Wanda, what are you doing? I yelled at myself.

  But my body was on autopilot, seemingly acting of its own volition. And before I knew it, my mouth was on his. Soft, cool satin, his lips molded perfectly with mine. There was a small prickle of pain, but it was quickly buried beneath the flood of pure, molten want that followed.

  Lorcan let out a half-strangled moan, one hand flying up to cup the nape of my neck while the other found its way into my hair. His long, clever fingers wound through the heavy mane of my hair, his nails scraping lightly against my scalp, sending a fresh jolt of desire thrumming through me. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth, then my lower lip, probing gently along the wound. It stung for a moment, before a vaguely pleasant tingle took place of the pain.

  A wild, strangled sound escaped me when Lorcan moved to kiss the corner of my mouth, then feathered kisses along the line of my jaw, nipping at the hollow of my ear. The sharp graze of his fangs jarred me from the blissful haze more effectively than a slap would have.

  Goddess, this had to stop, right now!

  If I let this carry on, I’d find myself waking from a death sleep three days from now with no pulse and a flashy new set of fangs.

  Lorcan’s hands were still firmly locked behind my head, holding me in place. He was stronger than I was, and I didn’t think I could deter him with a ‘beat it’ at this point. My hands swept out, an almost unconscious gesture, and pulled whatever energy I could find in the room. Then, taking that energy, I shaped it and flung it in a formless globule at the vampire.

  He released me with a breathless curse, head snapping back like he’d been hit with a major league pitch. His eyes were unfocused but vaguely annoyed, and scarlet was smeared across his lips like badly applied lipstick. His tongue glided out to catch the droplets he’d missed, and he shuddered again.

  “Don’t do that again,” he breathed.

  “The kiss or the self defense?”

  He glared at me. “The kiss.”

  Wait, had I kissed him or was it the other way around?

  “You kissed me,” he finished for me, and I just took a deep breath as I shrugged.

  “I’m sure it had something to do with that vampire hypnotism thing you do.”

  He frowned at me. “I can’t do anything of the sort.” Then he chuckled. “You’ll have to face the fact that you kissed me because you wanted to, sweetling.”

  “Well, enjoy it because it will never happen again.”

  “Never say never,” he answered with a shrug. “But, next time, we ought to leave the bloodplay out of it.”

  “Bold of you to assume there will be a next time.”

  Lorcan’s mouth curled up into a self-satisfied smirk. “Between you and me, my dear, there will always be a next time.”

  I inhaled deeply, trying to shove the fact that I was beyond embarrassed to the closet of my mind where I could browbeat myself with it later. “Getting back to the topic,” I started. “If I can’t get rid of those spores, I’ll need to move into one of your other properties for a while. Just until I can reverse the damage I did to the duplex. And, really, the duplex is too small for me now, anyway.”

  “Too small?”

  “In case you forgot, I now have more than one roommate.”

  “Ah, the zombie.”

  “Right. That means I need a guest room.”

  “Why don’t you send her to live somewhere else?”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t work like that. I spawned her so she’s mine. And she gets really… uneasy whenever I’m not around.”

  “I see.” He crossed his arms against his chest and his biceps popped out of his scrubs. I tried not to notice them, but failed. “Can you reverse the damage with your magic?”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t even want to try because who knows what might happen?”

  “I see. Then how are you to afford the repairs, hmm?” he asked. “As I understand it, mold issues are expensive issues.”

  I swallowed hard. “I was going to pay this month’s rent in advance, but I’ll have to use that rent money to cover the repairs now.”

  “I was merely jesting, my dear.” Lorcan brushed a thumb over my cheek, smiling faintly when I batted his hand away. “I’ve told you already, Wanda, countless times…”

  “I know,” I said and rolled my eyes, then mimicked him, “I don’t have to pay you a cent because you take care of your heirs. But, in return, I basically have to sell my soul to the devil.”

  He chuckled. “I am hardly the devil, sweetling.”

  “You’re like his distant cousin.”

