“Don’t hold back for my sake. I want an honest opinion.”
Relief swamping her features, Endora relaxed a bit. Yet, although she squeezed Cassie’s hand and smiled slightly, she sucked in a deep breath before saying, “Until you’re comfortable with what you are, you can’t expect Mick to be.”
Poleaxed, Cassie felt the blood drain from her face and suddenly feared passing out. “Wh-why do you say that?”
“Because it’s true. You said yourself you were never good at being a witch.”
Her constricted lungs were suffocating her, but Cassie fought off the dizziness. She thought of all the spell books she’d poured over before she and Mick became lovers. Before her spare time was occupied in making other kinds of magic. “I did say that.”
“You think that way, and I suspect Medusa knows this. Maybe that’s why she’s pushing you so hard to marry a witch and settle down.” Endora leaned closer. “Embrace what you are, then trust Mick to accept you for yourself.”
“What if he can’t handle the truth?”
Endora pulled back, a startled look in her green eyes. “Then I’d be very disappointed. He’s got a lot of integrity for a human.”
Cassie stopped twisting her ring and went to work with her teeth on her left thumbnail. She sucked in a huge breath, then let it out slowly. “I’ll tell him tonight.”
Endora bussed her on the forehead, cocky Cheshire grin showing for the first time in well over an hour. “That’s the witch I know and love.”
“Thanks, Dora.” But what if the man I know and love goes postal when I confess to what I am? Her breath hitched. What if I can’t handle the truth about myself?
The consequences to her heart should her fears prove out might just kill her.
THREE DAYS IN Memphis, and he’d only twice seen his idol. And on each of those occasions M. S. Kazimer had squired two women. From the way Kazimer looked at Cassandra Hathorne, she had obviously replaced Jennifer Bodin in his affections. Likely, the bitch was spreading her legs for him at every opportunity. Whore.
It was 10:20 PM. He’d sat in the hotel lobby all day. Most of the group, without M. S. Kazimer and Cassandra Hathorne, had left around one that afternoon and returned at 2:30. That had been the only traffic through the lobby by any one of them. He had learned of a scheduled tour of Memphis, but that could hardly have been completed in just over an hour. None of the cortege had even come down to dinner.
The break in routine disturbed him. So much so that he had decided to abandon his vigil and seek another victim for his tribute. He would not find one here, however. Time to leave.
Then suddenly M. S. Kazimer appeared, another author—Robert Something or Other—with him.
Silently, he rose from the chair where he’d been ostensibly reading the paper and approached the men. They talked quietly, but his hearing was excellent and the lobby very still.
“I’m done after this, Robert.”
“You’re really hanging up your computer?”
A nod from M. S. Kazimer. “I am.”
“Can’t say as I blame you.”
Rage exploded inside him. Blinding. Searing. Driving away logic and reason. The Bodin bitch had been right. His idol. His god was abandoning him.
He started toward the two men, thinking to grab his Master, to shake him, to demand he take back the hideous words he’d just uttered. Blind with rage, he quickened his pace. Little except the target of his loving hatred filled his mind. He must reach M. S. Kazimer! He must.
He drew even with the elevators just as one opened and half a dozen of the book tour participants spewed out, Kazimer’s whore leading.
No! She must not reach his goal before he did. Mindlessly, he lunged.
HE’S IN THE LOBBY!
Endora’s warning exploded in Cassie’s head at the same instant a cloud of pure evil engulfed them all. In the form of an average-looking man rushing straight at Mick and Robert.
Mick was half-turned toward her, oblivious to the danger, the killer ten feet from him. Without thought, Cassie threw a force field between the two men. Mick’s attacker crashed headlong into it and fell back a step, momentarily stunned.
“Get him,” she shouted. “He’s the killer!”
The split-second it took for everyone to recover from seeing a man slam full-tilt into thin air was all the time the monster needed to break and run for a boisterous wedding reception in the lobby’s terraced bar.
Jamison’s agents jumped to pursue, leaving a slack-jawed group of authors and tourists in their wake. Immediately, Cassie and Endora moved to flank Mick.
“I should have frozen him,” Cassie spat out, disgusted. Her heart pounded so hard she was surprised the blouse she wore wasn’t visibly palpitating.
“You probably saved lives here,” Endora stated with quiet firmness. “Lighten up on yourself.”
“They’d have caught the bastard if I’d—”
Endora glanced at the group’s stunned faces. Can you beat yourself up silently, Cass? We’ve got lots of curious people here, all with vivid imaginations, who just witnessed something they’ve likely never seen before.
“Shit!”
It was a measure of Cassie’s sudden awareness and agitation that the expletive escaped her mouth. She rarely used foul language of any kind in public.
The FBI agents returned within minutes.
“We lost him, Boss,” one reported solemnly to Jamison. “There’s a street entrance to the bar, and he got out. Bates and Johnson are still looking.”
“Notify Memphis PD,” Jamison snapped. “See if they’ve got any ideas where this guy could go to ground.” He turned to the authors. “Board the bus. We’ll get you to the train station and onto the car. It’s a secure area . . .” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Mick’s expression. “Sandor, you all right?”
