Fireworks at Midnight: A Witch's Night Out (1Night Stand)

by Tara Quan

  Thanks to copious at-home ab exercises, she managed to curl onto her feet in a single lithe move. Pivoting to lean against the wall, she crossed her arms. She’d avoided a disaster by a split second; it seemed prudent to keep a wary distance from its source. “I don’t know what Enforcement’s manual says, but you can’t just show up at people’s homes.”

  He stepped forward, crowding into her personal space. “Please tell me you don’t still think the Council is the source of all evil.” It could be her guilty conscience, but a different accusation leadened the air.

  “You could’ve called ahead.” She had to concentrate to keep her voice from shaking.

  Trotting over to stand next to her, Shelley patted his upper arm and dispelled the tension. “Don’t be silly.” With a frown of concentration, she continued in a horrible accent. “Mi casa es su casa,” which sounded closer to “Mee case-ahh isa sua case-ahh.” While she absorbed vocabulary with robot-like efficacy, her butchering of pronunciation would make any native speaker cringe.

  “¡Como el infierno!” Sweets muttered under her breath.

  Shelley turned to stare at her. “What does that mean? I’m on Rosetta Stone Spanish Level 3, and I still haven’t learned it.”

  The woman’s brother coughed. “Pretty sure it’s not in the curriculum. En Inglés, por favor. I took French in high school, remember?” To her relief, his tone had lost its calculating edge.

  Sweets directed her answer at Shelley. “Like hell is our house his house. I won’t have some Enforcement agent nosing around my things.” She turned and jabbed her finger into his chest. “You want to visit, you schedule ahead.” That way, she could find an excuse not to be home—starting right this instant.

  A clueless giggle from Shelley’s direction interrupted her mental planning. “You’re being ridiculous. He’s family.”

  Sweets looked down at the witch’s covered toes. Stomping on them with her bare foot would do too little damage. “I’ll believe it when you get a DNA test.”

  Judging from appearances, few would believe these siblings shared a mother. Mikal’s skin was several shades darker than Shelley’s, his six-foot-tall broad-chested build dwarfing his sister’s diminutive height. Shelley had luscious curves with plenty of padding, while her brother’s lean body consisted of bone and rippling muscle. His military-cut hair was a dull, coarse slate, which contrasted with Shelley’s maple curls. The earth mage’s round cheeks and button nose ensured she looked nothing like her brother, who had high slanting cheekbones, a prominent nasal bridge, and a square jaw. Chocolate-brown eyes and thick, pouting lips numbered among the few commonalities these purported blood relations shared.

  Mikal cleared his throat. “By the way, I did call. Both your phones are out of credit. They went straight to voicemail. It’s why Mom sent me over here after I dropped by her place.”

  Shelley hit her forehand with the heel of her hand. “I knew I’d forgotten something.”

  It didn’t matter, since they couldn’t afford to refill their accounts. Glancing at the shrapnel-decorated floor, Sweets rounded up the hundred-or-so pieces of metal with a wave of her hand and sent them into the trash can. With Mikal around, her telekinesis got supercharged. “As you can see, we’re doing fine. Can you go away now?”

  He stepped closer and chucked his knuckles under her chin. “Why so grumps, kitty cat? Haven’t had your morning coffee?”

  Come to think of it, lack of caffeine might have a great deal to do with her sour mood. “No. And I guess I’m not having any for a while.” The thought of surviving the mornings without her usual boost almost gave her a panic attack.

  He glanced at his sister. “I saw the stack of stuff by the door, which, by the way, you guys didn’t lock….”

  Seeing her friend’s eyes narrow, Sweets grinned. Because he’d lived in New York for the past four years, Shelley at times forgot how annoying and overbearing the man could be. Distance had made his sister’s heart grow fonder, but it wouldn’t take long before his meddlesome ways wore on her nerves. When they did, the witch would evict him from the house without needing a single prompt. “We don’t even share a dad, so you’d better not start acting like one again,” Shelley warned.

