Witches Get Stitches

by Juliette Cross

  “Lovers,” said Nico, his voice so deep and rough I couldn’t help but look up at him, unsurprised to catch a flash of gold in his eyes.

  “Oh,” said Lindsey next to him, blushing.

  “Sweet,” said Sean with a cackle.

  Tom said nothing per usual, unruffled by just about everything in life.

  Clearing my throat nervously, I straightened the card and stared down at it, the naked lovers entwining. “So this card means, um, obviously physical love and harmony in relationships.”

  “In my near future,” added Nico.

  “Right, it—”

  Sean was making some other quippy remark, but a sizzle of magic froze me in place, flashing a vision into my head.

  Nico was laid back on a sofa I didn’t recognize with me lying beside him, my head at the other end. I was massaging his feet that were in my lap, and then I said something that made him laugh. Then his gaze turned molten hot, and he licked his lips and—

  What the hell? I wasn’t even the lovey dovey type, much less the kind to massage a guy’s nasty feet. Hell no, Spirit! You can take that vision right back and shove it up your ethereal ass. But then a niggling little voice whispered how good it could be. Would be.

  “You okay?” asked Lindsey.

  I was scattering cards like crazy and had already turned over the Lovers card because I couldn’t look at it a second longer. Nico just sat there, grinning at me like a fiend.

  “You know what? Lindsey, could you pick these up for me and y’all just put the pastries in the fridge.” I was on my feet and running out the door. “Gotta go!”

  “Violet!” Nico called at me as I opened the door.

  He strolled to me, his movements smooth, his gaze focused. “You forgot this.” He held out my phone.

  I reached out to take it from him. “Thanks.”

  But as I tugged, he wouldn’t let it go, pulling my gaze back up to his. He didn’t smile or laugh or look like he was teasing at all, but rather he wanted my attention. I stood there, breathless, eyes wide, and my mouth unable to say a word. He trailed his index and middle finger over the underside of my wrist, surely feeling my pulse, before he finally let me go.

  Somehow, I felt branded by that featherlight touch. He was telling me something without saying a word. Stubborn as I was, I didn’t want to listen, but my body sure as hell got the message loud and clear. I took my phone and ran like the coward I was, though I was pretty sure he wouldn’t let me run forever.

  Chapter 6

  ~VIOLET~

  * * *

  The next morning, I shuffled into mine and Clara’s kitchenette in our loft above the carriage house and frowned at my French Press coffeepot. Well, I thought it was my French Press coffeepot. It had been yesterday. This morning, it was a purple nightmare.

  “Clara,” I mumbled under my breath, trying to decide whether I was amused, irritated, or grateful.

  If I could be all three at once, I suppose that’s how I was feeling while staring at the teapot cozy made of various shades of purple. This was Clara’s newest obsession. Knitting. One of the widows who was in her historical romance book club had brought her knitting to their group meeting a month ago. That was it. Clara was hooked. Ever since then, Clara had been on a mission to cover anything and everything with yarn.

  Thankfully, she left the handle free. As I lifted the pot, I noted that she was really good. Not that I was an expert in knitting, but there were no gaping holes or lopsided lines. All tight stitching, nice and neat rows.

  After setting up the coffee, I sat on the sofa in our little living space and waited for it to percolate. And sighed. Heavily.

  I’d thought I’d be back to my carefree self by now. I wasn’t. If anything, I was more agitated by the other night’s brief but unsettling encounter with Nico. I wasn’t the jealous type, but clearly my green-eyed monster showed her ugly face when I’d seen his interest in Lindsey. I wasn’t the relationship type, but for a hot minute I was considering what that might look like with him. I was accustomed to moving through life with confidence and conviction. Today, I just felt...icky.

  The sound of the coffee finishing its percolating pulled me off the couch. I poured myself a cup with the perfect amount of my almond milk creamer and savored the bliss of the first sip.

  Ahh. This should bring me back to myself. I was simmering in the warm buzz of caffeine and coffee on the sofa when a shriek and a squawk and a bark startled me.

