Always Look Twice

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  “Yes. There’s a monster in the mirror and it’s hurting you.”

  “Then how come I don’t feel anything? Whatever you’re looking at isn’t real,” he told her. “It’s just an illusion.”

  “Stay with me, anyway.”

  “Will I get laid?”

  Olivia almost laughed, almost cried, wishing he could see what the entity inside the glass was doing to him. The marks on his body, the poison sluicing through his veins.

  Did it matter that it was an owl? A witch could make any animal attack its victim. Real animals. Supernatural beings. There was no escape.

  She watched his blood fall, running in scarlet rivulets. “Just pack your damn bags.”

  He grinned. “What if those creatures with the big dicks show up?”

  Frustrated, she tore a pillow off the bed and threw it at him. He caught it, then tossed it at the mirror. It rattled the glass and plopped to the floor.

  His reflection returned to normal.

  “Is it gone?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. But now the pillow was bleeding, dying right before her eyes.

  He picked it up and placed it back on the bed, fluffing it just so, unable to see the crimson stain on his hands.

  Walking past him, she opened the closet and began folding his clothes, forcing Agent West to come home with her.

  “Am I safe now?” West asked.

  “Don’t be a smart-ass.” Olivia lay next to him in her bed. Didn’t he realize the sacrifice she was making to accommodate him? She’d never lived with a man before. She’d never shared her space, her belongings or her freedom with a lover. “You’re just damn lucky to have me in your corner.”

  “Oh, yeah. This is every guy’s dream. Being protected by a woman.”

  “Get over the macho crap, West.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Screw you, too.” Angry now, she rolled on top of him, pinning him beneath her. “Female body inspector, my ass.”

  He smiled, and she knew she’d been had. He was trying to rile her, trying to get her in the mood for some down-and-dirty sex.

  She did her damnedest not to return his smile. “You’re such a jerk.”

  “Yeah, but that’s why you love me.”

  Love him? “Dream on, FBI man.”

  “I will if you let me inspect your bod.” He turned the tables, rolling her onto her back and climbing on top of her, taking the position of power.

  She looked up at him. Tall, dark, Agent West. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still see the owl clawing his skin, making him bleed. “You need to get over your death wish.”

  He lowered his head to kiss her, to rub his mouth against hers, teasing her, promising more. “Don’t blame that witchy stuff on me.”

  “You’re an easy target.”

  “Because I’m not afraid of dying? That’s not why the killer is after me.”

  “I know. But it makes you more susceptible to a spell. Every time you scoff at the magic, you’re putting yourself in danger.”

  “Yeah, but you said it yourself. I’m the one who’s going to identify the Slasher. And that gives me power.”

  She glanced at the mirrored closet doors, but there was nothing there. No human-size owl, no talons, no blood.

  Shifting her gaze to West, she released the air in her lungs. He was still straddling her. Big and strong and unharmed. “Your power is between your legs.”

  He grinned and lifted her nightgown, peeling the garment over her head. Then he attacked her panties, tugging the swatch of lace. “Me and those Muscogee penis monsters.”

  Naked, she arched against him. “Don’t start.”

  “I wasn’t making them up.” He explored her body, molding her like clay, roaming her curves. “They really are part of my culture. Part of the folklore.”

  She spread her thighs, taking what he offered. “What a legacy.”

  He used his fingers, making her wet. “Yeah.”

  Aroused, she cupped his jaw to kiss him, to push her tongue down his throat. They rolled over the bed, whispering erotic things in each other’s ears.

  He used his teeth, nibbling, biting, leaving marks on her shoulders. She dragged off his shirt and put her hands all over his chest, over hard planes and male muscle, over flesh that was warm and solid and real.

  She looked into his eyes, and their gazes locked. Iced metal, she thought. Smoked steel. He confused her. He made her head spin.

  His hair fell in licorice disarray, more black than brown, an optical illusion in the shadowed light.

