This Soul Magic

by Michele Hauf

  “Well, I—”

  “There’s a whole world of women out there to bond with— Uh, what’s your name?”

  “Reichardt.”

  “Such a manly, powerful name.”

  Everything this stout woman said lifted me higher. I liked talking with her. My head wasn’t so muddled as it was with Libby when all I could do was think with my—well, my cock. The darned thing wasn’t even hard right now, and that was fine by me. I didn’t need that distraction to have a conversation with a woman.

  “I wonder if you’d like to bond with me?” Hester asked.

  She touched my forearm, which initially made me flinch. I’d never been touched by a woman, save for Libby and her sister. I relaxed and resumed calm. Because I was a man, as she’d said, and a handsome one at that.

  “Bond? I’m not sure I understand, little one?”

  She twisted her head down and blushed, despite the chilly rain sprinkles. “Little one. You’re a charmer, Reichardt. I know you’d give me whatever I asked for.”

  “Well, I would certainly consider it. What do you need?”

  “It’s a bonding love spell I’ve been honing. Your blood is one of the ingredients. First we need to make you compliant.”

  She pressed both hands to each of my shoulders, her fingers digging in, and a strange electrical shock surged through my system. My fingers stiffened at my sides. The woman was somehow controlling me, forcing agonizing pain through my system.

  “Reichardt!”

  I heard Libby’s voice, and just as my mind teased blackness, the electrifying connection ceased, and I fell to my knees, depleted and huffing.

  Hester went soaring over the hood of the car to land on her hands and knees before Libby. With a growl of warning, Libby lifted her up by the hair and slammed her against the iron street pole. “What in Herne’s hair are you up to, you little troll?”

  “Release me,” Hester cried. “Or I’ll invoke the witches’ rede against causing one another harm, and you’ll have the entire bazaar on your ass, Libertie St. Charles.”

  Libby pushed away from the stout witch and, with hands on hips, stepped back, lifted her chin and looked down over the woman. “Keep your hands off my man,” she said.

  Her man? I bowed my head and caught my palms on the wet tarmac. She’d claimed me as her own, but in a manner that didn’t jibe with how I expected. It was such a personal claim. It felt...strange. Like I was a possession, or just another herb she’d stuff in a bottle and set on her shelf for display.

  Was Hester right? Should I keep my options open and check out other women before settling with Libby? Bond with her? Whatever she’d done to me had hurt like hell.

  Libby’s high heels splashed through puddles and around the front of the car and she bent over beside me. Her voice softened from the stern and authoritative tone she’d used with Hester. “Oh, lover, what did she do to you?”

  “Not sure. Her touch shocked through my system. Another few seconds and I would have blacked out.”

  “Let’s get you home and take care of you.” She began to help me to my feet, but I shoved her away. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can do this myself. I am a man, Libby. I don’t need you to coddle me.”

  She pouted, and at sight of those luscious red lips that always felt so good against my mouth, I winced and apologized. I clasped her hand as I stood to give her the idea that she was helping. “Take me home,” I said. “And...take care of me.”

  For now. Until I learned more about all those women who thought me handsome and who wished to bond with me.

  The driver’s door opened and Libby got in, infusing the interior with her light and energetic air. “I smoothed things over with Reginald,” she said. “The guy you almost punched.”

  “Why? I wasn’t in the wrong.”

  Libby sighed. “I know how you saw it, lover boy. You wanted to protect me from some perceived threat. But I was completely safe.”

  “It wasn’t a perceived threat. He touched you! And you admonished me in front of him.” I slammed my arms across my chest. “Made me feel less than a man.”

  “Oh.”

  I pulled from her touch, yet it hurt in my heart to pull away from Libby and her bright, bold air. “And then with Hester—”

  “What about with Hester? She was hurting you. Using some kind of magnetic earth magic on you.”

  “She mentioned something about bonding with me. That woman’s form of bonding hurts.”

  “Bonding? But that means— Oh. I’m glad I got here when I did.”

