Basic Witch

5

As soon as I crossed the threshold into Mortimer's humble abode, I had regrets. The kind of regrets that made me want to run screaming into the night, begging Beau to take us to his house instead. But I had a feeling I didn't want to cross Mayor Davenport, or the Coven. If this was where they wanted me, this is where I would stay.

I set Titus down on the wood floor. “Don't break anything,” I warned.

Not that anyone would notice. The shop downstairs was cluttered, but Mortimer's apartment was a prime candidate for the season finale of Hoarders.

Piles and piles of books, tattered volumes stacked from floor to ceiling, teetering precariously with every step I took. Mountains of paperwork, half-empty teacups, and dusty knick-knacks covered across every surface.

The kitchen was small, yet functional. But that was as far as I could go in the way of compliments. The stove—which appeared to be a gas-powered vintage model sporting an avocado green finish—was scratched and worn. The counters were covered in glass canisters of all sizes, none of which were labeled, and the sink was piled high with dishes. A peek inside the matching refrigerator revealed a glass bottle full of milk, a wedge of cheese, and half an onion. Thank goodness Beau had taken me to eat. If the Detective hadn't declared Mortimer Montcrief's death a homicide, I would have assumed he starved to death.

I crossed the room and made my way down a narrow hallway, opening doors along the way. A bedroom with a wardrobe I didn't dare open, a full-sized iron bed made up neatly with a threadbare patchwork quilt, and a lopsided dresser, all cast in a golden glow from the second fire Beau had built. A closet stuffed to the brim with who knows what—I slammed the door shut just as the contents shifted and started to spill out. I'd deal with that tomorrow. A bathroom, complete with a cracked mirror over the sink and an enormous clawfoot tub that, under any other circumstances, I would love to sink into for hours on end. You know, if it weren't so grimy. I shuddered and backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind me. I grasped the cast-iron doorknob of the last remaining door and let out a long, slow breath. Every room had been worse than the one before it. There was no telling what nightmares awaited beyond this threshold.

I twisted the knob and eased the door open, flinching as it let out a long, aching creak. Nope. I yanked the door closed and rushed back into the living room. No way was I walking into a spooky murder-house room by myself at midnight on Halloween. Whatever was behind that door could wait until Beau got back. Or better yet, until daylight.

I wrapped myself in the beige quilt and moved into the kitchen, taking three clean teacups down from an open shelf before snagging a few of those glass canisters. I opened each one and gave them a sniff to confirm my assumptions about the contents. Lavender. Chamomile. Lemon balm. A perfect combination for a relaxing herbal tea.

I grabbed the tarnished copper teakettle from the stove, flicked on the kitchen faucet, and filled the kettle with water before returning it to the stove. But that was where my domestic abilities ceased.

I peered down at the range, searching for a place to switch on the burner. There were no knobs. I narrowed my eyes and took aim at the counter full of canisters, sliding them away from the wall in hopes of finding a light switch or some sort of mechanism for turning on the burner, but to no avail. I backed up, examining the front of the oven door and the range hood before crossing my arms and slumping against the kitchen island, baffled. What kind of stove had no controls?

I stared at the tea kettle, eyeing as if I could will it to boil on cue. Just as I was pondering my options, I heard a soft knock at the door, followed by a familiar voice.

"Gemma? It's me." Beau.

"Come in!" I called. He opened the door slowly, easing in with his overnight bag before a massive, fluffy calico with giant white paws and tufted ears lumbered in behind him.

"This," Beau said, "is Smallish."

"Smallish?" I laughed. "There's nothing Smallish about this cat."

"I know," he responded. He lowered his voice before continuing. "She's part Maine Coon and part... just big. But she's sensitive about her weight."

Smallish narrowed her pale green eyes and let out a raspy meow.

"Well, hey there," I said. I squatted down to greet Beau's familiar. The cat made a beeline for me, rubbing her broad face over my calves, and then trotted over to the fireplace, her ample belly swinging as she jogged. She eyed Titus with curiosity, then flopped down on the rug beside her. Titus opened one eye, peering at her, then went back to sleep without a word.

