by Michele Hauf
On her head sat the most remarkable tiara. It wasn’t a fancy diamond concoction. It looked cobbled together with wire and different-sized clear quartz points.
“You’re a princess then today?” he commented.
“Huh? Oh.” She tapped the tiara. “It’s my spell-casting crown. I made it from Lemurian quartz. It focuses my magic. What? You think it’s too haughty?”
“Nope. I like it on you a lot. You could do the princess thing.”
She waved off the comment with a dismissive gesture. “I don’t think so. Too much fanciness and fuss for me. But you really like it?” She blushed, which pinked her cheeks as if with makeup. So pretty.
“It suits you. But you don’t do fancy and fuss? I thought you were the glitter queen.”
“Oh, for sure!” She drew a fingertip under her eye, then followed the curve of black sparkly liner that Tor thought gave her an Egyptian flair. “But you know, fancy as in haughty and fuss as in high maintenance.”
“Ah. Nope, you’re not that. Not when you have a cauldron in your backyard. You know that’s a bit...”
“Cliché? It is, but I make soap in it and I like to do that outside because of the fumes. And Duck naps in it. Sit,” she said. “Bruce is ready and so am I.”
Tor sat, awkwardly finding a position that worked with crossed legs. A bloke didn’t sit on floors all that often.
He eyed the frog, who levitated across the circle from him. As far as backyard frogs went, the critter was large. More like a bullfrog. Should he hold the thing, it would cover his palm. Not that he had any intention of doing that. Something about a floating frog creeped him out a hell of a lot more than an attacking harpie or long-dead dogs risen from the garden.
“How does Bruce figure in as a third hand?” he asked.
“Oh, Bruce is my secondhand man. You’re the third.” Mel placed the plastic container with the heart in the center of the circle. “As my familiar, Bruce helps with all my spells.”
He didn’t want to know. Really, he did not. And yet...
“Is he a magical frog?”
She tilted such a look at him, Tor swallowed. And then he said, “Of course he’s magical. He can levitate. My mistake. Sorry, Bruce. No offense. Can he...? Understand what I’m saying?”
“The question is, does he want to?” Mel hid a smirk behind a brush of her hand across her face as she straightened the crystal tiara. So beautiful. “Are you ready?”
“I’m all in.” Tor rubbed his palms together. “Just tell me what you need me to do so we can get this show on the road.”
“Why? Are you in a hurry?”
“No, but if I hear another knock on the front door, we’ve ruled out your father, so it can only bode danger.”
“I get it. There is a need to keep whatever is picking up on the heart’s vibration from feeling that and coming after it.”
“Seems like it attracts dead things.”
“That makes sense since it’s going to bring a dead thing back.” Mel spread her palms over the circle and spoke a Latin word that lit the candles. Sulfur briefly tainted the air.
But Tor was still stuck on what she’d said. “This heart is going to bring a dead thing back? Wait. Necromancy?” He put up a firm yet protesting palm. “I didn’t get the memo on that particular activity. I thought this was going to be a spell to—well...” He made a thinking noise as he got stuck on pondering this new development. Really, he didn’t have any information. And since when had he so blindly stepped into the fray?
Right. When the one leading the charge batted her glittery lashes at him. And she was no less attractive now that she had shown him how dark and desperate her family and lifestyle was. Damn.
“No time for discussion,” Mel rushed out. Closing her eyes, she waggled her ringed fingers over the circle. “I’ve already tapped into the heart’s aura. The spell has begun.”
She cocked one eyelid open. She had the same deep blue irises as her father. And almost the same chastising look. Though she hadn’t mastered the evil, I-can-hurt-you-with-a-snap-of-my-fingers look. She was the furthest thing from evil.
As far as he knew.
Tor swallowed and decided he would get an answer to his question later. And he would. Because bringing back the dead did not sound like a day at the beach.
“Should I close my eyes?” he whispered.