Mick never took his eyes off Cassie.
“Take the others to the station, Robert,” Mick said quietly. “Ms. Hathorne and I have some things to talk about.”
“Not without me there, you don’t,” Jamison retorted. He turned to the closest agent. “Get the others to the station, Reed. We’ll be along later.”
At least some of them would, Cassie thought.
FOR ALL ITS EFFECT on the current occupants, the hotel manager’s spectacular office view could have overlooked a brick wall.
“What the hell just happened?” Jamison asked the room at large. The normally calm, collected Federal agent couldn’t seem to get his eyes to focus on anything for more than a split-second. Nor could he keep his hand from palming the back of his neck. He seemed to want to pace but didn’t know if he should. Then he turned his gaze on Cassie and Endora, and his stare locked on them like a laser-guided cruise missile. “Would either of you care to explain exactly what that was?”
“A force field,” Endora immediately replied, then directed her next remark to Cassie. “And a very fine one indeed, if I say so myself.”
“A force field.” Jamison’s tone and raised eyebrow radiated skepticism. “As in Star Trek?”
“No, as in a spell caster’s force field,” Endora stated. “You know, witchcraft.”
“How is that—-”
“Because I really am a witch,” Cassie cut in, her statement sounding resigned even to her own ears. “The term isn’t just a comment on my personality.”
She glanced at Mick and Robert from behind the manager’s desk where she sat. Then she lowered her gaze to the desktop. Robert had regained some of his usual composure, but she couldn’t get a reading on Mick. He had a poker face on, completely hiding any reaction. And his reaction was far more important to her than the FBI agent’s. Her fingers automatically reached to twist her pentagram ring. The gesture brought no comfort just then.
She wanted to reach out mentally, b
ut refused to. If she couldn’t trust Mick to truthfully express his feelings, then she couldn’t trust his claims of love.
Endora moved to stand behind her, gently rubbing Cassie’s shoulders. “I sense some doubts among the menfolk here, Cass. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.”
“Endora—”
Giving Cassie’s shoulders a quick squeeze, Endora stepped around the chair. “I’ll take care of it.”
Before anyone could blink, the familiar had shifted to feline form. Leaping gracefully onto the desk, the smoke gray cat sauntered directly to the middle and sat, long tail swishing slowly.
If she hadn’t been so distraught, Cassie might have found the men’s expressions amusing. Jamison’s eyes were again nearly rolling in his head, and Mick had his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle bulging below his ear. To keep his mouth from dropping open, most likely. Under the circumstances, however, Cassie thought their reactions anything but funny.
“Endora, change back. Now!”
Cassie watched Endora swagger to the edge of the desk before leaping six feet to the room’s small sofa and changing back to human form. She smoothed back her hair with her palm then smiled like the predator she was. Cassie could have knocked both the men over with a single breath.
“And I’m just the familiar,” Endora purred. “Cassie has far greater talent than I do.”
“Enough, Dora.” Cassie couldn’t take her eyes off Mick, who leaned one-shouldered against the wall beside the outer office door. His still clenched jaw proved he wasn’t aloof at all.
“But Cass—”
Only her familiar’s plea could shift Cassie’s attention from the man she now knew without doubt she loved. She turned a heated glare on Endora that made the latter break off in mid-protest.
Finally, Mick moved. Expression still neutral, he approached the desk.
“I’d like to have a word with Cassie,” he said quietly. “Alone.”
Her heart gave a hard thump before dropping into her stomach. This was it.
“Miss Bast, let’s step outside for a minute.” Jamison offered his arm when Endora rose from the sofa. She brushed by the agent, her stare only for Mick.
Mick immediately sneezed hard. Repeatedly.
Endora—Cassie warned.
Give me the word, Cass, and I’ll make him feel like he’s in the middle of the world’s biggest hairball.
Stop. Now.
When Endora strode out of the office, Mick’s allergic reaction instantly ended. Jamison followed on her heels, closing the door behind them.
Cassie and Mick were alone.
Funny, for such a big room, she couldn’t find much air to breathe in it. It was impossible to look at Mick, so handsome in a midnight blue turtleneck that made his eyes practically glow. Why torture herself by wanting him. Loving him. In under ten minutes, he was going to walk out of her life, and she’d only see him on book covers and Oprah.
Her heart burned a hole in her chest. Rising from behind the large desk, she moved to the window, deliberately keeping her back to Mick. When the silence stretched out, she considered turning back around but, feeling tears welling in her eyes, stayed facing the city below.
“I know this likely denotes a certain shallowness on my part, but shouldn’t you be thanking me for saving your life?” she asked brusquely. She winced at the harshness of her tone. Great Mother Goddess, Cass, just deliberately bait him!
“Thanks,” he muttered.
His tone had her glancing back over her shoulder at him. He swallowed hard, then raised his head and offered a fake-looking smile. “This seems to be the part where I ask ‘Are you a good witch or a bad witch?’”
That caused her to turn. She leveled a stare at him that would have made Endora cheer, all the while feeling her heart breaking. “There are good people and bad people, good witches and bad witches,” she stated evenly. “I won’t dignify your question by explaining what category I fall into.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. Managed, but at the cost of relinquishing eye contact. She lowered her gaze to the floor. “I think you’ve already made up your mind on that count anyway.”