  He smiled at me. “I’ll see to it that everything is repaired as soon as possible. For now, you, the zombie, and that awful feline can stay at one of my properties on Winsley Lane.” But then he frowned.

  “What?”

  “Winsley Lane isn’t furnished yet.” Then he looked at me again. “You’ll have to find a place to stay for the night, but Winsley will be ready to inhabit by tomorrow evening.”

  “I don’t want charity, Lorcan, you know that.”

  “And? What can be done about it?”

  I frowned. “I’ll pay rent on the Winsley house… for as long as we stay there. And, um, Fifi is going to have to find a place for a while too.”

  “Goodness! How extensive is this mold damage?”

  I thought back to the spores that had appeared all over the house, filling it entirely. “Extensive.”

  “You shall not pay me anything.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not going to take a handout, Rowe.”

  “Then barter, sweetling. Craft a nice outfit for me and... perhaps a hot, little number for yourself. We can wear our new duds on our next outing.”

  Our next outing. I worried my lower lip as I looked at him. “We really need to try Betanya’s spell again, Lorcan.”

  “Then let us add it to our dinner plans.”

  I nodded but wasn’t convinced. “I’m worried about trying anything at the moment—when my magic is as unpredictable as it is.”

  “Then let’s not try it?”

  But, we had to try it. Without the reversal spell, Lorcan would never have his kiss returned to him. “Maybe we should… wait on the spell until I’m feeling a little more… up to it,” I answered sheepishly.

  “Very well, my dear, now getting back to this outfit you are going to create for yourself… I’d like to see you in something with a low-cut bodice.” He looked at my chest. “You do have a nice set of…”

  “Lorcan!”

  “Mountains,” he finished as he brought his eyes back to mine. His grin was a touch wicked. “Are we in accord?”

  I thought about it and nodded. “As long as I don’t feel like you’re giving me a handout, we’re in accord.”

  “Very well,” he said with another devil’s smile. “As I am quite the busy man, Wanda, my dear, I must now bid you adieu.”

  “And not a second too soon,” I grumbled as I slid off the chair and started for the door, my lips still tingling from his kiss.

  ***

  I was still cursing myself hours later for the impulsive kiss. What had I been thinking, kissing the vampire like that? I knew better! And, what was more, I couldn’t stand him! So why…

  Oh, Goddess, why had I practically spoon-fed him my blood?

  He was stronger than me, faster than me, and obsessed with me. It would have taken no effort at all for him to pin me against a wall and sink his fangs into me, and had that happened, I wasn’t even sure I could have blamed him.

  It was nothing short of a miracle that I was still breathing.

  “Stupid,” I muttered to myself, hunching over the sewing machine. “So damned stupid...”

  Currently, I was squirreled away in a corner of Poppy’s living room and had been for several hours. I hadn’t found a graceful way to avoid her forceful hospitality.

  By the time I left Lorcan’s and returned to Poppy’s house in order to fetch my familiar and my zombie, Hellcat had already told Poppy everything, of course embellishing the story to make it seem like he was a blameless victim. Poppy, feeling sorry for the little git, had set out canned chicken and water for him in a room upstairs. No doubt, he was curled up contentedly beneath a four-poster bed, probably chuckling maniacally to himself.

  Before I could drag him out of hiding and book a room at the Haven Hollow Inn, Poppy had seized me by the hand and pulled me inside her house, gabbing excitedly. She’d already prepared her guest rooms for us, so Libby, Hellcat, and I were welcome to stay for as long as necessary. She’d even dragged out a battered sewing machine that had belonged to her great-grandmother, setting up a workstation in her living room for me.

  Goddess, but her constant friendliness was starting to wear on me and I was almost considering just giving up the idea of disliking her altogether. I mean, undoubtedly, it would be easier just to give in to this idea of the two of us being ‘friends’.

  A witch befriending a gypsy?

  The two had always been sworn enemies. And, yet…

  “I am going soft,” I muttered to myself as I shook my head.

