by Unknown
She didn’t feel particularly up to dealing with either one, but the sooner she answered the door and took care of whatever business awaited outside, the sooner she could crash on the couch and not get up for the next fifteen or twenty years.
Every once in a while the door stuck. She gave it a determined yank.
Sam gazed down at her. His wavy hair was half-damp, and stubble shadowed his cheeks. So human. So very human. And yet she knew he was anything but.
“Can I come in?”
This time she didn’t allow herself to hesitate. “Sure.” Belatedly she realized her own hair was still wringing wet, and she didn’t have on a speck of makeup or even a bra. “That is, I just got out of the shower, but — ”
His mouth came down on hers. He tasted like toothpaste and smelled of soap. Do demons have to brush their teeth? she wondered dazedly, and then realized she didn’t care. All that seemed to matter were his arms around her, the supple warmth of his lips, the heart she felt beating against hers. He had braved the fire and rescued her. Surely he meant her no harm.
It might have been a few minutes or a few hours when he finally pulled away from her. “Damn it, I really meant to talk to you first, but — ” He hesitated, then shook his head.
“It’s okay,” she said. At least, she thought it was okay. “If I’d wanted to, I would have stopped you. But I didn’t want to.”
He took her very gently by the shoulders, then gazed down into her face. “You didn’t? I don’t…horrify you?”
“I guess not,” she said, and felt a nervous little chuckle tickle the back of her throat. She realized she spoke nothing more than the truth. “I suppose that’s just proof that I really am certifiably insane, but really, how can I be frightened of you, after what you did for me? Maybe we need to have a long talk about certain things, but — ”
“We probably do,” he cut in, “but I know I need to tell you something.” He paused, and added, “Well, two things, actually.”
She wondered how he could manage to boil down the existence of demons and Heaven and Hell into only two topics of conversation, but she just nodded and make herself wait for his words.
He ran a hand through his damp hair. It proceeded to stick out in all directions, and again Felicia felt a hidden laugh bubble up from somewhere inside her.
“First thing,” he said. “I was a demon. Accent on the ‘was.’ Circumstances have changed.”
“‘Was’?” she repeated. “How do you just stop being a demon?”
For a second he didn’t say anything. Then his gaze made a significant shift upward. “Let’s just say that Someone decided I’d done my time.”
Felicia pulled in a breath. With the sixteen impossible things that had already happened today, what difference did one more make? Once you’d managed to acknowledge that demons really did exist, it wasn’t too difficult to also admit that God existed, and that He could make such decisions if the mood took Him.
“All right,” she said, keeping her tone steady. “You’re not a demon anymore. Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that makes everything a bit easier. So what’s the second thing you wanted to say?”
“I love you. I know it sounds crazy, but — ”
This time she was the one who moved forward, who pulled him against her and tangled her fingers in the damp locks of his hair. Was this kiss even sweeter now that she knew how he truly felt about her? Or was it simply that his admission allowed her to acknowledge the truth of her own feelings?
With some reluctance she pulled her mouth away from his. But she knew she had to speak. “I think — I think I might just love you, too. Crazy as that might be.”
His dark eyes glowed, but with normal human warmth. That flash of red was gone. He tangled his fingers in hers. “So you don’t mind hooking up with an unemployed ex-demon?”
She laughed then, pure joy seeming to well up from somewhere deep within her. “We’ll figure it out. We have all the time in the world.”
His expression sobered, and he shot another glance upward. His hands tightened around her fingers, even as he drew her close. “Maybe not all the time,” he murmured. “But enough.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head, his mouth warm against her wet hair. Then he spoke again.
“It will be enough.”
The End
To learn more about Christine’s other books, go to her website or her Amazon Author Central page.
To sign up for Christine’s mailing list, go here.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Christine Pope has been writing stories ever since she commandeered her family’s Smith-Corona typewriter back in the sixth grade. Her work includes paranormal romance, fantasy romance, and science fiction/space opera romance. She fell under the Land of Enchantment’s spell while researching her Djinn Wars series and now makes her home in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
To be notified of new releases by Christine Pope, please sign up here.
Christine Pope on the Web:
www.christinepope.com
GENTLEMEN PREFER VOODOO
ANGIE FOX
Voodoo priestess Amie Baptiste usually leaves the spells for the customers until one night, in her loneliness, she gives in to temptation. Amie weaves a spell to call "the perfect man for her." ....But she should have been more specific since her ideal man apparently died in 1811.
Dante Montengro has been haunting St. Louis Cemetery Number One, waiting for his true love to call him back to life and end his wandering ways. Emerging from the cemetery: Hot, human and very much alive Dante's first stop is Amie's voodoo shop.
Copyright © 2009, 2011 by Angie Fox
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Gentlemen Prefer Voodoo ISBN: 978-1-939661-08-1
1
A mie could barely see her customer as the woman lurched toward the counter, arms loaded with a voodoo love spell kit, fat pink altar candles, a well-endowed Love Doll, a twelve-pack of Fire of Love incense, and "breath mints," the woman huffed. She dumped everything on the mosaic countertop and reached for the Altoids display, a nervous smile tickling her lips. "Not that I expect all of this to work right away."
