Cassie pulled from Endora’s embrace and sat up. With a snap of her fingers, a box of tissue appeared on the bedspread beside her. At Endora’s knowing look, Cassie hastened to say, “That’s minor league. Any junior witch can do that one.”
“I’d beg to differ, but it’s obvious you’re in the mood to feel sorry for yourself, so I’m not going to point out anything that disproves your theory.”
“Nothing has ever stopped you before.” Cassie eyed her familiar, hoping to compel her to continue that line of thought, but realized immediately a staring contest with a cat was doomed to failure. Sighing, she looked away. “I need your advice.”
“Since you asked, Boss.” Endora fluffed her pillows up against the headboard, then leaned back onto them. “Practice.”
Cassie’s gaze snapped back to her friend’s, and she sat ramrod straight. “What?”
“I’m not the only one with preternatural hearing—you heard me.”
“Practice.”
Endora nodded. “Practice.”
“How? When? We’re in the middle of a book tour, and a crazy guy’s out there stalking all of us. He almost killed you, and who knows when he’ll be back—”
“Whoa, Cassie! Maintain.” Endora leaned forward to grasp her friend’s shoulders. “I’ll teleport back to Massachusetts tonight to get your charm and hex books. We’ll pretend you’re taking your witchcraft certification boards.”
“I barely passed a couple classifications—” Cassie started to say, but Endora’s upheld hand stopped her.
“No negativity! None! We’ll start out by reviewing the basic stuff you’ve already mastered. That will get your confidence back, then we can progress to the more difficult incantations. By the end of this tour, you’ll be casting spells even Medusa will envy.”
“Do you actually think we’ve got that much time?”
Endora shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t know.” She leaned forward, suddenly intense. “But we’ve got to try, Cass. You of all witches would do everything in your power to protect this group of humans. Especially Mick. This is no time to have a mid-life crisis! You’re clever and smart, and all you need to do is brush up on your skills. I’ll help you.”
Cassie gave Endora a long, hard hug. When the two women broke away from each other, she grabbed Endora by the elbows. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“It’s what I do.” The trademark cockiness was completely missing. “You’re my witch. No crazy, evil bastard with a death fetish is going to throw you off your game.”
“I don’t think I can protect anyone from this guy.”
“You already did this afternoon.”
“Even worse, I’m falling for Mick.” Cassie’s head bowed slightly. “Hard.”
Endora cocked a brow. “Honey, you were the last one to know. I’ve been aware of that vibe for days now.”
“Lust would be simple. This is way beyond that.” Cassie sighed unhappily and tilted her chin up so she could stare at the ceiling. “I achieved lust stage looking at his picture in the limo from the Toledo airport. But I thought Jennifer had him.” This sigh came right from the depths. “But Mick’s a free agent, and I’m halfway over the edge for him. What should I do about that?”
“I’d suggest the cat philosophy of ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em,’ but I know that advice will fall on deaf ears.”
“You’re right on that one.” Cassie laughed ruefully and laid her head on Endora’s shoulder. “I’ve never met anyone like him, Dora. He’s so intelligent. Funny. Charming—”
“And handsome as sin.”
Cassie elbowed her friend. “We relate on so many levels—”
“And he’s built like a god.”
“Because we’re both writers, we know the troubles inherent in that profession.”
“And he’s got really big hands. They say the size of a man’s thumbs correlates to the size of his—”
“Enough, Dora!” Cassie sat up, then stood. “You’re not helping me think clearly, here, pal. And I need true clarity. Great Mother Goddess, I’m so confused!”
Endora licked her palm and smoothed a lock of her hair back away from her face. “You’re going to listen to your closest friend,” she said firmly. “Get Mick on the phone and tell him I’m indisposed this evening. Invite him to dinner in the hotel bar. That will give you two a chance to make out.”
