Kiss My Witch

by Amy Boyles

  Grandma smacked her lips together. "Well, I guess she told the both of you, didn't she?"

  I fished my lip gloss from my purse and applied a liberal coat. "I guess she did."

  I needed a walk to clear my head and calm my heart. Without a word, I left. Rick, our next-door neighbor and local heartthrob, pushed his lawn mower up and down the grass. I gave him a wave, doing my best not to stare at his sculpted stomach, and walked over to my car. A black SUV nosed down my street.

  My heart thundered against my rib cage. I waited until the vehicle reached my car.

  The driver's window buzzed down. "Hey there," Roman said.

  "I thought you were going to be gone like two weeks."

  He tipped his head. "It took about two seconds to drop off the vial at the lab, and Gladiolas wasn't around." He drummed his fingers on the lip of the door. "Want to go for a ride?"

  Reid's words about my relationship history hummed in my head. "Okay." I traipsed over to the passenger side and jumped in.

  He flipped his sunglasses to the top of his head. Smudgy lashes framed his eyes, and for a moment I forget my own name. Luckily I remembered.

  "So where are we going?" I asked.

  "My place."

  I about did a double take. "Your place? Why?"

  "’Cause, darlin', I'm going to fix you some dinner."

  ***

  A canopy of trees shrouded us as Roman wound the SUV on road after road. We were about five minutes outside of town, headed to Lake Silver, the geographical delight that had placed my hometown squarely on the Alabama map. I glimpsed the sparkling water that looked as if God himself had thrown a handful of diamonds atop it.

  I licked my lips. July's oppressive heat made me wish for nothing more than to take a good dip in the cool, refreshing waters. I glanced at the horizon through clusters of trees that lined the lake. Purple and red smeared the sky as the sun burned into dusk. "Why are we going to your house?"

  "Because I'm going to make you dinner."

  "I mean, I know that. But why? Why now? Why today?"

  He shrugged. "Probably because your ice-queen act is beginning to thaw." He flashed me a devilish smile. I fizzled and popped right into the buttery leather seat.

  "I didn't realize I'd been an ice queen," I whispered hoarsely.

  His jaw clenched. "Then you haven't been paying attention."

  Guess I would be from now on. "What are we having?"

  "Shrimp scampi."

  "I'm allergic to shellfish."

  He shot me an alarmed expression.

  I swatted his arm. "Kidding. It sounds delicious."

  He steered the car onto a gravel drive and killed the engine. A small cedar cottage greeted us. I bit my lower lip, unsure what would happen once I stepped inside. What if he kissed me? What if he didn't? What if he kissed me and I liked it?

  What a catastrophe that would be.

  Kidding.

  I followed him inside the cabin. Though sparsely furnished, the open living room and adjoining kitchen appeared to house everything a single man needed.

  "When did you move in here?"

  Roman tossed his keys on a side table. "A couple of weeks ago."

  I peered out a window. The pier and lake lay only a couple hundred feet in back. "Did it come with a boat?"

  "There's a small fishing one I can use. Anything larger I'd have to buy for myself. Make yourself at home. I'm going to wash up before I cook, if that's okay with you."

  "Sure. Don't mind me."

  He disappeared into a bedroom.

  I eyed the drawers in the kitchen and living room.

  Roman popped his head out of the doorway. "Oh, and Dylan?"

  "Yes?"

  "No snooping."

  I scoffed. "I wasn't going to snoop."

  "Sure you weren't."

  He disappeared back into his room. Drat. Now I really couldn't peek around since I'd promised not to, so I plopped down on the couch and waited. Roman emerged a few minutes later, wet and clothed. He moved into the kitchen and started chopping garlic and boiling water. I sidled up on a stool in front of the breakfast bar.

  "Would you like some wine?"

  I quirked an eyebrow. "Aren't you working?"

  He raised his own brow in response. "Are you?"

  "I don't know. Are we?"

  He wiped the edge of a paring knife and eased it into a sliver of garlic. "I don't know about you, but I thought this might be a social visit."

  "Oh."

  He shot me a dark look. "What does 'oh' mean?"

