An American Witch In Paris

Chapter 5

A shower had never felt more welcome. Tuesday dried off in the steamy room. The floor and walls were grey marble that was deeply streaked with clear quartz. Gorgeous stonework. And she could feel some of the earth’s energies remaining in the stone when she pressed a palm to it, though they were weak. The manufacturing process tended to rape natural stone of most of its essence, but if she took her time, and had the inclination, she could restore its vital energy with an earthing spell.

It was a hell of a lot more than Stuart could do, that was for sure.

“Take that, Stuart.”

It was weird to think that an inanimate object was listening in, all the time, waiting for a cue to turn on some function in the apartment. Electronic witchcraft was not her thing. But apparently Ethan was one of those spoiled rich bachelors who could afford life’s luxuries. But he didn’t seem to flaunt it, with million-dollar wristwatches or fancy suits, so he earned credit for that.

The bathroom was attached to the bedroom, which was open to the rest of the loft. A nice setup, and she suspected the view out the picture window was awesome, were the shades not blocking the bright sunlight now. She hadn’t realized how dead tired she had been last night. Her face had hit the pillow. Snores had commenced.

Now she didn’t hear Ethan puttering about in the kitchen, but then, why should she? The guy was a vampire. He didn’t eat food. But she certainly hoped he played the charming host and either ordered in or found something for her to nosh on.

Fingering her black silk shirt, which revealed a nicely toned tummy, she sighed. She’d worn it for two days straight and a long flight across the Atlantic Ocean. She needed clean things to wear. And at the very least, some basic magical accoutrements.

Combing out her hair with Ethan’s comb, she then snapped her fingers and whispered, “Dry,” and a whoosh of air fluffed up and through the wet strands, instantly drying them. Sometimes Latin wasn’t necessary to kick in the magic. Keep it Simple, Stupid was a motto she followed with her spellcraft. She wove her thick hair into a loose side plait and left some in the back hanging free.

Without makeup or a toothbrush she felt out of her element. Not quite in top form. She scanned the insides of the medicine cabinet and spied the wood-handled toothbrush. Nah. She wasn’t going to use a vampire’s toothbrush. She squirted a blob of toothpaste on her finger and scrubbed the old-fashioned way. Centuries ago, this had been her only option to dental health. That, or use a bit of twig or the corner of some rough suede. It worked. But her kingdom for a dash of dark eye shadow and lip gloss.

“Ugh. Nature witch,” she muttered to her reflection. “I should concoct a makeup spell.” She tapped her fingernails against the mirror, thinking it odd that a vampire even had one in his home. “Yeah, I’ll worry about the lacking glamour later. I’ve got bigger problems to solve.”

Putting the obsidian crystal around her neck, she held it a few moments. Grounding herself. Finding a calm tone for her personal vibration.

Now ready to face whatever adventure the vampire with the attack kisses had in mind for her, she wandered out into the living area. Seated on the leather sofa, Ethan was focused on an iPad, but he nodded over his shoulder and said, “Ran down to the creperie an hour ago when you were still sleeping. Got you some croissants and pain au chocolat. Fresh juice, too.”

Points for the vampire. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

“You mean Stuart is incapable of such errands? Not sure you got your money’s worth with that guy,” she said gaily.

Sliding onto a bar stool and tearing into the paper bag, Tuesday bit into a still-warm pastry loaded with gooey chocolate. Crisp, thin layers of pastry engulfing sweet, dark chocolate? By the seven sacred witches, it was amazing.

“What are the plans for today?” she asked around chews.

“Thought you could summon the demon. Witches can do that, right?”

“Right, but I can’t summon a demon who has marked me. Just doesn’t work that way. I can track him, perhaps even locate him, but he’s not going to come when I call like a little bitch.”

Ethan’s sigh echoed across the room. “I thought you’d be more useful.”

“Way to boost a chick’s confidence. Besides, Edamite Thrash confirmed The Beautiful One wasn’t going to come when I call. So get over it, will you? I know what is first on today’s list of adventures.”

“What’s that?”