Cassie thought back to the heat they’d generated just standing outside the suite. Knowing Endora wouldn’t leave it alone, she said solemnly, “We’d better be careful to stay away from the fire sprinklers.”
“Spontaneous combustion, eh?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“All right, order room service. Just make sure to use his room. In case the sprinklers actually do activate. I’ll take off for home and be back by the Witching Hour with all of your school stuff.”
Leaning back, Cassie stared at her friend for a moment, then shook her head. “What did I do to deserve you, Dora?”
“Skipped one too many spell casting classes, most likely.” She shooed Cassie off the bed. “Now get out of here and go burn up the sheets with that hunky author.”
“Don’t call the fire department.”
Laughing at her mistress’ remark, Endora rose from bed and started for the sitting room. Halfway to it, she was back in feline form. “Later!”
Cassie chuckled, her mood once again optimistic. “Grab the book Elixirs That Will Either Cure You or Kill You. That information might prove extremely useful.”
“Gotcha.” Endora leapt onto the balcony railing and strolled along its length, then gathered herself to spring. Keep your chin up, Boss.
Will do, partner. Be careful, and hurry back.
Endora jumped from the twentieth-floor balcony out into the night. With a muffled “pop,” she disappeared.
On a another sigh, Cassie pulled the balcony sliders closed and latched them. It was way past time for her to get serious about what she was.
And no better reason to do so.
HE CAUGHT THE phone on the third ring.
“Mick here.” His heartbeat went into overdrive at the sound of the voice on the other end, and his fingers involuntarily tightened on the receiver.
“Cassie? Hi.” He listened intently, mentally forcing himself not to groan at her invitation to dinner. “Oh, man, I can’t. I’m ordering in and working on some of the New Orleans promotions,” he lied smoothly. “And I’m still not one hundred percent after last night.”
At least that last part was true. His stomach had been queasy since he’d dragged himself and his colossal hangover out of bed that morning, and even riding in the front of the bus on the trip down from Chicago hadn’t completely helped. As to the fabrication about promotions . . . Mick was meeting Jamison in the FBI’s command suite to discuss profiles and crime reports they’d compiled on his personal wacko.
Since the Bureau had specifically planned the book tour to coincide with the settings in Mortal Sin, Jamison and his agents wanted to check all the details of the fictional crimes committed at each venue. In that way, they hoped to predict where the killer would strike next and capture him before he did.
The plan sounded good, but Mick secretly admitted he had little confidence in it. From his extensive research, he knew serial killers to be insanely clever fiends who were well onto their individual paths of destruction before authorities ever managed to stop them. Hence the term serial killer. That left too many corpses between identification of the pattern and the actual capture, and he was determined not to be the cause of more deaths.
So, dining with Cassandra Hathorne, although tempting beyond belief, had to wait.
“Can I take a rain check?” he asked, trying to inject enough casual interest into his voice to disguise just how much he wanted to be with her. God, I’m reve
rting to my teenage years, trying to act cool and uninterested when I really want to jump in bed with her. “Great! Tomorrow night then. Oh, and tell Endora to get well. Good night.” He hung up.
Where had that last thought come from? He had never in his life been in to casual sex. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on the well-worn Michigan State hockey tee shirt he’d traded for his sport coat and polo shirt upon unpacking. Could he be having a mid-life crisis on top of all the other craziness in his world?
Though somehow he doubted a relationship with Cassie Hathorne could ever be casual for him. And he’d sure as hell like to find out if she felt the same way.
He hung his slacks in the closet and pulled on a pair of MSU sweat pants and his running shoes. Thus attired in clothes that brought pleasant memories, he went off to confront some very unpleasant realities.
CASSIE HUFFED OUT a dejected breath as she hung up the phone. So much for Endora’s suggestion. Mick had other plans for dinner. For the night, in fact. That left her out of luck in the romance department. Briefly, she considered walking over to the St. Louis arch—literally across the street from the hotel—but couldn’t muster the enthusiasm. After all, if she wanted to see the city from that high up, she’d simply fly over it. And she wouldn’t have to climb all those steps in that claustrophobic stairway to do it.
