Bad Witch: A Snarky Paranormal Detective Story (A Cat McKenzie Novel Book 2)

by Lauren Dawes

  I yelped again when Sawyer finally spoke. “I don’t want you to have dinner with Kailon.”

  Rubbing the steam from the glass shower screen, I glared at him. “It’s dinner. We’re not getting married.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  Well, that made two of us.

  “He stopped that gremlin for us without anyone else getting injured. All he’s asked in return was to go out to dinner with me. It’s actually a great opportunity to question him.”

  “I don’t like it.” The words were practically thrown at me.

  Tipping my head back, I kept my eyes on Sawyer as I rinsed out the conditioner. “Why not?”

  He balled his hands into fists. “Because I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he all but roared, his mask of civility dropping for a second.

  I blinked. “The way he… Oh, my God! You’re jealous!” I crowed, shutting off the water. “You’re jealous that another man is interested in me.”

  He folded his arms defiantly. “That’s not it at all.”

  “And I’m calling bullshit.” I squeezed the water from my hair.

  With a growl, he yanked open the shower door and stepped inside. He tilted my chin up, making me look into his eyes. They were roiling like molten mercury, the intensity of his expression making me squirm. “Is that what you want to hear? That I’m jealous? Because I fucking am.”

  All the air in my body left in a rush. “What?” I whispered, hating how vulnerable I sounded.

  “I want you more than I want my next breath, Cat… just like you want me.”

  The need to deny my feelings rose until I felt as if I was choking on them. And honestly, the strength of them frightened me. I had no idea whether what I was feeling was real, or if it was Sawyer manipulating my emotions. All I knew was that something had been awakened in me that night in Slayke.

  Tentatively reaching for me, he stroked my cheek with his thumb. “Look at your necklace and know that I’m not influencing you right now.” His voice was as smooth as velvet and as dangerous as shattered glass.

  I looked down and saw the black opal was quiet against my chest.

  “But we can’t give in to this,” he whispered, leaning in and kissing the corner of my mouth. “We can’t. It’s madness to even entertain the idea of acting on these feelings, but Cat… Jesus, I’ve never felt this before.”

  “What?” I rasped.

  “Like I want more.” He dropped another kiss onto the side of my neck this time, his tongue sliding up my throat while an erotic purring filled the shower.

  “I want more, too,” I whispered, clinging to his shoulders, feeling the heat beading off his body. Squeezing my eyes shut, I breathed through the stab of lust that was assaulting my body. Inside my chest, my heart pounded against my ribs as I stepped out of his hold and backed myself against the shower wall. He was right, of course. We couldn’t do this, couldn’t stumble and fall over the line. But why did it have to hurt so much?

  The tile was cold against my skin—the perfect match to the freezing ache in my chest. “I need to get dressed.”

  Hurt flickered in his eyes, and I met that pain head-on. I needed to remind myself that sex—no matter how amazing it would be—wasn’t worth losing my partner over. Seeing him with other women, or the aftermath of being with another woman, would kill me. Panting through my open mouth, I silently begged him to go. Having him this close—having him showing me the raw truth—was torture.

  Clearly, he read that in my eyes because after one final nod, he opened the shower door and stepped out, leaving a trail of wet footsteps in his wake.

  Six

  I avoided Sawyer for the rest of the weekend. His admission was everything I wanted to hear and everything I was terrified to learn. A relationship with an incubus would be nothing but heartbreak, of that I was sure. I wondered if he was even capable of love–real love—or whether something in his biology prevented it. I mean, he needed to feed like I needed to breathe, except my respiration didn’t depend on an orgasm inside a female.

  Monogamy just wasn’t possible, so there really was no point, was there?

  I’d just finished making myself a cup of coffee on Monday morning when Sawyer strolled into the kitchen wearing his black slacks and black dress shirt, the damn fabric clinging to his shoulders and chest. Across his broad torso was a black nylon and Velcro holster, its thick straps straining against his pectoral muscles. Tucked under his left arm was his department-issued Glock 22, the butt of the gun sitting snug under his armpit.

  My own Glock was looking far less menacing in an identical holster across my chest.

  “Good morning,” he said, reaching around me for a cup and the coffee pot. His whisky and chocolate scent shot straight between my legs, and I stepped to the side, giving him a wide berth. The bastard could smell lust like a shark could smell blood in the water.

  “Morning.” Pressing my back against the granite counter, I asked, “What time are we meeting the witch?”

  “Nine o’clock at her work.”

  “And where’s her work?”

  He turned around, slowly stirring his coffee. I didn’t know why, but I noticed how long, strong, and sure his fingers were. “A vet clinic across town.”

  Nodding, I began making myself some toast and felt Sawyer’s eyes on me the entire time.

  “Can we talk about what happened on Saturday night?”

  “I’d rather not.” Pulling the butter from the fridge, I waited for my toast to pop. Being dicked around with my feelings wasn’t something I relished—rehashing said dicking even less so.

  “Cat, will you look at me? You avoided me all weekend.”

  Reluctantly, I lifted my eyes to his achingly beautiful face.

