He chuckled. “My, that is a mouthful, isn’t it? Perhaps I shall affectionately term you ‘Mellie’, for you are such a mellow, timid little thing.”

  “If you call me ‘Mellie’, I will ram that candelabra so far up your…”

  “Very well, if you don’t approve of ‘sweetling’, what shall I call you?”

  “Wanda. Like everyone else does.”

  “I’m not just anyone, Wandel,” he said, and the cheeky smile crept back onto his face.

  Wandel? At least it was better than Mellie. Instead of a wallflower, it sounded like a nerdy guy working at the hardware store.

  At last he sat up, muscles gliding gracefully beneath his pale skin before he settled into a seated position. He patted the cushion next to him. “Sit and tell me about this mystery of the missing clothing and fabrics. I’m breathless with anticipation. Well, breathless in general, but that’s beside the point.”

  I glared at the vacant seat. “I’m not getting anywhere near you. No doubt you’d try to bleed me dry the second I was close enough.”

  “Attacking you for your blood is gauche, and why would I bleed you dry when my only goal is to turn you fully into one of my own?”

  “All the more reason I’m not sitting next to you.”

  “Very well. I shall come to you.”

  Keen as my eyes were, they still didn’t catch the moment he disappeared from the chaise or how quickly he crossed the room. One moment he was there, and the next he was inches away from me, lean body caging me in by the mantel.

  My heart picked up, throwing itself violently at my ribs as he captured my wrists, and the spell I’d been weaving flickered like a candle in a gale, abruptly going out.

  My breath caught when he leaned in like he might kiss me. I’d been trying to make a point, but ended up only thinking about that first drugging kiss we’d shared when he turned me into what I now was. I cursed myself for making the impetuous decision to come here in the first place. Now that he had me within arm’s reach, he was too close to curse without some of the ill effects bouncing back to me. And given my track record, I’d probably set us both on fire.

  “L-let go.” My voice shook when I said the words, which made me want to kick him all the more. I was Wanda Depraysie! I didn’t stammer or act like a smitten schoolgirl!

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he murmured, moving his lips to the shell of my ear, cool breath tickling the fine hairs that escaped my ponytail. Goosebumps popped along my arms. “I think you’d like me a little… closer.”

  Lorcan carefully released one hand, trailing his calloused fingers along my palm, and down to circle the pulse point in my wrist. The vein had to be pulsing like mad. The pounding in my chest was damn near painful. His fingers trailed down to the bend in my elbow. His fingers felt like brands, sinking heat into my bones. I wasn’t sure how the louse managed it, when his skin was downright tepid.

  “Wishful thinking.”

  He chuckled. “You want me to touch you.” He sounded so damned sure of himself, and it pissed me off. I should have hexed him just for that.

  But, I didn’t, and I wasn’t sure why.

  His fingers skimmed further up my arm and finally came to rest on my shoulder blade. He used his grip to pull me closer and erase that last inch of space between us.

  “I know,” he continued, his Irish brogue growing thicker as he spoke. “Because I want to touch you.”

  “I’m not,” I started but swallowed the rest of the words.

  “I want to explore every inch of you. I’ve been thinking about you constantly since the imbroglio in Portland.”

  And that was when reality came pouring down on me like an ice cold shower. I snorted and stepped away. “Oh, yes, I’m sure I’m very special. Don’t waste your Friday night chat-up lines on me, Rowe. I’m not interested.”

  He looked surprised. “Lorcan,” he chided. “And I’m not fibbing. I am quite… perplexed over my wayward thoughts where you are concerned—I have to imagine such is a result of your incomplete turning.”

  “What the spell does that mean?”

  He shrugged, as though the answer was obvious. “You’ve got all the allure of a full vampire, without any of the control. So much wild, unpredictable magic running just under your skin.” He reached forward and ran his index finger along my collarbone, as if testing the power in his fingertips. Again, my pulse jumped. “I find it… compelling.”

  “This is all your fault, and so is everything else that’s happened to me,” I snapped.

