An American Witch In Paris

She had some. Somewhere in that scatter of spangles, sass and black eye shadow.

“Black salt and raven’s ash.” She waggled between them two vials of a dark substance that she’d purchased from the candle shop. “This will do the trick.”

She wandered over and pushed the narrow coffee table up against the sofa. The wide dark-stained plank flooring was the original from when the building had once been a millinery factory. Ethan liked it because he’d known a man who had worked here in the 1920s. He’d taken immense pride in the cut of a woman’s hat, or even the specific froth of a silk flower adorning a sweeping brim. He’d also asked Ethan for vampirism after learning that the mercury used to cure the felt for his creations was driving him insane. Ethan had convinced him an insane vampire would be worse than a human prematurely dead from bleeding out.

In all his centuries, Ethan had never created another vampire. And he didn’t intend to do so anytime soon. It was too much power to simply give away as if a holiday gift. And besides, he was blood-born, not a created vampire. His breed were superior to those who had been transformed in a back alley or at a lover’s lusty request. And he wasn’t about to tarnish the line. If he ever desired to procreate, he would have a child, who, depending on its mother’s lineage and paranormal species, would very likely be born vampire. He preferred to mate with another vampire, but he wasn’t rigid in that stance. Love was actually his key requirement to a happy, lasting relationship.

But love was fickle and...well, he’d take it if it came his way, but he wasn’t on a quest to track it down.

Ethan leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and watched as Tuesday sprinkled black salt in a pattern before her on the floor. He was curious about witchcraft, and knew it was powerful. No man should mess with a witch. But he was feeling cocky with the protective bind against her. So long as it lasted until they found the demon.

Leaning over the scattered salt, which designed a pentagram inside a circle, Tuesday closed her eyes and spread her arms wide. She chanted words that Ethan would never try to decipher. Witch words. Dangerous words. Yet he could feel them forming sentences in his veins, warning that she could take him out if he dropped his guard.

With a snap of her fingers, the salt suddenly illuminated and jittered on the floor, moving, ordering and aligning. The tiny grains jumped and crackled. The scent of salt tinged the air. And when it settled and continued to glow, Tuesday sat back on her heels, hands propped on each thigh.

“A map of Paris,” she said with a gesture over the salt. “What do you think?”

Ethan leaned over to inspect the map. It included both the right and left bank, and the Seine and the main island. It even showed faint demarcations for the twenty arrondissements. “You’ve dazzled me, witch. Now where are all the demons? Or just the one in particular?”

“That requires more intense chanting. And an elemental callout. You stay there. Don’t move, because I don’t want the bond between us to tug me out of concentration. Deal?”

“I am a captive audience.”

She looked at him a moment, and he couldn’t decide if she thought she was peering into an idiot’s eyes or, in fact, seeing beyond his irises and into his very soul. He’d witnessed it when she’d peered into Certainly Jones’s soul. Was it a skill they could only perform on other witches? Or need he worry, too?

“What?” he finally asked.

“There’s something about you, Ethan Pierce. Something that keeps me from stabbing you through the heart with this athame.” She twirled the knife she’d bought from the store. The hilt looked to be carved from opal. That was why the bill had registered in the hundreds of euros. “I’m not sure what that is, though, so I’m going to keep the blade close.”

“Whatever works for you. You couldn’t harm me if you tried.”

“Probably not. But you are racking up the points against you for when the bond is lifted. Know that.”

“I’m not afraid of a witch.”

Her head tilted and her gaze narrowed as she said simply, “You should be.”

And Ethan realized she was right. But he wouldn’t show his anxiety.

Casting her focus over the salt map, she moved up on her knees, spread out her arms and began to chant.

* * *

Tuesday felt the presence of every demon inhabiting the city prick at her skin. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t painful, either. Rather a sort of vehement and inner knowing. The elemental spell had been successful. She opened her eyes and looked over the map.

Ethan kneeled on the opposite side of the map and scanned the results as well. “What are all the glowing red salt crystals?”

“Demons,” she said.

“There’s so many. Thousands.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No. But how is this going to help our search?”

“Hold your horses, big boy. The real magic comes next.”

Tugging loose the ribbon ties at the bodice of her new shirt, Tuesday tossed the obsidian crystal over her shoulder and then pressed her fingers against the sigil between her breasts. She lowered her other hand over the map, moving methodically as she silently thought Gazariel’s name. The sigil warmed and she could feel the tendrils of it creep through her chest and toward her extremities. It noticed her.

And that was not a good thing.

Wanting to abruptly end the spell, she suddenly noted the violet glow at one edge of the map. “There! Where is that?”

Ethan turned his head to assess the map. “Looks like the Bois de Boulogne. A big, forested park at the edge of the city. Is that purple spot The Beautiful One?”

“It is. And now I’m cutting the connection before he catches on.”

“Wait!”

Tuesday pulled her fingers from the sigil. The violet light snuffed out.

“If you would have held on longer, I could have marked the exact location,” Ethan protested. “That would have made our job easier. Are you helping me or hindering me, witch?”

“What do you think I’m doing? You think I enjoy being your captive? I want this over as quickly as possible. But I will not call the demon directly to me. He could manifest within me. And then what will you do?”

“That can happen?”

“It’s likely. But remember what Edamite said. If he’s smart he’s not going to come near me. And he is.”

“Sorry. I, uh... I don’t intend to place you in harm’s way. I just want to utilize your expertise.”

“And this, eh?” She tapped the sigil.

“Can I take a look at that?”

She studied his curious gaze. He wasn’t aware that a childlike wonder could overtake his normally serious expression. Nor could he be aware how much that relaxation of his outer shield attracted her. Because it made him everything he probably didn’t want to be—soft, kind, accepting.

Tuesday nodded her consent.

Ethan reached over and pressed two fingers to the sigil. It was an intimate touch and her skin warmed. Her breasts hugged his knuckles. He flicked his wondrous gaze onto hers.

“I can feel your fear,” he said. “I don’t want you to be afraid. I will protect you.”

Tuesday wrapped her fingers about his wrist, holding him there at her breast. “There’s nothing a vampire can do to protect me that I can’t already do myself. You’re going to have to make a better plea for my continuing to work with you than that.”

“All right. How about this?”

And with that, he slid over the salt map, smearing the left bank of Paris, and cupped the back of her head as he pulled her in for another sudden kiss.