by Heather Long
Goddess of light and dark, she wanted to scream when she found herself standing in the middle of her bedroom again. What the hell? It hadn’t even been an hour…why did it reset? Furious, she rushed for the door, and the stairs only to collide with Angus on his way up. He opened his arms and she all but fell into them. His mouth fastened over hers and her whole body pulsed with need.
White light flashed.
Rika wanted to scream. Need twisted inside of her, and she bolted for the door and slammed it open. Angus was halfway up the stairs, and his fierce expression was determined. This time, she made it to the moment his tongue glided along hers and desire burst into flames along with hair…
White light flashed.
Rika screamed, her frustration escaping on a wild note. Clenching her fists, she’d almost made it to her bedroom door when she heard Bridget.
“Who are you? And what the hell are you doing in my house?” Her voice rose, then hit a dangerous decibal.
Oh crap. Angus.
Flinging the door open, she made it to the hall just in time to see Angus flying backwards, suspended by magical chains.
“No! Wait! Bridget! Angus is here for me—I’m a dumbass who casts selfish spells and I’m never going to get what I want…”
Everyone stared at her and Rika wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
Baba Yaga, it has to be…but how could she…
A snap cracked through the air and suddenly Rika stood in front of the Baba Yaga, the canny old witch in her neon hot 80s gear gave her a knowing look. “You have five minutes to come clean with all of them or you can live in a perpetual state of sexual frustration. Understood?”
The witch of witches didn’t wait for her answer. Rika landed on her ass on the floor of the living room. The sun shone outside, and instead of being suspended by chains, Angus stood next to the fireplace. Martin and Bridget were seated, and they all appeared in deep conversation.
A clock in the hall began to chime—eight bells. Her time loop had been broken.
“Lucy,” Martin said cheerfully. “You’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”
At least Angus was still there, but the dark brooding look he fixed on her didn’t promise her any resolved kisses anytime soon.
“My name is Rika Smythe, I’m a witch investigator. You want something found—person, creature, spell, information—I’m your witch. I can dig up just about anything, and I’m not a teenager, I’m a little over thi—” A hard slap landed against the back of her head. The Baba Yaga might not be present, but she was definitely still paying attention. Fine, she’d admit her age to the hot scot. “I’m forty-five years old. I was hired to dig up dirt and info on the new Shifter Whisperer. The Baba Yaga told me to back off, and I ignored her…three times—” Ducking from another potential brain duster, she hurried to add. “Maybe four times, I kind of lost count.”
No one hit her.
Whew.
“Condensing the story, the Baba Yaga cursed me with this oh so awesome teenage bod and screwed up my magic by making me all hormonal again.” Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to ignore the agog expression Martin and Bridget wore. “I came clean with you a couple of times, Bridget. You don’t remember because I set a time loop so I could find the spells I needed to get out of this.”
That pretty much brought her clean, right?
“And me?” Angus pulled her attention and she was reminded of the very hot kiss they’d almost shared. Did he even remember it now? The corner of his mouth kicked upward.
“I stole Bridget’s diary.” She didn’t look at her would be mentor. It had been hard enough to admit the last two times. “I found a spell in there to summon a muse. Since I’ve been struggling to get my control back…”
Angus gave her a quizzical look, and magic rippled over her. Great, what color had her hair turned this time? It seemed forever since she’d been her normal shade. Though what was normal these days?
“…so I summoned you from a book.” It sounded so much lamer than she’d intended. She’d chosen a great book with a hot hero, and man had it delivered in spades.
“Deep breaths, witchypoo,” Martin said soothingly into the silence. “She’s taken a big step, admitting her crimes.”
“Admitting my ass,” Bridget scowled as she stood. Anger wreathed her. More anger than Rika had ever seen the witch singer possess. The woman was a kook with a capital K, and she had a whacky ability, but she was also kind and she’d seemed earnest if not totally skilled at the whole mentoring thing. “Baba Yaga yanked you out of here, then dropped you back off, didn’t she?”
“Um…yes?” Rika stole a peek at Bridget’s eyes. She expected to find anger, and while it was there, so was concern.
“She cursed you. Stuck you with me, without giving anyone the whole story, and now, she wants you to confess.” None of that had been a question, so Rika nodded.
“Pretty much.”
“Don’t mistake my empathy for forgiveness,” Bridget said, holding a hand out to her. Rika grasped it and let her pull her to feet. “You had no business snooping in my diary, or using the spells you found in there.”
“I know I’m supposed to be sorry, but hunting up magic…it’s what I do. Ferreting out secrets, and knowledge.” Her shame surprised her, though. Guilt wasn’t an emotion she was well acquainted with. “I needed help.”
“Help I wasn’t giving you,” Bridget sighed, then squeezed her hand and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll help you now. We’ll figure this all out together…starting with putting Mr. Angus there back into his book.”
“Ye canna…” Angus protested.
“I can’t,” Rika joined with him even as she pulled back on Bridget’s hug. “Wait, I know why I can’t put you back,” she said, looking at the Scotsman. “Why do you not want to go back?”
“That’s a little personal, lassie. Ye and I kin discuss it without your parents.”
