Don't Hex and Drive

by Juliette Cross

  “Look at you.” He shook his head, standing in front of the coffee table on my red and gold Persian rug. “All anxious and scowling over a witch who doesn’t like you.”

  I couldn’t refrain the huff of laughter that barreled from my chest. “Are you seriously going to stand there and say that?” I arched a superior brow at him. Yes, superior. And he damn well knew why. “To me?”

  His smile fell, his jaw tightened, then he glanced away, his suddenly fierce expression skating away from the windows to my three-foot statue of Shiva on his black lacquer stand in the corner.

  “Ruben?” I coaxed softly.

  He ignored me, his eyes trance-like, certainly chasing some memory he shouldn’t be.

  “Ruben? Are you serious?”

  Stiffening his shoulders, he returned his burning blue gaze to me, not saying a word. He didn’t have to. The pain was there, raw and too bright.

  “Still?” I asked quietly.

  He held me for three seconds longer before checking his watch again. “I’d better go.” He marched for the door, his shoes clopping on the hardwood floor. “Dinner at eight? Meet me at The Green Light.”

  “I’ll be there,” I replied evenly, knowing he could hear me well enough all the way in the foyer.

  The firm slam of the door told me he didn’t want to talk about his old ghosts that still haunted him. Regrets that apparently cut deep and were still bleeding. Profusely. I heaved out a sigh and shoved off the sofa.

  Ah, Ruben.

  When would he learn that he couldn’t keep running?

  I pulled the Saran Wrap from the drawer beside the stove then covered my plate of penda.

  I might not be able to help him with his problem witch, but I could at least make a friend of mine. No. I didn’t even want that. I just wanted her to let bygones be bygones. Surely, my skills in the kitchen would win her over.

  There were other skills I could employ.

  No! No. Not even remotely going there.

  It’s never safe to live next door to your lovers. If they got too attached, it caused all sorts of problems. Though the thought had crossed my mind—say, first thing this morning after an erotic dream starring a golden-haired witch with taunting green eyes. But no. That was a terrible idea. Terrible. Wasn’t it?

  Heaving out a breath, I nodded to myself, ready to put that woman out of my mind.

  Just make amends and move on, Devraj.

  Picking up the plate, I headed for the door. Deliver the penda, smile, apologize, and be gone. That’s all I needed to do, and all would be fine.

  Chapter 3

  ~ISADORA~

  * * *

  After hanging the last bundle of lavender on the beam overhead, I brushed the excess pollen off my hands and counted.

  “Seven lavender. Fourteen chamomile. And seven hyssop.”

  That should do it for this month. I’d had to double my normal bundles of chamomile, which was used for protection. Clara said she couldn’t keep them in stock at the shop since the young women had started going missing a few weeks ago. My magic-infused bundles could certainly ward off a magical or psychic attack on someone’s home, but it would do nothing to protect girls from being kidnapped off the street.

  Still, if it gave them peace of mind, I encouraged them to use the chamomile. I also encouraged them to buy a good guard dog and stay home at night behind bolted doors.

  I grimaced. That reminded me of the scolding Jules had given me when she’d gotten home two nights ago. I’ll confess I really wasn’t thinking when I biked home that late. Everyone knew that women were disappearing from night clubs or bars. It wasn’t exactly safe to be out that late on my own. I wasn’t equipped with the kind of defensive magic my sisters were. My ability at telekinesis was negligible, making me the most vulnerable of my sisters when it came to physical threats.

  “Vampires are opportunists,” she’d said with more than a little bite.

  I knew that snap judgment stemmed from her not-so-secret strained relationship with a certain overlord vampire. There was history between Jules and Ruben. A history none of her sisters were privy too. Not the whole story anyway. And it was a topic of discussion that was never on the table. So I knew her comment about vampires was more about Ruben and less about Devraj.

  Still, the whole bike incident had riddled me with anxiety. Clara had told me to rest and she’d take care of Mystic Maybelle’s and handle any inventory deliveries or issues on her own. When she’d told me we were already out of chamomile, I’d happily busied myself in the greenhouse all day. It was exactly what I’d needed to decompress.