“Shopping! I can’t wander around in this same getup. I mean, I can work it, but I seriously prefer clean clothes. And I need some lip gloss and eye liner. I feel naked without the black stuff.”

“Is that going to help you to locate the demon?”

“It will.” She turned and fluttered her lashes at him. “Don’t you know a woman’s power is all in how she feels about herself? When I look good, I do my best.”

“I think you look great.”

“You’re a guy. Guys always say dismissive things like that.”

He shook his head and set aside the iPad. “Shopping it is. And then?”

“And then, I also need to pick up some spell supplies. Outfit myself with a makeshift hex-and-spell armory. Then I should be able to set up a grid to map the city of demons. And hopefully, by incorporating the sigil’s power, The Beautiful One will stand out on that map.”

“Hopefully? I’m going to need more than that. I require assurance.”

Tuesday shrugged and bit off another piece of chocolaty pastry. “You get hope from me for now, vamp. Say, do you mind that I used your comb?”

“As long as you didn’t use my toothbrush, I don’t care.”

“What if I did use your toothbrush?”

“We’re stopping at a pharmacy, first thing.”

* * *

The witch could work the tight black jeans and floaty flowered shirt. Her vibe was definitely bohemian, with her thick white hair braided down one side and the furred spangled coat topping it all off. In the pharmacy, she tore open the makeup packaging and performed a quick makeover on herself, fluttering her newly blackened lashes at him and pursing her deep violet lips.

Ethan nodded approval because the sooner she served her personal needs, the quicker he could be done with this stupid stuff and get on to the important work. But he had to admit the deep color she wore on her lips stirred his desires. The violet lipstick emphasized her plump, heart-shaped mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes from them. They might taste like sweet grapes warmed under the Tuscan sun.

Yikes. Ethan checked himself. What was he thinking? He was not attracted to a witch. Yes, he was. And what the fuck was that about?

“Come on!” Tuesday skipped ahead, obviously on some kind of spending high.

Ethan kept his credit card handy. Whatever made the witch happy.

Now, she had managed to find a dusty candle shop that opened to a private room in the back that was filled with all the witchy accoutrements he imagined she’d ever need. And while he suspected the shop owner was one of those kitchen witches who spoke incantations from books she’d bought on the internet and thought she was casting spells, she wasn’t a real born witch like Tuesday Knightsbridge. And if she knew that the woman buying smudge sticks and candles from her really did possess natural magic, she would be in awe.

Tuesday popped her head out from the back room with a bag full of goodies and winked at Ethan as she wandered by. “Homeward! Stuart waits for us!”

At the very least, he’d gotten a new toothbrush.

Back at his place, Tuesday dropped her shopping booty on the floor by the sofa, tossed her coat on the chair and beelined to the bathroom while he picked up the mess.

Setting her heeled boots on the rug by the door, he then placed the bags neatly on the kitchen counter. He liked a clean, organized home. Which was probably why his few attempts at living with women over the years had failed. Also, the lack of privacy was jarring. Sharing a home with another person was hard work. And since he could have a relationship without moving in with the woman, he chose to stick with what worked.

Although a few relationships here and there, over the centuries, had worked for him. Most had been so long ago he’d forgotten what it felt like or how it had lasted. That wasn’t exactly true. A man never forgot the women who had passed through his life. And the current one was moving through like a hurricane intent on settling and spinning about for a while.

“Stuart, be sure to send the vacuum through when next I leave.”

The home butler confirmed with a blip on the wall panel and a solid green light. Ethan had programmed it not to return voice reply unless necessary. It wasn’t like he needed to talk to the artificial intelligence to make conversation. He used it merely as the maid he liked to have available at all hours of the day, yet didn’t want a human stumbling around in his life discovering that he didn’t need to sleep and eat. And he’d bitten a maid once. Early nineteenth century? It was best not to drink from the help.

Tuesday returned, flipping her hair over a shoulder, and stretched out on the sofa. “Where’s my stuff?”

“On the kitchen counter. You can’t leave a trail of bread crumbs wherever you walk.”

“I don’t need to. We’re attached at the hip. If you should lose sight of me, you’ll find me soon enough. Bring me my bags.”