“Whatever makes you happy,” the witch answered. “Uh, but...hmm.”
“What?” Tor opened his eyes.
“That crystal on your belt. That might interfere with the spell. What’s it for?”
He clutched the heavy quartz. “Just protection. It’s focused only for me. It won’t cause problems with other magics. I know that.”
She considered it while he hoped she wouldn’t question him further. It was too personal. And he never went anywhere without this talisman.
“Fine. You’ll tell me about it when you’re ready.”
He would never be ready.
“Here we go.”
Mel quickly slipped into a fast and focused whisper that streamed words into the atmosphere Tor did not recognize. Her hands moved over the plastic container, sweeping, drawing sigils. Or so he supposed. Her movements did not leave a trail of illumination as her father’s had. She used the feather to draw around the entire circle as her chants grew rhythmic. The flames flickered higher and thinner until they were as narrow and tall as each of the candles.
Tor did not necessarily oppose magic. When it was used for good. And while he’d been witness to its use on many occasions, he still could never shake the prickle of unease that rose at the back of his neck when it occurred. Witches could summon power from out of thin air, using elements and familiars. And it was freaky.
“All right,” she announced. “Now we all join hands and I’ll complete the cloaking.”
Tor reached to clasp her hand. It was warm and felt small and delicate in his grasp. The connection ignited a sudden want in him, not so much sexual as sensual. He liked being near her. She surrounded him with a unique air. Soft yet playful. She teased at his staunch need to remain, well, staunch.
When he reached to the left, he realized her request wasn’t possible. “Frogs don’t have hands.”
Melissande sighed. “Do what I’m doing,” she instructed.
He saw she had extended her forefinger so the amphibian’s front paw or foot—whatever the hell it was—curled over it. Right, then. Tor reached out and the frog slapped his webbed footpads over the tip of his finger. Weird. Just...
He wasn’t going to overthink this one.
The witch recited three final words. The candle flames flickered out. Bruce ribbited. And Tor felt a strange and warm jolt shiver through his system. He retracted his finger from the frog, who had hopped onto the box in the middle of the salt circle.
“Complete,” Mel announced. She sat back with a sigh, catching her palms behind her. Stretching her feet through the salt circle, she toggled the container on which the frog sat. “No one should be able to see this now.”
“I can see it,” Tor stated the obvious.
“Yeah, but you can’t feel it, can you?”
He wrinkled a brow. He supposed those creatures that had risen to seek the heart had felt it as opposed to actually having a visual on it. In some strange manner, it was sending off supernatural vibrations and now... “No, I can’t. But I never did. I mean, I’m not—Fine. Let’s hope this one sticks. Now what?”
“I’ll have to vacuum up the salt, but I’m in no rush. You have any appointments you need to make today?”
“No, but I should run home and pack some casual clothing.”
“You have casual clothing?” Her shock didn’t sound mocking, but he wasn’t sure.
“I do. It’s not me though.”
“I should think not, Monsieur Proper-British-and-Uptigh
t.”
“I’m not uptight.”
And to prove his point, he leaned back, but his crossed legs set him off-balance, and he wobbled as he tried to untangle his legs. He managed a graceless sway to the side and caught an elbow on the floor and his hand against the side of his head.
“I’ve never seen a more uncomfortable relaxed man in all my life,” she declared. She leaned to the side, putting their faces close. “What do you do to relax, Tor? Count the ties in your closet? Organize the shirts? Wait. You space the hangers using a ruler, right?”
She was...not wrong. But hearing it spoken with the faintest tone of mockery cut at him. It shouldn’t. It had never bothered him what others thought of him. He didn’t need to please anyone. So he had some OCD tendencies. Didn’t everyone? But for some reason, he wanted her approval.
“Relaxation, eh? I like to sing,” he offered.
“I noticed that. You whistle while you work, as well. I had no idea it relaxed you.”
“It does. A little Sinatra. Some Sammy Davis Jr., Dean Martin.”