  I propped my chin in the palm of one hand. "I don't know. You've got two homicides, a mysterious box, and now a vial of what's more than likely going to be trollop flower found in Stormy's purse—doesn't exactly seem like a time to celebrate or relax."

  He stopped chopping garlic and opened a bottle of chardonnay with a wine key. Enough ropes of muscle popped in his forearm that I wiped drool from my bottom lip. He filled two glasses and handed me one. "Since this might be the only time I ever have the pleasure of cooking for you, why don't we enjoy a little dinner and conversation?" He gave me a warm smile and raised his glass for me to clink mine against it.

  I traced a finger along the bottom edge. Hesitation and fear clenched my stomach. I looked into the shining face of the handsome man before me and made a decision. I raised my wine and clinked it against his.

  An hour later I sat on Roman's couch, my belly full and my head lightly swimming. "So have you investigated any chicken house break-ins since you've been here?"

  He sat on the other end, his sandaled feet propped atop the ottoman. Roman threw me a sidelong glance. "What do you think?"

  "Yes?"

  "Yes," he confirmed.

  I raised my wine. "If only we'd been smart enough to turn this into a drinking game. Then I bet I could've gotten lots of sips out of you."

  His lip curled into a devilish smile. "Trying to get me drunk?"

  Heat raked across my cheeks. "No. Of course not. I wouldn't do that. I'm a good girl."

  "That's what they all say." He stared at me. I stared at him. An uncomfortable feeling crept up the collar of my short-sleeved blouse. "Dylan, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

  Oh crap. Things were about to get serious. I slipped my sandals off and plopped my feet in his lap. "How about a foot rub?" I figured if he could put up with my feet, the guy could deal with anything.

  "Sure. I love to give foot rubs."

  My jaw unhinged. Was he yanking my chain? Apparently not, because his muscular fingers didn't hesitate once as they kneaded into the pads of my feet.

  "Did you just purr?" he asked.

  "No. I don't know what you're talking about." I had. I did purr. His fingers felt amazeballs. I couldn't help it.

  "So, Dylan," he said.

  I snuggled down into the hollow of the couch. "Yes?"

  "Want to try this again?"

  My back locked. I struggled to sit upright, attempting not to flail in terror, but I'm pretty sure I fell quite short. "What do you mean?"

  He smiled, scrubbed a hand over the wheat-colored stubble on his cheeks. "I messed up. I know that. I think you know it, too." He sighed. "I haven't met anyone in a long time that I wanted to see what would happen with. Until I met you."

  Lacking all coherent words, I merely said, "Continue." He kneaded the tender part of my foot. "Ah," I exhaled.

  "Feel good?"

  "Does the word 'heaven' mean anything to you?"

  He smiled. "I'm not trying to beat a dead horse here or anything, but I think we have some special chemistry. I think you believe so, and I know so."

  "Did you ploy me here with wine, shrimp and a foot rub to try to be my boyfriend?"

  He chuckled. The sound was warm, inviting and a bit husky. "Is that so wrong?"

  I stroked the underside of my chin. "No, I suppose not."

  "I want to get to know you better, and I think you feel the same about me."

  I quirked an ey
ebrow. "You think so?"

  "I do."

  Hmpf. He kind of had me there. There wasn't really much else I could say to counter it. I sneaked a glance at him. His eyes shone with delight or humor or understanding—something that looked familiar and comfortable.

  "Okay," I said. "I would like to get to know you better." I stuck out my hand. "Let's shake on it."

  He slid his palm over mine. "A handshake?"

  "It's safer this way. I don't exactly want to kiss you while we're sitting on your couch." I released his grip and stretched my arms over my head. "In fact, I should be getting back." I swiveled my feet off the couch and slid them into my sandals.

  The air crackled and condensed. My back locked as I glanced around the room, trying to pinpoint the origin of the sound.

  A gray cloud hovered in the air above Roman's television set. He shot me a glance, and I edged back. I knew whoever it was wouldn't be able to see me, but it still made me uncomfortable that a bodiless head was about to pop into view.