Amie couldn't help laughing as she caught a supersize bottle of Heat Up the Bedroom linen mist before it rolled under an arrangement of Good Fortune charms. "You never know."
Her customer couldn't have been more than forty, with gorgeous green eyes, a warm, well-rounded face, and a lonely heart. Amie could see it as clearly as the glow-in-the-dark Find Your Lover charm at the top of the heap.
Well, Amie had just the thing.
She closed her eyes, blocking out the pink and green painted walls and loaded display tables.
Wind chimes at the back of the shop swung in circles. Their limbs, carved from bayou swamp trees, clacked together.
She let her magic well up inside her, vibrant and sweet. "Now." She reached across the counter and found the woman's hands. She eased up, let it come as the power flowed through her. "You'll find what you need."
She squeezed once and let go. Once was all it took.
That's when the growling started.
It began as a low rumbling at the back of the shop and continued until a thin line of smoke seeped from behind the Voodoo Wash Yourself Clean soap display.
"It's a faulty heater," Amie said, well aware that it was July. "Ignore it."
"Sure," the woman said, watching Amie pack her purchases into two overflowing bags. "Some of this is bound to work, right?"
"Voodoo can be very powerful," Amie said, "if you believe."
Amie smiled to herself as the door swung shut against the sweltering New Orleans heat.
Flower petals and grave dust sprinkled down from the spell bundle she'd hung from the vintage tin ceiling. Made from an old family
recipe and wrapped in her lucky green scarf, it warded off evil spirits and helped cut down on shoplifting.
Amie scooted around the counter, her bracelets jangling as she smoothed back her thick black hair.
"Okay, you big, bad beast, you can come out now."
A red leathery creature the size of a swamp cat burst out from behind a display of bath fizzies. He resembled a small flying dinosaur. "By thunder and lightning and Papa Limba," he said with a thick Congo accent, blowing out a breath as pink and white begonias threatened to land on the tip of his beak. "You are giving your magic away to people off the street?"
Isoke was small for a Kongamato. His wingspan was only about three feet. He had leathery skin, gorgeous blue eyelashes, and all the tact of a battering ram.
"You need to stay on your perch. At least while customers are in the store. What if that poor woman had gone back for another Mango Mamma bath melt?"
"Go dunk your head in the Jiundu swamp. I am not here to be a ceiling decoration." He sniffed at his usual place, where he hung upside down near a display of rainbow-colored wind socks.
His eyes glowed yellow. "I am here to protect you," he said, flaunting two rows of razor-sharp teeth. "Maybe next time I will bite the woman. That will keep her from robbing you."
"My magic is freely given," Amie insisted, straightening the bath fizzie display. She might not mind grave dust on her floor—that had a purpose. But the rest of her shop was immaculate.
The dragon watched her with a guarded expression. "Amiele Fanchon D'Honore Baptiste, you waste your magic. It's bad juju. First, your mother and now you."
Amie's back stiffened at the insinuation. Her mother had lived fast, died young—and left Amie very much alone. Well, with one rather obnoxious exception.
"Your mother wasted her love magic on a legion of worthless men. You give yours away to strangers. In three hundred and eighty-six years, I have never seen anything like it."
"You're being unfair." She refused to look at him. Instead, she busied herself rearranging a sagging display of gris-gris bags near the front of the shop. The bright red and yellow bundles contrasted against the hot pink walls and silver posters of Erzulie, the spirit of love, and Papa Ghede, lord of the erotic. "Mom gave her love magic away to men who didn't appreciate it," she said, with more than a twinge of regret. There had been many, many men.
"And she received none of it back," he replied, his voice low in his throat. "I watched her waste away. I'm not going to watch you too."
Amie fingered a Fall in Love bag before stuffing it back down with the rest. "Ah, but there is a difference. I am getting bits of magic back. You don't think I'm going to feel that woman's happiness? She might not know what I did, but every time someone is grateful, it filters home."
"Crumbs," Isoke declared. "You need a man, someone who will take your love magic and give his to you tenfold."
Amie's stomach dropped as she tidied an already perfect row of voodoo history books. "I've tried that."
She'd dated. None of the men fit the bill. New Orleans was a wild city, and she wasn't going to lash herself to some beer-guzzling party boy just to save a little magic.
"When? When did you last see a man?" the Kongamato prodded.
Amie opened her mouth to answer.
"A man you trusted with your love magic?"
Her smart answer died on her lips.
"Nine years." Her stomach twisted at the realization. Nine years since her last boyfriend. And, no, he hadn't returned her love magic. If her mother was any indication, men never did.
Isoke cocked his head. She felt his hot breath against her leg, even through her gauzy yellow skirt.
"Look, I'm fine the way I am. I don't want to worry about when some guy is going to call or how to act on a date or whether he's going to turn into a cretin if I let him get too far."
"Eeking out a life is not fine." Isoke huffed like a blast furnace.