  The muscle on his jaw ticked. The siblings had fought like cats and dogs growing up. Before a series of unfortunate premonitions had prompted Sweets to limit their in-person interactions, she’d played the peacemaker between him and her best friend, which she still did quite often on the phone and over e-mail.

  To her surprise, Shelley’s overprotective arch nemesis lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’s a neutral observation, little sis. Lock the door, don’t lock the door. Hell, leave it open so snow and ice can blow in—it’s your house.”

  On the verge of giving him a high five of respect, Sweets winced when he continued, “About the bills—I can give you two a few bucks to get you through the year.”

  “We don’t need your money.” A chunk of the ceiling fell and hit the counter, dimming the effect of Shelley’s feigned confidence by a significant margin. Nonetheless, the witch squared her shoulders. “We’ve got everything under control.”

  Sweets turned to glare at her business partner for the non-royal use of the word we. No one should stand between her and a working phone and morning coffee. Turning her hand palm up, she cleared her throat. “If she won’t take it, I will.” She’d deal with the consequences of owing him a favor later. She’d be stupid to turn down an opportunity to get them enough liquidity to survive the week. Besides, he’d be giving her a loan, not a handout.

  Shelley bumped Sweets’ shoulder. “Stay out of this.”

  “You stay out of it. This is between me and the Enforcement loan shark.”

  The witch’s sharp elbow dug into her stomach. “You don’t even like him. Why are you taking his side?”

  Sweets batted her eyelashes. “Survival.”

  “What happened to being independent and self-sufficient?” Shelley forced out a fake smile. “We’re in this together. It’s been our joint New Year’s resolution for four years. It’s bad enough you got Cat to do our taxes for free.”

  How could the witch still not be over that after eight whole months? Sweets had indulged almost all of her friend’s pigheaded warped ethics, but she’d drawn the line at paying for TurboTax when her sister was a certified public accountant.

  Before the argument could go down a well-traveled tangent, Shelley’s much saner sibling had the decency to step in. “Come on, ladies. Don’t fight. As the one dude here, it makes me uncomfortable. What if I charge interest?”

  Her lower lip sticking out, Shelley shook her head. “Thank you, but no. I’m a grownup. You should start treating me like one.”

  Easy for her to say. The woman lived off the fruits and vegetables she grew, brewed tea comprised of dried mint leaves, and hadn’t left the house in a year. Though they didn’t need to pay rent, the soon-to-be condemned cottage Shelley had inherited from her grandmother happened to be smack dab in a preppy neighborhood in Northern Virginia, with property taxes so high they ate up the lion’s share of last year’s profits. While Sweets also drank the financial-independence Kool-Aid, having a working microwave topped her list of priorities. No way would she let pride get in the way of Lean Cuisine.

  She beamed a smile at one of the three people in the world from whom she didn’t mind requesting aid. “Can you spare a hundred bucks? I’ll pay you back in a week. We sold a ton of stuff over Christmas, but PayPal’s got server issues, and the money’s stuck. We’d have been fine if the microwave hadn’t blown, but— Ouch!”

  Sweets rubbed her lower back, where a bruise was likely forming. “Seriously, chica, stop acting like a baby.”

  The woman’s brother also seemed to have had enough. He took possession of Sweets’ upper arm and propelled them out of the kitchen, across the tiny living room, and through the front door in five wind-assisted leaps. Hot on their heels, Shelley skidded to a stop at the entryway, where he
shut the thick wood barrier in her face.

  “Whoa, that’s plain mean.” Slipping her feet into the snow boots she’d discarded by the door, Sweets rubbed her bare arms to stave off the biting cold. “You know she can’t leave the house.” Shelley’s power had gotten stronger with age, but the magical equivalent of agoraphobia had accompanied the increase. It’d gotten bad enough during the past year she couldn’t go out and about.

  He shrugged. “You’ve always been the less-crazy one. I need to hit the ATM. Why don’t you warm up in the car and let me buy you a cup of coffee?”

  With that offer dangling in front of her face, what self-respecting caffeine-addicted witch could say no?

