Hell and Hexes

by Dunbar, Debra

  I wasn’t supposed to have any more of Glenda’s smoothie until tomorrow morning, but I made a split--second decision as my friends were leaving, pulling it out of the cabinet and taking a quick swig.

  Ugh. It tasted horrible, but I did immediately feel more alert and awake. Putting it back in the cabinet, I shoved a mint into my mouth, hoping that it was enough to cover up the nasty breath I must have. It would really suck if Eshu went to kiss me and ran screaming because I tasted like moldy seaweed and old socks.

  The demon had followed me into the kitchen, watching me as I drank the smoothie and popped the mint. He silently helped me clean up the empty pizza boxes, paper plates, and load the glasses in the dishwasher.

  “Are you tired?” he asked, his hand sweeping down my back.

  I nodded. “That was a healing potion in the jug, so I’m not quite as tired as I was a few minutes ago.”

  He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against him, my back against his chest, his cheek against my hair. “Shall I carry you over to the couch and tuck you in?”

  “No!” I held his hands on my stomach before he could scoop me up. “I don’t need to sleep right now. I don’t want to sleep right now.”

  I’d doze off and he’d leave, and while that did seem to be our thing, I wanted more tonight, and I definitely wanted to wake up with him beside me in my bed, not alone on the couch.

  “Then what do you want, couch-witch?” he whispered in my ear. “More games? Or should I pull out my giant trouser snake?”

  Yes, please. Although a little romancing might be in order first.

  “How about a drink?”

  “I’m happy to accept an offering of alcohol,” he informed me, planting a soft kiss on my neck before moving away to look in my cabinets for glasses.

  I went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine, holding it up and waiting for his thumbs-up before digging the corkscrew out of the drawer.

  This had been a long day for a woman who’d died two weeks ago, but I felt oddly energized. Maybe it was the smoothie. Maybe it was the zing of having a gorgeous demon flirting with me and making it quite clear that he was one crook of my finger away from being in my bed.

  Sexual tension. Even better than Glenda’s smoothies. I’d need to remember that.

  “What are these?”

  I turned around to see Eshu holding up one of the charms I’d put together earlier today.

  “I was trying to work some magic this afternoon, but I don’t think I’m one hundred percent recovered yet,” I admitted.

  Funny how I could so easily tell him that, while I was hiding the same fact from Cassie.

  “Understanding, affection, and calm. Yellow for creative solutions to a problem,” he murmured, running his fingers over the buttons on the charm. I swear it felt as if he were touching me, stroking me with both his hands and his words.

  I dragged in a ragged breath and tried to compose myself. “How did you know? Do you have experience with luck magic?”

  He turned to me, and suddenly those dark eyes were so full of intelligence, so serious that I blinked in surprise. “Indirectly, yes. But luck is your magic and I try to know everything I can about my couch-witch.” He stroked the charm again and I stared, mesmerized, actually feeling his fingers as if they were on my skin.

  “They’re no good,” I confessed. “Useless.”

  “Silly woman. They’re beautifully constructed. You’re a very talented witch.”

  “I was a very talented witch.” I abandoned the wine bottle, walked over, and took the charm from his hands, placing it with the others on the counter.

  “You still are a very talented witch. You’re the best of all the witches. You’re the best couch-witch ever to have walked the face of the earth.”

  I laughed. “I’m glad you think so, but that doesn’t change the fact that these charms are nothing but a bunch of buttons on a string.”

  “They just need to be charged,” he countered.

  “And that’s just what I can’t do.” I struggled to keep the bitterness from my voice. “I don’t know if I can ever do that again. Maybe I’ll craft the charms and have Cassie charge them, although they won’t be the same as me doing it myself. I guess it’s better than nothing.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me toward him, kissing me with a thoroughness and a passion I hadn’t expected. The moment his lips met mine, something thrummed through me. As the kiss deepened, it was like lightning in the room, bringing every cell in my body to attention, electricity igniting me. Fire roared through my body and I found myself wrapped around Eshu, trying to touch every bit of him, drinking in his kiss as if I had been in the desert for days.

