This Wicked Magic. Michele Hauf
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magic over the decades.”
“Decades? Seriously? You’re a handsome, virile man, Certainly Jones. Have you been so busy you haven’t taken the time to kiss a woman?”
“Pretty damn close. I get it when I need it.” That had been a vulgar confession. She didn’t seem to mind. “I just …” He touched her lower lip, wanting to remember the shape of it, to imprint its seductive power upon his flesh. “I think you just touched parts of me that haven’t seen light in a long time.”
“Really?” She glanced above their heads. “Even with all this prismatic noise going on?”
“Vika, there are places inside me that will never see the light.”
“That’s awful to say.” A stroke of her fingers along his jaw, and he closed his eyes to focus on the exploring touch, to memorize it. “We’ll get the demons out.”
“You’ve suddenly become my cheerleader for demon expulsion.”
She gestured with a shrug of her shoulders. “Guess I figured out you might be worth the trouble.” She kissed him again and, spreading her fingers through his, entwined both her hands within his near their thighs. “Between fighting for my life with the menace demon earlier and walking beneath this amazing constellation of light, my world view has altered in a way not even magic could manage. I’ve always liked things a certain way, neat and tidy. You disperse disorder, chaos and menace with every footstep you make.”
“It’s not something I can control.”
“I know, you explained that. But, well …” She smiled a blushing smile, and her thick lashes fluttered coyly, like butterfly fringe. “I think I understand now why my sister is always falling for the bad boys.”
CJ’s shoulders straightened proudly. “Are you saying I’m a bad boy? I’m just me. Certainly Jones. Boring ole archivist and occasional adventurer to places no human or paranormal breed should ever venture. Fearful of the dark, and keeper of prismatic light.”
“And the best kiss I’ve had.”
He tilted down his head as if to say “really?”.
“Ever. And that’s saying a lot, trust me.”
“Guess I’m not so rusty as I think.” She strolled past him toward the door, and Certainly’s heartbeat stuttered. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.” She twisted an end of red hair about her finger. “I feel compelled to leave the night where it stands, kind of wondrous and new. To save some anticipation.”
Really? That’s what women wanted? Anticipation?
“I want to spend some time browsing through my grimoires tonight, see if I can find something to expel demons.” She paused at the door, hand falling onto the knob. “You didn’t expect me to stay?”
“Oh, no. I mean, not unless you wanted to.” At her raised brow, he rushed out another forced refusal. “No. That would be forward. I’m not that kind of guy.” He winced. “I’ve never been that kind of guy.”
He wanted to change that, though, to somehow fit into Vika’s idea of anticipation.
She smiled, and her emerald eyes beamed brighter than the crystals overhead. “See you tomorrow, Certainly. If you happen to feel a stray soul brush up against you, grab it, will you?”
“How do I contain it?”
“With a mirror. You know catoptromancy?”
“Of course.” The practice involved catching souls with a mirror. He should be able to manage that, even with his lesser powers. “Good night, Vika, Purveyor of Anticipation.”
She tilted her head and blew him a kiss.
And he felt it land in the vicinity of his core, there in his center where the demons roiled, anticipating the night. The darkness. Yet something bright and bold had touched their incorporeal carcasses.
And they didn’t like it one bit.
Vika spun beneath the chandelier in her living room, only to crash into her sister. Libby held her back, her eyes wide and a silly smirk tickling her lips. “What is up with you, sister mine?”
“Don’t ask,” Vika rushed out. “You’ll just laugh.”
“I have never seen you dancing in the middle of the room as if you were at a Samhain festival frolicking naked through the coltsfoot. And no music. You are in a good mood. What’s up? Oh, tonight’s Friday. Are you and No-Name Titan headed out to the clubs?”
She and her best friend, Becky Titan, held Fridays as sacred. “You can call her Becky. Just because her dad didn’t give her a name doesn’t mean we can’t make one up. We use Becky most often. And she’s in the States with her father, visiting friends.”
“Then what is it that’s brought the color to your pale, perfect cheeks? The last we spoke you were going to find the soul— Ohmygosh. The derelict?”
“He’s not a derelict, so stop calling him that. His name is Certainly Jones, and he’s the archivist for the Council.”
“A librarian?”
“Not exactly. He catalogs more than books. We went looking for the soul.”
“And found it! No wonder you’re so happy.”
“We didn’t find it, and in fact, one of his demons made a horrible showing and crashed the hearse.”
Libby’s eyes widened.
“Just a broken headlight, which I’ve already had fixed. Sorry, had to dig into the household account, but I promise to concoct a few spells for you to bring along and sell at the next bazaar to make up for the expense. I plan to return to the area tomorrow and spread out the canvass periphery. How can one soul hide? It’s got to want to go somewhere, don’t you think? Oh, no, I wonder if it attached itself to someone else? I may never find it.”
“You’ll find it. You need to be vigilant, and I happen to know you do vigilance well. But that’s still not the reason for the happy dance. You know I will break you down, Vika. It would be wiser to speak now than have me go at you until you talk.”
True. Libby never let anything go if it was a secret or mystery. She had once badgered Vika about an All Hallows’ Eve present for six days. Vika was expert at holding out information. It gave her satisfaction to do so.
“I can’t say.”
“I won’t laugh. Promise. I’ll tell you my news if you tell me yours.”
“You have news?”
Libby pulled a red glass witch ball out of her tote bag. “Got it at the bazaar. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Vika studied the handblown glass ball. Long glass strands dashed from side to side within the globe. “This is amazing.”
“The strands are supposed to trap souls. I thought to hang it in the garden above the white heliotrope.”
“Perfect. Though, I hope it won’t interfere with the souls that stick to me.”
“Oh, I didn’t consider that. I was thinking to catch a few butterfly souls to use in my spells. I’m so sorry. We can’t put this up.”
“No, do. I’ll let you know if it causes a problem.”
“If you’re sure, then I will. Now tell.” She went dead serious. “Or I’ll have the vines in the garden rise up and meet you next time you go out back.”
“I’d blast them with nightshade. Libby, you know you can’t go up against me when it comes to spellcraft.”
Her sister’s shoulders wilted.
Vika started up the stairs, gliding her fingers along the railing and looking down over the chandelier.