This Wicked Magic

Chapter 7

Inviting CJ into her spell room was putting her trust out there as far as she dared. This room was personal to Libby and her. Most witches did not eagerly invite others to peruse their spell rooms, but she had snooped over CJ’s domain. This wasn’t so much an “I owe you a peek” offer, as an “I need to get to know you better” show of trust. And he had once already been inside, not at her invitation, so to now wrest control put her in a place of power.

Vika stood in the doorway, arms crossed and hip against the door frame, as Certainly strode about the room, studying the glass drawers for ingredients. She liked the contrast now of dark and light. Wherever CJ went he insinuated darkness. Not purposefully, but merely by being. His was a complicated darkness, woven with strands so twisted and complex Vika wondered if he could ever become untangled.

“Did you ever not want to practice dark magic?” she asked.

“No. My parents practiced the same.” He ran a long finger over the front of a glass door, behind which sat her mortars, one of which had been hand carved by her father in sandstone. “My brother and sister and I have never known anything different. Dark magic is not evil, Vika.”

“I know that.”

“But it’s not clean, either,” he added, turning and leaning against the counter, opposite the room from her.

His implication was loud and clear. She liked things clean. What was wrong with that?

“Have you a book of shadows?” he asked.

She nodded to the book open on the marble table that mastered the center of the room. “Been working on it since I could hold an ink pen and recite spells. Do you have a copy at the archives?”

“Probably. The Book of All Spells generates a page every time a witch creates a new spell. Dezideriel Merovech allows me access to the book frequently to keep things up-to-date.”

Dez was a nearly millennium-old witch who was married to vampire Ivan Drake, who served on the Council, along with his parents, Nikolaus and Raven. But they lived in the States, so CJ must travel to view the book.

“I’d love a peek inside that book,” Vika said.

“Even with all the dark magic lurking within its pages?”

“Even so. Curiosity doesn’t imply I have to practice it.”

“True. I do admire a curious heart.”

He placed his tattooed hand over his heart. The dark ink work blended against his black shirt. How painful to have endured the needle on what Vika guessed must be one of the most sensitive places on the human body.

“What are you working on at the moment?” he asked. “Anything I can help you with?”

Vika strolled to the spell table and tugged her book toward her. Normally she never shared her works in progress, but knowing CJ’s vast magical knowledge bolstered her eagerness to show him. And she wanted to share with him. It felt conducive to learning more about his life.

And anything that allowed them to converse closely appealed to her desire to have him near her.

“This is my latest interest.”

He slid onto the clear Lucite stool beside her and leaned over the book. Tugging a pair of foldable glasses from his shirt pocket, he put them on and read. That he wore glasses ratcheted up his sexiness level to a new degree. Smart men targeted Vika’s libido like chocolate and oysters did to some women. And though she knew glasses did not imply smartness, the look worked for her.

And his closeness stirred her senses to ultra-alert. He was so...there. Warmth rose from him in tangible waves. A solid entity she could not disregard. And he smelled like her herbarium, a wild mix of scents she could pick out, such as thyme, basil and bergamot, and then the scent would dissipate and allow another to rise, such as the dry sweetness of cedar she’d noticed last night. He wore the world on his skin. And she wanted to explore that world.

“Fire and water fusion. I like it,” he said, tapping the page in her book with a finger. Taking off his glasses, he tucked them away. “Show me?”

“I’m still in practice mode, but I can do little tricks.” She pulled a beeswax candle set in a silver holder to her and, with a breath and the thought lumiere, brought the wick to flame.

“You’ve mastered fire?”

“No, all witches know that simple trick.”

He leaned his elbows on the counter, which rubbed his arm against hers, and Vika stood there a moment, staring at the candle flame, while her attention was focused on the intimate contact. Skin on skin would feel better. Cedar and bergamot permeating her flesh and warming her senses to a heady desire.

But she was getting ahead of herself.

Gliding her fingers above the flame, not touching, she recited the spell. “Earth, fire, bone, water.” With a tap of her finger to the flame, the red heat transformed to blue water and continued to flicker in flame shape.

“Nice,” CJ said.

“You can probably reduce an entire burning building to water,” she said, catching her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “Am I right?”

He shrugged. He could, but he was nice enough not to say so after her small accomplishment.

“Draw it out,” he said with a nod to the watery flame.

“I haven’t gotten that far in my study yet.”

