My Aunt Tabs is considered totally hot and edgy.
I moved nine of the women Snake had gone on a date with to the back of the folder. The tenth one had fired me after her date with Snake.
I wasn't overly worried. She was a bit of a drama queen. She also had five kids. The oldest was eleven. She'd be back.
Snake loved kids. He had three of his own. With three different women.
I had to hand it to him. He kept trying to find love.
But like the song went, he'd been looking in all the wrong places. We'd had several conversations in regards to dark corners in bars. I'd finally just made him a list of appropriate courting places.
And I kept his number on file and cast tracking spells each time he went on a date.
Snake was stubborn. He also liked to deliberately misinterpret things. Most sporting events that involved balls had been crossed off my list. I'd left golf as it involved both a club and a ball and we had several lovely courses in and around Dominion.
However, if Snake mentioned a hole-in-one . . .
He was my most challenging client to say the least.
Although, I did have this zombie client once who kept decomposing on his dates. Sort of grossed them out. I'd been ready to break my wand with him, but then he actually did die.
Besides, at heart Snake was a decent guy. He may have committed murder, but he'd done his penance - and his time - for it. Life's rough in a motorcycle club.
Snake was also loyal, protective of those he cared about and coached his son's little league.
My boyfriend had nearly burned me to death the last time he got angry. I try not to judge.
I'd just closed my eyes and chosen five possible matches - we witches use luck as well as magic as luck can have a magic all on its own - when the bell tinkled over my front door.
I set the photos in my hand on top of the folder and went out to corner Désirée Norma-Sue.
I almost stumbled in my doorway.
A god stood in my waiting room.
I had no idea if he was a minor god from one of the more obscure religions, one from Greek or Roman history - mythology to some, history to others - or if he simply worked out all day and lived in a realm of milk and honey.
The male was divine.
Hair so dark it held hints of blue. Eyes deeper than any ocean. Perfect black eyebrows. A nose that somehow brought to mind sexy masculinity and seductive power. Lips, both strong and sumptuous.
And Sweet Spirits, he just got better and better as my gaze traveled down.
He wore a black button down which did a very poor job of covering his muscles. It looked as if the linen had fallen in love the moment he put it on. The material clung to his biceps, caressed his pecs and hugged his washboard stomach. He was going to have a serious fight on his hands when he tried to take it off.
His forearms practically inspired visions of spontaneous and drawn out hugs and being spoon fed gallons of ice cream from hands Michelangelo would have killed for.
A wide black watch surrounded one masculine wrist.
I'm surprised he managed to pull on his faded jeans. The greedy pants flaunted his thighs, knees and calves, clinging like a lost lover.
And, Spirits save me, he wore shoes. Not boots. Not sneakers. Not the usual assortment of footwear the men in Dominion favored, but actual stylish black leather loafers with silver buckles.
He could have stepped right out of a men's magazine.
I swallowed. Blinked several times. When the male perfection in front of me didn't disappear, I shook my mental finger at my naughty hormones.
Those girls could have cared less. They hadn't been getting any and such total masculine perfection didn't walk in a witch's place of business every day.
I really couldn't argue with that.
"Hello."
Oh, Hellfire. His voice seduced without trying, his tongue pure sex. He could give a corpse heart palpitations by reading her obituary.
"Hi." My voiced squeaked. Horribly. "I'm Kate. Kate Storm." I gave myself a lecture on unruly hormones and the value I'd always placed on monogamy and held out my hand.
That's when things went wrong.
I couldn't get a read on him. I'd cast my truth spell as usual and got nothing. No hint of his character. No knowledge of his soul. Nothing at all.
Simply skin against skin.
And while his hand was firm and warm and put images of snuggling together in front of a fire on a sheepskin rug into my mind, I'd never had this happen before.
And I'd never had any desire to snuggle cozily in front of a fire either.
Get down and dirty with a certain demon? Absolutely. Have a sheepskin rug at my naked back while the demon was at my naked front? I'd start Googling sheepskin rugs the minute I could. A blazing fire, crackling and casting a romantic glow over the room? It could be the middle of winter and I still wouldn't fantasize about a blazing fire. I had my very own heater every time Ash got turned on. A fire would simply be overkill.
What the heck was going on?
"I'm Adam Night and I'm in need of your services." He smiled at me.
Curses, the man even had two dimples.
It was almost too much for one witch.
I racked my brain, but couldn't come up with any major or minor gods named Adam. Adam as the first man in Christianity, Greek and Roman history, or mythology - depending upon one's background? Yeah. He was a whiny little guy who blamed Eve for everything.
I also knew an Adam, as in the Beast, from the Beauty and the Beast fairytale.
I'd met that Adam, however. He and Belle were quite happy together.
This was an entirely different Adam, and I was shocked I hadn't heard of him. A guy like this doesn't go unnoticed. Period.
The HC love to gossip as much as the humans. And this Adam was definitely a member of the HC. No human could defeat my magic, but he had. With a simple handshake.
And put seductive images into my mind.
It's a good thing my idea of romance these days runs toward handcuffs, pewter horns and a touch of hellfire. His creepy attempt at seduction did nothing for me.
