This Soul Magic

by Michele Hauf

  I overheard Libby out in the living room, on the phone with her sister, chatting about everything from cleaning solutions and getting blood stains out of vinyl couches to the latest music and—me.

  My ears perked, my arms dropping the imaginary wings.

  “He’s doing well. Still pretty weak. I wonder if he’ll always be so? He’s the muscles of a workhorse, but he can barely lift the vacuum.”

  I clasped my hands across my chest, inadvertently squeezing a bicep. The muscle was hard, and it seemed I should be stronger. It bothered Libby that I couldn’t do some things? Hell, I’d needed her to help me move around the sofa. Shouldn’t a man be able to do that himself?

  “Yes, he’s adjusting. CJ did that? I couldn’t imagine Reichardt lifting a washing machine to let me get to the dust beneath.”

  I winced. Indeed, I needed to become stronger to gain Libby’s admiration. I’d seen the commercials on the television that featured muscle-bound men lifting heavy weights. Women swooned over them.

  A man of my stature and with all these muscles shouldn’t be so weak. It had to do with transforming from a soul bringer to a mortal, I felt sure. If I had once traveled from Above and Beneath, I must have had some crazy powers. And Libby had detailed how I’d once lifted CJ and Vika with no more than my mind and had speared them with an invisible bolt that had left them bleeding.

  I’d been a cruel man. But I’d also been strong.

  I wanted to win Libby’s respect. I just had to figure out how.

  * * *

  After hanging up with my sister, I waited for Reichardt to finish dressing. The man shouldn’t cover up those washboard abs, but okay, so it was autumn and raining, and—still. It hurt my sense of wanting to drool over man muscle, but I’d have to deal. The man preferred all black clothes because he said putting colors together hurt his brain.

  Boys. Gotta love ’em.

  After he’d gotten his soul—and before his memory of being a soul bringer had been completely vanquished—Vika and I had quickly learned Reichardt kept an apartment in the fifth quarter, in the shadow of the Jardin des Plantes, and discovered it was empty: no furniture, no food, not even clothing. Just a few odd items sitting on windowsills and counters. The blue feather, a half-full bag of cat food, a yellow-cloth Jewish badge and a live sansevieria plant that looked well cared for.

  We’d also learned the entire nineteenth-century building belonged to Reichardt. The building manager had explained their beneficent owner hadn’t charged rent in over two decades. The elderly building residents, upon seeing Reichardt, had offered a “bonjour, Monsieur Reichardt,” and one had told me that while the stoic building owner never chatted, he always ensured the residents were well through a liaison who visited them monthly to check medical stats and ensure their bills were paid, and who also sent food when needed.

  I strolled my fingers along the glossy blade leaves of the sansevieria plant now. Quite the fellow, my emotionless and uncaring soul bringer.

  We’d decided Reichardt should remain at his place, because when I had suggested he move in with me, he couldn’t get around the idea of it being sinful if we were not married. The man’s morals were old-fashioned yet sweet, and I didn’t want to rush him into the twenty-first century too quickly.

  That sounded good in theory, anyway.

  “Ready!” He looked over my black-and-white polka-dotted dress and skimmed his fingers along the fringes that hemmed the skirt.

  “It’s my rock-star dress,” I said, tilting out a hip and hooking a hand akimbo. I could work a fringe like nobody’s sister.

  “But you’re not a rock star. Or are you? You’re so talented—perhaps I’ve not seen all that you can do.”

  “No, lover boy, I am not a rock star. But sometimes you gotta put on the fringe and rock out, you know?”

  “No.” He eyed me curiously.

  Poor amnesiac man. He took everything literally. It was kind of sad and yet a little fun to know I would get to teach him everything he needed to learn.

  “Stick with me, Reichardt. You’ll be rocking with the best of them soon enough. Did you ever figure out the cat food?”

  “No, but perhaps there is a stray that visits on occasion?”

  “I hope so. I love kitties. Though Salamander might be jealous if I went home smelling like another cat.” Sal was Vika’s cat, but since moving in with CJ, she’d left him behind. She never had been a cat person. “Let’s go.”

