Captivating The Witch. Michele Hauf
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rockabilly look and was pleased it was actually making a style comeback with the humans. Easier to fit in when she resembled others.
On the other hand, she never wanted to conform. That was for uninteresting people who didn’t know themselves.
Once out of the elevator, she nodded goodbye to the hirsute night guard, who she suspected was a werewolf, but he never seemed to want to converse, barely looking up from his handheld television as she passed and never offering a vocal “au revoir” or even a confirming nod.
Ah well, she couldn’t befriend them all. And he was a shapeshifter, so yeah, nix that.
Located on the Right Bank in the 11th arrondissement, the Council headquarters opened into a dreary alleyway that was far from parking or any Métro station. Out of the way and unassuming. Tamatha could do without the ten-minute walk to the closest subway. She lived across the river in the 6th, near the Luxembourg Gardens. It was a fine walk on a sunny day, when she remembered to bring along walking flats. Not tonight, though, with the promise of rain thickening the air.
Muttering the words to the demon binding spell, she delighted in how easily she remembered things like Latin spells or even long ingredient lists for poultices and charms. If only her luck with men could be so simple and long lasting.
The curious thing about the family curse was that no one was really sure how it had originated, nor had anyone tried to vanquish it. Sure, the Bellerose women were independent and much preferred lovers to a more permanent husband. But Tamatha had already had her share of lost lovers since she’d started dating in her late teens in the 1930s. She was ready for some permanence. For a good old-fashioned love affair that might result in something more promising than death to the male party.
Warm summer raindrops spattered her cheek and she picked up into a sort-of run. The fastest she could manage in four-inch heels and with a tight skirt was a penguin waddle.
Touching her middle fingers together to ask for a rain-parting spell, she dodged left into a cobblestoned alleyway she knew was sheltered with close-spaced roof ledges—and she ran right into a man. He had been walking swiftly as well, and when they collided he let out an “ouff” and gripped her by the shoulders.
The first thing Tamatha noticed in the moon-shielded darkness was the glint of something shiny and black at his temples, beneath the hairline, and the barest scent of sulfur. Demon? A brief red glow ignited in his eyes.
She reacted. “Scatura, demonicus, vold!”
“Wait—”
It was too late for his protest. The man dropped her, his arms slapping to his sides and his body going rigid. He wore half gloves on his hands, and his exposed fingers crooked into ridged claws. His feet stiffened within his boots and he teetered, falling backward, his shoulders and head hitting the brick wall of the building but a foot behind him.
His eyes glowed red and he growled at her through tight jaws. “Witch!”
Edamite Thrash had been minding his own business, racing against the rain to get home, when he collided with a deliciously scented female with skin like ivory, hair the color of silvered snow and wide green eyes. It was as if entering another realm when he’d touched her and she had surrounded him with citrus, sensuality and softness, and then—
Damn it. He couldn’t move his limbs. And his veins felt as if ice flowed through them. The chill was moving down his thighs and toward his calves. Every muscle strung tightly. The witch had bound him.
“Get this...off me,” he hissed, thankful he could still speak. Though he clenched his jaw tighter. And his body leaned against the wall. How soon before his boots would slide on the wet pavement and he toppled? “Damn you! Witch!”
“Oh my goddess, it really worked!” she said with more enthusiasm than he thought appropriate.
The witch peered into his eyes as if looking for something she’d lost. Even in the darkness her giddy thrill showed in the gemstone gleam of her gaze. Stepping back, she looked him up and down. From the top of his slicked-back black hair, down his black suit and trousers, to his leather boots. Ed had never felt more humiliated. So inadequate. If he could lift a hand he would make her regret it. In his trouser pocket he felt his mobile phone vibrate. No one would call him at his private number unless it was important.
“I’ve always wanted to bind a demon,” she offered with a gleeful clasp of hands before her. Many crystal rings flashed in the moonlight and he noted the small tattoos on the midjoints of each of her fingers. Sigils of some sort. Nasty witch business, no doubt. “And I did it!”
“Against my will,” he snarled. “Take this binding...off me, or...” To make the sounds leave his mouth was a monumental task. “I will kill you, witch!”
Her happiness flattened to curious concern as she tilted her head and tapped her lower lip. A plump pink lip that looked all too tempting even in his bound, defenseless state.
What was he thinking? Witches were disgusting.
“You actually think that threatening to kill me will convince me to release you?” she prompted.
Probably not. But he’d been speaking reactively not rationally.
“Fine. Please, witch—” Oh, how he hated to condescend to her sort.
“My name is Tamatha.” She offered her hand to shake, and when he could but look at it, a pitiful statue tilted against the wall, she dropped her hand. “Sorry. My bad. I learned the demon binding spell this evening. Must be the full moon. It’s magical, isn’t it?”
Ed inhaled a deep breath to calm his anger. He had to do something if he was going to talk his way out of this one. “How about I promise not to harm a hair on your witchy head if you remove the binding? I mean, what are you going to do with a stiff demon anyway?”
Her lips curled to an expectant smirk, and her eyes brightened as they strolled down the front of his torso to just there.
And Ed realized what he’d said. Really? Her mind went there? Well, he could entertain a few lascivious thoughts about those lips— No! This situation was embarrassing and ridiculous. And never would he entertain anything with a witch. Been there, done that. Learned his lesson well.
“Please, Tamatha?” Right, appeal to her personally. Befriend the enemy.
“Before I release the binding, tell me your name,” she entreated, “and what breed of demon you are. I’m studying diabology. I’m very interested in your species.”
Yikes. The woman was some kind of fangirl. That creeped him out. Just his luck with women, though. They either wanted to marvel over his oddities or run screaming from them.
“If I give you my name, you’ve control over me,” he said tightly. His jaw muscles felt like stretched iron. “Not going to happen.”
“Oh, but I— Oh, yes, I see what you mean. Witches can control demons with their full names. Could you maybe tell me what kind of demon you are? I’ll release you then. Cross my heart.”
The gesture of crossing her heart disturbed Ed. He would have flinched if he wasn’t bound. He’d once been told about the witch’s crossed heart but couldn’t recall what it meant. A wicked gesture with malefic intent?
He didn’t want to give her anything, but her knowing his breed wasn’t going to hurt him any more than this wicked chill icing his veins. “Corax demon,” he said. And then, to keep it light and perhaps her mood light as well, he offered, “Such fortune that I run into a witch who is practicing her spells this ugly moonlit night.”
“Oh, it’s not ugly out. You think it is? Rain is cleansing and it washes away the icky city smells.”
“What I think is that we are done conversing. The cold.” It took all his effort to curl his fingers upward