  "Roman." Gladiolas's tin voice came out of her mouth as if she were speaking from the end of a drain. “Are you alone?"

  He nodded. "Yes. Everything all right?"

  She pursed her lips. "I understand you were looking for me."

  "Only to find out what you needed to tell me about the real killer."

  Gladiolas glanced down as if she were looking at a piece of paper. "You dropped off a vial to the lab today."

  "Are the results back?"

  "They will be shortly. That's not why I'm contacting you, though."

  He thumbed his chin. "What's going on?"

  She inhaled. "I have a confession."

  The color faded from Roman's cheeks. "Signed?"

  "Almost."

  "Well, who was it? Who killed Sheila?"

  "I can't say much over this channel. I need to see you. But I can tell you one thing."

  Roman clenched his fists. "What's that?"

  Gladiolas cupped her face in her hands, exhaled and drew her palms away. "The killer is someone in your very midst."

  TWENTY-TWO

  "You don't have to drive me home," I said. Roman would want to see Gladiolas, and I felt guilty about the fact that his time was being diverted by taking me back into town.

  With one droolworthy muscular hand on the wheel, he tipped his forehead toward me. "You're not going home on your own. I'll see you there."

  Okay. That answered that. "I wasn't saying you're a scoundrel by letting me go home by myself. I wasn't insinuating that you were leaving me on the side of the road."

  "Good," he said curtly. "Let's leave it at that."

  "You don't even have to come in. Just drop me off at the front door and you can be on your way."

  "I'm not a barbarian. Only an ex-assassin."

  I giggled at that. Roman tilted his head back and released a good chuckle. "Whatever Gladiolas has to tell me can wait a few more minutes."

  I sighed, raised my hands over my head and clutched the top of the seat. "Is that why you haven't arrested Stormy?"

  "What do you mean?"

  I shrugged. "Let's face it, evidence is mounting against her. But you haven't done anything about it. Why?"

  He stiffened. "Because I won't arrest anyone unless there's undeniable proof."

  I turned my head toward him. "Because that's what happened to you."

  He nodded. "That's exactly what happened to me. Shoddy police work, shoddy proof. I didn't kill Misty Evers, though I know without a doubt that she killed Sheila."

  "And you loved her," I said quietly.

  "Yes, I did." He inhaled, the sound of his breath filling the cabin. "But I'm ready to move on." He took my hand and brushed the back of it against his supple mouth. I shivered. "And that," he said, breaking the spell of my tingling spine, "is why I haven't arrested Stormy. Lots of things pointing to her, but nothing conclusive." We came to a four-way stop. Roman released my hand and cupped my cheek. He swiped his thumb over my bottom lip. A shudder crawled down my spine. "I only deal in certainties. Not conjecture."

  His face lay before me like a dream. I licked my lips. "Something you learned while you hunted witches?"

  He nodded. "Absolutes. You can survive on hints, on feelings, but never commit an action unless every possible conclusion points in that direction. Otherwise bad things happen."

  Sweat beaded my skin. I wasn't sure if Roman's closeness caused it, or if it was simply hot in the cabin. Who was I kidding? It was all Roman's fault. I flipped open the vent in front of me. Goose bumps splintered my skin as manufactured air washed over my body. I relaxed back in the hollow of the bucket seat. "Bad things happen," I repeated. I glanced over and caught Roman staring at me. "At some point we need to go," I said, nodding toward the stop sign.

  "You look good enough to kiss," he said.

  I swallowed an egg in the back of my throat. "Ha-ha. Want to shake on it again?"

  "No. But I can wait until you're ready."

  "How do you know I'll ever be ready?"

  He arched an eyebrow. "To be kissed by me?"

  I nodded.

  "Darlin', you're already yearning for it. I just want to see you suffer a little bit longer."

  I bit my lower lip. A tingling quickened my body. He was right. I wanted Roman to kiss me something fierce, but I also needed to wait until I was absolutely sure I was ready.

  "I guess I'll just keep on suffering," I said.

  Roman swung the SUV to the right. He nosed down the winding path back toward town. I turned off the air and cracked my window. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked. I sighed. I loved the sounds of summer, even if I didn't enjoy the temperature.

