That Voodoo You Do: That Old Black Magic, Book 1

by Jodi Redford

  Her body heated all over again at the remembrance of their lovemaking. It’d been a perfect union of two souls. The only dark spot was Griff hadn’t said he loved her. She knew he did. There was no mistaking it in the way he touched her, and she could see it in the depths of his eyes every time he looked at her. Still, it didn’t quite extinguish the tiny ache of disappointment that sat like a stone in her heart.

  “Ready?”

  She glanced at Griff as he buttoned his shirt. The cornflower blue of the tailored shirt really popped against his golden skin and sun-kissed hair. He was so breathtakingly gorgeous she could actually feel her knees liquefying. The fact that he could have any woman he wanted wasn’t lost on her.

  The stone in her heart doubled in size. Maybe she was just imagining something that wasn’t there in his touch. In his eyes. Sure, there was no mistaking their sexual chemistry, but maybe what she mistook for love was only Griff’s natural protectiveness. And wouldn’t that just make her a pathetic loser?

  Before Griff could offer his arm, she escaped into the hall and sucked in a deep breath. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. And really, considering she needed to figure out how to take down a ghost and stop a zombie uprising, she didn’t have time to puzzle out her mixed-up love life.

  Downstairs, she followed the low buzz of voices to the parlor. Logan and Clarissa immediately stopped their conversation the instant she walked into the room. She cocked an eyebrow. “Talking about me?”

  A flush crawled along Clarissa’s neck. “No, not at—”

  “Yep,” Logan butted in.

  Clarissa’s glare threatened to incinerate. “You’re about as subtle as a flying mallet.”

  “Maggot? Now is that any name to be calling me, shug?”

  “I said mallet. Not—” Clarissa broke off with a growl when Logan flashed his incisors in a grin. “You are living proof that a witch should never pick her familiar when she’s doped up on pain medication for a bad wisdom tooth.”

  Logan clucked his tongue. “Shit, I forgot all about that. How’s that tooth treating you these days anyway?”

  “I had it extracted years ago.” Clarissa’s narrowed eyes suggested that she wished the same could be said about Logan. She swiveled her focus to Jemma, her glower dissipating. “Actually, we were discussing how you got your magic fired up.”

  Which no doubt explained the vivid blush suddenly cresting Clarissa’s high cheekbones. Considering it’d been Logan doing the recounting, he’d probably been more than generous with the details. “Do you really think that’s all there is to it? That I can just snap my fingers and wham-blamo, Nettie’s defeated?”

  “No, I doubt it’ll be that simple or easy. But at least now we have a fighting chance of stopping her.” Clarissa settled in one of the ruby-red armchairs and swung one leg over the other. “I was thinking after dinner we could get started on your training. There are several exercises designed to hone your magic.”

  “Really?” She gave Clarissa a cautious look, praying that the exercise part didn’t entail breaking a sweat on some magical elliptical trainer from hell. Because that would really suck.

  Griff strode into the room, cutting the conversation short and distracting her with his luscious, woodsy smell. Ms. Peach came toddling in right behind him, a scowl on her face. “I’m giving that scatterbrained Gloria a piece of my mind. She left two burners unattended on the stove. It’s a damn miracle the place didn’t catch on fire.”

  Clarissa wagged a finger. “There will be no bickering tonight, only celebration.”

  “No bickering?” Ms. Peach tossed up her hands. “We might as well keep our dang mouths shut the entire night.”

  “Fabulous idea.” Nodding exuberantly, Clarissa abandoned the chair and ushered everyone into the hallway.

  During the walk to the kitchen, Griff stayed glued to Jemma’s side. As if submitting to some compulsion to constantly touch her, he stroked her arm, his fingertips grazing her skin. She glanced up and caught him watching her. The electrical sizzle that passed between them couldn’t be her imagination. No way. They’d crossed a major threshold in their relationship tonight, one that went far beyond friendship, or even the boundaries of a witch and her familiar.

  She almost tripped over her own feet when the last part of that thought sank into her consciousness.

  A witch and her familiar.