  Now that my ankle was fully healed, I walked around the wooden worktable littered with rope and twine clippings to see the other patient. My purple pansies.

  “Now, look at you. You’ll be the prettiest girls in the yard.”

  Smiling brightly, I lifted the pot I’d put them in, letting them soak up nutrient-rich soil before I transplanted them to the bed in the courtyard. I had the perfect place in mind near Clara’s reading bench where it would get a great balance of sunlight and shade.

  Taking a hand trowel with me, I carried the pansies out to the courtyard. Kneeling in my loose-fitting olive pants, I set to work, thankful the sun was out, warming my bare shoulders. Once I transplanted the pansies into their new home, I poured the excess soil from the pot around it and patted everything down. Standing, I wiped my dirty hands on the hem of my tank top, heaving a contented sigh at how perfect the pansies looked. Clara would love them right there, too.

  Suddenly, Evie’s boisterous laughter echoed from inside the house.

  I headed for the back kitchen door. Ever since Livvy and I had returned from visiting our parents in Switzerland before Christmas, Evie had been more than preoccupied with her new boyfriend. A werewolf! I’d thought she’d gone a little crazy while we were gone, but then I met Mateo and totally understood. He was, honestly, the nicest guy. Not too hard on the eyes either. And he worshipped my sister, so yes, I liked him.

  Pulling open the kitchen door, the rumble of a deep, masculine voice caught my attention. Yep. Mateo must’ve come over with Evie. That was nothing new. They were glued at the hip most of the time.

  “Then what did you tell her?” asked Evie.

  But the voice who replied did not belong to Mateo. “I said, ‘Madame, I don’t care if you were once the lover to Vlad the Impaler or King Henry the Eighth. You’re still going to put your clothes back on and come with me for interrogation.’”

  “Wow.” Livvy guffawed, her husky laughter carrying into the kitchen. “I can’t believe that. So what did she do?”

  I rounded into the archway leading to the living room to see just what I knew I would. That freaking vampire, who I’d been happy to be rid of after that nightmare two nights ago, was cozied up on our couch, his arms spread wide on the sofa back, dressed in a casual black T-shirt and jeans. Both of which probably cost a couple hundred dollars each.

  Anyone who drove exorbitant luxury cars like he did overspent on everything. I knew the type. Even stupid plain T-shirts that you could get at Target for $12. Yeah, so I might’ve looked up how much a Lamborghini Diablo cost. Trust me. You don’t want to know. It’s sinfully expensive. Do you have any idea how many homeless cats and dogs I could help with the cost of his stupid car?

  Livvy perched on the edge of the lounge chair and Evie sat on his right, grinning at him with entirely too much joy. My happy mood of ten seconds ago evaporated like a whiff of smoke.

  His mouth tipped at a cocky angle as his gaze slid to me standing in the doorway. “She did exactly as I told her. I didn’t even have to use glamour at all.”

  I swallowed hard and wiped my dirty hands on my tank top hem again, aggravated that he was back. Why was he back? And why were my sisters so easily duped by his so-called charisma?

  “Isadora!” Evie popped off the sofa and met me halfway, wrapping me in a swaying hug. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a week.”

  “That’s
because you haven’t.” I squeezed her back. “You’ve been preoccupied.”

  She pulled away laughing. “Maybe,” she admitted, a flush of pink crawling up her neck. She wore a green T-shirt with Baby Yoda eating a frog. The caption read: Feed me and tell me I’m pretty. I was fairly sure Mateo did both on a regular basis.

  “Where’s your man?” I asked, completely ignoring the one who stood from the sofa behind her. My pulse was racing for some stupid reason. I didn’t understand why he was back.

  “He had a commission to deliver, and I’ve got a shift at the Cauldron tonight.” She glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall. “Oh, crap. I need to hurry.” She pecked me on the cheek and jogged toward the stairwell in the hall. “Nice meeting you, Devraj! Come by the Cauldron when you get the chance.”

  “Thank you, Evie. I will.”