  I didn’t want to meet his eyes, afraid I’d fall into them and do something stupid. He was too close, and his touch felt like magic.

  Exactly like magic.

  He’d already gifted me the only magic vampires possessed when he’d performed the Vampire’s Kiss. But shortly after, the victim was supposed to die and then rise a vampire, thus restoring the imbalance of power, putting them firmly under their sire’s sway.

  But... I hadn’t turned. And as long as there was breath in my body, I would never.

  He might have power over me with his blood, but it stood to reason that I had an equal amount of power through his kiss.

  Exactly. I had his kiss. His magic. His power. And that had to be driving him crazy.

  Hmm, maybe I could still turn this to my benefit.

  I peeled away from the wall with a disdainful glare and stepped out from in front of him. Disappointment danced across his features before he could conceal it, and his expression shuttered when I plopped onto the chaise as though nothing had happened. I crossed my legs primly and glared at him.

  He smiled broadly, and then just stood there, making me uncomfortable. So I shifted my gaze to his copy of Passions of the Soul. Or, more accurately, the thick slab of paper he’d wedged between the pages to mark his place. I couldn’t read the text printed beneath it, but the image at the top was very clearly a copy of the fake ID I’d bought, along with other forgeries, before coming to Haven Hollow.

  Lorcan caught me staring open-mouthed at his book and dematerializing across the room, he tried to snatch it.

  “Object that I see, I will thee come to me! Such is what I desire, so mote it be!” I yelled out, before realizing it would do no good because my magic was dead.

  The vampire only managed to lay the tips of his fingers on the spine before the book wriggled from his grasp and soared into my outstretched hand.

  It worked! My magic worked!

  I almost couldn’t believe it. I’d thought my magic was dead and gone but, apparently, such wasn’t the case.

  I looked at him and grinned.

  He frowned.

  With one beckoning gesture, the book sprang open to reveal the thick sheaf of papers. The top sheet had details on any form of documentation I’d ever procured, dating all the way back to the 19th century.

  “What is this?” I demanded, waving the papers at him.

  He didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. “I had to know who I was dealing with…”

  “Why?”

  “We are living in such close quarters…” he answered with a shrug.

  “Yeah, something you planned!”

  “I admit, I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  “Consider me slow.”

  He chuckled. “You are certainly not slow, sweetling.”

  “Wanda.”

  “Wanda.” He took a deep breath, though he clearly didn’t need to because his respiratory system didn’t work. “As my heir, I had to know just who you were, especially if you had any affiliation with my enemies. Besides,” a slow smile stretched his wicked mouth as he motioned to the papers still clutched in my hand. “It was quite an enthralling read. Witches tend to be so fussy and dull. But, not you. Some of your escapades were... well, quite amusing really.”

  “My escapades are none of your business!” I hurled the book and its accompanying papers at his superior mug. He sidestepped, and the remnants of the dossier fluttered down in fat white sheets to his floor. “Give me back my belongings, you peeping, thieving, controlling, son of a witch!”

  “I don’t know anything about your clothing and fabrics, dearest,” he said. “Perhaps you misplaced them in one of your fits of maniacal insanity and then simply forgot where.”

  My throat burned with the desire to sob or maybe scream.

  Dust motes swirled between us, and I could spy every spec as they shivered past. They were so thick in the air, it was difficult to breathe. This place was perfect for him. Neglect, and death, and decay. He was a plague. Everything he touched came away worse from contact with him.

  It would have been easier if I’d died in the car.

  My soul would have flown apart, motes of cosmic energy to be reborn into new life. I would have found peace in becoming one with the universe. From a witch’s death sprang the purest form of life. Part of me may have been reborn into one of my sister’s daughters, or Astrid’s.

  But, no. Lorcan Rowe had tainted me with death, made it part of me. Now, I was an anathema to everything I once stood for.

  No wonder Blood Witches never fled their coven’s judgement. This was torment distilled, sour as vinegar going down, and I couldn’t wash the taste from my mouth.