  Other than the time she’d teased Griff about being his boss, she’d never taken the notion too seriously. To her, Griff would always be the man she loved, not her whiskered sidekick. Frankly, she didn’t give a flying monkey about the role assigned to him. But that didn’t mean others were in agreement with her line of thinking, which probably explained Griff’s reticence.

  Deliberately slowing her pace to keep the others out of earshot, she frowned up at Griff. “What exactly happened in your meeting with the guild leader earlier?”

  Wariness briefly stole across Griff’s face before he managed to snuff it. He opened his mouth—no doubt to utter a big, fat lie—and she squeezed his wrist in warning. “Save it. I can already guess what went down. The guild can threaten us all they want, it’s not going to stop me from loving you. And once this ghost and zombie business is put to the grave, I’ll have a talk with the guild myself.”

  “Jemma, it won’t make any difference. The contract—”

  “Fuck the contract. If nothing else, this entire experience has taught me that life is too short and precious not to go after the one person in this world who makes me happy and complete. If those assholes in the guild don’t like it, too damn bad.”

  Leaving Griff standing there in mute bemusement, she marched into the kitchen. Beneath the glow of candlelight, the dining table practically groaned under the weight of countless platters of food. She sent Clarissa a wry look. “Jeez, you weren’t kidding about the celebration.”

  Clarissa patted the chair at the head of the table. “And as our honored guest, you get the best seat in the house.”

  Nothing like putting the pressure on. If her magic proved to be merely a pretty light show, all this royal treatment would be for nothing. Choking down that bitter reality pill, she settled in the proffered seat. Griff took the chair to her right while Logan grabbed the one to her left. Suddenly recounting the amazing sexcapade they’d enacted no more than twenty feet away from where they sat, a wave of self-consciousness swamped her.

  “What’s the matter, sugar? Your cheeks are all flushed.”

  She peeked at Logan. Noticing his wicked grin, she pretended sudden interest in her cutlery.

  Ms. Peach shuffled into the nook, hot on Gloria’s heels. “Where the devil were you?”

  Clarissa gave an exasperated sigh. “Would you stop badgering Gloria and come eat?”

  Grumbling beneath her breath, the elderly woman settled across from Clarissa and snapped her napkin open. Her smile painfully tight, Clarissa nodded toward Gloria. “You really outdid yourself. Everything looks fantastic.”

  That was putting it lightly. Jemma stared at the succulent standing rib roast holding center court on the table, her mouth watering. “How in the world did you have time to fix all of this?” It was particularly a mystery considering the only thing cooking in the kitchen an hour ago had been Griff’s sex sauce.

  Gloria shrugged. “It helps having a magic oven.”

  Jemma’s attention veered to the stainless-steel appliance. “I don’t suppose they sell those at Home Depot?”

  Tittering in amusement, Gloria circled the table, ladling out portions of a thick, cream-based soup. Jemma leaned forward for a closer inspection, the sweet and savory aroma flirting with her senses. “Is this crab bisque?”

  Gloria lowered the crock to a waiting hot pad. “Griffin insisted it be on the menu.”

  “He did?” She swung her focus to Griff, her heart swelling with the knowledge that he not only knew what her favorite dish was, but made sure she was treated to it. Feeling a little sappy that the gesture managed to bring tears to her eyes, she
cleared her throat. “You did request the calorie-free version, right?” Hey, a gal could dream.

  For the next ten minutes or so, the sound of busy utensils competed with the occasional hum of conversation. Eventually the surrounding voices became blurry and faint, a muffled soundtrack as Jemma struggled to stay awake long enough to cut a bite-sized portion of the rib roast. Her forearm weak and heavy, she attempted to slice through the slab of meat resting on her plate but the knife kept slipping. She struggled to contain a yawn. Maybe she should have taken Griff’s suggestion and snuck in a nap before coming downstairs. She lifted her head, the motion an extreme effort, and noticed that everyone else seemed to be suffering even worse states of drowsiness.

  All except for Gloria, who was staring at her with an eerie intensity. The cook lifted from her seat, her flip-flops oddly silent during her approach. As Gloria neared, her eyes grew darker, revealing pinpoints of brilliant light swirling in her pupils.

