by Michele Hauf
“What if we could get Arius’s husband to somehow tell her to stop?” she asked. “He’s one of Les Douze. It must be horrible for him to be controlled and to exist in such a condition. Surely he must want it to end.”
“Doesn’t sound like a party the warlock would like to attend. Or me, if you intend to dangle me as bait again.”
“Never. I promise. But you did volunteer to it the first time.”
“You don’t have to beat me with the stupid stick more than once. I learned my lesson. Though, I’m not complaining. Just don’t need to try a stupid thing more than once. What about your Certainly Jones? He’s a dark witch. He must have a warlock-fighting trick or two up his sleeve.”
“You don’t think I can handle this?”
“You alone? No.” He stood at the end of the bed, arms crossed over his chest. “Do you?”
“Thanks for the faith.”
“We don’t need faith, Tamatha. We need a bloody miracle.”
“What about the two of us working together?”
“We’ve tried.”
“But now that we’re bonded?”
“I thought we’d made a promise not to—”
“To use our bond against one another. But combining forces and working as a team?”
He sat beside her and clasped her hand with his restored hand. Kissing the back of hers, he rubbed the back of it over his cheek, lingering, then said, “We do make a good team.”
“Yes, and if Arius has some kind of demonic magic—which we suspect—she’s mixed that with her witch magic. So can’t we do the same?”
He kissed her. “I love you.”
“Really? Because I had thought you might have changed your mind after our altercation last night.”
“I was acting naughty. Reacting when I should have merely been grateful. But we kissed and made up, yes?”
“I do like your kisses. Especially the ones right here.” She touched her crotch and smiled up sweetly at him.
He bent to kiss her there. “I love you. I love you. I love you. And I’m actually beginning to believe it’s real the more I say it.”
She stroked his cheek. “Why have you ever thought you were not worthy of love?”
“An evil-overlord thing, I guess.”
She snickered, but she knew he was being too hard on himself. And if he’d always believed such, it was a real and tangible emotion that he couldn’t simply erase because their relationship had opened up a vein to love. It would take time, and that was cool with her.
“I love that you are willing to love,” she said. “Often?”
“Sure. But only you.”
“Good answer. So have any more demons been killed since the last?”
“No. But I’m not hanging out in cemeteries keeping watch.”
“I thought you’d posted guards?”
“No reports of foul deeds from Inego.”
“What if the warlock has no choice but to show?”
“Still pretty sure she’s not going to attend any party we decide to throw.”
“Ed.” She tossed aside the pillow and crawled to the end of the bed. Still naked, she knelt and pulled him to her by the front of his shirt. “If we kidnap her husband, then I think she’ll show.”
“Kidnapping a zombie witch? Eh. I’m not so sure about that one. Despite their decrepit appearance, those things were strong. I’m not sure I could fight them off if they came at me full force again.”
“Have you a better idea?”
“You’re serious?”
She nodded.
“Possibly with our combined magics.” He shuddered and twisted a look over his shoulder.
“What?” she asked, but no sooner had she spoken than she felt a weird intrusion that shimmered over her shoulders. “Something’s in here with us.”
“It’s the warlock,” he said. “Put up wards!”
Tamatha dashed to her altar and scrambled to light the black candle. Her fingers slipped and she dropped her beryl wand. It broke in two. She gasped. She’d owned that wand for decades. It had teemed with the earth’s energy and always enhanced her spells.
“Ah, shit.”
Ed’s utterance did not inspire hope in her. Turning slowly, she saw the warlock standing in the center of her living room before her boyfriend. She wore skintight red leather, thigh-high boots and a rich emerald frock coat. Her face was marked with white sigils that didn’t look like any kind of magical sigils with which Tamatha was familiar.
And in one hand she wielded a menacing ball of green flame.
“Protegendum!” Tamatha called up a protective shield before Ed and herself in a flash of white light. The warlock’s flames bounced off the shield protecting Ed.
“Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.” To the warlock he asked, “Are you Arius Pumpelché?”
“You know I am, demon. You had one job to do and you failed.”
“A job?” Tamatha asked. “Ed, what is she talking about?” The warlock’s smirk crept over Tamatha’s skin as if corpse worms. “Ed?”
His hands gripped in and out of fists at his sides. He winced, then tilted his head toward her and confessed, “She wanted me to bring my mother to her in exchange for providing the spell that accompanied the antidote that healed you.”
“You broke that promise, demon.”
“You said you didn’t need a spell,” Tamatha said. She’d forgotten CJ’s concern that a spell had indeed been needed. “You’ve spoken with the warlock already?”
“I lied because I didn’t want you to know I’d made a deal with this bitch. I was desperate. You were near death.”
“Spare me your lovers’ squabble,” Arius said. “You are fated to die as it is, demon. You, Edamite Thrash—” she touched her throat and squeezed the two white lines together and Ed gasped for breath “—are the progeny of Rascon, who accused my husband of witchcraft. I watched him burn at the stake!”
“Yeah?” Tamatha said, stepping up behind Ed. “Well, wasn’t your husband, Martine, one of the witches who kept the Libre denizen captive and controlled them?”