  “Shit.” I spilled my perfect cup of coffee all over my boob.

  I ran over and swung open the door to see Clara in her pink-and-white striped pajama shorts and tank-top chasing Isadora’s dog Archie, who was chasing my rooster Fred. Zombie Cat was perched on the top of Fred’s chicken coop watching the mayhem, his tail swaying leisurely.

  “Not again!” I jogged down the steps in bare feet, the steps freaking cold with the lower temps this morning. “Corral him this way!”

  Clara glanced at me then tried to get Archie running in my direction, but he was a crafty little thing. He stopped, his ears perking up, all while Fred puffed himself up, wings flapping, trying to look intimidating. If a dog could laugh, Archie was howling with laughter.

  “Come here, you little fiend,” I muttered. He dodged away again, now playing chase with me. That’s it. I stopped dead center of the courtyard, about to use magic to lift his ass up and bring him to me. A spark of energy sizzled in my bones.

  “Don’t you dare, Violet!” Clara shouted, knowing full well what I was about to do.

  “I’m gonna do it.”

  “No, you’re not!”

  “It won’t hurt him.”

  “It will. It’ll scare him.”

  “We won’t catch his little ass if we don’t.”

  “Archie!” Isadora in a short nightgown and long robe streaked toward us from across Devraj’s yard on the other side of the wrought iron gate. Her hair was sleep-mussed—or probably sex-mussed with those two—but she still looked like a fairy queen dashing across his yard. I should probably say Devraj and Isadora’s yard since she lived there more than at our house now.

  “Your spawn of the devil is stressing out Fred,” I called over, shivering in the morning air.

  As soon as Archie saw his Mama, the little fucker pranced away toward the fence happy as could be.

  “How did he get over there?” Isadora called from across the fence.

  Clara walked over while I scooped up Fred, removing his newest bowtie, which was dangling and askew. It was Star Wars themed with tiny X-wings. Evie had bought it for him.

  “I just don’t understand,” Isadora was saying as I made my way over.

  Clara lifted the little orange monster and handed him over the fence.

  “Devraj has checked for holes and weak spots in the fence.” Iz looked exasperated.

  “I don’t know either,” Clara commiserated while scratching the fluff-ball’s head.

  Isadora looked genuinely stressed. “I’m so sorry, Violet. Is Fred okay?”

  My boy’s beady eyes narrowed at his nemesis through the bars, a steady, deep clucking in his chest.

  “He’s okay,” I assured her, not wanting to make her feel any worse. As I said it, another feather fell from his throat and drifted to the ground.

  “Oh, no.” Holding Archie on the hip farthest from us, she reached through and placed her palm on Fred.

  I kept him still, knowing she was sending him her healing magic. Instantly, his agitated clucking eased as a hum of energy washed over him and my arm.

  “Dev said he’d set up a camera so we can figure it out. I swear, I think the dog might be magic.” Iz huffed out a laugh. “So sorry, Vi.”

  “Again?” came the deep voice behind Isadora.

  Devraj stalked across the yard in loose joggers and nothing else, his long black hair in a messy bun. Not that I had ever wondered, but this was visual proof why Isadora spent so much alone time at his house. The man—or rather, vampire—looked like a walking sex god. />
  He stopped midway to us, propped a hand low on one hip, and surveyed the yard, checking the fencing for holes where Archie may have escaped.

  “No idea either,” I said when he made his way over to us and scratched Archie’s head even as he scowled at him. “How the hell are you doing it?” Then to me, “Sorry, Vi. I’m going to buy the cameras today.”

  “All good.” My gaze strayed from the large mandala tattoo that fully covered one shoulder to the smaller mandala with shades of green and blue just below on the side of his ribcage, the one I’d given him about a month ago.

  “So what’s the word?” I nodded toward the tattoo I’d given him. “Anything new to report?”

  His expression morphed into utter joy. The man was beautiful on any occasion, but that smile made him lethal to all of womanhood.

  “It’s unbelievable. It’d been a month since I fed when you gave me that tattoo. We’re going on two months, and I haven’t had any cravings at all.”