  When his mouth left mine, I was breathless, my weight against him as he kept me upright.

  “You’re not broken, my Sylvie,” he whispered. “You’re not dead or damaged. You just need to trust.”

  I had no idea who I was supposed to trust, but I felt like I was going to cry at his words. I wasn’t broken? I wasn’t damaged?

  “I died, Eshu. I died and was resurrected because a reaper refused to cut the cord. Because a reaper loved my twin sister enough to shove my soul back into my body. What if…what if I’m not the same? What if some part of me that died never returned? I’m tired all the time. My magic is weak. I feel as if I’m walking every day through unfamiliar ground.”

  He smiled, his hands cupping my cheeks. “The last? The walking through unfamiliar ground thing? That’s life, my couch-witch. The rest? It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. You’ll always be a witch. You’ll always have magic. It might not be the same magic as before, but it will still be magic.”

  I gestured to the charms. “If I still have magic, then why are those useless? Why can’t I power them?”

  “Because your spark needs rekindling.”

  Was this a cheesy come-on? Was this where he told me that sex with him would bring my power back? I knew that demons accentuated both Cassie’s and Bronwyn’s powers, but those were demons who they’d bonded with. I doubted sex with Eshu would do the same.

  Although I was willing to give it a try, because right now sex with Eshu was at the top of my to-do list.

  “Here.” He turned and picked up the charms, dumping them in my hands. “Just feel your magic and let it fly.”

  I closed my eyes and held the button charms gently. My fingers smoothed along the plastic edges, felt the woolen thread that held the buttons together, felt the shape and size and the holes of the charms. I pictured their colors in my mind, thought of understanding, affection, and calm, of creative and innovative solutions to problems.

  I felt Eshu’s hands on mine. I felt his fingers caressing my knuckles. I felt the heat of him near me, the caress of his breath on my cheek. Once again, his energy soared through me. He kissed my neck and I shivered, trying to concentrate on the charms and failing. Everything faded away except the feel of his lips against my skin, and the surge of his energy lighting me up inside. It was like a rush of electricity, like lightning, like dying and being reborn into something timeless.

  Like the ebb of the tide, I felt Eshu’s power begin to slide away. The golden glow dimmed, and once again I was aware of the charms in my hands, of my legs that trembled so hard I could barely stand, of the press of the demon’s body behind me, of the dampness between my thighs.

  Of the hard length of him pressed against my rear end.

  Snatching the last bit of energy before it left me, I pushed it into the charms, thrilled to feel them heat in my hands. It left me feeling tired and drained, desperately in need of sleep. But there was something else I needed far more right now.

  Sitting the charms on the counter, I turned around and wrapped my arms around Eshu’s neck, my eyes meeting his.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, placing a soft kiss on his lips.

  “What I have is yours, my couch-witch,” he murmured back. “But that wine you offered before will be a sufficient expression o
f gratitude.”

  “How about I offer you something else instead?”

  I kissed him again, but this time he gripped me tight, rubbing his hips against mine and refusing to let me pull away. I gasped, and he took advantage, his tongue exploring my mouth as his hands did the same with my body. I yanked the shirt from his pants and fumbled with his belt, making a frustrated noise when I couldn’t manage to get the darned thing to unbuckle.

  He wasn’t having the same problem. While I was smashing my fingers trying to get his belt undone, he’d already pushed my shirt up, unhooked my bra, and managed to get my pants down to my knees. I pulled my mouth from his, thinking I might have to grab a knife from the butcher block to cut the darned belt off him and lost my balance, nearly falling to the floor.

  Eshu grabbed me, lifting me up to slide my pants off, then setting me back down to practically dislocate my shoulders trying to pull my shirt over my head.

  “Hey! Slow down a minute,” I complained. “This isn’t a race. And I haven’t even gotten your stupid belt off yet.”

  He stepped back, leaving me in my underwear with a shirt halfway off my shoulders and my bra hanging loose from my arms. I shrugged out of the shirt and bra before eyeing the demon before me.