“He was.” The warlock straightened, offended at that obvious question. Yet she lowered her head, aiming her gaze on Ed. “They should have been thankful for the entrance to this realm. The demons had no right to accuse the coven so. They gave them life on this realm.”
“Life as a slave,” Ed defied her through gasping breaths. “Witches have no right!”
Tamatha felt the pain of his suffering in that statement. He knew too well how a demon could suffer at the hands of a witch.
Arius pressed her fingers tighter at her neck. Ed choked.
Tamatha eyed her altar for something, anything she could use against the warlock, but she didn’t think herbs and some rose water would help much. Ed was choking but he was strong. And he was still talking, so he was holding in there.
As long as they kept the warlock talking, maybe all she would do was talk. Then she noticed the faint shimmer over Arius’s image. And she realized it was just an image.
“She’s not here,” she said to Ed. “It’s a projection.”
“Indeed.” Arius turned to her. “Stay out of my business, witch, and I’ll let your demon lover live.”
“You made this my business when you decided to raise my grandmother from the dead. She doesn’t want to be a zombie. And I’m going to help her have peace. As well as your husband. How can you do that to him?”
Arius dropped her hand from her neck and Ed sucked in a heaving inhalation.
“Martine knows it’s for revenge. I’ve waited centuries for this. And I won’t have two meddling nobodies screwing it up.” The warlock thrust out a blast of fire that ricocheted off Ed’s shield, as well as Tamatha’s, but it ignited on the sheers ha
nging before the window.
Tamatha pressed her middle fingers together and recited a water spell. Rain spilled from the ceiling, soaking the entire room. It also wiped away Arius’s image.
“You took the warlock out with water?” Ed scratched his head. “What next? Flying monkeys?”
“She’s not defeated. That was just a message.” She ceased the rain spell and pushed her wet hair over a shoulder. “A little air magic should dry things up nicely.” With a few recited words and a sweep of her hand about the room, the water evaporated as quickly as it had formed.
Ed pulled her into his arms.
“You okay?” She touched his throat.
“Yes, but she was able to permeate your protection spell. I could feel the demonic magic in it. It was familiar.”
“She’s obviously studied while in Daemonia. I think if we want to defeat the warlock, we need to turn her revenant spell against her.”
“And how do we do that?”
“We get my grandmother and the warlock’s husband on our side.”
“I’ve already said Rascon isn’t going to help. And I do know the zombies would rather munch on me than listen to anything I’ve to say.”
“Right.” She took his hand and turned their palms up. Tracing across the gray line that marked her wrist, she said, “We should be strong together, yes?”
“I’ll give anything a try once. Twice if it feels good.”
She kissed him. “Then let’s go talk to some zombie witches.”
“Aw, and here I thought you’d understood what I’d said about doing things that feel good.”
“We’ll have sex later,” she said. “Zombies first.”
He followed her down the hallway. “I’m not sure I’m keen on how you prioritize, but okay, then.”
* * *
They didn’t get out of Tamatha’s apartment because the front door opened to reveal Petrina holding a faded red leather-bound diary. Petrina’s eyes brightened at the sight of her daughter, and she swept in to hug her while Ed stood back, observing. The mother looked as young as the daughter, yet she was decidedly bohemian in fashion. He took that cue from the flowers woven into her hair and the long flowery dress she wore. Beads wrapped both wrists nearly to her elbows, and rings competed with the tattooed sigils marking her fingers.
“Mom! This is Ed.”
When Tamatha grasped his left hand, he was again thankful for having got back the feeling in that hand and arm. And when Petrina pulled him in for a hug, he had a moment of wonder when her hand slipped down and over his ass.
“Whoa.” He stepped back and bowed, offering a Namaste to the touchy-feely mother. “Nice to meet you, Madame Bellerose.”
“It’s Mademoiselle,” she stated with a wink as she breezed by him and into the living room. “Tamatha, I’ve brought your grandmother’s diary— Oh.” She paused in the center of the room, looking about. Her nostrils flared. “What was here?”
“The warlock sent a hologram of some sort to give us a warning that we’ve a battle ahead of us,” Tamatha said as she took the diary her mother handed her and began to page through it. “She’s a she.”
“Really? A female warlock? Makes sense. No man could survive that long in Daemonia with such vengeance in his heart. He’d die after a few years. We women are strong.”
“Unfortunate for the poor witches she has raised from the dead,” Ed felt it necessary to point out. “How to fight this warlock?”
“Oh, you are adorable.” Petrina stroked his cheek and glided her fingers down to touch the feather sigil on his neck. “Nice. I do love a tattooed man. I taught my daughter well, I see. Are you sure you’re happy with this one?” she asked Tamatha. “If not, I could take him off your hands.”
“Yes, Mother, very sure,” Tamatha offered absently. Her attention was deep in the pages of the diary. Much to Ed’s peril.
Petrina circled him, eyeing him up and down. He’d never felt more like a piece of meat hanging in the charcuterie until now. And usually an assessing look like that from a woman should make any man feel great. If not propositioned.
“So you are living in Greece?” he managed when Petrina stopped her gaze at his mouth. “I’ve heard the water is as blue as a sapphire.”