He had no comment, and silence reigned in the plush office. After it seemed they would never speak another word to each other, he asked, “How much of what’s between us is real?”
Her spine straightened to a ramrod. How could he even ask that? She imagined her eyes were blazing as she met his. It certainly felt like they were shooting fire. “Reality is relative, Mick. As a writer, you should understand that.”
“I have the right to know if it was actually me performing, or you making me think I was.”
He struck a belligerent pose, hands fisted on hips. Her insides felt like death. She smiled, knowing the expression did little to hide the hurt in her eyes, and shrugged in an intentionally dismissive manner. But no matter how much the question tore at her heart, she couldn’t lie about their relationship. Even to save her pride.
“What’s between us is magic even a witch can’t conjure,” she stated quietly. “It’s chemistry. The kind that comes along once in a lifetime.” Her sigh was soft but heartfelt, and she stared down at her feet. “And believe me, I’ve lived long enough to know the truth of that.”
Mick moved closer, and she sensed that he wanted to touch her. He didn’t.
“This goes way beyond my understanding of Wiccan.”
“I’m not Wiccan.” Cassie raised her head, nearly wincing when he took a step back. “I’m full-blooded witch. Both my parents are witches.”
“Witches don’t exist.”
That comment instantly infuriated her, and she barely resisted setting his hair on fire. Instead, she broke her own rule. I think what I just did out in the lobby blasts that theory of yours to pieces.
Mick flinched, then shrugged away his surprise at her mental invasion. “So you’re telepathic. I’m sure there are plenty of telepaths who don’t claim to be witches.”
“Very true. But I happen to be both.” At the odd look that crossed his face, she asked, “What does telepathy have to do with us?”
Now Mick was the one who couldn’t make eye contact. “Did you get inside my head when we made love?”
He couldn’t have cut her more deeply with a razor. She’d only just then broken her vow not to use telepathy, and he wanted to know if she’d read his mind while they . . . His questioning the reality of the best lovemaking she’d ever experienced nearly crushed her. But anger quickly erased the sorrow. How dare he cheapen something so wonderful.
“Don’t even go there,” she growled. Then she started for the door.
Mick took two steps after her before stopping. “Cassie, wait. Where are you going?”
“To find a Black Sabbath,” she shot back over her shoulder. “I’ll drink some goat’s blood, dance naked, fornicate with dozens of strange men. You know, typical witch behavior.”
Mick ran his hand through his hair. “Look, Cassie, I—”
Turning at the door, she fixed him with her most potent stare. “As an advice columnist I feel it’s my duty to advise you. Quit talking before you say something we’ll both regret.”
Then she spun on her heel and was out the door, leaving him staring at empty space.
HE LOOKED AT the blood that coated his hands and arms, that had splattered across his face and chest, and he felt no satisfaction. None at all. The hot surge of life force and the power that had always come with the kill had abandoned him. Rage replaced them.
Rage that these two kills had been in blind fury—random victims slaughtered in the most expedient and violent way. No blueprint to follow. No planning, no selection process, no order or ritual. And the cause of that artless sacrifice . . . rage that his deity had forsaken him.
He had broken the pattern. Yet his idol had broken it f
irst. His idol had decided to stop writing. The grief and pain of that realization doubled him over, brought him to his knees. He nearly cried out in anguish, but instincts honed to danger prevented him. He was vulnerable to capture. No matter that the authorities were moronic automatons, his carelessness in these two killings made him susceptible. He had to hide, to carefully assess his previous plans. To alter them according to the break in the pattern.
No choice existed. He would have to commit deicide.
FEELINGS OF COWARDICE lowered her mood further, and Cassie admitted she wouldn’t qualify for any profiles in courage in this lifetime. Guilt stabbed her like a broken underwire. She’d stretched the bounds of friendship by having Endora cover the afternoon’s signing, but she couldn’t even face Mick, let alone sit next to him for two hours. The scene the previous night in Memphis felt like ground glass in her chest, scraping her heart raw. So instead of being brave and facing up to the source of her pain, she’d imposed on her familiar and then slunk away from the hotel, bound for New Orleans’ French Quarter.
No destination in mind, she wandered, absorbing The Big Easy through every sense. Soon, she found herself on Royal Street in the heart of the Quarter. While most of her family frequented “N’Awlins,” Cassie had only been there a handful of times. Never as an adult.
She’d never before in her adult life wanted to be here. Suddenly, a fundamental need to truly experience the city grabbed her. To connect with a part of herself she’d never completely accepted and answer questions she’d just discovered her heart had been asking for years.
Right down to her DNA, Cassie believed in fate. After all, she was a witch. She was here at this specific time for a precise reason, and duty to herself created the need to find out why. Hoping with all her heart it was to discover how to be with Mick, she nevertheless realized it might be to discover how to be without him. Her destiny was here, waiting to be seized.
Not one to waste an opportunity when it presented itself, she succumbed to the allure of the fabled Vieux Carre and went where instinct took her.
Some Practical Magic Page 16