  “Yes, but you charged out and treated me like a child again.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. You’re an amazing man, Reichardt.”

  “I have done nothing to earn your praise. I want to be worthy of you, Libby. I want to be strong and as powerful as I once was.” I met her gaze and swallowed down a choking gasp. So beautiful yet... Did her eyes water? What had I said to make her upset? “Don’t cry. I’ve been cruel. I shouldn’t—”

  “It’s not sad crying,” she rushed out. “It’s emotion welling up and spilling over. Of course every witch in Paris will try to bespell you, one way or another. And bond with you. You’re hot and sexy and—”

  “Sexy?”

  Sniffling, she nodded. “So sexy you take my breath away.”

  I liked the sound of that.

  “This is going to be hard for the two of us,” Libby explained. “I’ve already fallen madly head over heels for you, and yet I realize I know nothing about you at all. And how can I?”

  Yes, how could she love me when I couldn’t grasp the meaning of that word?

  “You’re like a newborn learning about life and emotion,” she continued. “Yet you have a secret past. What did you do when you weren’t collecting souls? There are things in your apartment, tiny clues to your life, like the Jewish badge. Don’t you want to know what that’s about?”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps—”

  “And you. You think you want me, but what about all the other women out there?”

  Did they all think me handsome? A man really should look into that.

  “I’m being possessive,” Libby confessed.

  “Maybe a little.” I leaned over the seat and stroked the wet fringes that wiggled into waves high on her thigh. Her skin was warm and sprinkled with rain, and when she placed her hand over mine, I turned mine up to clasp her fingers. “Did you talk to CJ?”

  She nodded. “He said you could stop by anytime.”

  “How about now?”

  She chuckled. “You want to get into my pants that badly, eh?”

  “You’re not wearing pants. And I don’t think a pair of your pants would fit me, Libby.”

  “It’s a figure of speech. It means you want to do somethin’ somethin’ with me.”

  “Somethin’ somethin’?”

  Her mouth curved into that soft, alluring bow and she whispered, “Sex.”

  The word curled inside my head with a teasing finger colored hot candy-red like Libby’s hair. “Yes, sex appeals to me. And to hold you close and caress your curves is all I can think about. Is that wrong?”

  “It means you’re a man.”

  “That I am,” I said proudly.

  She leaned over and bumped foreheads with me. “Kiss me, Reichardt.”

  I threaded my fingers up through her wavy sports-car hair. I was feeling more confident with the kiss, and realized the talent was in letting go. Not thinking too much. And doing what felt natural.

  Libby’s mouth felt like summer and warmth. Her breath mingling with mine worked an alchemy I felt sure none of the witches inside the bazaar could ever master. But how did I know? And when the tip of her tongue dashed out and met mine I was initially startled, and then I tried the same move. Mmm...I liked that.

  Diving inside her lush, sweet mouth, I danced with her tongue, inhaling the lingering notes of coffee, and then slicked across her teeth and painted her lips. She hummed in satisfaction, and I slid a ha
nd down to cup behind her hip. My fingers always seemed to fit there. Pulling her closer, I moved across the seat and leaned over her. She smelled like frankincense and tasted like dark coffee with a touch of softness because she liked cream in her brew.

  “You’re good at this,” she whispered. “Makes my toes curl.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “That’s a very good thing, lover boy. You sure you want to go to CJ’s right now? Maybe we could stop by your place first and make out on the new couch? I’m feeling frisky.”

  “Frisky sounds like fun.”

  Three

  My brand-new mortal guy had mastered kissing, as far as I was concerned. We embraced on the black leather sofa before the rain-streaked window that looked over the Seine, which glittered with streetlights.

  Reichardt fluttered soft kisses from my mouth to tasting licks down my neck. It was as if he were learning every inch of my skin, tasting me, recording the smell, touch and tone of me. And, oh, did I want him to take his time.

  He looked up, his kaleidoscope eyes bright. “Can I...” His fingers skated along my ribs, nudging up toward my breast. “Touch you here? I feel them against my chest, so big and soft, and—”

  “Yes,” I gasped. “Go for it. Oh...”