  Chapter Two

  Sweets shook her head as she waited inside Mikal’s Chevy Tahoe. The guy couldn’t be more obvious about working for Enforcement. She didn’t know why Council folk loved these clunky SUVs. It might be reliable and useful on an IKEA trip, but a car should say something about its owner. Given, the man who’d driven her to Starbucks could be counted on for unfailing support and would come in handy if she ever got around to buying furniture, but he was by no means generic. He deserved to drive something memorable—something unique—and not a soulless means of getting from point A to point B.

  If she ever scraped together enough cash to buy a car, it’d be a Beetle or a Mini Cooper, and she’d never pair black-leather seats with the same color exterior. Being stuck in this monochromatic pristine box threatened to give her hives.

  When had he become the epitome of boring? She missed the boy who’d annoyed all their neighbors with his motorcycle, the guy who got her and Shelley their first fake IDs. Ever since he’d morphed into a responsible peon, had a security clearance, and drew a steady paycheck, his mere existence turned her into an unsuccessful loser by comparison.

  Playing with the seatbelt’s metal clasp, she looked up through the sunroof. Light glinted into her eyes, and, in a hazy precognitive rush, the glass was gone.

  The sky shifted from bright blue to an ebony expanse dotted with white twinkling stars. The car’s confines should have been cold, but a warm circling breeze licked her skin. She sat on the same seat, facing the opposite direction. Bare shoulders occupied her vision; strong hard legs rippled under her ass. Cinnamon, mint, and sweat filled her lungs, all laced with an undertone of pine. She kissed a beard-covered jaw, trailed her lips down a corded neck, and explored a muscled chest the color of chocolate.

  Calloused palms slid up her back. Strong sure fingers unhooked her bra and smoothed the straps off her shoulders. Coarse facial hair rasped over her nipple before a hot, wet mouth closed over it and sucked. Her shoulder blades hit the dashboard. His swirling tongue feasted on her breast. His hand shoved her legs apart.

  He circled her clit with his thumb, pulsing over it until her head rolled back. She spotted fireworks through the glass, flashes of red, white, and blue reflecting off rippling water. Her own voice echoed in her ears—pleas she’d never dreamed of voicing.

  Two thick fingers filled her, spreading as she spasmed. A scream ripped from her throat. “Mi—”

  The door opened with the quiet click characteristic of new cars, shattering her erotic daydream. Her breaths shallow and her panties damp, she dug her nails into the leather beneath her hands. The back of her head met the seat. She’d never experienced a vision that vivid—one lush with scent, sight, touch, and sound.

  With a frowning glance, the vehicle’s owner slid inside and handed her a cardboard cup. “This should get you in a better mood.”

  Wiping sweat off her forehead despite the nippy air, she accepted the huge container. Nothing would come of the premonition—as nothing had come of all the ones that came before. She’d broken her rule and allowed them to be alone in an enclosed space. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again any time soon.

  Taking a calming breath, she focused on sounding as normal as possible. “How’s this a regular coffee?”

  “I got you what you always get in winter—a venti pumpkin-spice latte.” He sealed them in and started the engine. With the turn of a knob, heated air hit the tree-shaped freshener. Its scent mingled with his spicy aftershave. After that vision, she almost moaned at the imagery the smell invoked. She’d been sexually frustrated to begin with, and having him so close propelled her libido into overdrive.

  Fanning her burning face, she grumbled, “It’s not what I asked for.”

  “Don’t be such a cheapskate. I told you, it’s my treat.” He settled against the backrest, his head angled in her direction. Sipping his drink, he released a long breath, the corners of his lips lifting to form an expression of pure bliss.

  Her nipples tightened into sharp peaks, and she doubted the cold had caused it. “Thanks, but—”

  “My sister’s brainwashed you, hasn’t she? How about you buy me a triple-shot espresso in a few weeks?”

  She tried to wrangle her thoughts back into some semblance of coherence. “Nice try. You’ll be back in New York in a day or two.” If not, she’d self-admit into an insane asylum.

  “Sure about that?” He looked too smug for comfort.

  An unprecedented flood of excitement and elation threw her off balance. What the hell? She should be scared shitless, not so happy she almost jumped out of her seat at the thought of him quitting. “Enforcement doesn’t operate in the District—not in the open, anyway.”