“It’s all in the hands and intention.” He took her hand and she spread her fingers wide, accepting the intense heat of their connection. CJ smoothed his palm across hers with the untattooed hand, indicating she should hold it flat before the flame. “Mirror the flame, and feel its movement in your palm.”

With a twist of her mouth, she concentrated on the watery flame, and the dazzle of undulating light within the clear surface. She could feel the movement against her palm. The water flickered softly, as if touched by a breeze.

“I feel it,” she whispered. “I think I can control it.”

CJ slid his hand down to her wrist, where the jade beads were wrapped, and touched her lightly there, not breaking contact. She sensed he bolstered her magic with his own, and in fact, her intent felt most strong at the base of her throat. Grandmother must approve, she thought suddenly.

The flames spattered up tiny water beads, and then, with a lift of her finger, the beads darted toward her palm. She gave her finger a twist, and the beads spiraled in the air between the candle and her hand in a trill of suspended droplets. Her heart speeding, she sucked in a breath. She wasn’t about to announce how thrilled she was because that would break her concentration.

“Coil them into a weapon,” he instructed. “Use your whole hand.”

Frowning, because the first thing that came to mind would never be what he suggested, Vika balked. “Why a weapon?”

“Doesn’t have to be. But make it a projectile of some form.”

That was easier to accomplish. She folded her fingers inward, one after the other, and the water droplets spun into a tight, long chevron. With a thrust of her hand, she sent the watery dart across the room to splash against the glass doors.

They held gazes in silent triumph. “I did it,” she whispered.

“You pick up things quickly. You have great skill. And this.” He tapped her grandmother’s nail.

“That, and a good teacher. Show me something else?”

Their faces were but a handbreadth apart. CJ’s eyes darted between hers, saying more with his gaze than she felt he could speak. She adored his soft smile, a little unsure, but even more willing. He touched her jaw briefly, and she wondered if he would kiss her, but too quickly he nodded and stood back, shaking out his tattooed hand as if he’d been burned.

“It’s your grandmother’s magic,” he said, when he noted her wondering lift of brow. “Sometimes it snaps at me, as if a warning.”

“Good ole Grandma. She’s watching over me.”

“And she doesn’t entirely approve of me.”

Vika shrugged. “She doesn’t entirely dismiss you, either. Maybe the nail also senses the demons.”

“Not a bad protection to have.” He nodded once, accepting that. “So. Something else. How about this?” With a sweep of his hand, he lifted the extinguished candle, and it soared about the room in a wide circle to parallel the movement of his hand.

“Transprojectionary dislocation!” It was a strong magic that required decades of practice. And he performed it with such ease. “I thought you said your magic was weakened by the demons within you?”

“It is. This is but a silly display. I could move buildings if I chose to do so. But not with my passengers holding down the fort.”

“It will be a marvel to see you at full strength. I hope to see that someday.” And more. Exploring the world of Certainly Jones was an adventure she wanted to take. “You’ve spent a lot of time studying magic?”

“Too long.” The candle settled with a clink on the marble counter. “To my detriment.”

“How so? I should think it incredibly helpful to have such a vast arsenal of magic to hand.”

“Yes, but something must be set aside to make room for all the study.” He leaned in again, and this time he brought his face so close, she prepared for the kiss. But it didn’t come. “Relationships,” he said, “have suffered.”

“This one is doing well so far,” she tried.

“At your grandmother’s discretion.”

And then he did kiss her. A sweep of his hand tilted her head to meet his mouth with hers. A tender, soft touch, lingering, not pressing, more drawing in her breath and basking in her. The not-touch occupied her core and swirled in her being as if water droplets dancing at his command.

Never had a kiss so thoroughly grasped her, as if she’d been put under a spell. Dark magic? Perhaps.

“Is that okay?” he whispered against her mouth. “I think about kissing you all the time now, but I know I’ve done nothing to deserve your kisses. If anything, I’ve only repulsed you with my demons.”

“You think too much.” She kissed him. His throaty moan pleased her. A man’s surrender at her instruction. “You can kiss me whenever you please.”

“Mmm, and you can touch me whenever you please.” He tilted his head against her fingers. “I’ve never had something so soft touch my skin.”

His broad hands stretched across her back, and he leaned in closer, not quite bringing his hips in contact with hers. Still polite, yet delving deeper into the kiss and coaxing her further into his darkness.

“You make me view the world differently, dark one,” she said. “And that’s a good thing.”

