Demons Don't Always Tell The Truth (Kate Storm Series Book 3) (6 page)

7. No Forward Progress.

I moved behind my desk, sat down, opened a drawer, took out a pencil, piece of paper and my back up wand.

I set the pencil and paper on my desk and slid my wand onto my lap. Discreetly.

Being discreet around someone who had no issues using black magic struck me as a rather good idea.

"So, Mr. Night, what can I do for you?"

Funny how a little thing like the utter lack of morals in a creature could change a witch's entire viewpoint. Mr. Night didn't appear godlike anymore. Nor devastatingly handsome. Not even cute.

He gave me the heebie-jeebies.

And a slight case of the shakes.

I'm a good witch - or at least I try really hard to be a good witch. I might do a few bad things from time to time, but it's usually in protection of my family and friends.

I do not mess around with black magic.

Ever.

I didn't even like being in the same room with someone who did use black magic. Especially as we were alone.

"Please, call me Adam." He flashed those dimples at me again. A fire snapped and crackled in my head.

I thought of Ash, head tilted back, jaw forward, tendons in stark relief along his neck, scars prominent, flush with the pleasure I was giving him.

The fire
poofed
out of my mind.

I smiled. "All right, Adam. What can I do for you?"

He frowned slightly. Tiny lines appeared between his eyebrows. I wanted to cheer.

He narrowed his eyes in what probably would have been a dangerously smoldering fashion if I wasn't bristles over broomstick for a certain demon lord.

A fire cackled. I thought of Ash.

Adam winked at me. "I'm looking for the love of my life." His every word dripped with sincerity and honest intentions and just a whisper of tragic heartbreak à la the great poet Byron himself.

Such genuine desire. Such sweet need.

Such total crap.

It shocked me how strong his magic was. Pushing through my own and attempting to seduce me, to fall under his spell.

I wondered if it was a general spell he used on every woman he met or something designed just for me? And if it was just for me, why? Why would he want me under his spell?

I'm a half-bred witch. Nothing special. An oddity. A freak.

What could he possibly want with me?

****

Désirée Norma-Sue never did make it back into work. She sent a text saying her appointment went longer than she had planned.

I read "Phil" instead of "appointment." I applauded his stamina. I didn't worry that whatever trouble was plaguing Désirée had found her. Désirée Norma-Sue was one smart fairy. If she was in trouble she would have sent a text saying, "I need some fucking help."

I just hoped she and Phil had fun.

Truly, I was at a point in my day where I hoped everyone was out having fun. Because I wasn't having any. At all.

I wasn't making any progress in my new plan to face issues head on. Ash had ducked out on me and Désirée had failed to show up.

My new client scared the wand right out of my hand. And I say "client" loosely. I didn't plan to take him on as a client. I didn't want him as a client. I really wanted him to stay as far away from me as he could.

I just didn't know how to tell him that.

Which sort of screwed up my whole no-more-ducking-and-dodging-and-confronting-issues-and-people-head-on vow. But cut a witch some slack. If I had known, when I made my vow, that everyone I wanted to confront would simply disappear and then a godlike male who had no qualms about using black magic would show up, well . . . I would have added an addendum or two.

Something along the lines of: *if there is no one to confront, then I don't have to confront them. And while that seems fairly straight forward, try telling that to my conscience.

I'd made a stand in my own mind. No one else knew, or was cooperating with, that stand, but I had made one none-the-less. And according to whatever guidebook my conscience was using, I was a total ninny for not following through.

Ninny. I kid you not.

Apparently, my conscience channeled the early Elizabethan era.

Actually, if I had come up with my new plan now instead of earlier, I would have added a couple of asterisks. Like: *if someone uses black magic then any and all brave new plans for a better Kate were to be considered null and void.

Because black magic scares the broom right out from under me. Straight back into the closet. To be locked and then cemented over. And then, preferably, jackhammered out of the building, placed onto a boat and transported out to the Mariana Trench and shoved overboard. Where . . . All right, I'm sure you get the point.

Black magic is just bad.

Bad bad. As in really bad. Stuff you don't want to mess around with bad.

Which really makes a witch question the moral - or total lack thereof - fiber of any person who uses it.

I was going to have to find a way to get rid of Adam Night as my client. And I needed to conquer my fear of him, or at least contain it, so I could figure out a way to make him want to try another matchmaker.

Not that he'd ever be able to find one as good as me.

But I really preferred not to work with clients who gave me the heebie-jeebies.

And if he was targeting me specifically for some reason? Well, clearly, I would need to find a way to deal with that. But I just didn't see it. Why would anyone need a half-bred mortal witch?

As it was almost time to head home, I decided to set aside all these pesky little issues, especially as I wasn't getting anywhere with them, and try to make some progress on finding my scary aunt.

I pulled out the small notebook I kept in my purse and read through the last couple pages of my notes.