  And, damn it all, but I wasn’t leaving this blasted room until I had my belongings with me! I glared at him as I decided to test my magic yet again. If it had worked before then maybe…

  Magic sprang easily to my hands, burning like coals as I flung it at the vampire with a scream. “Loose this damned liar’s tongue to speak the truth, my will be done!”

  I could feel the spell taking shape, my will modelling its contours, molding it into something corded with muscle. It struck with the speed and the deadly venom of a viper, putting a stranglehold on the vampire’s throat.

  He recoiled as the spell manifested, becoming a rattlesnake with a furiously batting tail. Rowe’s eyes went wide as he spotted the snake wrapped around his neck and back pedaled until he hit the wall, trying to pry the spell away from his throat. The rattler swiveled its triangular head toward Lorcan, flicking out a dark, forked tongue to taste his cheek. The vampire didn’t look quite so cocky now…

  The snake should have frightened me. Ordinary witches couldn’t create an animal from nothing, particularly one so dangerous. At the moment, though, a nauseatingly fierce satisfaction came with the casting.

  “I may not have fangs, but never consider me toothless, Rowe,” I seethed. “If you want to play games, I will bite back. The spell around your throat renders you completely incapable of speech, unless what passes through your useless lips is the honest-to-Goddess truth.”

  I strode forward, long-legged and confident now that my magic was cooperating. Lorcan tracked my motion, eyes still smoldering. A small smirk tugged at my lips now that the shoe was on the other foot. I slipped one finger idly into the waistband of his silk boxers, and his eyes fluttered wide again.

  “Now,” I whispered. “Let’s try this again, vampire. Tell me the truth or I’ll send that snake south for the winter.”

  Lorcan’s words came through clenched teeth, but they weren’t the ones I expected. “You’re so unbelievably hot right now,” he groaned. “I’d die to be inside you.”

  Heat rose in hot prickles to my face, and I tossed my hair over my shoulder to hide it. “Be that as it may, you know that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Do that again,” he said, eyes sliding closed. You’d have thought he’d forgotten the rattlesnake around his neck.

  “Do what again?”

  “That thing with your hair. Your scent is incredible.”

  “The fabric and the clothing you stole,” I insisted, teeth gritting together. “Where are they?”

  “I didn’t take anything from you.”

  I glared at his perfect profile.

  More lies. But, how that was possible with my truth spell, I didn’t know.

  Somehow, though, he’d managed to get around it. Blast him!

  He had the only other key to my place and only a master key or magic could unlock my side of the duplex. I was the only witch in Haven Hollow, so by process of elimination, he had to have been the one to come inside and take what wasn’t his.

  But, the truth spell…

  Must have been shoddy, just like the rest of my magic.

  With a sound of disgust, I banished the spell and strode for the door. Paper crunched under my feet as I stalked away and tried to ignore the vampire’s burning gaze as it lingered on my back.

  At least the bastard didn’t try to follow me.

  I pounded down the stairs as quickly as I could, not bothering to ascend to my portion of the duplex, instead taking the side door that opened onto the muddy path outside. I needed to be away from Hellcat, away from Rowe, away from Mother’s passive-aggressive proposals, and the depressing evidence of my new aberrant state.

  I needed to take a drive.

  I reached the Vega in moments, throwing myself into the driver’s seat as I scrounged for the spare keys from beneath the floor mat. The engine came to life with some coaxing and I peeled away from the duplex, pressing the pedal to the floor, and driving as fast and as far as the Vega would take me.

  Chapter Eight

  The Next Afternoon

  “Here you are. One bubble gum banana split topped with hot fudge and gummy bears,” said a man’s friendly baritone very near my ear.

  Stanley Stomper clomped over to me, sliding the sundae onto the stainless steel counter I’d been leaning against. I cut my contemplation of the ice cream toppings short, digging my spoon unenthusiastically into the violently pink ice cream. I swore the gummy bears in the jar were smiling at me, the cheeky little bastards.

  “Thank you, Stanley.”