  Outside, we slid into the white hearse I drove for our cleaning business. I’d stuck a sticker that read Jiffy Clean on the trunk years ago as a joke. It annoyed Vika.

  Vika and I cleaned up dead paranormals such as slain werewolves, demons and the occasional newer vampire who didn’t completely ash at death. Couldn’t have the mortals seeing such nightmares lying about the city. Cleaning was Vika’s life. Since the rock-star thing would probably never happen and my small flower garden brought in a pitiful amount at the bazaar, I had to do something to earn a euro.

  I drove down the street toward the witch’s bazaar, a place I visited every other Saturday to buy and sell spellcraft items, pick up pointers, and chatter with fellow witches.

  “Do you have male friends?” Reichardt asked out of the blue.

  “Of course I do. A life without men is dull and a little too clean. Why do you ask?”

  “I have the feeling I should talk to a man,” he said. “To learn things that a woman can’t teach me.”

  “Like what?” I asked cheerfully, excited he was asking for knowledge.

  “Like how to get stronger, and how to treat a woman.”

  “Best way to learn that is from the source. Trust me on that one.”

  “What about how to sexually fulfill a woman?”

  My neck grew hot yet my grin may have touched both ears. I met Reichardt’s sweetly wondering gaze in the rearview mirror. “Again, the source would be your best bet.”

  He crossed his arms, uncomfortable with the suggestion. Hell, the guy could have used a male friend. Just because the best information came from the source didn’t mean it was easy to ask about the intimate stuff.

  “You remember CJ, Vika’s guy?”

  “Yes, Certainly Jones, the dark witch with the curious tattoos.”

  “Mmm, I love a tattooed man.”

  “Is that so?” Reichardt considered that one a moment. “But why is he dark?”

  “He practices dark magic to balance the light, which is what Vika and I practice. Yin and yang. It’s a karma thing.”

  “Karma is the universe, yes?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you think I could talk to CJ? No offense, Libby, but there are things that...come up.” He looked aside and was suddenly very interested in the door lock.

  I recalled our embrace in the kitchen when he’d gotten an erection. If the guy wanted to learn how to use that, then perhaps it was time to call in Team Man.

  “I’ll give CJ a call once we get to the bazaar. I’m sure he’d love to get together with you and talk man stuff.”

  “Thank you. I don’t mind the cleaning tasks you’ve taught me, but I feel there are more manly things I should be learning. Like how to drive this vehicle. Shouldn’t the man drive the woman?”

  “I can teach you how to drive. But let’s concentrate on getting your immediate needs met first.”

  Like learning how to please a woman, I thought with a sneaky curl of lip. I’d have this guy eating out of my hands soon enough.

  I pulled into a parking space and Reichardt got out and rushed around to my side. He opened the door, which had never once happened in my dating history. He already knew how to please a woman. What the man really needed was confidence and a sense of place in this realm.

  * * *

  The bazaar was indeed bizarre. I wandered the aisles in the small church basement—yes, the witches gathered in a former Catholic church. How about that for irony? And I did know irony, which pleased me into a grin as I passed a table featuring Charms to De
vastate and Divulge.

  The room was populated with all varieties, from normal-looking women and men to those sporting outrageous clothing and hair and a few with tattooed faces. I thought the one with the tiny wings at her back was a faery, but what would she be doing here?

  “You want me to show you around?” Libby asked as she handed me a paper cup of coffee.

  I loved coffee—it was like mead—and I guessed I might have drunk mead if I’d come from Above. Maybe?

  “I think I’ll just take it all in, if that’s all right with you. Go and do what you must. I like watching you walk away from me.”

  Blowing me a kiss, Libby sashayed down the aisle, her hips swaying and the fringes bouncing. She wiggled her torso in that sexy groove that made things on me very hard. I needed to talk to CJ soon. I wanted to get my hands all over that woman’s bounce, yet when I did, things came up. Things that felt great yet, I knew, required further research.