  When he kissed her, he tasted like mint, like a toothpaste-flavored liqueur. She deepened the kiss, trying to get drunk, to lose herself, to teeter on the edge of sanity.

  Mindless, she wanted more, as much of him as she could get. Stripping off the remainder of his clothes, she went down on him, taking him in her mouth.

  He grabbed her waist, maneuvering her, shifting her body. Within seconds her legs were sprawled over his face, so he could pleasure her, too.

  Sixty-nine, she thought. The ultimate foreplay.

  She glanced at the mirror and saw their reflections. They were like acrobats, arching and stretching, the low-burning lamp showering them in midnight hues. He painted her with his tongue, his saliva warm and moist.

  She shuddered under his touch, knowing he was more than a lover, more than a vehicle for her desire. Somewhere along the way, he’d become part of her emotions, part of something that mattered.

  For a moment she wanted to end their relationship, to stop giving a damn about him, but she climaxed instead, coming all over him.

  He tasted her release, sipping her like wine. She blinked, tried to clear her senses, then realized his erection still filled her mouth.

  Heaven help her, she thought. Down-and-dirty sex.

  He didn’t let her bring him to oral fruition. He was more than ready to make love, to battle the condom box he’d stuffed in her nightstand, to grab a foil packet and tear it open.

  Olivia was ready, too. She wanted him inside her, pumping hard and fast.

  He sheathed himself and thrust full hilt, leaving her breathless. When his hands sought hers, they held each other, fingers locked, bodies joined. He didn’t move. He just stared at her, his strange gray eyes absorbing every angle of her face.

  “Do something,” she said.

  “Do what?” he asked.

  She reared up to kiss him, to bite him, to tell him to pound her into the bed.

  He smiled, still clutching her hands.

  Then he went mad.

  Wicked, wild sex. A craving to mate. A man hell-bent on giving her what she wanted, what they both couldn’t live without.

  She gripped the headboard, blood roaring in her head, soaring through her veins. He drove himself into her, over and over, a rhythm that had her digging her nails into his skin.

  Restless, edgy, she fought to stay focused, to stop the delirium. But she couldn’t.

  Olivia climaxed, breathing in the scent of their love-making. The sweat. The pheromones. The anticipation.

  She looked into his eyes, watching, waiting, urging him on. And then it happened. He came, too, holding her close, his heart pounding next to hers.

  Like a storm, she thought. Like rain exploding from a dark and deadly sky.

  Before dawn, Olivia’s cell phone rang, jarring her awake. West awakened, too, flinging his arm in her direction.

  “It’s probably one of my clients,” she said, nearly knocking over the alarm clock to find the noisemaker.

  He grumbled, making a sour face, covering his head with a pillow. “Hell of a time to call someone.”

  She flipped open the receiver, walking away from her lover, taking the phone into her bathroom. Having a bed-mate, even a man she cared about, was a pain in the ass.

  “Hello?”

  “What took you so long to answer?” a male voice asked.

  She turned on the light. “Who is this?”

  “Derek Moon.”
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br />   She started, then caught her tired reflection in the mirror. “What do you want?”

  “To meet with you this morning.”

  “Why?”

  “To discuss your mother.”

  She leaned against the sink and glanced out the window, where twilight peeked through the bubbled glass. “You’re going to teach me her magic?”

  “Just meet with me. As soon as you can.”

  “Where?”

  “Peppermill Park.”

  “Fine. I’ll get ready now.” She closed the phone, ending the call, not quite sure what Derek had up his sleeve. And that meant she wasn’t about to tell West where she was going. She didn’t need him insisting on coming with her, not with the dark cloud hovering over his life. He was safer at home, away from Derek and his bag of tricks.

  She returned to her room and sat on the edge of the bed, removing the pillow from West’s head. “I have to go out.”

  He squinted at her, the light she’d left on in her bathroom illuminating him in a hazy glow. “At this hour? Why?”

  “Client emergency.”