  “Hold still,” I commanded before slowly unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off him, taking a moment to appreciate what I’d just revealed. Dark skin gleamed across lean muscles that begged to be tasted. I traced a line from his collarbone down to his pants, once more trying in vain to remove his belt.

  Screw it. With a quick motion, I pulled a knife from the butcher block, slid it between the leather and fabric and sliced through the belt with one quick motion. Eshu sucked in a quick breath and I looked up to see him watching me with alarm.

  “That…that was both erotic and terrifying, couch-witch. I thought for a moment there I was going to die again, and that it would not be a particularly pleasant death.”

  I spun the knife around in my hand then turned to put it back in the butcher block. “I’m a luck witch, remember. You had nothing to fear.”

  “Luck is a tricky thing. One person’s luck is another’s curse.” He reached down and felt his crotch. “It’s still there. It’s still hard. If you’re done slicing things off my body with sharp knives, then let’s move this to your couch.”

  I reached down and unfastened his pants, thankful that I didn’t have the same problem with them as I’d had with the belt. “Let’s go to my bed instead of the couch,” I told him.

  He grinned, stepping forward to scoop me up into his arms. “As you command, my bed-witch. As you command.”

  Chapter 11

  Sylvie

  I ran, barely making it to my office before nine o’clock and thinking the whole way that Eshu was a very bad influence on me.

  The other two nights when he’d tucked me to sleep on the couch, he’d been gone by the time I’d awakened in the morning. That had been my fear—that I’d wake to an empty bed, and that after having sex with him throughout the night, he’d vanish, and I’d never see him again. Instead, I slowly came to a drowsy consciousness to find him spooning me, his one leg wrapped around mine, his arm around my waist. I stirred. He stirred. Then we had that lovely half-asleep morning sex that is truly the best way to start the day.

  We made cheese omelets in the nude, ate in the nude, then went back to bed for some post-breakfast seduction. I barely had time for a quick shower and had to leave with my hair wet and no makeup on. I was almost late for the nine o’clock appointment I’d set up, and that would have been horribly unprofessional of me.

  Breakfast. Drat. I’d promised Bart pastries or something like that. I didn’t have time to race over to the bakery before they arrived, so I decided that would be my excuse to leave them alone to talk together.

  Unlocking the door, I got to work putting on a pot of coffee and firing up the kettle. Stanley arrived first, right at nine o’clock. I made him his favorite tea and tried to look busy while he sat and fidgeted, looking over to the door every ten seconds. Finally, I sat down and tried to take his mind off things by discussing a knocking sound my car was making and asking him to troubleshoot the problem.

  Fifteen minutes after the hour, I started to worry. Was he not coming? Had Bart knuckled under to the fear that the pack might find out if he disobeyed the exile mandate, deciding his friendship with Stanley wasn’t worth the risk? Had I made things with Stanley worse, getting his hopes up like this only to have him experience the equivalent of being ditched on prom night with his dress on and hair done?

  It was twenty after, and I had pretty much sweated through my anti-perspirant and was completely out of small talk when Stanley sat up in his chair, his shoulders straightening and an excited expression flitting across his face. Two minutes later, Bart edged through my door, his eyes darting everywhere as if he expected either a surprise party or Dallas to jump out and bite him.

  “Come in. Grab some coffee or some tea and sit down,” I told him. “I was running a bit late today, but once you guys get settled in, I can dash out and grab some pastries.”

  “I’m good. Ate a big breakfast,” Bart said as he walked over and poured some coffee into a mug. He didn’t look at Stanley. Stanley didn’t look at him.

  Great. We were off to such a wonderful start here.

  “So…” I waited until the pair were seated. Bart had taken the chair at an angle from Stanley on the couch. Not too close, but not across the room, either. “Let’s start with Bart. What’s been going on in your life the past few weeks?”

  The werewolf slid Stanley a glance out of the corner of his eyes. “I can’t discuss pack matters in front of…you know.”