  “I don’t know how to navigate this thing,” he told me.

  “Me, either.”

  “Usually, when I want sex, I don’t think about it… I just seduce my way into the woman’s panties. But I don’t want to ruin our partnership with it.”

  “I understand. Look, if it’s easier, I’ll find somewhere else to live until I get back on my feet.” Although where and with what money, I didn’t know.

  “I’m not saying I want you to leave, Cat.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Christ, if anything, I want you to stay here with me. I guess I just want to know I haven’t fucked up our friendship with admitting what I did.”

  “You haven’t.”

  Peering at me over the rim of his cup, he said, “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Sawyer’s stare was intense as he studied my face. “Okay, good. Can I ask one thing from you, though?”

  “It depends on what it is.”

  Draining the rest of his coffee, he placed the cup down gently and folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t meet Kailon today.”

  We were back to that?

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t trust the fae.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “In general, or specifically Kailon Perry?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure it does.”

  His jaw tensed as he worked it. “Can you just listen to me once? Not involving the fae is the smartest thing to do right now.”

  I finished the last bite of my toast and placed my empty cup and dirty plate into the dishwasher. “What if he’s the key to stopping whoever is killing these witches?”

  “He’s not.”

  “But what if he is? Are you willing to dismiss a potential witness so quickly because you’re blinded by prejudice?”

  His hands balled into fists under his crossed arms. “You’ll be going in blind. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

  Holding out my arms to him, I said, “Welcome to my life. When am I ever not going in blind to supernatural work?” Dropping my arms, I added, “Besides, you can just tell me the rules, right?”

  He arched a brow. “Rules?”

  “For the fae. I
assumed there are some things I can’t do or say.”

  “Even if we started now, it’s not enough time for you to learn everything you need to know. A mouse would have a better chance of survival falling into a basket full of vipers,” he muttered with a shake of his head.

  “You say the sweetest things,” I told him, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

  Ignoring my snide comment, he picked up the keys off the end of the counter. “We can talk about it later. We’re going to be late.”

  My badge was hanging on a hook by the door, the sight of it stalling me out for a moment. Sawyer’s was beside it, the twin leather-backed shields touching along the long side. Ignoring the feelings two inanimate objects elicited, I snagged the strap of mine and drew it over my head.

  My jacket was next, and I tucked my badge inside after I zipped up the leather.

  At the elevator, I jabbed the button repeatedly, watching the digital display above the door slowly ascend. Sawyer appeared beside me, his chocolate and whisky scent tangling in my nostrils once more. When the doors opened, I stepped inside.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, jerking my attention to him.

  “What for?”

  He peered at me, his gray eyes clear. “For overreacting to the idea of speaking to Kailon. There’s bad blood on my end, and I’ll be the first to admit that my emotions dictate my rational thoughts, at least when it comes to you, it seems.” A heavy sigh escaped him. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m not sure how much I could mess up going out to dinner,” I admitted, then frowned. After clearing my throat, I added, “And now that we’ve had that chat I didn’t want to have, you can tell me what your problem with Kailon is.”

  “Tonight, after you get home,” he promised, then sighed. “We’ll talk then. Just promise me—”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  The elevator doors opened, and we stepped out into the parking garage underneath the building. I followed him to his motorcycle which he’d retrieved from outside my building yesterday. He handed me a helmet, and I swung onto the back of his Ducati. He kicked the engine to life, and I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist. His stomach muscles went taut under my hands. As soon as he eased the kickstand up, I buried my helmet-clad face in between his shoulder blades, praying that the ride would be a quick one without any side servings of death and flaming wrecks.

  Outside, the morning was clear and crisp. Forlornly, I glanced over at the spot my truck had been safely parked on Saturday night before that gremlin had annihilated it.

  “How far away is this place we’re going to?”

  “It’s about twenty minutes away,” he replied through the comms system. “So, settle back and enjoy the ride.”

  “Yeah, right,” I muttered.

  When he finally pulled off the road and into the lot of the vet’s practice, I scrambled from the back of the motorcycle, my legs stiff from being locked in one position—which was a death grip on Sawyer’s hips.

  Walking like a green cowboy who’d been in the saddle for eight hours, I followed my partner into the main office of the practice. On the eggshell white walls were posters of dog and cat breeds, ads for pet food companies, and a noticeboard where people were selling pets, looking for lost pets, or offering a service like dog grooming or cat boarding. The linoleum floor beneath our feet was a faint shade of pale blue probably chosen to hide puppy accidents and the inevitable shedding hair of the waiting animals.

  My attention snapped back when Sawyer said, “Amy, thanks for seeing us.”

  Amy was a dumpy, fifty-something woman with blonde hair, brown eyes, and pink lipstick on her teeth. In pale pink scrubs with navy blue paw prints all over it, she was the antithesis of my only experience with witches so far—which were creepy-as- fuck hags with a penchant for blood-letting.

  She smiled at Sawyer warmly. “No problem. What can I do for you, dear?”