  His intimately curious touch arrested my heartbeats. Tentative at first, he traced the generous curve of one breast through my dress, gliding slowly to the dip between them and up the other double-D side. With a gleeful smile overtaking his normally serious expression, he caressed each one gently, then a little firmer, as if to weigh them.

  His lacking experience kept me guessing at what his next move would be, and that was startlingly hot. A gentle squeeze here, and then he strolled his palm across a nipple, which was tight and hard beneath my dress. And then he tongued the cleavage where I always dabbed a touch of vanilla.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said on a sigh. “I like that.”

  “You smell like cookies here. I want to taste them like I did your lips and neck.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I shrugged a shoulder to slip down a sleeve. The elastic neckline allowed for easy access. “I think you should.”

  Reichardt slid the polka-dotted fabric down my arm, kissing my skin and exposing the tops of each breast. A buxom girl like me had to wear a bra, but the sheer fabric was thin enough to feel his heat. Stroking softly, all five fingertips moved over my skin, painting indelible designs of desire in their wake.

  “You are made of softness and fire,” he whispered. “Amazing to touch.”

  Both his hands cupped me firmly. His eyes widened, a little boy who’d finally gotten his hands into the candy jar. His mouth moved slowly over my flesh as if pinpointing each and every pore, taking my measure. Owning me in ways he could never comprehend. Alchemizing a new kind of magic that I had every desire to learn and would fall to my knees to succumb to.

  And when his mouth hovered over a nipple, still covered by the sheer bra, I moaned for his achingly sweet touch. In anticipation, I squeezed my legs together, which heightened the coiling hum at my core.

  “Reichardt, you should know what you’re doing is just right. It makes me...Oh.”

  A bend of his finger pulled the bra cup away to reveal my nipple. He paused, his parted lips but a breath above the tightly ruched bud. “It makes you...?”

  “Breathless,” I managed. “So good. Like it. Don’t stop.”

  His tongue twisted about the nipple, setting free my long moan and coaxing my spine into a wanting arch that hugged my stomach up against his rigid chest.

  “I like this,” he said around my flesh. “You are a vast variety of textures and tones. I get a new sound from you with every different way I touch you.”

  I couldn’t help a giggle.

  “You see?” he said with his own chuffing smirk.

  A dash of his tongue frenzied my want. A tickle here, a slashing stroke there. Yes, the man was playing me like an instrument, producing new sounds, finding interesting scales to trace with his tongue. He wasn’t near to composing a symphony, but I wanted to be his muse.

  I glided my fingers down his back, wishing he’d taken off his shirt. I needed to touch hot man muscle! Yet his intent suckling at my nipple, soft and then harder, teased me to an edge I could trip over and fall off, arms out and eyes closed. All Reichardt had to do was catch me in his big, strong arms.

  Then the hot, wet sensation stopped, and he switched to my other nipple, but kept his fingers tight about the wet bud. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess he had done this to other women, many times. But he had not. And that he was learning on me, and so quickly, was amazing.

  “Libby.”

  “What, lover?”

  “Is this called bonding?”

  “Uh, well, yes. A little. Sort of?” When certain paranormal breeds bonded, it was a soul thing. Witches did not. But soul bringers? Who could know?

  He suddenly looked down his abdomen, and I figured he’d gotten a hard-on again. Did the poor guy not know what to do with it? He really did need to talk to another man, because while I was perfectly confident with telling a man how to please me, I was a little skittish about explaining the working mechanics of his own body.

  So I had my weak points. A girl couldn’t rock it all the time.

  “It’s what’s supposed to happen,” I reassured him.

  But the man backed off, kneeling back on the sofa and leaving my breasts bare, wet and aching.

  “I need to talk to CJ,” he said, easing a palm over his groin. “Soon.”

  I nodded effusively and pulled up my bra straps.

  “No,” he said, tugging down my hands. “Let me look at them. You are a goddess, Libby. And your breasts are— I don’t even know what to say.” He actually blushed. “I like the feel of them in my mouth.”