  No one heard me over the continued whir of the machine, of course. I’d been at this for a while, and the rest of the household had paid me no mind as I slowly pieced together Louisa’s black dress.

  Libby sat close by, watching me intently, occasionally asking timidly if she could help. I ignored her as best I could. I didn’t need the zombie as another reminder of just how badly my magic had spiraled out of control.

  Poppy made another appearance, this time with some sort of libation to which she’d added cubed fruit. I motioned for her to leave mine on the coffee table and continued with my work. She gave me a sheepish apology when Roy Osbourne, a sasquatch and her boyfriend, turned up with a stack of board games, and a few tagalongs.

  “Poppy, might I remind you I’m the one imposing on you, and not the other way around?” I reminded her. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

  “Well, first off, you aren’t imposing…” she started with that genuinely pretty smile that usually made me want to hex her. Tonight, though, I was just too tired. “And, secondly, I don’t imagine you like board games and… people,” she finished with a quick smile.

  I shrugged. “Well, you’re right on both accounts.”

  Apparently, Roy and she had already planned a double date with Poppy’s close friend (who also happened to be in love with her), Marty, and a medium named Bailey.

  Twenty minutes later, I clipped the threads trailing from the end of the now completed piece, ignoring a rousing chorus of cheers as Poppy’s Pictionary team scored a point. The numbers were skewed at first, with only five people playing. Five because Poppy’s son, Finn, had insisted on joining Marty’s team. Of course, Poppy had tried to press me into a game, but I’d waved her off with an impatient, “Not now.”

  Not ever, if I could help it.

  Even if I consented to title her a ‘friend’, that didn’t mean I would play board games with her, braid her hair, or exchange gifts at Yule. She provided an essential service to me with her potions, and that was all. Though adept at charms, cantrips, and hexes, I was absolutely hopeless at potion brewing. Put me in front of a cauldron and my stomach started bubbling over with anxiety. I’d had one too many accidents when attempting to brew, so finally I’d given it up.

  And, yet, the gypsy was incredible at creating potions. She had a gift and her prices were criminally low. As much as I’d tried to school her on better business practices, she never listened. She went on about wanting to help people or something equally ridiculous. Regardless, I could buy four or five potions from the gypsy for the same price Aunt Tabitha charged for one!

  Louisa’s athleisure wear hung off the back of one of Poppy’s overstuffed armchairs, slowly soaking up the potions Poppy had just brewed for the occasion. Energy Oil, for gym motivation, a variation of Earth Oil, for endurance, stability and strength, and Wisteria perfume for elevated mood. Then she came up with a sticking charm, which would allow the oils to last a little over a year, by which time I imagined Louisa would probably have gotten into a routine at the gym. I could treat the garments again in a year if Louisa was unsatisfied, but usually the placebo effect could produce incredible results, all on its own.

  I was finally spared Poppy’s imploring glances by the arrival of Henner, who folded himself onto the couch and joined Poppy’s team. And thank the Goddess he had!

  But with his arrival came an entirely new problem. The gypsy’s resident ghost, Darla, would not shut up. The moment Henner sat down, she was flouncing about, doing her best to be noticed. And with some of the antics she was pulling, it was hard not to notice her. Almost anyone with a non-human or magical lineage could spot a spook, and Henner was no exception. As the grandson of Witch Tayir, he’d inherited abilities. Though he was no warlock, he was still sensitive.

  Henner pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes crinkling at the corners, as he struggled not to laugh at the melodramatic ghost.

  Darla, meanwhile, floated a few inches above his head, doing an ungainly version of the can-can. She flipped up the deep pink skirt of her drop-waist silk dress, exposing her slender ankles, calves, and knees, flashing what she probably considered a scandalous amount of skin. As I understood it from Poppy, Darla had been murdered in the 1920s, something I could have figured out myself simply by her attire and outmoded lexicon.