  I strolled past a table that sold various vials of blood in all gradients of crimson. Werewolf blood, vampire blood, faery ichor, kitsune blood and black demon blood. Mermaid blood was a tint of green. What were the uses for such things? Did I really want to know?

  Sipping the last of the coffee, I turned abruptly and bumped into a tall, thin woman clad in frumpy black with snow-white hair that fell like silk about her shoulders. She spun, revealing pointed teeth and a pale face, and hissed at me.

  That hiss disturbed me so much I flinched and stepped back.

  She tracked me backward until my shoulders hit the wall and a tendril of dried garlic bobbed at my head. When she stuck a finger in the air before my face I felt as if I’d been struck by invisible magic. Hell, who could know in a room full of witches?

  “You’re different,” she said with a craggy voice that belonged buried under tangled tree roots. “Not the same as you once were.”

  That summation was difficult not to question. “What do you know about me?”

  “I see it. Your aura. It’s all colors. Never see that unless it’s an angel, don’t you know.”

  I clamped my jaws shut before blurting out my truth. How she’d guessed such a thing was beyond me. Yet I supposed it wasn’t a big secret. Could those with paranormal proclivities see what I had once been?

  “I can feel your yearning.”

  “I—don’t yearn.” Yet, in fact, I did just that.

  “You do. And for more than what men yearn for.”

  “Is that so?” Because I’d learned that most men did yearn for the red sports car.

  “You want what was once yours.”

  Damned good guess. Did she also know I desired Libby? “And...just how would I get that? What was once mine.”

  “Ha! Knew it.”

  I leaned in closer, lifting the coffee cup beside my cheek to shield our conversation from anyone who might hear, though the room bustled and everyone was occupied with their own doings. “And what if I do yearn? Can you help me with that?”

  “Nope.”

  My shoulders deflated. Just as well.

  “But I know someone who can. You go see her and she’ll read you and tell you if she can release the, uh...lingering power that dwells within you,” she said with dramatic flair.

  “I have power?”

  “I can see it blasting out of you like a heat wave, handsome. Bet you attract the womenfolk like bees to honey.”

  I glanced around, but didn’t catch sight of Libby’s bright red hair. The womenfolk were attracted to me?

  “You bond with your soul mate yet?” the witch asked.

  “Uh...no?”

  “Good. She’ll be pleased I’ve found such a rare—er, pleased to help you. You need to go to the sixteenth quarter.”

  “I’m not sure where that is. I’m new to the city.”

  “Yes, you are, aren’t you? I’ll write it down for you.” She hobbled over to her table, which was littered with crystal balls and vials of various potions, some marked “for the low, low price.” She handed me a paper with an address, then slapped a vial of dark substance onto my palm. “Five euros.”

  Potions and magics were not my thing. I could get whatever I needed from Libby’s arsenal of witchcraft supplies. And I’d already secretly checked for “angel cures” and “wing restorers” only to be disappointed. “I don’t think I need whatever this is.”

  “Oh, you do, or you won’t be able to see the person you need to see. You rub this ointment under your eyes to see beyond this realm and into theirs.”

  “You want me to look into another realm?”

  She nodded and held out her hand in wait of payment.

  Having a few euros that Libby had tucked into my back pants pocket to buy whatever caught my eye, I paid the woman and she shoved me away as if my presence offended her.

  I turned right into Libby’s smiling yet wondering green eyes and discreetly shoved the vial into my shirt pocket before pulling her into a hug. “Get everything you need?”

  “Mostly. I have one more table I need to stop by that sells dragon’s breath. Won’t take but ten minutes.”

  “I’ll wait for you here.”

  “Can’t wait to be back by your side, lover.” She kissed my cheek, curling the heat to my skin as quickly as my smile. “You’re so cute.”

  When she had left, I tugged out the vial and inspected the sparkly black contents. A glance to the elderly woman who’d sold it to me found her—missing. Her table was no longer there.

  Turning about, I wondered if I’d mistaken her location, but I didn’t see the odd white hair anywhere. She had been right there.