  “We’re wondering if you’d be willing to talk to us about some symbols we can’t identify,” he said, pulling out his phone and zooming in on the shots. “All we know is they’re magical in some way.”

  I watched Amy and got a good look at the image on the screen. The color drained from her face, her eyes widening with each image Sawyer scrolled through.

  She clutched at the neck of her pink scrubs, her round face white. “Were these found at the scene of a murder by any chance?”

  I stepped closer. “Why would you say that?”

  She stared at me for a beat before returning her gaze to the phone screen. “They’re symbols related to death magic.”

  I rocked back on my heels, dragged back to when Alistair had muttered two words in abject fear—death magic. “What else can you tell us?”

  Amy glanced around the empty reception area, then back at us. “Let’s talk in the break room.” Stepping out from behind the high counter of the receptionist’s desk, I was pleased to see she was even shorter than me. She led us into a room off the small hallway where more eggshell white coated the walls, the linoleum in this room a mustard yellow instead of blue. Against one wall was a small table set with four chairs. On the other wall was a microwave on a chipped Formica counter, a kettle, sink, coffee maker, and a dish drainer filled with clean cups.

  “Please.” The witch gestured to the seats. I took one, but Sawyer remained standing. Amy took a seat opposite me, her brow furrowed as she looked at the phone’s screen again. “This one here?” She pointed to a symbol that looked like a squat picnic table. “This means altar. And this one?” She flicked to another photo of a symbol that consisted of one long vertical line, a circle at the bottom and a ‘c’ shape on the top. “This one means death. Alone, they don’t mean anything, but when found together…” She shook her head and placed the phone onto the table between us. “Did you find any raven feathers or perhaps a dead raven at the scene?”

  “Both.”

  “Oh, dear. That’s… that’s not… that’s not good,” she muttered. She seemed to be talking to herself. “Was the victim also a witch?”

  “Would you expect them to be?” I asked when Sawyer remained silent.

  Amy’s gentle eyes were guileless. “Well, yes. A witch wouldn’t waste this power on a human. They must want something from the victim… something intangible that they couldn’t physically take. This witch is—” She stopped. Frowned. Rubbed her forehead. “No, but that doesn’t make sense,” she muttered to herself. “Why would they…”

  I glanced briefly at Sawyer, whose face was unreadable. “Why would they do what?” I prodded Amy when she stalled out on her rambling.

  Amy blinked her brown doe-like eyes at me like she’d forgotten I was there. “Create a death curse. Any experienced witch would know that forcefully taking the ability of another makes the power… twist and warp.”

  “Warp?”

  “Well, yes, dear. Magic is all about balance. If it’s taken by force, it resists.”

  “And these symbols,” I tapped on the screen. “They help with the death curse?”

  “They are the death curse. These symbols combined strip the victim of their abilities by collecting them. There’s only one problem with that. With the transfer, the magic is watered down upon the death of the original host witch.”

  Sitting forward in my seat, I rested my elbows on the table and clasped my hands together in front of me. “Do you know of any witches in the area who might be able to do this or want to do this?”

  Amy shook her head. “The kind of people capable of doing this…” she gestured to the phone, “… don’t run in the same circles I do. My family has always practiced natural magic.”

  “Is that where you learned, your family?”

  “My mother,” she replied. “All power is passed onto children through their mother.”

  “And what power was passed to you from your mother?”

  “I can locate people… locate things.”

  “Like a Seeker?”

&nb
sp; Her face scrunched up in distaste. “No, dear. Seekers require bodily fluid to determine the location of a person. My kind of magic… natural magic… only requires a memory or a photograph. I’m what’s called an Echo.”

  I looked over at Sawyer, who nodded and said, “Thanks, Amy. We appreciate your time.”

  I stood, shutting down Sawyer’s phone and handing it to him. “Yes, thanks, Amy. Can we come back to you if we find out anything else?”

  “Of course, dears,” she replied absently, looking off into the middle distance. “Of course. Anything I can do to help…”

  When we arrived back at the station, I collapsed into the chair behind my desk, jiggling my mouse to wake up my computer. I needed a good hit of caffeine to try and get my brain back into gear. Speaking to Amy had chewed up a good couple of hours of the morning. Everything the witch had said made my mind whir. Death curses? Another witch forcibly removing powers? Warped magic? I didn’t like magic to start with, but the idea that magic could warp made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “Busy morning?” Brax asked, interrupting my introspection. A fellow member of PIG, Brax was a werewolf from the local Helheim pack.

  “Kind of.” I clicked into my emails, checking to see if there was anything important. There wasn’t. “Did you hear about the witch fight?”

  “The one that brought down your building? Yeah, I did. Are you all right?”

  “I’m still alive,” I replied with a shrug.

  Brax grinned. “Can’t keep a good woman down. Any leads on the case?”

  “Some. We spoke to one of Sawyer’s contacts this morning. She gave us some information that was useful.”

  Brax nodded. “That’s good. I’d better get back to it. Wolfe wants these reports on his desk ASAP and since no one else in this department is at their desks for more than ten minutes a day…” He continued to grumble about his secretarial role, and I let him.