It's rather hard to Google the current location of mythological beings. Humans don't believe they still exist. It's that pesky death thing we mortals have to deal with.

The immortal HC reinvent themselves every few decades. They create fictional deaths and then they pop up somewhere else under a different name.

Which makes finding them a tad difficult. It's a long and winding search with way too many obscure leads to click on. Now, if my scary aunt had been more popular - like Elvis or Bigfoot - I'd have to get a bigger notebook.

There are daily sightings on them.

I used to laugh at the Bigfoot claims until I ran one over. Now, I'm extremely vigilant when driving through the woods.

Almost all the online links and websites listed Morgause as being dead for several hundred years. Wikipedia even listed several different versions of her death.

But I had found a few obscure links to some small Wiccan covens that mentioned Morgause. I'd followed two to dead ends and had three others I wanted to follow up on.

I checked the time. I had to be home in forty minutes. Aunt Tabs was watching Al at my apartment. She had plans to meet a couple other witches for an herb exchange.

Aunt Tabs has several witch friends. She's cursed too, but she's a full witch, not half human like I am. The HC accept her.

I pulled out a pencil and brought up Google. Hopefully I could accomplish something before I went home.

A half hour later I threw down my pencil. I simply should have stayed home today. I'd accomplished diddly squat.

I'd searched every aspect and link for one of my three remaining leads. This particular coven had a statue of Morgause. That's it. Nothing else.

One small seven inch statue.

I sent them a nasty email regarding Morgause as a bad witch and the wrongness of having a statue or anything else that represented her in a nice coven and also someone needed to update the search links to their site.

I grabbed my purse, made my nightly call to the local Italian restaurant, locked the door, set my protection spells and left to pick up dinner.

All I wanted at this point was to enjoy a nice hot plate of manicotti on my deck with Al. At the very least, I figured between picking up dinner and having no plans for the evening nothing else could go wrong and I would just start over new tomorrow.

It's these times when I should remember I'm a cursed witch.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

8. An Itchy Witchy Feeling.

"Sorry I'm late." I hip checked the front door closed, set my broom next to it and hustled down the hall with both arms full.

My kitchen was empty. This threw me for a minute. Aunt Tabs and Al could be counted on to be sitting at my tiny kitchen table enjoying a cup of tea when I got home.

I set the take out bags and my purse on the table. Movement on the deck caught my eye. Aunt Tabs and Al were sitting together in one of my brown wicker chairs. A shot glass and a half empty glass of white wine perched on the table next to them.

I'm not a half empty type of witch. Even after the day I'd had, I wasn't depressed. Just ready to start a new day.

The wine glass wasn't half full, but half empty. As in, it had been full, but someone drank most of it already.

Call it witchy intuition. Or keen vision. The rim contained a dark rose lip print and the sides were moist.

Typically, Aunt tabs waited until I got home before having a glass of wine. I say typically, but I mean always. ALWAYS.

Very, very odd.

I didn't worry about Al. He wasn't the kind of Chihuahua to let a witch drink alone.

I grabbed my own glass, found the open bottle in the fridge and poured a few ounces. On further consideration, I added a few more ounces before heading outside.

"Hey, Doll." Ears tipped forward, Al rose and stretched his front legs on Aunt Tabs' lap.

I scooped him up, smooched his head, kissed my Aunt's cheek and sat in the matching chair next to her.

"Hello, dear." Aunt Tabs took a large sip of her wine. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

She had her blonde hair in a high ponytail today. Sparkly brown earrings matched her eyes and her cowl neck, sleeveless, silk shirt. Her dark jeans had flecks of shimmery gold. Three inch gold heels with a dusting of amber glitter capped off her outfit.

"Hi. Sorry I'm late." I repeated my earlier sentiment. Between the outside noises and wine, I doubted they'd heard me. I rubbed Al's ears as he sat in my lap, head pressed against my chest. "What's going on?"

I picked up my glass and fortified myself as I prepared for the worst. Aunt Tabs is a creature of habit. That's a nice way of saying she's borderline OCD. And I only say borderline because I'm her niece and I love her.

It's her coping mechanism.

I don't judge. I clean like on over-wrought banshee when I'm stressed and I've ducked and dodged my way through life until now.

We're the last of our coven. Cursed.

We do the best we can.

"Nothing. Al and I thought we'd enjoy a drink on the deck." She took another sip, rubbed her shoulders against the back of the chair as if to relieve an itch. A slight crease appeared between her eyes.

I frowned. She didn't expect me to buy that load of crap, did she?

Al nuzzled the under curve of my left breast before he moved over to lap at his shot glass. I could tell by the amber hue  he was drinking Blanton's bourbon. I made a mental note to tell Ash how much Al was enjoying it.

I smoothed his fur as I tried to think of a tactful way to inform my Aunt she was a bald face liar. And a bad one at that.