  “My pleasure, Wanda.”

  The affable centaur was the friend of a friend. We’d met many years ago, just after the St. Louis World Fair in 1904, and I thought he’d been nice enough then. A quiet, dependable sort of man even during his youth, when most of his peers were out sowing wild oats. Now that I’d reached the age when some witches opted to find partners, the only ones available were utter toad’s droppings.

  Like Lorcan Rowe.

  I dug an even larger spoonful of the sundae and shoved it into my mouth. It did take a little sting out of the situation. Hard to stay angry when you had bubble gum ice cream dripping with hot fudge and gummy bears to console you.

  A soft wind had picked up outside and it lifted the Christmas wreaths and red bows decorating each antique street lamp along Main Street. It was still too early in December for snow, but it was just around the corner, if the icy chill in the air was any indication.

  “I’m glad you called,” Stanley continued. “It’s good to see you, Wanda.”

  I smiled up at him. “It’s good to see you too.”

  He nodded and then moved to the front of the store, his hooves tapping against the laminate floors, in time to the jaunty Christmas tunes that filled the store. “I’m going to start closing up the shop if you don’t mind, and then we can have a proper chat. Or I can give you a tour of the town, if you’d rather? I have the vial of Confusion Oil Miss Morton gave me in my pocket.” And he pulled out the vial in question, happy to show me.

  “Confusion Oil?” I repeated, shaking my head as I faced him.

  He nodded. “It disallows humans to understand what it is they’re looking at when they see me in my centaur form. As you’re probably aware, even though Haven Hollow is a sanctuary to magical creatures, it’s also home to quite a few humans.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, now that I’m anointing myself with the Confusion Oil, I’m finally able to walk around town without causing a stir. The effects are temporary, and I tend to sweat it off my coat, but it’s still something.” He nodded. “Good thing, too, because I have a fair bit of Christmas shopping still left to do today!”

  “Then… Confusion Oil is a… potion?” I asked, making sure I completely understood.

  He chuckled and nodded. “Of course.”

  That caught my attention. Someone was brewing potions in Haven Hollow. Potions potent enough to allow a massive centaur to prance around without being recognized for what he was. Blast and Conjuration!

  I felt my stomach drop to my toes. “There’s a witch in Haven Hollow?” I demanded. “Ophelia insisted there were no covens here!”

  There wouldn’t even need to be a coven in Haven Hollow for the location to already be claimed. Just one witch with an actual deed in her name could cast a Sanctum Spell, claiming the territory. I’d have to either convince her or the coven to let me stay, or I’d need to find a way to leave the Hollow. If the coven here was the traditional sort, they may even try to off me for being a Blood Witch.

  Damn Ophelia to hell!

  Stanley took a step back, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture, his sleek black tail swishing nervously.

  “Don’t get your tail feathers ruffled, Wanda,” he started, shaking his head. “Ms. Morton isn’t a witch.”

  “Then who and what is she?”

  “Her name is Holly Morton, though the townsfolk call her Poppy, most likely because her shop is called ‘Poppy’s Potions’.”

  “She has a shop?” I asked, frowning as I slumped lower into my stool.

  “Sure does and it’s just up the street,” he said and pointed at a storefront glowing with myriad colored Christmas lights, lighting up the street like an alien ship.

  “What sort of shop?” I asked.

  “Poppy’s Potions is best compared to an apothecary, and Ms. Morton claims she’s the descendant of Scottish Travellers.”

  I slumped against the counter. “Great. A gypsy enchantress.”

  Couldn’t I just get one bit of good news? Just one good thing to happen for me, instead of this pile of refuse that followed me like a crappy shadow.

  Gypsies…

  It wasn’t the people I disliked. I’d known some Traveller men... intimately over the years. They were generous lovers, and they were always good for a laugh in or out of the bedroom. It was the select few powerful women of the line who got on my nerves. They were just… magical, and most towns were too small to have more than one magical woman. Haven Hollow was way too small for both of us. So that meant she would have to go…