  After a few minutes the SUV rolled down my street. The front porch light of the house shone brightly. Moths and other night critters bumped and smacked against the yellow glowing orb. Roman slowed to a stop, and I clicked my seat belt free.

  "Good luck with Gladiolas. Let me know if I can be of any help."

  He smiled. "I will."

  I opened the door as a buzz filled the cabin. It sounded like radio static going haywire. By this time I'd heard the sound enough that I knew what it was. "Who could that be?" I asked.

  "I don't know."

  The static crackled and hummed. A loud pop filled the cabin. I jerked back. Grandma's bodiless head appeared against the windshield. Her silver hair stuck out like a Brillo pad, and she'd topped it off with a rhinestone tiara. "Dylan! There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you?"

  I cringed. "Everywhere as in where?"

  "Everywhere as in right here. You must come quickly and bring that assassin friend of yours."

  "He's a detective now, Grandma, and he can hear you."

  "Oh." Her eyes shifted around the cabin. "I can't see him. Anyway, you're together. You must come to Milly's right now."

  "Why?"

  "Because Titus, king of the unicorns, is here."

  "What's he doing there?"

  She adjusted the small crown on her head. "Fairyland's been broken into."

  I shut the SUV door and turned to Roman.

  "Let's go," he said.

  TWENTY-THREE

  We reached Milly's house in two minutes. Roman barreled up the front steps, taking them two at a time. I followed quickly, but my shorter legs were no match for his long strides.

  He knocked on the door with his fist. It swung open half a second later. Milly filled the entrance. She glanced left, then right, and ushered him inside.

  Milly's house was big, but I never really thought about the size of it until a unicorn stood right next to Polly's birdcage. The open space shrank around Titus's bulk.

  Roman crossed the distance from the door to Titus in three strides. His six-foot-two football-star frame swallowed the rest of the home. "What happened?"

  Titus bobbed his head. "The alarm spells sounded. A cloaked figure was spotted in one of the groves."

  "Were they caught?" Roman asked.

  Titus shook his head. "No. But t
hey dropped something before they escaped back into your world."

  "What's that?" Roman asked.

  Titus nodded toward my grandmother Hazel. "Show him."

  Grandma unfolded a yellow sheet of paper and handed it to Roman. He read it and glanced up. "Did any of the unicorns see anything?"

  "Only a cloaked figure. Nothing more. Several of my guards tried to catch him, but the witch vanished."

  Frown lines creased Roman's face. He shoved a lock of blond hair from his eyes. "Here," he said to me, handing off the note.

  I felt a bit flattered that Roman would let me see it. I put on my most serious face and glanced at the paper. NO ONE CAN HELP YOU. That's all it had written on it. My stomach twisted.

  "What does it mean?" I said.

  Roman glanced around at us. "It means they probably intended to kill a unicorn and leave this behind, but they were caught before getting their chance."

  I looked at Titus. His gentle expression astounded me. He held no malice, no hatred of humanity in his eyes. Only questions. I crossed to him and laid a hand on his neck. His skin quivered, but he said nothing. What type of evil person would kill an animal for their magic?

  An animal themselves, I guessed. I shook my head. "Who could break through those spells?"

  Titus blinked. "That's what we need to find out."

  "A very powerful witch," Milly said, caning over to the couch. "The power of a unicorn is not a thing to scoff at. And that's just the skin. Once you own the horn, you can work ancient, dark magic, the sort that's illegal." She sank onto the cushions, the vast shadow of a frown growing over her face.

  "But who? Why?" I handed the note back to Roman.

  "Either to keep the magic themselves or to sell." Roman turned to Titus. "I can speak to the council and get extra guards for you."

  Titus shook his head. "No guards, only extra spells of protection, and only from those you trust." He sighed. "My people won't stand for a human to stay on our land, especially after this."

  Roman nodded. "I'll see what I can do. I'm off to meet with Gladiolas now."

  Titus nodded. "You can find me in my pasture." He tipped his head toward me. "How do you like your opal, Lady Dylan?"