  His words worked the same kind of alchemy his tongue on my skin had. Basking in his adoration, I closed my eyes and stretched out before him, thrusting back a shoulder like some kind of retro sex kitten posing for the month of August. Let him look all he liked. I’d never felt so sexy in my entire life.

  * * *

  As the head Archivist, CJ was working at the Council archives today but had invited me over in the evening for a guy chat. With Libby at home stirring up spells, I decided to wander out on my own, the address the witch at the bazaar had given me in hand.

  I had to ask many times for directions, and one man told me to get a cell phone with GPS. I had no idea what GPS was, or why I would need a phone to find a location, so I marked it off as Mohawk-induced anger as the man had sported a yellow jut of hair down the middle of his scalp and many fierce tattoos.

  Tattoos were neat. And apparently, Libby liked men with tattoos. Hmm...I had one on my chest. A bunch of blue dots. Not sure what it meant. That whole forgetting everything about my former life was not neat. I thought I’d like to get a tattoo from an ink witch that had meaning to me. But what spell did I need?

  “Strength,” I muttered, and wandered onward. “I will get it back.”

  I strolled down the street, nodding to a vendor who hawked crepes with thick, oozing chocolate syrup, and decided to purchase one on my way home. Libby’s crepes were great, but she always sprinkled them with fruit and flaxseed that got stuck in my teeth. Oozing chocolate seemed the better way to go.

  I didn’t recognize any residence or store front yet suddenly remembered the black ointment the old witch had given me. Drawing it from a pocket, I opened the vial. The stuff smelled sweet and sparkled. For a man who was trying desperately to regain his sense of manliness, I didn’t see the purpose in painting women’s sparkly stuff on my eyes.

  Did I want this enough to go with eye shadow?

  “Yes, I want my powers back. I need them to be what Libby wants. Here goes.”

  I dipped in a finger and smeared a thin line under each eye. With a blink, I looked around.

  And the world changed.The woman walking toward me in a pink skirt and popping her bubble gum suddenly grew wings and
elongated arms. The wings fluttered as she passed me by, sweetening the air with a swish. I spun, marveling at her retreat, and she turned and sneered and called me a pervert.

  I turned back around and saw two more people with wings. “Faeries?”

  Yet among the winged creatures appeared to be normal mortals, going about their business, buying crepes and chatting over a newspaper. It was as if two worlds were superimposed upon one another—the mortal realm and a different realm, one of the faeries.

  And then I noticed—sandwiched between two larger houses—a narrow house that hadn’t been there before. The wood door was painted bright magenta and...sparkled. I bet if I hadn’t been wearing the ointment I would’ve merely seen a space there, sky instead of the faery home.

  Intrigued, I skipped up the steps and strode the long path between high hedgerows to the front door. Before I could knock, the door swung inward of its own volition. I entered a narrow hallway steeped in incense and wispy white smoke.

  “Hello?”

  No answer.

  Compelled forward, I walked to an open archway and peered through the long strands of closely spaced hanging beads. A woman stood with her back to me, her arms posed in a crook with hands flat as if she were an Indian goddess. Cranberries entwined with glossy leaves crowned her ruby hair.

  “Uh, I was sent here by a witch...” I realized I had no physical proof of invitation or the witch’s name.

  “Enter,” the woman said in dulcet tones that seemed to dance into my chest and wiggle there, which made me smile.

  She pointed to the left, and I walked in and took in the small half-circle room. Didn’t seem as if it made sense that it would fit, because from the outside the hallway had seemed to take up the whole space between the two buildings.

  “You are Kryatron, Angel of the Seventh Soul.”

  Heartbeats suddenly pausing, I almost fell to my knees. How could she know? And yet, did she know? Was that—had that been my angelic name?

  She turned and cast her violet gaze upon me. White arabesques that looked like reverse tattoos decorated her face and bare arms. Bright silks swung across her skin, covering her intimate parts yet revealing a sleek, elongated form that glinted with faery dust.