One end of the living room featured a full service bar that had been custom built as a recreation of the Goosely Grudge pub in London. The bar was apparently a magnet for the single warlocks because many of them drifted there and clustered, chatting with each other while they checked out other partygoers.
“Your home is delightful.”
Sixt turned to see a brunette, suitably named Raven. Her eyes had immediately drifted downward to the name tag.
“Raven. What a wonderful name. Thank you.” Sixt looked around imagining visiting her house and seeing it for the first time. “When I’m not here I forget how much I like it. I always swear I’m going to come more often. And then I don’t.” She shrugged.
“Well, I hear you’re busy with the corporate life and all.”
“True. What do you do?”
“Architect. I design houses for witches.”
Sixt’s eyes widened. “Wow. I had no idea there was that option. Are there enough witches out there who know about you to keep you busy?”
Raven laughed. “Current waiting list is…” She seemed to be counting. “About five years I think.”
“I’m astonished. My brother and I have more or less been in hiding. For a long time. To tell the truth we weren’t sure there were any others, much less that there were networks and professional services.”
Raven looked genuinely sympathetic. “You poor things.” Sixt saw that she glanced toward Harm and smiled. “Your brother is really…”
“A catch?”
Raven laughed. “That’s one way to put it. So why were you hiding?”
Sixt took a sip of Chardonnay. “We were, um, in Germany during the witch hunt.”
“Gods. You poor things. It must have been really lonely.” She glanced toward Harm. “For both of you.”
Sixt nodded. “We’ve even hid from each other. Until very recently.” With a smile, Sixt said, “My brother pushed for us to, ah, come out.” She smiled. “And I’m so glad we did. It’s gratifying to meet others.”
“Speaking of others.” Raven’s eyes drifted toward where Deliverance stood against a wall, quietly observing. “Is that demon yours?”
She followed Raven’s line of sight. “He doesn’t belong to me.”
“But you brought him.”
“Let’s just say he tagged along.”
“Hmmm. Well, he’s the most ordinary looking demon I’ve ever seen. Still, there’s something about him.” Raven nudged Sixt. “We both know what that something is. Right?” Actually, Sixt had no idea what Raven was talking about. “So, if you don’t have dibs, I’m going to wander over and see if he likes architects.”
Sixt vowed to work on a rewind spell as soon as the weekend was over. She would love to take back having said, ‘He doesn’t belong to me’. It was a thought she could hold in her head and speak with her tongue, but her heart believed that was a lie. Somewhere deep in her core was a part of her that was convinced he did, in fact, belong to her. With all the gorgeous warlocks in the room, the bitch standing in front of Sixt was interested in her demon. Gah!
“Before you go, you have to tell me something about the houses you build. You can’t just drop that bit of intrigue and run off. What is it you do that would be specifically for… us?”
Sixt caught a brief look of disbelief on Raven’s face, but the other witch covered quickly.
“Well, I design a custom environment depending on the client’s particular talents and specialty of practice. You know how the shapes of rooms can direct magic in one way or another, strengthen a particular essence, tamp down an undesirable tendency to twist?” Sixt had no idea of any of that, but she nodded to disguise her ignorance on the subject. “Everything affects the potency of magic. The light, the windows - especially their shape, the materials, like when to use stone or wood and what kinds of stone or wood. Then, of course, I incorporate the elements, so that earth, air, fire, and water have balanced representation in every room. All that. Right?”
Sixt nodded enthusiastically because she was fascinated by the prospect of enhancing magic with environment and would hire Raven on the spot. She was beginning to think Harm’s pushing to bring them out of hiding was a very good idea. Her eyes did a quick scan to locate Harm. He was leaning against the bar laughing at something another warlock said. She felt a surprising rush of affection for her brother and delight that he was having a good time. He deserved it. They both did.
“Right. Is there any way to jump the five-year wait list?”
Raven laughed good-naturedly. “Sure. Friends get priority. See you later.”
“Okay.”
Sixt turned to join the conversation in progress behind her, but found a reason to edge around until she could keep an eye on Deliverance, where he casually leaned against the wall.
Raven sashayed over and leaned her shoulder into the wall next to him. The demon looked down at her. Since he didn’t move his chin, it had the effect of making his eyes look hooded.
As the witch began to talk, he smiled. Sixt was wondering what Raven saw. Whatever he looked like was clearly not enough of a deterrent and she had an urge to turn Raven into a three-toed newt.
His eyes suddenly jerked straight to Sixt’s and locked there, like he’d been able to feel what she was thinking. And that undisguised demon smile traveled upward from the curl of his mouth until it reached his eyes. She shuddered visibly, which made him grin, and made her blush from embarrassment.
She turned to answer a question about restrooms and, when she turned back, Raven and Deliverance were nowhere in sight. Sixt wasn’t going to humiliate herself by chasing them down, no matter how much she might have wanted to.