  I got a horrible feeling this wasn’t going to go well. Stanley would be even more despondent, and I would have totally screwed up any small progress he’d made toward his being happy as a lone wolf. Was it just my powers that were gone? Maybe my abilities as a therapist had taken a hit with my death as well.

  Taking a calming breath, I decided to keep going with this. They were both here in the same room. That had to be indicative of some interest on Bart’s part to keep in contact with Stanley against Dallas’s mandate.

  “Then let’s not talk about pack politics or any of that. We’ll discuss personal stuff instead.”

  Bart looked down at his coffee cup. “Went fishing Tuesday. Caught a bass and threw it on the smoker.”

  Stanley grunted. “How big?”

  Bart shrugged. “Twelve? Thirteen inches?”

  “You got him at the bend? With the downed tree?” There was a pained note in Stanley’s voice that made me think they had caught a lot of fish together at this spot.

  “Yeah.” Bart shifted in his seat, facing Stanley but still not looking at him. “Been out there a few times but only caught the one.”

  Stanley nodded knowingly. “You use golden shiners?”

  Bart snorted. “You keep your shiners. Crawfish are better bait for bass.”

  I had no idea what these guys were talking about but having gotten the conversation started, I quietly excused myself and ran down to the bakery. By the time I got back with a box of cream-filled donuts, the two were sprawled on the couch watching Ice Road Truckers on the television. They dug into the donuts, and I made myself busy with some paperwork, noting that aside from the occasional commentary about the foolhardiness of the truckers on TV, they were completely silent.

  It was a good silence, a companionable silence. When the show was over, Bart stood, saying that he needed to get going. Stanley stood as well, saying he hoped to see him next week, and that he’d bring that three-eighths inch socket wrench Bart wanted to borrow.

  Bart grunted in appreciation, his eyes meeting the other werewolf’s for the first time. “Thanks. I’ll smoke some ribs.”

  Ribs? At nine on Sunday? I withheld judgement because Stanley seemed excited about the prospect. Bart left, holding his amulet tightly and looking carefully around before venturing through the doo
rway and outside. Stanley waited another ten minutes, then took out his own amulet, turning to me before he left.

  “Thanks, Sylvie.”

  He walked out and I felt downright giddy with happiness. It had been a success. Maybe they couldn’t hunt—or fish—together yet, but at least Stanley had been able to have contact with another werewolf—one who he counted as his friend. I could tell by the man’s posture and the ease in his face that he felt better. He was less depressed, calmer, and content.

  It wasn’t a long-term solution but for twelve weeks of “tap dance lessons,” Bart and Stanley would be able to get together and talk…or watch television, or do whatever guys did to bond. Maybe I could figure out a way for them to meet outside my office, if I could manage to get my magic to the point where I could make some additional amulets keyed to a different location.

  Either way, I felt good about today. I’d made a difference in a werewolf’s life. Hopefully the meeting Monday would go just as well, and we’d be even closer to peace among the werewolves and a happy life for all of them.

  Chapter 12

  Sylvie

  I drove over to Cassie’s, filled with that warm contentedness that suffused me every Sunday when we all got together for dinner. We might all be adults with our own homes, careers, and lives, but I loved how we connected as a group every week. Seven sisters and Aaron, our cousin who we treated as a brother, shared dinner and talked about our lives, reconnecting and reaffirming our connection with each other. There were occasions when Ophelia was working at the firehouse and couldn’t make it, and those Sundays always felt a bit empty. We made sure to bring her leftovers, but still missed her presence—me, especially.

  But in the past few months, family dinners had become different. First there was Lucien, and I’d be the first to admit it had been an adjustment having him suddenly in the midst of what for all of us was a sacred event. A demon. A stranger. Some hot guy that Cassie was leading around by the nose and was a bit infatuated with. We’d never allowed boyfriends at Sunday dinner. We’d never allowed friends. Even when Cassie had been dating Marcus, and they’d been fairly serious at one point, he’d never been allowed to invade the sanctity of Sunday Family Dinner. Yet in less than a week of his appearance, Lucien was there, breaking bread with us as if he were family.