“The Rat Pack, eh?” She turned onto her stomach to give him her complete attention. A man could get lost in those big bright eyes for sure. “Have you ever sung karaoke? Do you know they have karaoke parties down by the Seine all summer long?”
“I do know that. In the 5th. I’ve gone to one or two.”
“To sing?”
“What else does a person do at a karaoke party?”
“You do surprise me. I find it hard to believe that you’d let down your guard to sing in front of others.”
“You don’t know a lot about me,” he said.
“I don’t. But I like what I’m learning. Singing is so intimate.”
“You think?”
“It is for the singer.” Her big blue eyes sought his. “Isn’t it?”
“I suppose. And the song choice makes it even more intimate.”
“What does Sinatra mean to you?”
He shrugged. “Teenage memories.”
“Such memories must give you confidence.”
“They...taught me that being myself was okay.”
“Nice.” Mel toyed with the salt grains. “Can we go to the riverside karaoke party sometime?”
“I, uh...”
Was that a date request? Because he wasn’t sure how to actually do dates. Not like he’d ever taken the time to woo a woman before. The few times he had stopped by the party near the river had been on the way home from a job, and he’d surrendered to the need for mindless engagement. “Maybe?”
“There’s my uptight guy returning to his roots. I can accept a maybe. Thanks for helping me with the spell. Your energy is off the charts, you know.”
“Probably because it’s nervous energy.”
“No, you were initially nervous when forced to hold Bruce’s hand, but I could see beyond that small annoyance. You are confident and bold. You may appear to be the average Joe to others, but I can feel all that you are inside.”
“Is that so?” Now he rolled onto his stomach to face her. Sunlight glinted in the crystals crowning her hair. Her violet eye shadow sparkled, as did her irises. Sparkle witch. A guy had to love it. “How do you know all that about me? Did you perform some kind of witchy gaze into my soul?”
“I’m not that talented. That’s my dad’s forte. It’s just a feeling I have about you. Kind of like a knowing. You’re a good one,” she said, then dipped her head. “I have to tell you something. Please don’t laugh.”
Intrigued, Tor caught his chin in his hand and waited for her to speak.
“It’s important I prove myself to my father,” she said.
“I had wondered about that after talking to him.”
“I’ve never strived to practice dark magic. That was always my sister’s calling. And through the years, I noticed that she and Dad got on much better than I did with him. And now...well, now’s my chance to show him that I’ve got what it takes.”
Tor suspected that even if she had what it took to invoke dark magic, she didn’t want to. But proving oneself to another, especially a parent, was a strong motivator. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to seek approval from a parent. Though maybe it was similar to seeking approval from a mentor. He’d jumped into some wild situations to learn his various trades. All because Monsieur Jacques, his mentor, had asked him to meet some extreme challenges. A werewolf cleanup here, a trip to a vampire lair there. And how many times had he been handed a book on chemicals and told to learn it? He’d won approval from Monsieur Jacques and moved on to become the man he now was.
“We all do what we have to,” he said. “I would never judge you, Mel. Much as dark magic freaks me out, it is a necessity to balance out—”
“—the good,” she finished for him. “That’s what I always heard growing up. My mom would whisper it as Dad and Amaranthe would go off to bind a hex or communicate with the demonic realm.”
“You haven’t told me about your sister.”
Mel sighed. “Nope. And I’m not going to either. Not unless you want to start coughing up details about your secrets and personal stuff. Can we agree to not share that which makes us most uncomfortable?”
Most definitely. “Agreed.”
Her lashes dusted her cheeks, and Tor reached over to push aside strands of her hair from those thick lashes. She suddenly looked up, and the glint in her eyes lured him closer. Without thinking, he leaned in and nudged his nose aside her cheek, drawing in her perfume, a tantalizing mix of lemon and lavender. He felt her shiver.