Deliverance lured Raven into the reading room, presumably to show her something. Raven happily accompanied him, thinking that what he would show her was his dick. He encouraged her to try out the nap chair for comfort and, when she did, he disappeared and reappeared in the butler’s pantry, which was bigger than the one at Monticello and better in the sense that it had twenty-first century updates.
He was walking along the long narrow room toward the kitchen when he heard Harm’s voice. Harm was, apparently, talking to another warlock. He had no real reason to believe that anything said between them would be useful, but his demon curiosity was always on the lookout for something of interest. You never knew when a tidbit of information could be used in the negotiation of a future deal.
“Why have a wine closet instead of a wine cellar?” The other warlock was asking.
“Oh, well, my sister would never consider spaces underground.”
“Why?”
“We were in Germany during the witch hunt. At one point my family needed to run and disperse, the theory being that if we separated they wouldn’t get all of us. She was little. Our parents thought she’d be safest if we left her in the cellar and warded it. It was for her own protection. Little kids are not good at pretending to be something they’re not. She wasn’t old enough to defend herself. So…”
After a pause, the other male said, “How long was she there?”
“Eleven days. She never got over it. She won’t go into a tunnel. Can’t stand to be left completely alone. She has to live where she can hear other people.”
“Gods.”
“Here it is,” Harm said. “I saw this the other day. Blackberry whiskey. It should be in the bar, but I guess somebody was hiding it.”
“Hard to hide stuff from us,” the other warlock said.
They left laughing.
The demon let that sink in. Sixt was afraid of being alone. That explained why she was anxious to have him stay when Harm wasn’t around.
He could work with that.
The open door invitation was well used. The house was full throughout the day so that the caterers were kept busy serving food and drink to small clusters of conversation groups.
Harm was pleased as punch about his new black book of information about bachelorettes. At various times he was seen with this one or th
at, but it was impossible to tell if he was forming preferences. Certainly none of them had captured him in a love-at-first-sight way.
On the second night, Sixt woke to find Deliverance standing over her bed.
“What?”
“Nightmare. Again,” he answered with more dispassion than he felt. After learning the probable cause of the night terrors, he wondered if she was dreaming as her little girl self or her mature self.
“Oh,” she said, and fell back to sleep almost immediately. Deliverance watched her for a few more minutes. She looked angelic with her hair spread over the pillow. He caught that thought and wiped a hand over his mouth. He’d never live it down if Kellareal knew he used the term ‘angelic’ in a good way. He hated having charitable thoughts about the witch, but it didn’t matter that she’d been traumatized as a child, that she looked like an angel when she slept, that she needed to be where she could hear others, that part of her poise and powerful demeanor was a thin veneer hiding fear and anxiety.
Deliverance was a powerful demon who could make sure that a witch like Sixt would never be afraid of anything. Ever. If she was his, she never would be. But that sort of speculation had become irrelevant when she cursed him.
If she remembered being awakened, she didn’t mention it the next day.
Deliverance used his time at night, since he didn’t sleep, on the computer in the study. Using Graydon’s computer at night and the one in Sixt’s study during the day, he’d become a world class Black Hat and had mastered the human magic of cybertech. He’d enjoyed the challenge, the diversion, and he liked the moniker, Black Hat.
In Aspen his curiosity turned to Sixt’s history. He’d heard her telling others about her salon time in Paris and how she’d help craft fairy tales as the result of her family’s time amidst the magic of the Black Forest.
Pulling together the threads of what he’d learned about the witch, he’d hatched a plan for suitable retribution. The kind that fits like an extremely uncomfortable hair glove.
Over the course of the weekend Sixt and Harm benefitted in countless ways. She made connections that might become friendships in time and learned how others had dealt with the question of defense against human crazies. One of the most interesting were three representatives sent as a contingent from a colony in the Texas Hill Country, Wimberley. They had come up with a unique, but effective way of enjoying life openly and being safe at the same time.
They’d become patron benefactors of a small town so that it was utopic. No one was hungry or homeless or without good medical care. The schools were exemplary. The roads were smooth and new. The Bohemian spirit attracted artists and the local economy was thriving.
“I don’t understand how you don’t end up with a 60 Minutes crew ready to expose all of you,” Sixt said.
The one called Wednesday said, “Together we can raise a cone of power sufficient to cast a spell over the entire town. If any of our residents think about communicating to outsiders about our little bit of heaven, their thoughts become cloudy and they forget what they were about to say. We’d love to have you come visit.” She looked across the room toward the bar. “You and your brother.” She leaned toward Sixt. “Those of us who are married chose humans. No warlocks.”
“Really? Why?”
Wednesday shrugged. “I wouldn’t know from personal experience, but I’m told they’re too much trouble.”
Sixt laughed. “Yes. I can see that.”
A world of questions about the operations of magic had been answered for her by people who looked at her with barely disguised pity.
Sixt thought that was a small price to pay for information that could greatly enhance her magical skill. She asked around, in hushed tones, if anybody knew ways to protect oneself from an angry demon.
