witches of cleopatra hill 07 - impractical magic

by Christine Pope

  Damn. Jenny knew she probably should have kept her mouth shut. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much she could do about it now. “I doubt she did. But then, even before she met Alex, she’d gotten out of Jerome, was going to school up at NAU in Flagstaff.” Along with a whole bunch of other McAllister cousins, all of whom had been thrilled when relations between their clan and the Wilcoxes had been mended, allowing them to go to college in Wilcox territory. Jenny had heard the tut-tutting and witnessed the head-shaking, but she wasn’t going to group herself with the older generation, who were still not altogether happy about the new normal when it came to the Wilcox clan. At the same time, she’d been forced to admit that her particular ship had sailed. She really hadn’t wanted to start college at twenty-seven, not when most entering their freshmen year were nine or ten years younger.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Colin said after taking a sip of his wine. “I’d forgotten about that.”

  Jenny’s eyes narrowed. Had she mentioned Caitlin going to NAU before now? She really couldn’t recall; she and Colin had discussed all sorts of things while on their “date” down in Tucson. And it seemed that half of what they’d talked about had been sort of erased by the amazing sex that followed. It was probably better to let it go. “Mostly we stick around here, though. I guess Jerome kind of gets in your blood.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  He said the words in such a neutral way that Jenny wasn’t quite sure how to take the comment. Was he agreeing with her, or was he only trying to hide his disappointment at realizing that the world’s biggest crowbar couldn’t get her out of Jerome? Well, if all she was going to get was this one last weekend with him, she figured she might as well enjoy it while she could.

  Something seemed to curdle in her stomach, despite her inner vow to have as much fun with Colin as she could. Hoping she looked casual, she picked up her glass of wine and took a large swallow. There. That was better. A few more of those, and the edges would start to get nicely blurred.

  “So,” he went on, in a very different tone, “we’ve gone all over Jerome today. What’s left on the docket for tomorrow?”

  “It depends,” she replied, glad that he’d recognized it was time to change the subject. “What time do you need to head back?”

  “Not early. Sunday traffic is light, so I could still hang out here for most of the day and make it home in time to get my beauty sleep.”

  Jenny couldn’t help shaking her head at that comment. “Well, then, we could drive up Mingus to one of the picnic areas there, or we could take the Clarkdale train if you want to do something sort of touristy. I’d say we could also go wine tasting, but that might not be the best idea when you have a three-hour drive ahead of you.”

  “True.” He paused, fingers tapping on the base of the wine glass in front of him. “How about we save that for my next visit?”

  Sagging with relief wasn’t really an option, but that was what Jenny wanted to do right then. So she hadn’t put him off with all her talk about how much she loved Jerome and was a small-town sort of person. He still wanted to see her again, which meant he had to be at least slightly open to the idea of living somewhere other than Tucson.

  Whether he’d be equally open about having a long-term relationship with someone who just happened to be a witch was an entirely different question.

  She decided she’d better leave that problem aside for now. “Sure. That would be great. There are a couple of wine-tasting rooms right here in Jerome, and then more down in Cottonwood and Clarkdale — ”

  The waitress came back right then with their soup, so Jenny stopped there. But after they’d ordered their entrees and the server had disappeared again, Colin picked right back up on the thread of the conversation.

  “That sounds like fun. I’ve been hearing some good things about the wines from around here. Haven’t they been winning a lot of competitions?”

  “Yes, quite a few,” Jenny replied, unable to keep the pride from her voice. Business in her hometown was booming, in no small part because of all the accolades that northern Arizona wines had been receiving lately.

  They chatted about wine and tourism in the area, nice safe topics that wouldn’t get her in trouble or cause any awkwardness between them. The whole time, Jenny couldn’t quite keep herself from watching him, his long, strong fingers as they lay on the tabletop or gestured when he wanted to make a point, the way one lock of sandy hair kept falling forward over his forehead. Everything about him seemed to have been made exactly the way she liked it, even though she wouldn’t have thought of him as her type if she’d met him anytime earlier in her life. Maybe it had taken getting through a parade of jerks for her to recognize the sort of man who really was best for her.

  After dinner — and port with dessert — they descended the town’s steep streets in a sort of dreamy haze. The night air had a definite bite to it, but Jenny hardly noticed. She’d brought a wrap, and besides, she held Colin’s hand, his strong fingers entwined around hers. Something of his warmth seemed to travel up her arm and fill her whole body.

  Or maybe that was only anticipation at what she knew was going to come next.

  They’d barely made it inside the door before his mouth was on hers. He tasted delectable, of the sweetness of port and the cherries jubilee that had been made table-side for them. Jenny wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, their bodies touching from shoulder to hip. It felt so good, as if they’d been made to embrace like this, their proportions carefully sculpted so her hips would meet against him right there, feeling how hard he was even through his jeans.

  She let go of him just enough so she could lead him into her bedroom. Once there, she grabbed the jacket he wore and pulled it off his shoulders, then tossed it onto a chair. The T-shirt he had on underneath followed next, and for a moment she paused, running her hands over his body, feeling the lean muscles against her skin, the faintest brush of his chest hair. She liked that — just enough that he seemed entirely masculine, but not so much that she felt as if she was going to bed with a bearskin rug or something.