“Yes, sure.” She dismissed the comment with a flip of her hand. “So. Fighting a warlock. Let’s put our heads together, shall we? Ed, you can put your head against mine anytime.”
Thoroughly embarrassed by her wink, he did catch Tamatha’s teasing smile. If he survived the mother, he imagined he could stand against a gang of zombie witches and one pissed-off warlock.
Chapter 24
Petrina shivered and slid away from Ed on the couch where she had been sitting close enough to have babies with him. Tamatha overlooked her mother’s behavior because she was who she was. Sensual, seductive and flirtatious. She’d never worried her mother would steal a boyfriend before, and she didn’t now. What did worry her was the shiver.
“Mom?”
Petrina stood and paced to the window, pushing her fingers through her long blue-silver curls that spilled tiny queen’s-lace blossoms in her wake. She was never without flowers, even in winter.
“I can sense your demon lover’s death.” She turned a sad eye on Ed and clasped her arms over her stomach, shivering once again. “Soon.”
“You ladies and your weird family curse.” Ed gestured dismissively as he got up and gathered the teacups from their afternoon brainstorming session over how to kill a warlock. “I’m good.”
“You don’t look it,” Petrina commented. “You’ve gotten paler since I’ve arrived.”
He made a doubting face. “Just some residual stuff from nearly being torn apart by zombie witches, I’m sure. I’m good. Let’s get this show on the road. You said you needed some supplies from the graveyard? And that you wanted to try and contact one of the witches without the warlock’s interference?”
“Yes, we should get going.” Tamatha tucked her grandmother’s diary in her book bag and ran into her bedroom to slip on some knee-high boots. She called out, “Mom, get the nightshade from the fridge!”
“Will do!” But when Petrina passed him by, allowing her gaze to slither up and down him, Ed felt as if she had walked over his freshly mounded grave.
He believed the Bellerose curse was real. And admittedly, he wasn’t feeling top-notch. But he wasn’t about to step back and allow the women to do all the work. They needed him. And he’d die to help Tamatha and her family.
Because he loved her and she was the best thing he never knew he wanted. Crazy maybe. But certainly worth the ride.
He flexed the fingers on his left hand. All functional. So what was making him feel as if he’d run a marathon and could use some oxygen?
* * *
The man waiting for them inside the cemetery gates appeared unremarkable to Ed. So much so that he wandered right past him. But Tamatha recognized him from the etching she’d seen in the demon genealogy book.
“Rascon?”
Ed spun around and walked back, putting an arm around Tamatha’s waist. Petrina drew up her white light and whispered a demon protection spell.
“Grandfather?” Ed asked.
The man looked about seventy and had gray hair and olive skin. Not at all pale like Ed, but Tamatha had never met his mother, so he could have got his paleness from his werewolf father. Rascon wore boat shoes and a canvas hat and vest along with canvas pants and a gray T-shirt. Unremarkable. Almost had a tourist vibe. One would never pin him as demon. Especially not a vindictive demon who had once sent his witch lover to the stake to be burned alive.
“Yes, Grandson, I am Rascon.” He didn’t step forward, but Tamatha was well aware he’d taken in her and Petrina. The old man was sharp. “I couldn’t let things go the way we left them, so
I deduced you were on your way here when I saw the three of you leave the witch’s apartment.”
“How did you know when I—?”
He must have used demonic magic to trace his grandson from the phone call. Or GPS.
“You followed us?” Tamatha asked. “What do you want? If you’re not going to help us—” Ed squeezed her hand, and she decided it wasn’t her place to do the condemning. She felt her mother move up close beside her and leach her white light onto her. Thankful for that, she knew with her and Ed’s new bond, that light would also protect him.
“If you’ve come to hinder us, you’ll have to go through me,” Ed said. “I’m just trying to keep the peace in this city. It’s something I’ve always done.”
“I know.” Rascon shrugged. “Your mother told me you’re a fine young man, what with you keeping a watchful eye over the city and keeping our species in line. You’re someone to be proud of, Edamite. I’m sorry, but this one thing in my past won’t go to rest, much as I’d like it to. I had to do it,” he said to Tamatha. “Les Douze needed to be taught a lesson. We were not pets to control. We were and are thinking, breathing, living souls.”
Tamatha nodded. “I agree. But weren’t you in love with Lysia?”
“Eh. It was a ruse. So she would trust me and release me. I was the last one Les Douze released. We formed the Libre denizen with the intent of ensuring no witches ever controlled another demon again. It was a lofty goal. We hadn’t the skill or the manpower to accomplish such a task. But we did take down a dozen of them. I’m sorry. I know you two are Bellerose women. I can feel it in my veins, the latent command that yet lingers and always will.” He shivered. “Lysia was so powerful. But understand that I did it for my freedom. You’ve much worse to deal with now. Someone has conjured Les Douze?”
Ed stepped before Tamatha. “It’s not your problem. And I’ll have to ask you to leave. I’m sure you’ll have nothing against us, once again, putting Les Douze to rest, so just...leave.”
“Who raised the witches?” Rascon asked.