  “Things change.”

  Pure unadulterated fear eliminated any lingering embers of desire. “Since when?”

  His brows drew together. “Since a fire mage short-circuited a hotel elevator and ice sculptures of Godzilla made headlines. Why are you freaking out?”

  She had two reasons but chose to voice the less-important one. “Why do you think? If they find out—”

  “There’s no they. It’s just me.” He tapped her cup’s plastic cover. “Drink this before it gets cold.”

  Her brain ceasing to function at optimum levels, she savored the bittersweet drink of the gods. She needed an exit plan, pronto. None came to mind. “So, you’ll cover for me?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. You’ll register. You’re not a scared fourteen-year-old anymore. You want to be an adult? Instead of insisting I can’t pay for your coffee, own up to what you are.”

  Beads of cold sweat chilled her forehead. “They’ll take me away—lock me up in some white building—”

  “Not on my watch. I’ve worked for them long enough to know they won’t force you into anything you don’t want. You’ll have to get tested at the Institute, they’ll ask me to keep an eye on you, but they’re not monsters, they’re—”

  “Old-school, black-caped, cauldron-stirring, out-of-touch-with-reality warlocks and witches who still believe in blood pentagrams and animal sacrifice.” Her hand shook hard enough she had to lower the coffee to her lap.

  He raised his gaze to the clear tempered-glass roof. “Where do you witches get these conspiracy theories? Do I look like I own a cauldron?”

  The image of him cackling over a bubbling potion managed to calm her nerves. Another influx of hot liquid steadied her enough to stem the shakes. He’d never hurt her, not even for the Council. As for the other problem, she’d figure something out. “It’s all over the Internet.”

  “Which you know is the most reliable source of information.”

  She didn’t appreciate his sarcasm. “I’ve read blogs….”

  “And I’ve researched this—from the inside—for years. I’m certain nothing bad will happen to you. Besides, you’re a damned foreseer. You’d know ahead of time if there’s danger.”

  She hated it when he relied on logic and facts to win arguments. “As you can tell from my dead microwave, premonitions don’t give me much of a head start.”

  “But you trust my judgment.” His complete self-assurance tempted her to splash the damn coffee in his face. “I know what I’m talking about, so for the love of all that’s holy, register, relax, and get on with your life. The Council isn’t perf
ect, Enforcement’s fucking inefficient, but they’re here to protect the magical community. No one is out to get you, and they won’t lock you up or make you use your powers for evil. Did I cover all the accusations flying around the electronic rumor mill?”

  Since she couldn’t come up with a clever retort, she chugged her beverage. While irrational fear continued to turn her stomach, the sensible side of her gave his argument significant weight. When she’d first run to him in tears after a vision of blood and death, they’d looked up a bunch of stuff online and agreed to stay quiet. Years later, he seemed convinced they had nothing to worry about—something she’d suspected for a while. “I’ll think about it.”

  She almost dropped her cup when he shrugged and stopped pushing. “That’s all I’m asking.”

  She stared at him. “Okay, the real Midnight would never back off like that. Who are you, and what’ve you done to him?”

  He chuckled. “We keep on missing each other, so we’ve met—what—a couple dozen times over the past three years? You spent most of it nagging me to quit my job, so of course we argued. If you haven’t noticed, neither of us is a teenager anymore. This is your life. Take as much time as you need to think things through.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “God, you sound so…sensible. It’s great you’re moving here, but I don’t think we’ll get along. I’m an irresponsible loser. Sitting in this car with you is destroying my cred.”

  He pinched her cheek. “Says Little Ms. Small Business Owner who doesn’t splurge on Starbucks. While we’re on the subject, why won’t you let me spot you more than a hundred dollars so you can, I don’t know, afford a deadbolt?”

  As if keeping the five twenty-dollar bills he’d handed her earlier wasn’t bad enough. “I’m a witch who can see the future. Shells sets off explosions without even trying. I’d love to see a burglar break in.”

  “And if I gift you and Shelley a Nespresso machine as a belated Christmas present….”