“Get them yourself.” He settled onto the big leather chair with the wide wooden arms. The wood was worn from decades of use and connection to life. And more than a few frenzied bang sessions. “Dazzle me with your witchy magic and this demon map you said you could conjure.”

“I don’t dazzle on command.” She wandered over to the counter and pulled out things from the bags.

“Then how do I get you to dazzle me?” Ethan asked. “Is there a magic word?”

“Please seems to work most of the time.”

He pressed his fingers to his forehead. He should have left the witch in the cage.

On the other hand, she couldn’t hex him and he did need help with this case. He had absolutely no clue how to lure in the demon otherwise, so he would take her sassy mouth and... Well, he’d kiss her again if need be. Heh. That kiss had set her off-kilter.

But the return kiss had surprised him. And then he’d accepted it for the retaliation it had been. Now a kiss from those grape-stained lips would give him what he wanted from her. Another taste. A teasing test of his abilities to remain completely unaffected by her charms and attraction.

She had some. Somewhere in that scatter of spangles, sass and black eye shadow.

“Black salt and raven’s ash.” She waggled between them two vials of a dark substance that she’d purchased from the candle shop. “This will do the trick.”

She wandered over and pushed the narrow coffee table up against the sofa. The wide dark-stained plank flooring was the original from when the building had once been a millinery factory. Ethan liked it because he’d known a man who had worked here in the 1920s. He’d taken immense pride in the cut of a woman’s hat, or even the specific froth of a silk flower adorning a sweeping brim. He’d also asked Ethan for vampirism after learning that the mercury used to cure the felt for his creations was driving him insane. Ethan had convinced him an insane vampire would be worse than a human prematurely dead from bleeding out.

In all his centuries, Ethan had never created another vampire. And he didn’t intend to do so anytime soon. It was too much power to simply give away as if a holiday gift. And besides, he was blood-born, not a created vampire. His breed were superior to those who had been transformed in a back alley or at a lover’s lusty request. And he wasn’t about to tarnish the line. If he ever desired to procreate, he would have a child, who, depending on its mother’s lineage and paranormal species, would very likely be born vampire. He preferred to mate with another vampire, but he wasn’t rigid in that stance. Love was actually his key requirement to a happy, lasting relationship.

But love was fickle and...well, he’d take it if it came his way, but he wasn’t on a quest to track it down.

Ethan leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and watched as Tuesday sprinkled black salt in a pattern before her on the floor. He was curious about witchcraft, and knew it was powerful. No man should mess with a witch. But he was feeling cocky with the protective bind against her. So long as it lasted until they found the demon.

Leaning over the scattered salt, which designed a pentagram inside a circle, Tuesday closed her eyes and spread her arms wide. She chanted words that Ethan would never try to decipher. Witch words. Dangerous words. Yet he could feel them forming sentences in his veins, warning that she could take him out if he dropped his guard.

With a snap of her fingers, the salt suddenly illuminated and jittered on the floor, moving, ordering and aligning. The tiny grains jumped and crackled. The scent of salt tinged the air. And when it settled and continued to glow, Tuesday sat back on her heels, hands propped on each thigh.

“A map of Paris,” she said with a gesture over the salt. “What do you think?”

Ethan leaned over to inspect the map. It included both the right and left bank, and the Seine and the main island. It even showed faint demarcations for the twenty arrondissements. “You’ve dazzled me, witch. Now where are all the demons? Or just the one in particular?”

“That requires more intense chanting. And an elemental callout. You stay there. Don’t move, because I don’t want the bond between us to tug me out of concentration. Deal?”

“I am a captive audience.”

She looked at him a moment, and he couldn’t decide if she thought she was peering into an idiot’s eyes or, in fact, seeing beyond his irises and into his very soul. He’d witnessed it when she’d peered into Certainly Jones’s soul. Was it a skill they could only perform on other witches? Or need he worry, too?

“What?” he finally asked.

“There’s something about you, Ethan Pierce. Something that keeps me from stabbing you through the heart with this athame.” She twirled the knife she’d bought from the store. The hilt looked to be carved from opal. That was why the bill had registered in the hundreds of euros. “I’m not sure what that is, though, so I’m going to keep the blade close.”