Thoughts of flying led to thoughts of other magical pursuits, and she momentarily allowed herself to wallow in self-pity. If she’d had any pride in her own kind when she was growing up, she’d have applied herself more diligently in school. Had that happened, she’d now be able to protect a special human being she found herself starting to care very much for. Instead of dusting off little-used skills, she could be enjoying Mick rather than just worrying about him.
Of course, she’d have to get into his room to enjoy him. And that didn’t appear to be in her immediate future.
“Okay, pity party over with, Cass,” she said aloud. “Time to get after it.”
Even without the spell books and incantations, she had plenty to do until Endora returned.
After drawing a pentagram of light on the floor in the suite’s sitting room, she sat cross-legged in the pentagram’s exact center, facing north, hands resting palms-up on knees. She took five deep, cleansing breaths, closed her eyes and slowed her breathing to five breaths every minute. All her physical systems slowed, allowing her to concentrate her spiritual energy on mental activity.
She returned in her memory to her school days. Not regular school, of course. She’d simply attended classes to keep neighbors from calling school authorities. Since they moved fairly often, none of the humans ever suspected the dark-haired little girl who lived down the block aged about one year for every three of theirs. No, she mentally returned to her coven school days, when she and all witches of approximate age took their training in the magickal arts.
She pictured her first day—the excitement and anxiety, discovering others like her among whom she no longer felt so different. But also learning that there was a definite hierarchy among the students, and she was nowhere near the top of that pyramid. In the mortal school, she was an outstanding student. At the coven school, “disappointing” described her performance.
A pang of remembered hurt twisted through her. A boy named J. D. had relentlessly teased her because she was slow at spell casting. J. D. had grown up to become a coven leader. Though he was renowned throughout the paranormal world as a brilliant practitioner of the magickal arts, Cassie suspected he also illegally practiced Black Magic.
She, on the other hand, had become a writer for humans. A profession that brought no prestige among the coven’s circles, although Cassie didn’t begrudge her place in the universe . . . J. D. was a witch with no moral code beyond self-advancement. She’d rather be like herself—a poorly-skilled witch with a big heart—than a soulless cretin like him.
Shifting her seated position, she entered into a trance and followed her past to the present . . . Each day of her magical education spun through her head as though she relived it in super fast-forward. The sights and sounds, smells and tastes, raced through her memories, reconnecting her to her spirit. She alternately laughed and cried as her adolescent triumphs and tragedies played themselves out on the movie screen of her mind.
SPLATTERS OF BLOOD covered every wall, a veritable collage of red. The metallic smell of it filled the small room and added to his arousal. Bending to the floor, he dipped his fingers into the shallow pool then traced four lines of scarlet across his bare chest from his right shoulder to his left nipple. With his right hand he brought himself quickly to climax, ejaculating on the face of his decapitated victim.
Self-discipline dictated that he make no outcry of pleasure as he ended his latest rite. By remaining silent at the peak of his excitement, he again demonstrated his power over himself and all those around him.
Soon. Very soon, he would be worthy.
THE PHONE HAD probably rung eight or nine times before the sound snapped Cassie out of her trance. She rose from the floor in one fluid motion, noting the time as she approached the phone and the desk clock beside it.
Ten-thirty. She’d been meditating for hours! But it had felt incredibly good to do so. And when was the last time she’d actually given herself over to concentration that intense and prolonged? More years than she was willing to count.
It was rather late for a caller, especially since she knew Medusa wasn’t planning to dog her heels on this leg of the trip, and Endora wouldn’t need to phone. Her nerve endings tingled slightly as she reached for the receiver, and suddenly she knew for certain her caller’s identity.
“Dance with me,” came the low baritone on the other end of the line.
It was a question she didn’t have to ask, but it might seem odd to a human if she didn’t. “Mick?”