  “Witches,” I muttered. “They creep me out.”

  Save for the ones who planted skin-warming kisses on me. I did like kissing. Much better than vacuuming.

  Ten minutes later, I had been compelled to listen to an elderly witch’s explanation that she could bespell the frown from me (really? I didn’t frown. Maybe? Hmm...), had watched a set of blonde twins perform allotriophagy—they’d made each other spit up butterflies—and had decided that mugwort stank and I preferred frankincense as a scent.

  Libby’s boisterous voice carried above the hubbub of chatter. I noticed a thin dark-haired man approach her and lean in close. As he spoke, the frail and poor example of male touched her wrist.

  Marching toward my red-haired goddess, my fingers curled tightly and my chest expanded. I growled. The man looked at me, gaped and stepped away from my woman.

  Libby turned, and just as I swung up a fist to connect with the idiot who had touched her, she stopped me with a smack of her palm over my knuckles.

  “What are you doing?” she asked forcefully. “Reichardt?”

  “He touched you.” Had been close enough to kiss!

  “It was just a friendly touch. He’s not—”

  “I must defend your honor.”

  “Monsieur, no...” the man started.

  Libby slid between me and the male witch—who cast me a snide look down his narrow nose. “You can’t go around punching witches,” she said. “He’ll return with a blast of magic that’ll send you across this room. Holster it, lover boy.”

  “But...”

  Libby’s stern gaze deflated my anger and made me feel as if everyone was watching my admonishment. I didn’t want to look around to verify if that were true.

  I stepped back and shoved my hands in my jeans pockets. “I’m going to wait in the car.”

  “You do that. I’m almost finished here. I’ll be right out.”

  I wandered through the crazy din of witches, not lifting my head to look again for the white-haired hag. Nor did I care to look back for

  Libby, because if I saw the thin man near her again— I sighed.

  Outside, the rain chidingly smattered my head and cheeks. I’d never felt so...castigated. It wasn’t a nice feeling and it ached in my new beating heart. This feeling was going soundly in the bad-emotions category. And Libby had made me feel that way.

  Perhaps I had been wrong about wan
ting to win Libby’s admiration and love? Did I even know what love was? It would certainly never make a man feel as I did right now.

  Slapping a palm over my chest, I felt the vial of dark ointment. The person this stuff would help me to see could restore my power? How great would that be? Albeit I had no clue what those powers once were. But certainly they should keep a woman from chiding me in front of others as if I were a child.

  I strolled past a glossy black BMW beaded with rain. Nice ride. Would driving a fancy car gain Libby’s respect?

  “Bonjour, mon ami!”

  I spun around to find a water-soaked woman standing at the curb on the other side of Libby’s hearse. Rain plastered muddy-colored hair to her round face. “Hello?”

  “My name’s Hester. I saw you inside.”

  “You’re a witch?”

  She nodded. Wide brown eyes blinked beneath a fall of soaked bangs. “Your girlfriend shouldn’t have spoken to such a big, strong man as you like that.”

  “I, uh...” No, she should not have. But she wasn’t my girlfriend. Libby was a friend who was a girl. “It’s okay. She’s uh...protective.” Of herself, not me.

  Hester sighed and walked around to my side of the car, leaning against the door and crossing her arms over a shapeless long brown dress as she looked up at me. She had to—the woman personified short and stout. “Libertie St. Charles doesn’t realize how lucky she is.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Look at you. The epitome of l’homme! Every witch at the bazaar couldn’t keep her eyes from you.”

  “Why? Do I not dress correctly? Libby told me this shirt was standard for most men. I should have worn the tie. It looked so uncomfortable.”

  “Oh, monsieur, they couldn’t stop looking at you because you are so handsome.”

  I straightened and lifted my chest. “Really?”

  “Best looking man for kilometers.”

  I shrugged subtly. For kilometers? That covered quite a lot of area.

  “I heard about you getting your earthbound soul,” Hester said. “That is remarkable. But now you’re just going to stick with Libby?”