“Whatever works for you. You couldn’t harm me if you tried.”

“Probably not. But you are racking up the points against you for when the bond is lifted. Know that.”

“I’m not afraid of a witch.”

Her head tilted and her gaze narrowed as she said simply, “You should be.”

And Ethan realized she was right. But he wouldn’t show his anxiety.

Casting her focus over the salt map, she moved up on her knees, spread out her arms and began to chant.

* * *

Tuesday felt the presence of every demon inhabiting the city prick at her skin. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t painful, either. Rather a sort of vehement and inner knowing. The elemental spell had been successful. She opened her eyes and looked over the map.

Ethan kneeled on the opposite side of the map and scanned the results as well. “What are all the glowing red salt crystals?”

“Demons,” she said.

“There’s so many. Thousands.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No. But how is this going to help our search?”

“Hold your horses, big boy. The real magic comes next.”

Tugging loose the ribbon ties at the bodice of her new shirt, Tuesday tossed the obsidian crystal over her shoulder and then pressed her fingers against the sigil between her breasts. She lowered her other hand over the map, moving methodically as she silently thought Gazariel’s name. The sigil warmed and she could feel the tendrils of it creep through her chest and toward her extremities. It noticed her.

And that was not a good thing.

Wanting to abruptly end the spell, she suddenly noted the violet glow at one edge of the map. “There! Where is that?”

Ethan turned his head to assess the map. “Looks like the Bois de Boulogne. A big, forested park at the edge of the city. Is that purple spot The Beautiful One?”

“It is. And now I’m cutting the connection before he catches on.”

“Wait!”

Tuesday pulled her fingers from the sigil. The violet light snuffed out.

“If you would have held on longer, I could have marked the exact location,” Ethan protested. “That would have made our job easier. Are you helping me or hindering me, witch?”

“What do you think I’m doing? You think I enjoy being your captive? I want this over as quickly as possible. But I will not call the demon directly to me. He could manifest within me. And then what will you do?”

“That can happen?”

“It’s likely. But remember what Edamite said. If he’s smart he’s not going to come near me. And he is.”

“Sorry. I, uh... I don’t intend to place you in harm’s way. I just want to utilize your expertise.”

“And this, eh?” She tapped the sigil.

“Can I take a look at that?”

She studied his curious gaze. He wasn’t aware that a childlike wonder could overtake his normally serious expression. Nor could he be aware how much that relaxation of his outer shield attracted her. Because it made him everything he probably didn’t want to be—soft, kind, accepting.

Tuesday nodded her consent.

Ethan reached over and pressed two fingers to the sigil. It was an intimate touch and her skin warmed. Her breasts hugged his knuckles. He flicked his wondrous gaze onto hers.

“I can feel your fear,” he said. “I don’t want you to be afraid. I will protect you.”

Tuesday wrapped her fingers about his wrist, holding him there at her breast. “There’s nothing a vampire can do to protect me that I can’t already do myself. You’re going to have to make a better plea for my continuing to work with you than that.”

“All right. How about this?”

And with that, he slid over the salt map, smearing the left bank of Paris, and cupped the back of her head as he pulled her in for another sudden kiss.

His mouth warmed against hers and demanded she not ignore him. That she allow him to protect her. And at the same time, it teased her to submit in a way she generally didn’t care to with a man. It was the surprise of their connection, their easy manner of locking lips, that excited her, and made her want to not break it.

On her knees, Tuesday scooched closer. He slipped one hand down her hair and clasped his fingers into it, easing her forward, into his arms. Into his interesting acceptance. She’d thought he didn’t like witches. So why was he kissing her?

Did it matter? Not in this moment. She wanted to taste every sensual, hot bit of him. Inhale his cool, fresh-air scent, and every breath that he greedily gave and took from her. Moaning into his mouth, she grabbed at his shirt and straddled his legs with hers. They kneeled there on the scattered remains of the city map, a strange fusion of opposites who couldn’t resist the pull to experience one another.