  “I had great stems, didn’t I?” she sighed as she glanced down at her legs. “I’m too pretty to have died, you know. If that rat bastard Frank hadn’t shot me, I’d be a household name, right alongside Lillian Gish, Gloria Swanson, and Norma Shearer. I was a real talent. I would have been a shoo-in for those talkies.” Her voice was a touch nasal, and if she grew excited or irritable, it adopted a pitch only werewolves and labradoodles could hear.

  “Doubtful,” I muttered.

  I didn’t think she heard me because she was too busy looking at Henner and waiting for his response. He cleared his throat and gave her a big grin.

  “I’m sure you were,” he agreed, folding his hands in his lap. He finally lost the battle against a laugh, and glanced up at her, eyes twinkling.

  Henner was technically my cousin, even if many times removed, and he looked it.

  Almost every witch was born with ink-dark hair, something even the non-magic sons and grandsons tended to inherit. Henner was no exception. He had classically handsome features, and he and I could have passed as siblings to the uninitiated observer. Even our eyes were the same rich shade. I could see why Darla fawned over him, in particular.

  Henner’s grandmother, Witch Tayir, had moved to Haven Hollow after her expulsion from the Crescent Circle coven in Portland. For years, everyone had bought the lie that she’d been a conniving, backstabbing witch, and my own mother had banished her for trying to usurp the position of High Witch. The reality had been altogether more grim.

  Betanya was attacked and blooded by a vampire named Roscoe. Mother couldn’t bring herself to kill her cousin, and instead sent Betanya and her teenage sons to live in the Hollow where they could be closely monitored for signs of black magic. It seemed fitting somehow that I should find myself in almost precisely the same circumstance, almost a century later. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

  Darla shuffled from foot to foot, and her semi-translucent cheeks darkened for a fraction of a second.

  “You mean it? You really mean it?” she asked Henner.

  He nodded. “Sure. But would you mind staying quiet for just a minute, Darla? Poppy is trying to give us a hint.”

  Darla waved a hand dismissively and gave a shrill, girlish giggle. “Oh, that’s duck soup!” she started. ‘Duck Soup’ was another phrase for something being easy. I remembered as much from the days when I was a flapper, myself.

  “She’s drawin’ a bicycle,” Darla continued. “Though you’d never be able to tell. The broad’s drawin’ skills are lackin’.”

  Poppy dropped the Sharpie she’d been clutching and stared at Darla, mouth popping open indignantly. Her cheeks flushed a dusky red and she spluttered.

  “Darla, that’s cheating! And I’m not a bad artist!”

  “Well, you aren’t exactly a good artist either,” Marty said as he faux elbowed her and she turned her open-mouthed expression on him. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in for a hug until he caught Roy looking at him with narrowed eyes and then immediately released her.

  Darla, meanwhile, continued harping on about Poppy’s horrible artistic abilities and her high-pitched voice started to really grate on my nerves. I wanted to believe that was the reason I aimed a hex at the ghost. But maybe it was in defense of the gypsy, even if Poppy’s drawing was terrible.

  Whatever the reason, I crooked my fingers and muttered a word. Just one word, and like before, I wasn’t even certain where the incantation came from, or even what language I spoke. I just flung the word and my will at Darla and a lurid red mist coalesced in the air.

  Chapter Nine

  My stomach twisted with unease as I watched the haze bubble through the air, on a direct collision course with the ghost who was so busy gabbing, she didn’t notice. The second I loosed the hex, I wanted to take it back. I shouldn’t have been casting anything more complex than the enchantments on Louisa’s clothes. Perhaps not even that, in my current state. I tried vainly to reel the power back in, to trap the mist between my palms and squash it, forcing it to fizzle into uselessness.

  But, no, the haze struck the ghost in the chest moments later.

  In response, Darla’s eyes went wide and her back bowed. Her body convulsed, reacting to the hex like she’d been struck with a taser.

  “Darla?” Poppy called out, her eyes going wide as her mouth dropped open.

  A strained sound eased out from between Darla’s clenched teeth, and then a brilliant light pulsed through the room like someone had turned on a spotlight. I was left blinking black spots from my eyes, and when I could finally focus them again, the ghost had… changed.