“We’re not her parents,” Martin and Bridget said in unison.
“Even better. I plan to steal her, and I didn’t fancy having some wee powerful witch hunting me down, especially when I haven’t located a horse yet.”
“Uh huh,” Rika’s face warmed and her hair started to flame. Oh enough of that. She gripped her hands into fists and the flames smothered. Her hair smoothed, all the curls relaxing and the hair lengthened. Angus stared at her in wonder, and Rika leaned to the left to check her appearance in the mirror.
Dark blue hair, purple tips and looking fabulous.
Much better.
“Now, let’s talk about that stealing away piece?”
“In a minute,” Bridget interceded. “Back up to the not returning you to the book.” Then under her breath, the witch singer muttered, “Are we really having an argument with a fictional hero?”
“You did tell me that alpha heroes in the books were kind of dicks in real life.”
“Did I?” Surprise colored Bridget’s voice. Great, probably another bonding moment lost to a loop.
Why had she cast that spell in the first place? Oh, right, to get out of the situation she wasn’t enjoying. Yet, she’d ended up in what might be a worse one.
Maybe.
“You did,” she said, when she realized everyone was looking at her again and she hadn’t answered Bridget’s inquiry.
“I’m a warrior,” Angus interjected. “Not a dick.”
Rika would not laugh.
“And I don’t belong in a book.”
Her lips twitched, but she contained the giggle. “How would you know? I summoned you from a book, remember?”
“Aye, lassie,” Angus said setting aside his cup and taking a step toward her. “I was trapped there and ye freed me.”
Trapped?
Oh crap. What did she do?
“A witch trapped me in a tree, a long time ago, then that tree was cut down, and milled, then turned to paper…and…”
“…you were trapped in the paper.” Rika grimaced. “So you don’t belong in the book?”
“Not at all,” he said, his gaze promising her all kinds of passionate things. “Ye freed me…which means I’m at your service in any way you might desire.”
“Hold it right there, Mr. Hot Brogue,” Bridget intervened, stepping between them and breaking her line of sight. Rika remembered how to breathe all at once. Wow. “She might be forty-five and under a curse, but right now she’s sixteen and under my roof.”
“Bridget…” Rika touched her arm. “Thank you for wanting to protect me, but I’m really fine with the whole servicing thing.”
The witch singer turned on her. “You’re sixteen!”
“In form only, the mind in here? I’m middle-aged, and I got the scars to prove it. Call this the ultimate mid-life crisis, only I got the hot bod to test drive.” Her gaze drifted to Angus. “In more ways than one.”
His answering grin stoked the flames in kindling in her blood. Fortunately, her hair didn’t go up and she didn’t boom.
Look at that. Control.
“Except for one little problem…” Martin said idly. He stood at the living room windows and stared outside.
“What problem would that be?” Thankfully, Angus asked the question because Rika had their earlier, aborted kiss stuck on replay in her brain.
“You said a witch trapped you in a tree that became a book, right?” Martin took a sip of his coffee.
“Aye.”
“Tall, swanky looking lady with green hair and different colored eyes?”
Angus scowled. “Aye, Georgiana. A wicked woman who demanded I wed her, but when I refused, she exacted her retribution by trapping me.”
“Wonderful,” Martin said, his tone anything but. “Bridget darling, we’re about to have company.”
The door shuddered under a pounding and the witch singer pivoted.
“Where’s my sword?” Angus demanded.
“No sword for you. Rika, you and Angus get upstairs. I’ll deal with this Georgiana.”
Torn between taking the escape and helping Bridget, Rika hesitated. Angus didn’t. He scooped her up and took the stairs two at a time. “I’ve got ye, lassie. Let the wise witch take on the bad witch.”
“You do realize I’m a bad witch, too, don’t you?” The blunt honesty irked her, but at least she had some control over it. They were near the door to her room when the whole house shuddered—then Bridget began to sing.
After Angus closed the door, the sounds muted. It was suddenly just her and the hot highlander.
“We have a lot to say to each other,” he admitted, but his gaze fixed on her mouth. “But if I kiss ye again, will that white light fling me back downstairs?”
“No,” she promised. The Baba Yaga had severed the time loop and Rika didn’t have any desire to summon it again. Not when she had Angus all to herself. “But I should help Bridget.”
“In a minute, lassie. I promise, we won’t let anything happen to her.” His mouth settled on hers and every synapse Rika possessed short-fired. Opening her mouth to his sensual invasion, she groaned then wrapped her arms around his neck and tightened her grip.
If she knew nothing else, she knew she belonged in his arms.
An explosion blew out all the windows, but she barely heard it. Not with Angus twining his tongue with hers.
They tumbled onto the bed, and the earth shook.
“Did you feel that?” he murmured in between brushes of his lips to hers.
“Feel what?” She slid her hands beneath his shirt, and explored all that sinewy muscle.
Oh yeah, she was definitely inspired now…
5
Bridget
Kid steals my diary, casts a spell to summon her muse, and frees a guy from a book who just happens to have been trapped by a witch. The same witch who was now hammering the exterior of the cottage with spell after spell.