  He tugged at one end of the wrap she wore and pulled it loose, then took hold of her sweater and drew it off. Since she didn’t have anything on underneath except her bra, his hands were on her bare flesh at once, warm, strong, caressing her as if he’d never touched her before.

  In a sense, maybe he really hadn’t. The two other times they’d had sex, they’d both been pretty wasted. Yes, they’d had wine with dinner, but just enough to feel pleasantly elevated rather than actually drunk.

  His fingers found the clasp of her bra and unhooked it. At once he was cupping her breasts, caressing her, and she moaned — loudly, because the only thing below her was the gallery, and no one was around to hear or care. And oh, Goddess, he bent then, his mouth closing on her nipple, and she wanted to collapse into his arms right then and there. Maybe it was the buildup of having to wait for this all week, or maybe it was only that he really was that damn good, but she knew her knees were going to buckle at the waves of sensation of sweeping over her.

  Colin seemed to realize something of the effect he was having on her, because he gently guided her over to the bed and then pushed her down on top of it, shoving the quilt and the sheet and the blanket out of the way as he did so. As soon as they were lying down, his fingers found the button on her jeans and popped it loose. And then he was tugging down those jeans, along with her underwear, and he was touching her again, sinking into her, stroking her.

  The orgasm burst over her like storm-driven waves falling on a beach. She clung to him, her breaths coming in quick gasps, her entire body shaking. How the hell was he able to do that to her? She’d never climaxed so quickly with anyone else.

  But she didn’t have much time to think about that particular puzzle, because his mouth was now between her legs, his tongue touching her, and oh, Goddess, it was going to be hard to figure out where one orgasm ended and the other began. All Jenny knew was that she never wanted
him to stop, never wanted to experience this with anyone except him ever again.

  And then he was in her, their bodies locked together, finding their rhythm, fingers intertwined, their breaths seeming to come as a single gasp. He held off, she could tell, trying to lengthen the moment as much as he could, but at last he couldn’t hold back the tide, had to release in her, his warmth filling her, his body hot and sweat-slick against her own.

  Afterward, they lay next to each other for a long while, dozing in satiated silence. Finally, Jenny got up and went to the bathroom to get herself more or less in order, which also meant pulling on her sleep shirt and a fresh pair of panties. Over in the bedroom, she could hear the bed springs creak as Colin got up, presumably to retrieve his underwear. When she returned to the bedroom, however, she couldn’t tell for sure, as he was already tucked back beneath the covers.

  “That looks snug,” she said, glad of the darkness in the room so he couldn’t see her expression. Even though she’d been looking forward to making love with him all week, something about having to look a man in the eye after sex always got to her.

  “It is,” Colin replied. “Come on in and find out for yourself.”

  She didn’t need any further urging. Moving quickly because it was cold in there — the wall heat didn’t work so well, and she’d forgotten to turn on the space heater — she climbed into bed next to him and snuggled close so she could lay her head on his shoulder.

  It should have felt strange to have him in her bed. Usually she’d preferred to go to the homes or apartments of the men she dated, keeping her own flat as her private sanctuary. But she hadn’t thought twice about inviting Colin over.

  What precisely that meant, she wasn’t sure she wanted to analyze right then.

  “Comfy?” he asked, and she nodded.

  He reached over to stroke her hair, and she didn’t know whether she’d ever felt so safe and warm and happy before. If she had, it must have been a long, long time ago.

  And then….

  It always came on her in much the same way a severe migraine affected some people — crushing pressure, and the flickers of rainbow auras at the edges of her vision.

  Oh, no….

  That was her last rational thought, because the dark curtain which usually blocked her mind from the minds of others was torn out of the way, and she could see everything around her — her cousin Kirby wondering if he could convince his boyfriend to go with him to California to get married, and Henry Lynch worrying that the ruby ring he’d bought his wife for their fortieth anniversary wouldn’t be fancy enough, and Maggie, the girl who’d sublet Adam’s old apartment over the fudge shop, hoping the guy she’d gone out with the night before would call her, and…

  …and Colin, happy and sated, but worrying underneath that every hour he let pass without telling her the truth was an hour that was making the whole thing worse, and how the hell was she going to react when she found out, and —

  The words were out of Jenny’s mouth before she could stop them. “You’re a fucking reporter?”

  He started, then pulled away from her slightly. Even in the darkness of her bedroom, she could see how his eyes had widened. “I — what?”

  “Don’t lie to me!” she snarled. It was intolerable to be sitting next to him in her own goddamn bed, so she pushed herself over to one side and then stood up, arms crossed over her breasts as she glared down at him. “You — you crashed my cousin’s wedding! You lied about who you were! You — you’re the one who wrote all those articles about that bastard who killed my sister!”

  During this onslaught, Colin had sat quietly, as if knowing that to interrupt would be to make things worse than they already were. When she paused for breath, however, he said, his tone low but desperate, “Yes, I did all those things. I wanted to tell you. I really did. I just — I couldn’t think of the right time to do it. You were just so amazing, and I didn’t want to screw things up — ”

  “Well, you have screwed them up!” she burst out. “You have fucked them up royally! So do me a favor and get your lying ass out of my house!”