When he tilted his head, his mouth grazed her cheek and her lips parted. He brushed them lightly, closing his eyes because the moment demanded he focus on their closeness, the warmth of her skin, the tickle of her hair against his fingers, the scent of her. It all combined with the herbs hanging overhead and the sulfur still lingering from the snuffed candles. A sweet dream. He had never kissed a client before...
Tor pulled a few inches away from Mel’s mouth. She gaped at him.
“I’m working for you,” he said, not entirely behind the statement, but it was a truth, no matter how conflicted he felt. Why had he made such a move?
Because he’d not been able to resist her soft and compelling allure. Or her crystal glitter eyes.
“Oh right.” She glanced aside. A wisp of her hair fell across his forehead. “I suppose.”
The moment felt wrong. Like he’d just stepped on a ladybug, crushing her delicate shell. Yet Tor could not deny his curiosity for her, so...he would not.
He slid his hand along her jaw and smoothed his fingers into her hair, gliding over the combs that fastened the crystal crown. He tilted her face up to meet his. The connection of their mouths shocked a fiery heat through his system. It was the weirdest thing, and at the same time, the most incredible experience. He wanted to burn himself on her surprising fire, so he pushed away the ridiculous worry that clients were not to be kissed.
And if he even started to consider the fact that her father was a powerful dark witch—
“No,” Tor mumbled against her mouth, but he didn’t stop the kiss. She tasted too good, and he wanted too much. It was easier to relate to her without words.
He slid closer, nudging across the salt barrier, and slipped his hand down her back to pull her to him. When she tickled his mouth open with her tongue, he groaned as the intensity of her heat flooded into him. All thoughts grew singular. Want. Need. Desire. Heat. Take. Give. Lush.
The curve of her hip undulated under his palm, and he clutched at her, keeping her there, hugging his thigh. Against his chest, the teasing connection of her breasts alerted him how hard her nipples were. He moved his hand beneath her breast, gently cupping the perfect handful. He was moving quickly and...
“Not right?” Tor managed as he took a breath against her mouth.
“Very right.
”
With her consenting nod, he pulled her back and dashed his tongue across her teeth. Now her body swayed against his, and he felt her weight push into him, so he relented and rolled onto his back. Her breasts hugged his chest. She straddled him with her knees, and not once did their lips part.
Had he been bewitched? Cajoled by a practitioner of magic into succumbing to base passion? What was wrong with acting on his desires? He could kiss a woman when he wanted to. If she was in agreement. And this woman agreed with every move he made.
His elbow nudged something, and he felt a warmth slide up against his shirt. The candle had toppled and the wax spilled onto the fabric of his dress shirt. Another candle was knocked over by his shoulder.
“Mel,” he whispered.
“What? Don’t say no again. I like kissing you.” She gave him a quick kiss. “This is awesome.”
“Just... Mel,” he muttered. He received another kiss that this time made him smile widely against her lips.
Wrapping an arm across her back, he turned them on the floor until she lay beneath him. Clasping one of her hands with his, he then bowed his head to kiss down her chin and neck. She smelled sweet there, like lavender and spice and the blueberries from breakfast. He nuzzled his face against the top of her breasts, drawing her in, sensing his hard-on was striving for maximum steel. He hadn’t put all his weight on top of her. He wouldn’t be so forward. This was their first kiss. He wasn’t that guy.
Most of the time.
Mel giggled and said, “Is that a talisman on your belt or are you just happy to see me?”
He snickered, but then closed his eyes and bowed his head against her neck. Adjusting his stance, he moved so the heavy quartz talisman nestled against her upper thigh and was not more centered, as it had been. “Slower,” he said.
“Why?” she asked on a whisper.
“Because I want it that way.” He hadn’t thought that answer through; he’d spoken from his heart. It felt right. It needed to go slow between them, if anything was going to happen. And he hoped it would. “Okay?”
“Well, I wasn’t about to let you jump my bones, if that was what you were hoping for.”