  Jemma’s befuddled mind tried to piece together where she’d seen those lights before. Suddenly it came to her. They were the same ones that’d led her to Nettie. Oh shit. She fumbled for the knife on her plate, her sluggish limbs refusing to cooperate. Finally she got a grip on the utensil and swiped a clumsy jab at Gloria.

  Effortlessly knocking the potential weapon aside, Gloria offered a chilling smile. “Now, now. That’s a fine way to treat the woman who’s taking you to your destiny.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Something was terribly wrong. He just couldn’t focus his thoughts enough to figure out exactly what. Prying his eyes open, Griffin peered around the table. Food. Mountains of it. He could still detect the lingering taste of crushed rosemary from some phantom meal. No, recent. For God’s sake, why wouldn’t his damn brain function properly? Uttering a growl that sounded strangely garbled, he tore his scrutiny from the barely touched feast and glanced toward the unconscious diner across the way.

  Logan. Griffin frowned, trying to make sense of why the werewolf would be sacked out at the table, his face buried in a plate of uneaten roast pork. A moan came from the vicinity of the floor, and he spotted Clarissa struggling to push onto her elbows.

  Disjointed images flashed through his mind, all of them circling back to one in particular. Bowls of crab bisque. Jemma’s fav—

  Some of his brain fog cleared and the dim echo of a warning signal buzzed through the haze. He wrenched his head in the direction of Jemma’s chair, the mental alarm shrilling louder at the sight of her empty seat.

  Another groan floated from Clarissa. “Gloria…took…”

  It all came rushing back. The sudden lethargy that’d crashed over him. The distant sounds of a struggle, right before he’d blacked out.

  “Have to…stop…her.” Clarissa pushed up another inch before her limbs gave out, sprawling her back onto the floor.

  Battling against the heavy tide of fatigue dulling his reflexes, Griffin clawed at the arms of his chair, attempting to leverage himself off the seat. Whatever spell or potion Gloria had slipped into their food refused to loosen its grip. Clenching his teeth in a grimace of determination, he mentally visualized himself yanking free of the invisible shackles pinning him in place. The mind trick wasn’t easy, and it seemed hours passed before he felt the first restraint weaken and finally snap. After that initial crack, the others broke with little resistance.

  His mobility restored, he surged to his feet and raced toward the doorway. He slammed into an energy field that made him yelp and fall backward. Gloria had erected a reverse ward, imprisoning them inside the kitchen. Her abilities didn’t allow for such magic. Nettie must have somehow transferred her power to Gloria.

  Clarissa was his only hope of destroying the ward. He rushed back to her side and tugged her into a sitting position. Her eyelids drooped and he shook her forcefully. “Damn it, stay with me.”

  “Have to make…spell…breaker.” Her head bobbing, Clarissa slumped against his side. There was no way in hell she’d stay conscious long enough to do it, which meant it’d be up to him.

  He didn’t know the first thing about spell breakers. “Son of a bitch.”

  Gloria’s Volkswagen Rabbit careened around a hairpin turn, nearly toppling Jemma into the lap of the male zombie sitting to the right of her on the backseat. An ominous sound rumbled from the creature’s throat, but fortunately it appeared the corpse had forgotten to put his dentures in. Unless he planned to gum her death, she was safe for the moment.

  Her useless limbs flopping, she wiggled onto her side of the car and stared at the back of Gloria’s headrest. “Please don’t do this. You can fight Nettie’s ghostie mind control.”

  Gloria’s eerily glowing eyes met Jemma’s in the rearview mirror. “Why would I want to do that? She’s offering us the one true way.”

  Frustration welled inside her chest. “Her way is death for us all.”

  “Yep, it’s perfect.” Gloria’s attention returned to the road. “Life is so messy and complicated. In fact, before mistress Nettie summoned me into the woods tonight, I was tearing my hair out, stressing over which cake I should enter in the Kitchen Witches’ bake-off.”

  “Kitchen Witches?” She had no idea what that was, but if it’d made Gloria tear her hair out, it must be important.