"Stop it," Amie admonished, "you're going to singe the floor again." She couldn't keep throwing rugs everywhere. Her landlord was suspicious enough when he found the hot tub in her back storage room full of muddy water, sticks, and Spanish moss. You could take the Kongamato out of the swamp, but you couldn't take the swamp out of the Kongamato.
Just then, a group of giggling teenagers burst through the door. Isoke froze mid-snarl while Amie went to help them. After they'd left, loaded down with passion fruit incense, Amie returned to her display. Isoke resumed his grumbling, his tail dragging along the floor.
"Stop it. You're messing up the grave dirt."
"Even your dirt is organized?"
"Yes." It had to lay where it fell. "What kind of Kongamato are you?"
"One who is about to lose his tail."
"Excuse me?"
"For three hundred and eighty-six years, I serve. I help the women of your family fulfill their destinies as women of voodoo. But with you? I get stressed. You do everything wrong. And when I stress, I molt."
She planted a hand on her hip. "So your tail is going to fall off if I don't go out with some rum-swilling boozehound?"
"Yes. I mean, no." His wide nostrils quivered. "You do not go out with a boozehound…you go out with a man!"
Amie rubbed her fingers along the bridge of her nose to tamp down the dull ache forming there.
Did she really have to discuss her dating life with her dead mother's mythical monster?
No. She didn't owe the Kongamato anything. Not after he blew flames out the upstairs window last week. Sure, he'd managed to lure a half dozen firemen into Amie's bedroom, but she'd had a devil of a time explaining how seven 911 callers had been mistaken about the fire.
Too bad for Amie, Kongamatos were as stubborn as they were loyal. "I worry about you," Isoke said, following her. "This is not natural. The women in your line—they are passionate."
"I am passionate," she said, fighting the urge to stuff him in a doggie carrier and mail him back to Zambia. "Look at this store. This is my passion." Couldn't he see what she'd done here?
She was darned proud of it.
Every detail was perfect. Everything was in its place.
His yellow eyes drilled into her. "The women in your line are women of action."
What did he want from her? "You know what? The women in my line are gone. Mom is gone. You have me now. This is how I am and I like it."
He studied her for a moment. "No. You are unhappy."
"I am happy!" she shouted.
"That's better," he said, utterly delighted as Amie clapped a hand over her mouth. She never yelled.
Amie waited to make sure nothing bad was going to come out before she spoke. There was nothing wrong with being in control. "Okay, it's not that I wouldn't like a man in my life." Who wouldn't, right? "I'm just not going to settle for anything less than perfect."
Isoke growled.
"And no more firemen."
He rolled his eyes. Drama queen.
Amie selected a Love and Happiness candle from the shelf next to the organic bath oils and lit it. "See? Look. I'm starting already."
Isoke landed on the multicolored countertop next to the candle, clipping a wing on the cash register. "Eyak. This store was not made for Kongamato."
Amie managed a weak smile. "I didn't know I'd inherit you so soon."
"I could not save your mother, which means I will try doubly hard with you." He folded his wings like a bat. "Please, for the sake of my tail, you must consider it."
Amie ruffled the three stiff feathers on the top of his head. "For you, Isoke. I will try."
NINE YEARS. The shop had been busy all afternoon and still she couldn't get it out of her mind.
She hadn't had a date in nine years. Amie closed her cash register and said good-bye to the young couple who had just purchased a fertility doll and an extra large bottle of sandalwood massage oil.
She had to think of something else. Her eyes settled on the poster of Papa Ghede, laughing and cavorting with his latest conquest. Yeah, that didn'
t help.
Okay, so it had been a long time—too long—but Amie had been busy. She'd graduated college, opened her own shop, fixed up the apartment upstairs. The second floor had needed a lot of work. Her landlord had used it as storage. It still had the French-style mirrors on the ceiling from its glory days as a bordello. Okay, so Amie had left the mirrors. But she had done a lot of other things to the place.
It's not like many people held down jobs and decorated their apartments and dated, right?
Hmm… Maybe she did have a problem.
She glanced at the Kongamato settling in on his perch. He hung from the ceiling, folding his wings around him like a giant bat.
She hoped Isoke wasn't the type to gloat when he got his way.
True, she would never be able to bring herself to go out with any of the men she saw up and down Bourbon Street at all hours of the day and night. And she definitely didn't want a man like the kind her mother had dated. They might appear nice at first, but all of them were drunks, gamblers, or cheaters in the end.
Luckily for Amie, she knew another way.
She fingered her blue and silver beaded necklace, a Do Good charm she'd fashioned years ago. My power is both a gift and an obligation. Let good works flow through me. She'd been using her spells to help her customers find love. So why hadn't she used it on herself? Because men were brash and unpredictable; and often dishonest.
But what if she could eliminate the risk?
She'd tried that once, with her last boyfriend. He'd been nice and safe, soft and accommodating, with an average build and eyes that focused on ESPN more than her. He'd never surprised her, never challenged her, and when he left, she hadn't cared.
While she was quite pleased that she hadn't been hurt like her mother, Amie also knew she'd wasted her time.
But if she went about this smart, perhaps she could welcome some passion into her life—without the pain. She could actually let herself feel, dream, give her love with absolutely no fear that he'd break her heart.