I tugged my hand away and took a protective step back.
Mind control was strictly forbidden in the HC. Even a little nudge could land one in a heap of trouble. And cloaking one's character? One's sense of self?
Very, very few creatures could do that. And even fewer with the capability to do so would actually use that power.
You can't use black magic without it tarnishing your soul.
7. No Forward Progress.
I moved behind my desk, sat down, opened a drawer, took out a pencil, piece of paper and my back up wand.
I set the pencil and paper on my desk and slid my wand onto my lap. Discreetly.
Being discreet around someone who had no issues using black magic struck me as a rather good idea.
"So, Mr. Night, what can I do for you?"
Funny how a little thing like the utter lack of morals in a creature could change a witch's entire viewpoint. Mr. Night didn't appear godlike anymore. Nor devastatingly handsome. Not even cute.
He gave me the heebie-jeebies.
And a slight case of the shakes.
I'm a good witch - or at least I try really hard to be a good witch. I might do a few bad things from time to time, but it's usually in protection of my family and friends.
I do not mess around with black magic.
Ever.
I didn't even like being in the same room with someone who did use black magic. Especially as we were alone.
"Please, call me Adam." He flashed those dimples at me again. A fire snapped and crackled in my head.
I thought of Ash, head tilted back, jaw forward, tendons in stark relief along his neck, scars prominent, flush with the pleasure I was giving him.
The fire poofed out of my mind.
I smiled. "All right, Adam. What can I do for you?"
He frowned slightly. Tiny lines appeared between his eye
brows. I wanted to cheer.
He narrowed his eyes in what probably would have been a dangerously smoldering fashion if I wasn't bristles over broomstick for a certain demon lord.
A fire cackled. I thought of Ash.
Adam winked at me. "I'm looking for the love of my life." His every word dripped with sincerity and honest intentions and just a whisper of tragic heartbreak à la the great poet Byron himself.
Such genuine desire. Such sweet need.
Such total crap.
It shocked me how strong his magic was. Pushing through my own and attempting to seduce me, to fall under his spell.
I wondered if it was a general spell he used on every woman he met or something designed just for me? And if it was just for me, why? Why would he want me under his spell?
I'm a half-bred witch. Nothing special. An oddity. A freak.
What could he possibly want with me?
****
Désirée Norma-Sue never did make it back into work. She sent a text saying her appointment went longer than she had planned.
I read "Phil" instead of "appointment." I applauded his stamina. I didn't worry that whatever trouble was plaguing Désirée had found her. Désirée Norma-Sue was one smart fairy. If she was in trouble she would have sent a text saying, "I need some fucking help."
I just hoped she and Phil had fun.
Truly, I was at a point in my day where I hoped everyone was out having fun. Because I wasn't having any. At all.
I wasn't making any progress in my new plan to face issues head on. Ash had ducked out on me and Désirée had failed to show up.
My new client scared the wand right out of my hand. And I say "client" loosely. I didn't plan to take him on as a client. I didn't want him as a client. I really wanted him to stay as far away from me as he could.
I just didn't know how to tell him that.
Which sort of screwed up my whole no-more-ducking-and-dodging-and-confronting-issues-and-people-head-on vow. But cut a witch some slack. If I had known, when I made my vow, that everyone I wanted to confront would simply disappear and then a godlike male who had no qualms about using black magic would show up, well . . . I would have added an addendum or two.
Something along the lines of: *if there is no one to confront, then I don't have to confront them. And while that seems fairly straight forward, try telling that to my conscience.
I'd made a stand in my own mind. No one else knew, or was cooperating with, that stand, but I had made one none-the-less. And according to whatever guidebook my conscience was using, I was a total ninny for not following through.
Ninny. I kid you not.
Apparently, my conscience channeled the early Elizabethan era.
Actually, if I had come up with my new plan now instead of earlier, I would have added a couple of asterisks. Like: *if someone uses black magic then any and all brave new plans for a better Kate were to be considered null and void.
Because black magic scares the broom right out from under me. Straight back into the closet. To be locked and then cemented over. And then, preferably, jackhammered out of the building, placed onto a boat and transported out to the Mariana Trench and shoved overboard. Where . . . All right, I'm sure you get the point.
Black magic is just bad.
Bad bad. As in really bad. Stuff you don't want to mess around with bad.
Which really makes a witch question the moral - or total lack thereof - fiber of any person who uses it.
I was going to have to find a way to get rid of Adam Night as my client. And I needed to conquer my fear of him, or at least contain it, so I could figure out a way to make him want to try another matchmaker.
Not that he'd ever be able to find one as good as me.
But I really preferred not to work with clients who gave me the heebie-jeebies.
And if he was targeting me specifically for some reason? Well, clearly, I would need to find a way to deal with that. But I just didn't see it. Why would anyone need a half-bred mortal witch?
As it was almost time to head home, I decided to set aside all these pesky little issues, especially as I wasn't getting anywhere with them, and try to make some progress on finding my scary aunt.
I pulled out the small notebook I kept in my purse and read through the last couple pages of my notes.