  “Jenny, I — ”

  Something about hearing her name on his lips only enraged her that much more. She grabbed his jeans from where they lay draped over the chair and flung them at him. They hit him in the chest with a slap, but all he did was grasp them by the waistband, then push back the covers so he could pull them on.

  During this procedure, she watched in silence, arms still crossed. How could she have been so stupid? She should have known something was up, because he’d seemed too good to be true from the very beginning. But digging around, trying to find out more about the McAllisters — she’d seen it all in a flash, all his guilt, all the lies and machinations.

  And underneath it, worry and a dawning wonder. Because it seemed he really had met a ghost. Met her, and talked to her. And if that was possible, then it wasn’t that big a leap to begin to believe that the McAllisters might really possess strange powers, that the woman he’d begun to care about just might be a witch after all….

  Jenny went cold. Her family had survived all these years because they’d kept their abilities and their heritage a secret. And now she’d put all of them in jeopardy, just because she’d gotten drunk and slept with a reporter, of all people. The elders were going to have a fit when they found out.

  Grossly misinterpreting her silence, Colin said, “Jenny, please let me explain — ”

  “You don’t need to explain anything,” she snapped. “All you have to do is finish getting dressed, and then get your sorry lying ass out of my house.” She pulled in a breath and added, “And if you mention anything about me, or the McAllisters, or — or anything you’ve seen here in Jerome to anyone else, I’ll — ”

  “You’ll what?” he cut in, reaching for his T-shirt so he could pull it on. “Put the whammy on me? Stick pins in a voodoo doll?”

  Gritting her teeth, she said, “Worse.” Which was really a hollow threat. The McAllisters had always used white magic, their powers ones that weren’t easily subverted to the left-hand path. The Wilcoxes, on the other hand….

  But Colin didn’t know that. He didn’t say anything else, only continued to get dressed in silence. Once he was done, he picked up his overnight bag, which he’d never had the chance to unpack. Then he stood there, weighing it in one hand, just as he was clearly weighing what to say next. Maybe he was perceptive enough to feel the waves of rage pouring off her, because after a long pause he only said, “I’ll let myself out.”

  He went out into the living room, and a few seconds later Jenny could hear the front door open and shut. Quietly, though; he didn’t slam it.

  The silence in the apartment thundered in her ears. She stood there for a long moment, then sank down on the bed and let the tears come.

  13

  Damn. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN.

  Colin took the turns down the side of the hill way too fast, tires screeching on more than one curve. When he hit Cottonwood, however, he retained just enough of his senses to realize that he’d better not be calling attention to himself like that, not when he was still processing half a bottle of wine, not to mention the glass of port he’d had with dessert. Ending up in the local drunk tank would really be the cherry on the cake of his evening.

  Where the hell had that come from?

  Because apparently Jenny McAllister was a witch who could read minds. Or something like that. Why she hadn’t learned the truth about him long ago, Colin had no idea. Maybe her powers weren’t completely consistent. Or maybe she could only see into his mind after they’d been intimate. No, that didn’t sound right. Otherwise, she would have discovered exactly who and what he was after the first night they’d spent together.

  All he knew was that it had been perfect — except for his little visit from Maisie the ghost — and now that whole bright sparkling day had shattered to pieces around him. And it was all his fault. He couldn’t and wouldn’t blame anyone but himself
. The first thing he should have done when he got to Jerome was tell Jenny the truth, but he’d been too much of a chickenshit. And man, had those chickens come home to roost.

  He saw an all-night convenience store coming up on his right, and pulled off into the parking lot. As much as he wanted to keep driving and not look back, he knew he had more than three hours to go before he got home, and that meant a lot of hot, cheap coffee to fuel the drive.

  The man behind the counter — well, boy really, since he barely looked old enough to drink — didn’t even make eye contact as he counted out Colin’s change. Just as well. Colin didn’t really want to know what might be reflected in his expression just then, and he didn’t want anyone else to see it, either.

  The coffee sucked. Probably had been sitting on the warmer all day, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was it was strong and hot, and enough to keep him from nodding off on the way to Tucson and ending up in a ditch. Then again, maybe that would be better. If he managed to knock himself unconscious, then maybe he wouldn’t have to keep seeing the bitter recriminations in Jenny McAllister’s glorious blue eyes.

  God, he’d been an idiot. All right, there was a very good chance she might have told him to get lost the second he confessed all to her, but even that would have been better than continuing to lie basically every moment they’d spent together since he’d arrived in Jerome. Maybe then, once she’d had some time to cool off, she would have thought things over and decided to forgive him. There probably would have been a good deal of groveling involved, but Colin didn’t think he would mind that too much if it meant she might have given him a second chance.

  Now, though….

  He shook his head and downed another swallow of acrid, lukewarm coffee. From the way she’d been shooting daggers at him with those big blue eyes of hers, he’d be lucky if he got twenty feet in sight of her before she started throwing real-life knives at him. Or curses, or whatever it was that witches did.

  If she really was a witch.