Touching his smile, she then teased the tip of her tongue under his top lip. He answered with a dash of his tongue along her lower teeth. The dance dared her to surrender to any apprehensions she’d had about him—and she did willingly. Strolling her fingers down his shirt, she traced the hard plane of his chest and felt a sudden zing, as if she’d been shocked.

“Ouch!”

“Oh, sorry.” He tugged aside his shirt to reveal a large mandala-shaped sigil over his left nipple. It was intricate and filled with boxes.

“Sak yant?” Vika guessed.

“Yes, a form of Thai magic, by Sayne, as well. Each box is a different spell. This one repulses other magics. I should have turned it off before touching you. It usually doesn’t respond, but your nail must have glanced over it.”

She clasped the necklace. She never took it off, not even for a shower.

“You don’t have to remove it. I can block the ward with a few taps.” He touched his tattooed fingers to one of the boxes within the sigil. “But it is getting late and soon will be dark. I can’t stay,” he said. “Unless you want me to stand beneath the chandelier through the night.”

“Well.” She made show of considering just that, then shrugged. “I’m going to practice the water displacement some more. Thanks.” She kissed him, then without touching the sigil on his chest, studied it some more. The man was a map of spellcraft, and she had donned her explorer’s hat. “See you tomorrow?”

“I’d like that. I’m going to sleep well tonight, thinking of your mouth.” He traced her lips and she kissed his fingers. “Something to take with me into dreams.”

CJ crossed the loft threshold under the violent glare of the prismatic light. His world had been reduced to imprisonment within his home, and he’d learned to hate the constant minute tinkle of overhead crystals and the flash of color across his skin, when it should have given him marvel as it had Vika when she first viewed it.

Stomping across the painted protection ward, he paused in the center and tilted his head, closing his eyes. A strange judder moved the floor beneath his boots. He knew it wasn’t an earthquake or the building settling, as sometimes upper floors felt wavery.

“Someone is trying to breach my wards.”

The protection demon’s wards, to be exact.

Racing to the sofa, he found the remote control he’d designed to turn off all the chandeliers with one click or in specific groups, such as in the bedroom or kitchen or only over his spell room. Hastily returning to the ward, he knelt and, bowing, spread out his arms to each side, the remote held in one hand.

Of all the demons within him, he had a sort of alliance with Protection, and he had actually summoned it to the fore on two previous occasions. Now, he needed the demon’s help.

“Ada ada io ada dia.”

His gut churned, the infestation awakening and battling against one another for reign. And when he felt the warm glow beneath his skin, familiar and welcome, CJ clicked off all the lights.

The loft grew so silent he heard the hum of the electricity buzz through the wires. And then, palms slapping the hardwood floor, he was overtaken.

He’d found exactly what he’d hoped to find on the concrete railing before the Seine in the fourth quarter. A minute, dried speck of blood above a gash in the concrete. Apparently the dark witch had been in a fender bender and hadn’t walked away without injury.

Ian Grim had carefully scraped the blood into a vial with the tip of a pocketknife blade, and now, in his lab, he had prepared the mixture and laid the bead of processed blood onto the same map he’d used with the pendulum.

Immediately the bead, small as a dragonfly’s eye, had began to travel the streets on the map, at first following a main road and then veering down an alley.

Grim stood patiently over the map, hands clasped to his gut, his muscles tense and jaw tight. It had been six months. Finally he would learn where Certainly Jones was hiding.

Over the decades they had matched each other in magics, always trying to one-up the other. They had never been allies or even friends. Always enemies, but not quite, for they employed a gentleman’s conduct for all duels and magical showdowns. They were always generally aware of the other’s location and doings, and if something struck one as interesting then the challenge was issued.

Dasha tended to put up with his macho grandstanding. He loved her for her quiet acceptance.

He hadn’t realized Jones had a clue what he was up to until the man had returned from Daemonia and Ian had sensed what his nemesis had returned with. Something he’d wanted to lay his hands on for decades.

“You haven’t won yet,” Grim muttered as he tracked the slowly moving bead that veered toward the fifth arrondissement and then scattered in a powder across the map, as if blown away by explosives.

“No!”

The dark witch must have been on to him and blocked his approach with protective magic. To be expected. If Grim were able to easily sneak up on Jones, he’d be disappointed. But he was closer than ever now.

“The fifth.” Only one of the largest quarters in Paris. “I will find you, Jones.”