  “I’ve been trying to get into their club for years. Obviously those old biddies don’t understand much less appreciate nouveau cuisine. Mistress Nettie helped me see the truth about those jealous bitches.” The lights dancing in Gloria’s eyes flickered for a moment before shining brighter. “Mistress Nettie just wants me to be happy. She’s the only one who does, you know.”

  Was that how Nettie had managed to worm her way inside Gloria’s mind? By convincing Gloria she cared about her? Jesus. Griff was right. Nettie was a master manipulator.

  “Nettie doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you. Not like Clarissa and Ms. Peach do.”

  “They don’t care about me. Not like Mistress Nettie does.” The conviction in Gloria’s tone clashed with the creepy flatness of her expression. “As far as Clarissa and Peach are concerned, I’m just the hired help. Someone to cook their meals and boss around.”

  “No, you’re wrong. They love you.” Jemma wracked her brain, desperately fishing for something that might break through Gloria’s trance. “And remember all the compliments they gave you at dinner tonight? They meant every single one of them. They appreciate you, Gloria. More than you realize.”

  “All I remember is Peach crabbing at me.”

  Shit. This wasn’t going well. “I’m sure it was only because she was worried about you.”

  “I could drop dead and she wouldn’t shed a tear.”

  The irony of that statement wasn’t exactly lost on her. “Gloria, if you don’t start fighting Nettie’s mind control, we’re all going to drop dead.”

  “I know. It’s the one true way.”

  Ah crap. They were back to that again.

  Gloria took another sharp turn, smacking Jemma into the armrest. The corpse uttered a string of monosyllabic grunts, and Gloria snorted. “My driving ain’t gonna kill ya, moron. You’re already dead.”

  Holy crap. Gloria knew how to speak zombie now? Before Jemma could ponder that further, Gloria accelerated, sending the vehicle speeding through a vaporous mist. The Volkswagen’s headlights washed over a cluster of shadows moving up ahead. Pressing her cheek against the windowpane, Jemma stared at the assembly of corpses shambling along the side of the road. She managed to count at least twenty zombies before the car zipped past, leaving the creatures to eat their trail of exhaust. Oh man, she had a bad feeling those corpses weren’t on a pilgrimage to a Grateful Dead concert.

  They traveled a short distance farther before Gloria veered off the main street and onto a narrow, one-lane road. The night suddenly seemed denser, more oppressive. Even the moonlight seemed diluted and murky compared to five seconds ago. They drove a few more minutes before she spotted a vine-infested gate topping a small rise. Gloria stomped on the
brake, pitching Jemma and her zombie warden into the backs of the driver and passenger seats. While the corpse jabbered his annoyance, Gloria climbed from the vehicle. Tugging open the rear door, she yanked Jemma from the seat. Her limbs uncooperative, Jemma tumbled onto a patch of heat-scorched turf.

  “Yo, Bubba, get your boney dead ass over here and help me get her up the hill.”

  The lurching, uneven tread of footsteps crunching through the dried grass announced the zombie’s approach. An instant later, Jemma’s arms were practically wrenched from their sockets when Gloria and Bubba hauled her onto her feet and began trudging toward the gate. As they got closer, Jemma could make out the filigreed sign with the word Cemetery topping the center posts.

  Oh shit. Nothing like walking into the middle of what amounted to a huge zombie manufacturing facility. Panic sluicing through her veins, she tried to slow their advance by dragging her sandals along the ground. Hell, just because she had no control over her body didn’t mean she couldn’t make it work for her somehow. Unfortunately she didn’t count on Gloria catching onto her scheme. Slinging an arm around Jemma’s waist so her feet no longer hampered their progress, Gloria snapped at Bubba to pick up his pace. They reached the gate and it automatically opened with a screechy whine that sounded like it came straight from a horror flick.

  A field of headstones stretched before them, the majority of markers half-buried by overgrown thickets of grass. Jemma tried not to think about the countless graves they were stepping over as they made their way to an ornate marker resting in front of a gnarled oak tree. A breeze rustled the air, making the Spanish moss curtaining the tree flutter and dance. Gloria and Bubba halted, their expressions taking on an enraptured intensity that made Jemma’s skin break out in goose bumps. The sensation doubled when a ghostly whisper brushed against her ear.