  Livvy stood with a plate of something in her hand. Cookies? “Look what Devraj brought for us, Isadora.” Then she turned back to him. “I’m sorry. What are they called again?”

  “Penda. Also called peda. It’s a milk-based confection. I hope you all like it.”

  “They’re delicious,” said Livvy. “You really didn’t have to.”

  His dark eyes swiveled back to me. Piercing. “Actually, I thought I did.”

  Livvy carried the plate over to me. They were perfectly formed soft discs, like thick cookies, decoratively sprinkled with nuts, the smell of nutmeg making my mouth water. I loved anything made with nutmeg or cinnamon. I suddenly wondered if he’d somehow found out my secret love of the spice.

  “He made them himself.” Livvy raised her black brows, stabbing me with her sapphire eyes as if she could prod me into being nice with her dagger stare. “Wasn’t that nice of him, Isadora?”

  I glanced at the offending plate of sweets. And yes, they were offensive. Because why was he cooking things for us? He seemed to be trying a little too hard, wasn’t he? A simple sorry would suffice. Or maybe he’d returned my bicycle? I knew he’d taken to have it fixed on his own.

  “Are you here to deliver my bike?” I asked in confusion as I remained half in the kitchen doorway.

  “Not yet,” he said with a little regret, taking a step closer. “I just wanted to bring over a little peace offering.”

  My throat was dry like it always got when I had to deal with strangers. I mean, yeah, I’d met him and I’d given him a piece of my mind. I’d been pissed off the other night. But we’d handled it. Now he was back in my personal space, this stranger, and it irked me.

  “There really was no need for you to come all the way over here from your hotel. I wish you hadn’t bothered.” And I one hundred percent meant it. Maybe ninety-nine.

  “Oh, that’s the best part,” Livvy said, lifting the edge of the plastic wrap. Nutmeg and some other sweet spice wafted up to my nose. “Devraj is renting the house next door.”

  I was absolutely positive that my stomach plummeted right onto the floor. I actually glanced down to be sure my organs were still contained inside my body.

  “What did you say?” I whispered.

  “Dev is our new neighbor. Isn’t that great?”

  She grinned at me like Cruella Deville. I was sure she was about to toss her head back and laugh maniacally. Livvy and Violet were two of a kind. Evil incarnate. And there was nothing they loved more than torturing their sisters. Livvy knew this guy irritated the hell out of me, and she was gleefully rubbing in this new disaster of giant proportions.

  And when had she started calling him Dev?

  “Here, try one,” she said, shoving the plate toward me. “They’re delicious.”

  Ignoring the plate, I narrowed my gaze on her wicked face. “I’m not hungry.”

  Aaaaand, that’s when my stomach decided to growl. It was a complete biological response. I’d been in the greenhouse since breakfast. It had nothing to do with the absolutely amazing delicious-smelling treats right below my nose.

  “Your stomach says otherwise,” said the stupid vampire, standing much closer.

  I jumped. Then frowned. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “I need to go finish my planting,” I said as a sad excuse to get the hell out of there.

  Pivoting in my bare feet, I wandered back outside, feeling satisfied when the kitchen door slammed shut behind me. I wasn’t even going to admit to myself—yet—that I was definitely going to try the penda. When he was long gone. I glanced over at the house next door where he must now be living.

  It had been empty for some time since our older neighbor, Mr. Harvey, moved to Florida. He left the house in the hands of his daughter who was having trouble finding the right renters. She was very picky, wanting only responsible professionals with fixed incomes. For which, I was extremely grateful. This neighborhood attracted both quiet families and loud party people. I didn’t want some obnoxious, loud person living next door, disturbing my peace. But I surely didn’t want that particular vampire living there either. No matter how responsible and quiet he was. Ugh.

  I knelt down and pounded the dirt around my pansies, then reached behind it and yanked out a tiny weed.

  “I see they survived.”

  I startled again, my hand flying to my chest.