“There’s a dance floor in the restaurant at the top of the hotel,” he stated without preamble. “We don’t have to be up early tomorrow, so I thought I could make up for missing dinner tonight.”
A wave of pure pleasure rolled over her. He wanted to make amends for turning her down earlier. She was liking him more and more as time went on.
“I’d love to. Give me half an hour to get ready.”
“Uh-uh, Ms. Hathorne. This is strictly extreme casual. I’m wearing workout attire.”
Although Cassie didn’t consider herself to be a fashion snob, that made her cringe a bit. “You’re a very brave man.”
“I really don’t care what anyone thinks of my clothes. They’re clean. I’m not trying to sell them, and I’m planning to leave them on while I’m there. Besides, the place is dark, and most of the patrons should be well on their way to drunken bliss at this hour.”
“Poor lighting and drunkenness notwithstanding, I think I’ll opt for chinos and a nice shirt.”
“Just as long as you’ve got them on when I arrive at your door in five minutes.”
Cassie briefly wondered how he’d react if she greeted him wearing nothing but a smile. However, with her luck, there’d be a Publishers Clearinghouse representative right behind him—camera crew in tow—to inform her she’d just won a million dollars. That image pushed every thought of surprising Mick au naturel right out of her head.
She headed for the closet and her chinos and shirts, disgusted with herself for not being more daring. And hoping there’d be a chance later that night for her to make up for that fault.
Eight
WHEN MICK ARRIVED exactly five minutes after hanging up the phone, Cassie met him wearing khaki chinos, a lavender cotton shirt, comfortable flats and just a hint of White Diamonds perfume. As had occurred earlier in the day, her temperature spiked several degrees when he stepped in the door.
“Here.” He brought a single red rose from behind his back and presented it to her. “As an apology for not being able to make dinner.”
<
br /> Inexplicably touched by the gesture, Cassie accepted the flower and brought it to her nose. “I love roses. Thank you, Mick.”
“My pleasure.”
In order to avoid the intriguing look in his eyes, she turned her gaze elsewhere, taking in his dark green polo shirt and jeans. “I thought you were wearing ‘ultra-casual.’”
“I decided not to embarrass you in public.”
Cassie laughed. “I appreciate that.”
The short-sleeved shirt and tight-fitting denim nicely complimented his athletic build. Topped off with his thick black hair and sky blue eyes, and Cassie saw trouble in capital letters. To keep from melting into a puddle right on the spot, she quirked a brow at the “Michigan State Hockey” logo on his shirt.
A smile of pure devilment lit his eyes as he put his right hand over his heart—covering the MSU logo—and gave her a courtly bow. “My lady, a humble Spartan, loyal unto death to his alma mater and pledged to his quest to give you an enjoyable evening, stands before you.”
Smiling, she presented her hand for his kiss. And nearly went up in flames when his lips brushed her knuckles. She had to swallow twice before saying, “Noble sir, you show admirable judgment as regards your attire, as I’ve heard armor chafes right dreadfully.”
He grimaced in mock horror. “And ’tis challenging to dance in chain mail, to say the least.”
“Especially when the humidity is high.”
At that, he laughed heartily and crooked his elbow. “Shall we, my lady?”
“By all means, kind sir.”
THE LOUNGE WAS sparsely populated when they arrived close to eleven. A weeknight, coupled with the late hour, kept the crowd small. Mick led Cassie to a table to the left of the dance floor, in dark enough shadows to be private but not isolating.
“Drink?” he asked her when the waiter approached.
“A glass of white zin.”
“Make mine scotch on the rocks,” Mick instructed. “And run a tab.”
Sensing he wanted to say something, she sat quietly and took advantage of the dim light to study his expression. Although he did an admirable job of appearing nonchalant, turmoil radiated from him in waves. He studied the ice in his glass for so long, she was tempted to read his mind, but didn’t want to violate his privacy.
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