“Well, that was suspiciously easy,” I said.

Beau set his bag down near the loveseat and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I hope I didn’t get your hopes up with my glowing review of the place.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t find a hotel?”

“It’s… quaint.” He dropped down onto the couch, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He jumped up, coughing and waving a hand in front of his face. “And dusty.”

“Oh, for… That’s disgusting. You can’t sleep there.” I braced my hands against his back, gently pushing him into the bedroom as he continued coughing. “Look,” I said, gesturing to the bed. “By some small miracle, this is the only clean spot in the entire place. It’s big enough for both of us.”

His coughing fit finally over, Beau wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Gemma. We can’t sleep in the bed together.”

“I trust you to be a gentleman.” But I’m still hoping maybe you’ll be just a teeny bit ungentlemanly.

“It’s not that, it’s…” He raked a hand through that gorgeous head of hair and blew out a breath. “You’re pretty.”

“You can’t sleep in the bed with me because I’m pretty?” Normally I’d be swooning at the compliment, but I had a feeling this line of conversation wasn’t leading to a whirlwind romance. “You are very, very, very pretty. And clever. And interesting,” he continued.

“You just said very three times in a row. Surely, an educated guy like you can come up with a better adjective?”

“But that’s not the point.” He drew his mouth into a hard line. Apparently, Beau didn’t like having his vocabulary called into question, even by a very, very, very pretty woman. “The point is that it doesn’t matter how pretty or clever or interesting you are. You’re my student, first and foremost. It’s my job to teach you, not sleep with you.”

“Easy, now. No one said anything about sleeping together.”

“You know what I meant.” He leveled his dark gaze at me, making my knees go weak in an instant.

“I’m not your student, yet. Our lessons don’t officially start until tomorrow. And as much as I’d like to continue arguing semantics with you, I’m really tired. And really creeped out by this whole situation. And I’d really, really like it if you stayed in here with me tonight. Nothing scandalous. Just sleep.”

He stared at me, considering my proposal, then finally nodded. “It’s probably best we don’t mention this to anyone. I wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea.”

“Of course not,” I said.

And I meant it. Not just because they might think Beau was taking advantage of a student, which, in my mind, still seemed like a ridiculous concern given the fact that I was in my thirties and more than capable of making my own decisions about my dating life. But also because I didn’t particularly want to be seen as the easy new girl in town. Cut me some slack. Embracing the whole idea of feminine and sexual agency isn’t as simple as it sounds.

Beau pulled the covers back, and I yanked off my boots before sliding in, fully clothed, and snuggling under the threadbare blankets. He drew his wand and tapped it against the wall, whispering, “Tenebris,” and the room went dark. But even in the shadows, I could see his lean, muscled form outlined by firelight as he removed his shoes and pulled his sweater over his head, then stripped his undershirt and belt off. I held my breath as he paused, his fingers playing at the button of his jeans for a moment before he changed his mind and decided not to take them off. He slipped, bare-chested, into bed beside me, and laid on his back, drawing the blankets up to his chin.

We were both frozen, silent, in the near-pitch blackness with only the occasional flicker of dying flames illuminating the room. My heart raced in my chest, and I was too nervous to breathe.

It wasn’t like Beau was the first man I’d ever seen half-undressed before. Or even fully undressed. But it was almost as if his presence alone had an undeniable effect on every system in my body. What in the world was coming over me?

I shivered, finally giving into the chill in the room.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Freezing,” I answered.

“Me too.”

We were quiet a moment more, and I almost thought he had fallen asleep. Suddenly, Beau blurted out, “This is ridiculous.” He rolled onto his side and wrapped a strong arm around me, pulling me flush against his chest. I eased back, allowing our legs to intertwine as he spooned me and snuggled his chin against my shoulder.

“Not a word to anyone,” he reminded me.

“My lips are sealed.”

Beau let out a long sigh, and I felt my breathing fall into sync with his as his warmth radiated through my body and lulled me into deep relaxation, and then, finally, sleep.