  His dark gaze slid to Isadora, then his hand disappeared behind her back where he was obviously caressing her. “Well, I still have cravings. Just not for blood.”

  “Aww! Y’all are so cute,” cooed Clara, practically beaming heart-eyes at them.

  Isadora turned the brightest shade of pink, but while they were getting all gushy and red-faced, I was marveling at the fact that my spelled tattoo was legit working on him.

  To be honest, I’d tried twice before, simply spelling the outline of the new mandala I tattooed to his ribcage, but it didn’t work. I enchanted the blue ink and shaded in the mandala with my second incantation, but it still hadn’t worked. Apparently, third time’s a charm.

  Devraj happened to be a vegetarian, which totally sucked for a vampire—no pun intended—who had to drink blood in order to stay alive. He was also a three-hundred-year-old, powerful as fuck vampire, so he’d gone over a month without feeding before.

  Most vamps couldn’t go near as long. He’d told me that after two months, he’d be pretty ravenous. Except now he wasn’t. Because of my charmed tattoo.

  I wanted to jump up and down and do cartwheels, but since that was more Clara’s style, I just beamed excitedly, letting out a relieved laugh.

  “I can’t believe it.” I caught Clara’s eye. “It’s working!”

  “Of course, it is. You’re a brilliant, gifted witch.”

  “You know,” said Isadora, cutting in warmly, “this type of magic has the ability to heal, Vi. You could do so much good with this.”

  A new kind of thrill ran through me, my thoughts instantly jumping back to Nico and his werewolf problem. Actually, all the werewolves’ problem with control.

  “Again, sorry about this little guy,” said Devraj. “I’m headed to the store now.” He leaned over, brushing Izzy’s hair aside, and planted a kiss high on her jaw. “Be back soon.”

  She gave him those lovey eyes and nodded before turning a concerned frown at Fred.

  “Stop worrying. It’s okay.” I glanced back at the chicken coop, thinking of ways to fortify his pen. “I just hate to close him up in his pen. He’s gotten used to having full reign of our courtyard.”

  “And trust me,” added Clara, “he thinks this whole yard is his territory.”

  Fred clucked louder at that as if to agree.

  “I just feel awful,” Isadora added. Archie tried to lick her face, wagging his stubby tail and proud as he could be of himself.

  “I think I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Let me check on something, and I’ll get back to you.”

  Then I headed back in, dropping Fred by his coop on the way back to the carriage house. I dressed quickly, having a heavy debate with myself on whether or not this was a good idea, I picked up my phone and texted Nico.

  Me: Are you home?

  Nico: Yes.

  Me: I’m coming over.

  A brief pause then...

  Nico: Come on.

  I almost forewarned him with what I wanted but thought better of it. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, I always said. Actually, that advice came from our grandmother, Maybelle. She was always a rule-bender. I was fairly positive I carried more of her genes than my mother’s.

  After a quick shower, I dressed fast and twisted my damp hair on top of my head. After grabbing a new black and white polka dotted bowtie from my panty drawer and one of Clara’s reusable grocery bags out of the kitchen, I headed downstairs. I put a small sack of feed inside my bag and swung it over my shoulder.

  “Come on, boy.” I put Fred’s new bowtie on, which had him puffing up arrogantly, looking more like himself. Then I carried him out the gate and headed toward Magazine Street.

  It was a pretty big hike since Nico’s place and our shop was a couple blocks toward City Park, but I needed the exercise.

  You might think that a woman carrying a bowtie-wearing rooster down the street might seem odd, but this was New Orleans. Much stranger sights have been seen, which was why I only received friendly smiles as I passed those sitting at the outdoor tables of The Ruby Slipper Café and Red Dog Diner. The smell of sausage, eggs, grits, and biscuits reminded me that I’d skipped breakfast. My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it. I’d grab something before I opened the shop.

  By the time I reached the dead-end street that housed Nico’s place and Empress Ink, I was rethinking this plan. And wondering why my first thought was to go to him. What I should’ve done was call Aunt Beryl.