  He sat up, the sheet slipping to his waist. He was naked, with his jaw unshaven and his hair falling across his forehead. All male and all rumpled. She had the sudden urge to kiss him, to nudge him onto the bed and straddle his lap. He was already half-hard, a mindless condition he didn’t seem to notice. That made it even sexier.

  But Derek Moon was expecting her.

  “What kind of client emergencies do psychics have?” he asked.

  Witch trials, she thought. “I’m a consultant. People need me.”

  He scratched his head, messing his hair up even more. “If you say so.”

  “I do.” Just to satisfy her craving, she gave him a quick kiss.

  He rewarded her with a smile. “You’re going to miss me when I’m gone.”

  “You wish.” She pushed him down and covered him with the sheet. “Now go back to sleep.”

  Within no time, he rolled over and conked out. The big bad agent and his big bad boner.

  Olivia got ready as quickly as she could, leaving the house in a red sweater and threadbare jeans, her boots sounding on the stairwell.

  She arrived at Peppermill Park just as daylight broke through the clouds, marking the dawn. Parking her Porsche on the street, she noticed the carnival rides and decided they were part of Derek’s plan.

  She located him at the chain-link fence that surrounded the lifeless carnival. He stood with his hands in his pockets, dressed as casually as she was.

  He turned and flashed a straight, white smile. “Olivia. Lovely as ever.”

  “This place isn’t open yet, Derek. The gate’s locked.”

  “So it is.” He took a small black bag out of his pocket, removed a pinch of glittery dust and blew it at the fence, making it turn watery, like a door to another dimension. “Abracadabra. Now we can go inside.”

  “Impressive.” And creepy, she thought, as she followed him into the carnival, the fence solidifying behind her.

  “What’s your favorite ride?” he asked.

  She looked around, deciding the Ferris wheel, the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Scrambler looked dangerous, particularly with a black magic witch at the helm.

  “The merry-go-round,” she told him.

  “Really? How sweet.” He escorted her to the canopied carousel, where pretty little ponies waited.

  She gave the fiberglass figures a suspicious glance. “They don’t bite, do they?”

  He chuckled. “They could, I suppose. But I didn’t ask you here to teach you your mother’s magic.” He gestured for her to take a seat, to straddle a white horse with a golden mane.

  She climbed into the saddle and watched him mount the polka-dotted equine next to her. “Then what’s this all about?”

  “The man Yvonne ran off with.”

  Her heart nearly stopped. “You know who he is?”

  “Yes. I’ve known for a while. But I didn’t want to tell you before now.”

  The merry-go-round started moving, turning in a circle, her horse going up and down, the brass-ring music chiming in the morning air.

  She told herself this wasn’t as bizarre as it seemed. “Who he is?”

  Derek’s pony bobbed, too, in an opposing rhythm. While she went up, he went down. “His name is Taylor Campbell. He’s a writer, dabbling in supernatural fiction. Wealthy by way of an inheritance. Eccentric. Reclusive. Bought an old castle in Ireland.” He held on to the gold pole in front of him, the merry-go-round still moving. “Yvonne admired his work. His creature-feature stories. She wrote to him, using a P.O. Box address. They started making plans to be together. He wanted her for his mistress.”

  “She’s been in Ireland all this time?”

  “Yes, under an assumed name. Taylor helped her change her identity. To become someone new.” Derek stroked his horse’s colorful mane, leaning forward to gaze at its frozen expression. “I didn’t know about this when it first happened. I found out about six months ago.”

  “How? Who told who?”

  “Taylor did. He contacted me, asking me to help him get rid of Yvonne. He was sick of her and her selfish ways.”

  “Get rid of her?” A chill clawed Olivia’s spine. “You mean kill her?”

  “No, dear.” Derek waved his arm and lowered the volume of the music. “He wanted me to cast a spell, to make her lose interest in him.”

  “And did you?”

  “No. I didn’t want to get involved, but I guess I should have. Things didn’t turn out too well.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Taylor got sick a few months later, and Yvonne disappeared with a bundle of his money.”

  “Is he still sick?” she asked.

  Derek shook his head. “He’s dead.”