What she heard repeatedly was, “Best advice is don’t get on the wrong side of one. Look, hon, as far as the hierarchy goes, even the best of us are no match for demons. We’re creatures who use magic. They’re magical creatures.”
When the weekend ended and goodbyes were said all around, Sixt and Harm prepared for the trip to New York. When Sixt closed her suitcase, she looked up to see Deliverance standing in the doorway of her bedroom, arms crossed over his torso.
“We’re going,” she said.
“I figured. Have you decided?”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She knew what would be foremost on his mind. Standing up straight, she said, “Yes. When we get back, I’ll terminate the contract in exchange for teaching me how to detect lies in auras.”
“And you will not reinstate the curse.”
“No. I will not.”
“And you will not initiate any new curses.”
“That’s right. I won’t do that either. And you won’t try to get back at me for the curse or the, uh, other contract. No paybacks. You just walk away.”
“Done.”
At that a length of rolled parchment appeared in his hand, tied with a red satin ribbon. He walked toward her slowly, without the characteristic humor she’d come to expect, and handed over the scroll.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s a new contract spelling out what was just agreed, revoking the other.”
She slipped the ribbon away and unrolled the parchment. It was in beautiful, even calligraphy done with such precision it couldn’t have been executed by hand.
“As you see I’ve already signed,” he said. “Look it over on the way home if you want.”
“Alright.”
She rolled it up, slipped the shoulder strap of her bag over her shoulder, and walked toward the door carrying it in her hand. She said nothing more and didn’t look back.
On the plane, Harm was animated about the future. He’d made friends. More than that, he’d made plans with other warlocks, and dates with witches. Sixt couldn’t have been happier for him and had to admit that the whole gathering had been, perhaps, the best idea ever.
She’d learned that she’d missed the source education that other witches routinely acquired. It had been interrupted by the witch hunt, and the remnants of the Lichterketten family had never gotten back on track. Until now.
The contrast between pristine Aspen, with its soothing quiet and stark black night skies that made the stars look like close ups of spotlit diamonds, and noisy, close Manhattan struck her in a way it never had before.
“You hungry?”
“I could eat,” Harm answered.
There would be food at the apartment, but for some reason, she wasn’t quite ready to face home. Or Deliverance. She wanted to postpone for a little while.
“Let’s stop by the Camenone.” She looked at her watch. “There’s just time to slide through the door before the kitchen closes. Of course we’ll get the scolding and have to choose between chicken or beef.”
Harm chuckled. “Okay. Don’t ask how it’s prepared or what it comes with.”
Since he’d been in New York they’d developed an appreciation for being abused by the wait staff, who were probably all related, at the neighborhood hole in the wall establishment.
“Don’t worry.”
To their surprise they were treated well even though the door was locked and sign changed to CLOSED as soon as they’d stepped in.
“What are you going to do about the demon?” Harm asked.
“I’m giving him his walking papers. Literally.” She pulled the scroll out of her bag. “When I sign this, he’s bound to teach me the thing about reading lies. When he does, he’s free.”
“Free? As in he can leave?” Harm looked unsure about that, but had another thought. “Would he…?”
“No. But if I can, I’ll teach you later.” Harm seemed satisfied with that.
When Sixt put her key into the penthouse elevator, she was beginning to feel the exhaustion of having organizer and hosting responsibilities for a long weekend topped off by a long trip home.
For the first time, Deliverance made her jump. When she flipped the kit
chen switch that turned on all the inner and under cabinet lights, ceiling spots, indirect lighting, and hanging island fixtures, he was calmly sitting at the island.
She registered the slightest remnant of humor on his face when she startled. Without a word, she pulled the scroll from her bag and laid it out on the island holding one end down with the salt grinder, the other with the pepper grinder.
“When you teach me how to read lies, I’ll sign this and we’ll be done. Happy?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “Good. I’m going to bed.”
CHAPTER Twelve THE ART OF LIES
Sixt slept in. It was almost ten o’clock when she imagined that she smelled coffee. After pulling on a robe, brushing teeth, and throwing cold water in her eyes she slouched toward the smell of dark Kona blend.
Deliverance turned his head toward her when she entered. He was sitting in the same spot where she’d left him the night before, wearing the same clothes.
Harm was leaning against a counter, coffee mug in hand, one ankle crossed over the other, having a conversation with the demon, about what she couldn’t begin to imagine, and looking far too comfortable with that scenario.
“You haven’t moved since last night,” she said to Deliverance.
He cocked his head. “How do you know?”
Her eyes drifted down and up. “You’re still wearing the same clothes.”
As smoothly as a desktop background changes designs, Deliverance was wearing different clothes. “How’s that?”
She sighed. “Point taken.” To Harm she said, “I need some of that,” and pointed to the pod coffee maker.
“You going to work today?” Harm asked.
“No. I’m acquiring a new skill. Becoming a walking lie detector.” She looked at Deliverance as the machine began to gurgle. “How long will it take?”
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