"Al said you and Morgan went out last night." Aunt Tabs shifted restlessly. "How are you two getting along?"

"Okay." What was the best way to confront her?

"That's a bunch of bat shit." I choked on my wine. "You still haven't forgiven her for lying to you."

I should have known better. Aunt Tabs didn't have a problem confronting things. She was in the mulling over stages.

"She's had years to fess up to the truth." I set my wineglass down when I realized my knuckles were white. "How could she be my best friend and still lie to me? Not admit that we're related?"

Damn it. I kept thinking I had a handle on this and it continued to blow up in my face. How the hell could I help Morgan if
I
couldn't get past this?

"People keep secrets all the time, Kate. It doesn't mean our feelings are any different. Do you love Morgan any less now that you do know the truth?"

"No." But it still made me mad that she'd lied.

"Does it change the way you feel about her?"

I picked my glass up again, took a large sip. "I'm still mad at her. I worry she might be keeping other things from me." I looked away from my Aunt, pretending to admire my view. "And I can't help but wonder if she kept the truth from me because of who I am."

What I am.

Half-bred. Cursed. Witch.

"I'm sure that factored into it to some degree." I froze. Couldn't look at her. Did she really mean that? "Morgan feels responsible for the curse on our coven. It's not her fault, of course, but it has to hurt her every time she sees you. Especially when Ash is around."

I'd just begun to let some of my fear go when her words hit me. Sweet Spirits, was I some sort of double edged sword for Morgan?

Al leaned up and licked my chin. "Morgan loves you, Doll."

I rubbed the fur between his little ears. I felt fairly confident of that myself. Or I had. Now, I just didn't know. Could she love me if I constantly reminded her of her painful past?

I looked at my Aunt. The identical sister of my mother. Yes. Bitter sweet at times. But I didn't love her any less because of it.

I sighed.

"And while you're working your way through this, you might want to remember what Morgan lost." Aunt Tabs picked up my hand, squeezed it.

Morgan had lost her family too. I understood that. In fact, she'd been present when most of her sisters and relatives had been slaughtered by Morgause.

I did get that.

Family is all important to me too.

"She gave up her magic, Kate. She lost all that was familiar to her when she became a vampire. She gave up everything she knew in order to seek revenge." Aunt Tabs stroked the back of my hand with her thumb. "Morgause is still alive. That's centuries of living with failure."

The cold that gripped me right then was so powerful I wasn't sure I'd ever feel warm again.

I'd been relating my past, my loss to Morgan's. Understanding some and furious about the rest.

I hadn't understood at all.

She truly had recreated herself. From witch to vampire. Nurturer to killer. As a witch, she'd been brought up to help sustain nature, and then as a vampire, she'd had to destroy life in order to survive.

I hadn't understood at all.

I'd had my share of loss. That I did understand. But I'd always been me. Half-bred. Cursed. I understood my limits. My weaknesses. They were familiar to me. And as much as I sometimes wished and prayed my life could be different, did I truly?

Would I be able to give up everything to be something else? Something darker? Something totally foreign to me?

I looked at Al cuddled between my breasts. My Aunt Tabs holding my hand.

Could I give them up?

Morgan hadn't had a choice. Her family had been brutally taken away from her. If someone killed Al and Aunt Tabs, then yes, I could - and would - do anything I had to in order to exact revenge.

But at what cost?

No. I hadn't understood at all.

My feelings of anger and betrayal were legitimate, but compared to a lifetime of loss, were they worth holding onto?

I sighed and took a rather large gulp of wine.

Aunt Tabs let go of my hand, then rubbed her palms down the front of her pants.

Okay. Enough already.

"What's wrong, Aunt Tabs?"

She started to shake her head, caught my eye and sighed heavily.

"I don't know."

Well, that didn't help one bit.

"What do you mean you don't know? Something is obviously bothering you. What is it?"

"That's the problem, Kate. I don't know. I've got an itchy feeling, but I don't know why."

Uh oh. That wasn't good at all.

A witch's intuition is a radar for trouble. If I ever got that feeling I knew to watch out for everything from checking the street both ways to potential psychotic mass murderers as clients.

And it always panned out too.

Not that I'd ever had a psychotic mass murderer try to become a client, but I'd always been prepared for the trouble when it did arrive.

A car that didn't stop for the red light.

A high school witch who tried to turn my hair green before a dance.

My instincts weren't as keen as my aunt's, probably a result of my human half, but I knew to trust any itchy feeling.

"You don't have any hint of what it could be? What kind of trouble you could be in?"

I'd start casting every protective spell I knew. No way would I allow my Aunt Tabs to be hurt.

"I didn't get the itchy feeling until I got here." Aunt Tabs turned in her seat to look me directly in the eye. "I'm not the one in danger, Kate. You are."

Well, shit. That rounded off my day perfectly. I picked up my glass and downed the rest of my wine.