  “From his illness?”

  “Yes.” He stopped the carousel, bringing it to an abrupt halt. “Witch sickness, if you ask me. I think Yvonne killed him.”

  Olivia didn’t know what to believe. At this point, her head was reeling. “She killed him, then someone killed her?”

  “So it seems.”

  “Why did Taylor contact you to begin with? How did he know about you?”

  “He said Yvonne told him who I was. She talked about everyone from her past. You and Allie, too.”

  She tried to picture her mother living in a castle in Ireland, wandering the dungeon, contemplating the family she’d left behind, describing them to Taylor Campbell. “Why are you sharing this information with me? Why the sudden change of heart?”

  His smiled, exposing a thin, sharp hint of his dazzling teeth. “Because I decided that I like you. You and your FBI lover. The least I could do is cooperate with your investigation.”

  She narrowed her gaze, shrinking him down to size. “And what do you expect in return? An invitation to our bedroom?”

  He shifted in his saddle, moving closer to the pole. “A ringside seat would be nice. You’re an erotic couple.”

  “Go suck a duck.”

  He chuckled, amused by her bravado. “You can’t blame a voyeur for trying.”

  “Are you done?” she asked. “Or is there more?”

  He made an empty gesture. “That’s it. I’ve told everything I know.”

  “Then let’s abracadabra out of here.”

  “Fine.” He climbed off the polka-dotted pony, and the merry-go-round started turning again, only a little faster this time.

  She vacated her horse, too. “That’s not funny, Derek.”

  His eyes grew wide. “I’m not doing this.”

  Yeah, right. Him and his witch humor. “Then who is? Me?”

  “How would I know? You—” He stopped in midsentence. “Look at your horse.”

  She turned her head, saw that it was shifting, changing, morphing into a robotic tiger. Not a real jungle animal, but one that was alive just the same.

  The tiger growled at Derek, baring its teeth. He took a step back, his face going pale.

 
; The merry-go-round twirled even faster.

  Olivia drew her weapon.

  Then lost sight of Derek.

  A pane of double-sided glass slammed between them.

  Within an instant, funhouse mirrors appeared out of thin air, zigzagging, bolting to the floor of the ride, distorting everything, making grotesque images out of the carousel horses.

  The tiger roared.

  Olivia spun around. Nothing but horses, warped shapes going up and down.

  Laughter sprang in the air.

  And then a man screamed.

  Derek?

  She called his name above the music. Was he doing this? Had he tricked her? She started darting through the maze, following contorted paths, doing her damnedest to find him, to separate mirrors from reality, but she kept bumping into glass.

  The merry-go-round changed direction, moving backward making her dizzy.

  Oh, God.

  She turned, froze, nearly stumbled over Derek’s mutilated body on the ground. Bile rose in her throat. Half of his head had been chewed off, his mangled brain oozing at her feet, sticking to her boots.

  An eerie sound. A low, warning growl.

  She took a deep breath, looked up.

  And saw the owl from West’s motel room staring right at her.

  Chapter 14

  The owl didn’t move. It simply watched her. A human-size raptor calculating its prey. But wasn’t that what it was? Owls were raptors, birds of prey.

  Olivia stepped forward, refusing to be intimated. The gunk beneath her boots made a squishing sound.

  Derek’s brains.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she said to the owl.

  In response, it angled its head.

  She tried to get a reading on who or what it was, but nothing happened. Moving closer, she caught her own reflection. The owl was inside a mirror, the way it had been in West’s motel room.

  Was that the creature’s shield? Its protection?

  Coward, she thought. “Why don’t you show your true colors?”

  Within an instant, the raptor accepted Olivia’s challenge and started shifting, changing, morphing into a woman.

  The beak became a full, sultry mouth and the wide, unblinking eyes narrowed into an exotic shape. Feathers lengthened into long black hair, coiled with a leather ornament. The only owl-like features that remained were the golden color of her eyes and two streaks of silver hair that framed her face, giving her a moonlit quality.