through fields of daisies, hand in hand, searching for eye of newt.”
Poe cackled. “Fields of daisies?”
I spread my hands and shrugged.
“Well, if it is any consolation, Tabetha’s reputation precedes her.”
“You mentioned that before. What exactly is her reputation?”
“Let’s just say, if anyone was acting the predator, it was Tabetha, not Rick.”
I rubbed my chin. “Enjoys the boys, does she? A man-eater?”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Poe said. “I think Tabetha gets what Tabetha wants.”
“Maybe Rick wasn’t underestimating their relationship after all.”
“You can read his mind, dear witch. What do you think?”
Admittedly, Rick’s thoughts were fairly clear on the subject of wanting me and regretting the entire candle fiasco. That wasn’t the point. The point was … The point was … I had a right to be angry. Rick’s hasty and jealous actions had put us at risk.
Tempted as I was to pursue this line of reasoning with Poe, I needed to focus on a spell to offer Tabetha. It had to be something exceptional. Exhausted, I started randomly flipping pages in The Book of Light.
“What would she want in place of Rick?” I asked Poe.
He looked at me blankly. “Who am I to get inside the mind of a witch?”
“You practically read my mind on a daily basis.”
“That’s different. I am your familiar, and you are nothing like Tabetha.”
“Tabetha, Tabetha, Tabetha.” I drummed my fingers on the de
sk and rolled my neck. “What do you want most in the deep recesses of your psycho head?” I straightened. “Wait. She’s a psycho. I happen to know a great analyzer of psychos.” I reached for my phone and poked a few buttons. Michelle’s face popped up on the screen after the third ring.
“You were right to come to me with this,” Michelle said once I’d brought her up to speed. “I know exactly what you should offer Tabetha.”
I laughed. Of course my non-magical friend would have the answer. “Don’t keep me in suspense.
“True love.”
I glanced at Poe, then narrowed my eyes at Michelle’s FaceTime image on my phone. “Are you saying I should find her another man to replace Rick?”
“Not exactly. What I’m saying is that if she was looking for love when she decided to help Rick, which makes sense since you say she appeared scorned by his rejection, then what she really wants is not him or blood, but true love. Also, Poe says she has a reputation for burning through men. A classic example of someone desperate for true intimacy and trying to fill the gaping hole in her soul with sex. Is there a spell to find true love? Love potion number nine?” She snickered.
“Let’s find out,” I said to Michelle. Approaching The Book of Light, I spoke directly to the grimoire. “Show me the spell to find true love.” The pages lifted from the binding, light pouring out between them, and flipped forward and back repeatedly before coming to rest on the book’s suggestion.
Turning my phone so that Michelle could see, I leaned over the book and read what was on the page. “The positivity potion. This concoction will change the drinker’s chemistry to send out positively charged love energy that will attract his or her perfect balance with magnetic precision. Use sparingly. Works best in well-populated areas.”
“Look at the footnote!” Michelle clapped her hands excitedly.
“Caution: the positivity potion cannot be concocted for oneself, as doing so could result in terminal narcissism. An extrinsic magical element is necessary for proper composition.” I grinned. “She can’t make it for herself.”
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