It's rather hard to Google the current location of mythological beings. Humans don't believe they still exist. It's that pesky death thing we mortals have to deal with.
The immortal HC reinvent themselves every few decades. They create fictional deaths and then they pop up somewhere else under a different name.
Which makes finding them a tad difficult. It's a long and winding search with way too many obscure leads to click on. Now, if my scary aunt had been more popular - like Elvis or Bigfoot - I'd have to get a bigger notebook.
There are daily sightings on them.
I used to laugh at the Bigfoot claims until I ran one over. Now, I'm extremely vigilant when driving through the woods.
Almost all the online links and websites listed Morgause as being dead for several hundred years. Wikipedia even listed several different versions of her death.
But I had found a few obscure links to some small Wiccan covens that mentioned Morgause. I'd followed two to dead ends and had three others I wanted to follow up on.
I checked the time. I had to be home in forty minutes. Aunt Tabs was watching Al at my apartment. She had plans to meet a couple other witches for an herb exchange.
Aunt Tabs has several witch friends. She's cursed too, but she's a full witch, not half human like I am. The HC accept her.
I pulled out a pencil and brought up Google. Hopefully I could accomplish something before I went home.
A half hour later I threw down my pencil. I simply should have stayed home today. I'd accomplished diddly squat.
I'd searched every aspect and link for one of my three remaining leads. This particular coven had a statue of Morgause. That's it. Nothing else.
One small seven inch statue.
I sent them a nasty email regarding Morgause as a bad witch and the wrongness of having a statue or anything else that represented her in a nice coven and also someone needed to update the search links to their site.
I grabbed my purse, made my nightly call to the local Italian restaurant, locked the door, set my protection spells and left to pick up dinner.
All I wanted at this point was to enjoy a nice hot plate of manicotti on my deck with Al. At the very least, I figured between picking up dinner and having no plans for the evening nothing else could go wrong and I would just start over new tomorrow.
It's these times when I should remember I'm a cursed witch.
8. An Itchy Witchy Feeling.
"Sorry I'm late." I hip checked the front door closed, set my broom next to it and hustled down the hall with both arms full.
My kitchen was empty. This threw me for a minute. Aunt Tabs and Al could be counted on to be sitting at my tiny kitchen table enjoying a cup of tea when I got home.
I set the take out bags and my purse on the table. Movement on the deck caught my eye. Aunt Tabs and Al were sitting together in one of my brown wicker chairs. A shot glass and a half empty glass of white wine perched on the table next to them.
I'm not a half empty type of witch. Even after the day I'd had, I wasn't depressed. Just ready to start a new day.
The wine glass wasn't half full, but half empty. As in, it had been full, but someone drank most of it already.
Call it witchy intuition. Or keen vision. The rim contained a dark rose lip print and the sides were moist.
Typically, Aunt tabs waited until I got home before having a glass of wine. I say typically, but I mean always. ALWAYS.
Very, very odd.
I didn't worry about Al. He wasn't the kind of Chihuahua to let a witch drink alone.
I grabbed my own glass, found the open bottle in the fridge and poured a few ounces. On further consideration, I added a few m
ore ounces before heading outside.
"Hey, Doll." Ears tipped forward, Al rose and stretched his front legs on Aunt Tabs' lap.
I scooped him up, smooched his head, kissed my Aunt's cheek and sat in the matching chair next to her.
"Hello, dear." Aunt Tabs took a large sip of her wine. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
She had her blonde hair in a high ponytail today. Sparkly brown earrings matched her eyes and her cowl neck, sleeveless, silk shirt. Her dark jeans had flecks of shimmery gold. Three inch gold heels with a dusting of amber glitter capped off her outfit.
"Hi. Sorry I'm late." I repeated my earlier sentiment. Between the outside noises and wine, I doubted they'd heard me. I rubbed Al's ears as he sat in my lap, head pressed against my chest. "What's going on?"
I picked up my glass and fortified myself as I prepared for the worst. Aunt Tabs is a creature of habit. That's a nice way of saying she's borderline OCD. And I only say borderline because I'm her niece and I love her.
It's her coping mechanism.
I don't judge. I clean like on over-wrought banshee when I'm stressed and I've ducked and dodged my way through life until now.
We're the last of our coven. Cursed.
We do the best we can.
"Nothing. Al and I thought we'd enjoy a drink on the deck." She took another sip, rubbed her shoulders against the back of the chair as if to relieve an itch. A slight crease appeared between her eyes.
I frowned. She didn't expect me to buy that load of crap, did she?
Al nuzzled the under curve of my left breast before he moved over to lap at his shot glass. I could tell by the amber hue he was drinking Blanton's bourbon. I made a mental note to tell Ash how much Al was enjoying it.
I smoothed his fur as I tried to think of a tactful way to inform my Aunt she was a bald face liar. And a bad one at that.
"Al said you and Morgan went out last night." Aunt Tabs shifted restlessly. "How are you two getting along?"
"Okay." What was the best way to confront her?
"That's a bunch of bat shit." I choked on my wine. "You still haven't forgiven her for lying to you."
Demons Don't Always Tell The Truth (Kate Storm Series Book 3) Page 5