  “Sorry,” he apologized quickly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Vampires were known for moving so fast and quiet it seemed as if they appeared out of thin air. Devraj had apparently mastered that skill, and it was so annoying. He took a seat on Clara’s cushioned reading bench, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands casually between them. His hair was twisted in a man-bun today, revealing his face more clearly. His close-cropped beard highlighted the blade-like angles of his jaw and the soft curve of his mouth.

  “I’m happy to see your pansies are doing well.”

  I was aware that my mouth was hanging open, but after the shock of seeing him there, I was now completely confused by his presence. Why? Why was he sitting there and why was he talking to me? I had no idea what to say to him.

  I remember watching Pride and Prejudice with Clara where Matthew Macfadyen played the stoic, painfully shy, and socially awkward Mr. Darcy. Yes, Mr. Darcy truly was all these things on top of being a bit priggish at first. But behind all that, he was loving and loyal to the nth degree, too. We just couldn’t see it behind all of his “stay back, peasant” vibes. There was this scene where Mr. Darcy told Lizzy, “I do not have the talent of conversing easily with people I have never met before.”

  That was me. I was Mr. Darcy. Introverted, shy, and nervous in large crowds and around strangers. Except the difference between me and Mr. Darcy was that I had no desire to grow outside my small social circle. Content with everyone on this side of my comfort zone, I definitely had no interest in expanding it to include this vampire.

  “You obviously have a gift with flowers,” he said softly, warm gaze sweeping over my face, across my shoulders, and down to my hands.

  I blinked heavily one more time then returned to my unnecessary patting of the soil.

  Clearing my throat, I muttered, “Thank you.”

  Now please leave.

  “You’re very welcome.”

  I remained silent even though the amused tone in his voice rankled. Then he fell silent, too. But he wasn’t leaving! Like he enjoyed just sitting there on the bench and watching me plant flowers. What did he want?

  Livvy had made it abundantly clear this guy was super famous and his social circle included dozens and dozens of celebrities and European fashion models and all the rich, beautiful people in the ritzy parts of the world I’d never even been to or desired to ever go. Livvy had shown me his Instagram, which had included photos of him yachting with a beautiful, smiling entourage near Monaco. One was of a pretty, black-haired woman draped behind him in a chair, the sun setting behind them, glowing like a halo to highlight their perfection. She appeared to be one of his Bollywood movie costars. Both of them glittering.

 
; And now he was sitting here in my courtyard with me while I gardened, a far cry from Monaco, and I couldn’t figure out what he wanted. I waited him out for at least five more full minutes, yanking at weeds and patting the soil. In that time, I’d glanced up twice to catch him smiling serenely and just observing me. Quietly. Calmly. While I was screaming inside, my nerves fractured the longer he sat there.

  What the hell was he doing here?!

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I kept my eyes down on the soil and asked, “Is there a reason you’re here?”

  “I thought that was fairly clear,” he replied evenly. “I brought you and your sisters a neighborly treat.”

  “Not here at my house, but here in my garden.” I sat back and placed the trowel in my lap, squeezing the handle and forcing my polite face to remain in place as I looked up at him. “Do you need something?”

  In the sunlight, his eyes shone more amber than the darker shade of brown they seemed the other night. The afternoon sun shot across his intense expression, highlighting the slash of his cheekbones and the beard he apparently manicured like a madman to be so perfect.

  Those eyes roamed my face, the small crease pinching his brow telling me he was riddling me out. Or trying to. There was absolutely nothing to riddle. I was an open book. I was just annoyed. No secret there.

  “I do need something,” he finally answered, the sun glinting off something silver in his mouth.

  “What is it?”

  My gaze was solely focused on his mouth now, realizing with a rush of heat that his tongue was pierced.

  “Your forgiveness.”

  I blinked. That was definitely not what I was expecting. My mind was a hazy mess from his apology and the erotic discovery of his tongue piercing.

  His full mouth tipped up on one side, apparently laughing at me again. “I realized I didn’t actually apologize the other night.”

  Gripping the handle of my trowel so I didn’t fidget, I was surprised by his open sincerity. He seemed all arrogant and superior and bossy in my brief instances with him. But if he thought I’d make this easy on him because he’d finally decided to grow some manners, he was a bigger fool than I thought he was.