“Martin, you should go upstairs, too.” I knew he wouldn’t go. My darling professor would never leave my side.
He’d withdrawn from the windows and retrieved a shotgun from the closet. When had he picked that up? “I’ve got your back.”
Warmth bloomed within my soul at his declaration. I’d never had anyone I could rely on in that fashion. A magical blast shook the house, but I ignored it. My wards held. The older wards someone, likely the Baba Yaga, had placed buffeted my protections. I was a singer, not a combat witch. Throw me into a sing off, and I’d come out the champion.
Brute force? That was going to take a minute. Rika had the raw power, but she lacked the real focus to keep it under control. The house shuddered as I closed the distance between Martin and me. He opened his arm and pulled me in for a slow, gentle kiss.
“Don’t let any spells hit you.”
“I’m pretty much immortal, remember?” His fingers splayed against my lower back. Pretty much wasn’t an exact science. He was reborn, he could remember all his lives, that didn’t mean I wanted to spend the next thirty years missing him like hell until he rejuvenated.
It had been an insane morning. Rika’s disappearance hot on the heels of the highlander just showing up in our house had left me a little disconcerted. More, Angus had been a personable fellow and very interested in defending Rika.
Everything else aside, his absolute honesty in his caring for our teenage—not a teenager, Bridget—right or wrong, it would still take a while to get used to that little nugget. For the last month, I’d complained about her and resented her presence and now I kind of missed her.
Another boom from outside the house, and the glass in the windows shattered inward. I hit a perfect high C, vaporizing the flying shards before they could strike us. Whoever this witch was, she wasn’t going away. “All right, stay inside.” Trusting Martin to watch my back as he’d promised, I made for the doors.
The air sparkled with a dozen different kinds of fireworks. The green haired witched stood about thirty feet away, launching them from her palms. She probably couldn’t get any closer, thanks to the wards. At my appearance, her crazy eyes widened, and she flung another volley of magic toward me. It impacted on the wards and created a hell of a light show.
Thank the Goddess it was daytime, or we’d have the locals swarming over us. Huh, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Shifters comprised a lot of the locals. They could eat her.
“Excuse me,” I said, though it was unlikely she heard me over all the explosions her fireworks generated. Squinting, I tried to shield my eyes from the bright array. It took her five minutes to expend her wad. The wards wobbled, but they didn’t collapse.
Yep, years with the vampires had made me meticulous about some things.
When she paused for a breath, I tried again. “Excuse me.”
“Give me back my highlander,” the woman shrieked. It was a discordant yowl that seemed torn between sobbing and fury.
“Yeah, about that…” I kept my voice as soothing as possible. Maybe I could lull her into relaxing her crazed attack. “I get the feeling the relationship between you and Angus didn’t quite work out.”
“He’s mine!” And the fireworks started all over again.
Holy Aphrodite on crack. Had someone struck this woman with a love spell? It didn’t seem to matter that nothing she did was getting through or that I was simply standing there under the full weight of the assault. Folding my arms, I waited her out—again.
It took her longer than five minutes. Maybe my presence incensed her, because she switched from sparklers to virtual hammers of force. One of the wards finally cracked under the pressure, but I had a dozen layers settled atop the older ones. At this rate, it would take her a day or more to get through.
Hopefully she’d pass out before then.
“Anytime you feel like talking,” I called. “I’m right here.”
“Witchypoo?” Martin said from somewhere behind me. My adversary’s gaze didn’t move off me, so my lover hadn’t stepped into her field of vision. I was so proud of him.
“Yes, love?”
“Coffee?”
M
y lips twitched. “Sounds heavenly, but it might be rude to drink in front of her.”
“Since she invited herself and hasn’t had the courtesy to open a line of conversation, she can suffer.” His firm tone brooked no argument.
“You have a point.” Trusting the wards, I turned my back on the crazy lady and ascended the stairs. Martin stood just inside the door and offered me the mug of coffee. “Thank you, darling.”
“You are so welcome,” he said with a smile. “Now, I’m pretty sure the squeaking has nothing to do with the attack from outside.”
I grimaced and he mirrored the expression. “Well, she’s not really sixteen.”
“Hard to wrap the mind around that, isn’t it?”
Georgiana renewed her assault and the noise level rose. Ugh, it was so going to give me a headache. I took a sip of the delightful coffee then sighed. “I can’t deal with the idea that she’s having sex with a guy she summoned from a book. So, we’re going to pretend it didn’t happen.”
Martin gave me a skeptical look.
“Yeah, don’t start. We have a thousand issues. Her sex life is not going to be one of them.”
Georgiana’s assault ceased. The abruptness had me twisting to see her sink down into the grass. Her raw fury had vanished to be replaced by heartbroken despair.
Despite Martin’s earlier question, I didn’t hear any squeaking.
Pop went the highlander….
Angus and Rika…sealed the deal. Georgiana knew it.
There wasn’t enough wine in the world for this kind of drama. “Remind me to stake the next vampire I meet.” I handed my coffee cup back and marched across the yard to the sobbing witch.
I stopped just inside the wards—you know, on the off chance the crazy lady went batshit again—and said, “Excuse me?”