  Since our parents were now enjoying retirement in the Swiss Alps, Aunt Beryl was our go-to person when we needed help with something. She also happened to be the Dr. Doolittle of witches. But no, I hadn’t even thought of her at all until I was on Nico’s doorstep.

  I opened the tall wrought-iron gate that entered his private courtyard from the street and crossed the brick pavement courtyard that separated our shop from his private residence, while examining the large grassy area tucked away on the right.

  A high brick wall completely enclosed this space for privacy, which also made me think Fred would be fine here. While he liked to prove he was head cock of his domain, he honestly was a total chicken when it came to venturing beyond his grounds. Also, he was kind of fat, if I were honest. He couldn’t fly very high, and I was pretty sure he’d look at that brick wall and think it wasn’t worth the effort.

  The grassy area in the back looked sufficient for him to peck around in.

  Oh! A pretty rock garden and a fountain. I paused at the sight of a sculpture. One obviously created by Nico’s cousin Mateo and Evie’s boyfriend who happened to be a metal sculpture artist. It was a naked fairy about three-feet high. She had one knee bent and was dipping a toe into the water fountain. Her hands were on her hips and her wings were dangling leisurely behind her, brushing her bare ass. She looked…sassy. Even from behind.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to Nico to commission a feisty fairy and to Mateo for having the talent to fill the order.

  Walking toward the back door to his home, I admired the portico that jutted out over the first floor, Greek columns giving it some sophistication. There was a comfortable looking bench on the small porch. A side table held an empty beer bottle, and an old guitar leaned against the brick of the house.

  “Okay. Now mind your manners,” I told Fred as I knocked on the door, my nerves jittery after our last encounter. Putting thoughts of his Lovers card and that hot look he gave me away, I plastered a friendly smile on my face.

  Within ten seconds, Nico was opening the door, looking heavenly as always. His hair was freshly washed, still damp, the longer strands sticking to his neck. In jeans and a black T-shirt, no shoes. At the sight of his bare feet, a rush of heat flushed my cheeks. The vision of us on a sofa and me massaging his feet hit me like a sledgehammer.

  That vision was wrong. Had to be. First of all, they were feet, for fuck’s sake!

  Although to be honest, they were nice feet. Long and wide with a sparse dapple of hair, high arches and that second toe longer than the big toe, which I�
�d read meant you were a dominant. I knew this because I also had a second toe longer than the big toe.

  And he smelled, damn, like citrus and man soap and, wait, I sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

  “Bacon. Good morning to you, too.”

  Clearing my throat, I glanced down at him. Fred was twisting his head about, obviously taking mental notes of his new realm. “Can I leave him right out here while we talk?”

  And for the foreseeable future until we can contain the orange demon next door?

  Nico frowned, but rather than protest, he stared over my shoulder into the yard. “He won’t fly over the wall?”

  I scoffed and set Fred on the porch. “Nah. He’s way too lazy for that.”

  “If you say so.” He opened the door to let me in.

  As I passed by him, I had the strangest urge to drag my nose across his T-shirt on a deep inhale, maybe circle his nipples while I was at it. Thankfully, I rarely gave in to my stranger urges.

  That’s a lie. I typically gave in to all of them. But this, whatever the hell it was with Nico, had me second-guessing myself and reining in those typical instincts that pushed me to do all manner of questionable things.

  Nico closed the door and headed into the kitchen. I was surprised to find the indoor space entirely open. A large living room with fireplace overlooked the courtyard and garden. Right off the living space was a modern kitchen with gray stone counters and white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and fitted with a small dining room table and tall black stools at a bar top.

  “Wow. I didn’t expect this.” Most of these older homes were finished in a more classical style or still bore the old bones of when it was built with a touch of new paint here and light fixture there.

  He was already at the stove, forking bacon out onto a napkin.

  “Wish I could take credit, but it was newly remodeled when I bought the place.”

  “Suits you, though.”

  I glanced around. No, also a lie.

  I categorically examined in hyper-speed every single thing I saw. A bookshelf with pictures, books, and what looked like journals that I wanted to study closer.