Captivating The Witch

Some very powerful magic had been present in that cemetery. It had torn Laurent apart. As well, he’d felt the air crackle with the unseen magic. A force greater than the creatures he’d witnessed, perhaps? He wielded demonic magic, but if the tales of demon/witch relations were accurate, it was never effective against witches for long. And he suspected his ability to use magic against witches had irrevocably weakened, thanks to his ill-fated romance with Witch Number Two.

Yet, if it were witches, he was going to need some powerful magic to figure this out. At the very least, provide him with answers, perhaps some suggestions as to how to approach the creatures he had seen.

Had Laurent’s death been a bizarre but singular event? Did he have to kill them? How to kill them? Only another witch’s magic might serve the killing blow.

Could he lower himself to work with a witch? There must be someone else who could tell him about witch magic. The werewolves and vampires Ed called allies likely wouldn’t know much. He considered contacting John Malcolm, the exorcist he kept on his payroll. The man was more versed in demons and ghosts. Though he had begun dabbling in witch finding. It was a medieval, yet very necessary, practice that few specialized in nowadays.

Ah hell. He’d give it a go and contact a witch. For Laurent’s sake. The man had been a good friend; he deserved the investigation, if not downright vengeance. And Ed would rather jump into a situation with a knowledgeable enemy than wait for a less informed ally to wander along and half ass the situation.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Inego, one of his field assistants. “I need you to find the most powerful witch in Paris,” he said. “Bring John Malcolm along.”

“The nutty one with the crazy eyes? Isn’t he an exorcist?” Inego asked.

“Yes, but he’s added witch finding to his oeuvre. He should be able to track one for you.”

* * *

Tamatha had encountered a corax demon. She wrote the term in her purple-glitter-covered notebook and underlined it. The breed was related, somehow, to the Corvus corax species of ravens. Perhaps the demon could shift to raven form? Many demons possessed shifting abilities. She’d have to look it up when she got to work on Monday.

What she did know was that the breed could be very grumpy following a kiss. And not at all friendly. She wasn’t going to write about the kiss in her notes, though.

She set the notebook aside and it automatically straightened on the bench to align with the painted brown wood. She pulled out from her purse a pair of black rhinestone-bespangled sunglasses. The high sun warmed the Luxembourg Gardens today. The air smelled green and alive. A nearby pear tree scented the air sweetly. Yet she wished she were inside, two stories belowground, sorting through dusty pages in the archives.

But she would follow her boss’s suggestion that she not return to work until Monday. Perhaps a relaxing weekend was needed. So to put herself in the vacation mood, she had given herself a mani/pedi this morning. The gray, sparkly polish glinted in the sunlight and went well with the silver rings she wore and her hair. She’d got her silver hair from her mother, whose shade had been slightly darker and tinted blue. Petrina had told her Grandma Lysia’s had been blue-black.

The park wasn’t as crowded as she’d expect on a sunny day. It was early yet and most were probably at home eating breakfast, save for a few mothers and their children scattered around the pond tracking sailboats.

Tamatha worshipped nature and was pleased she’d found a place to live so close to this lush garden escape. The few people who did wander about also soaked in the sunshine. When had the Parisian men started wearing such tight, brightly colored pants? Not at all garish, the style showed off some nice thighs and well-shaped derrieres. Had she really been away from the dating scene for so long? She preferred a stylish, gentlemanly look, groomed hair and maybe some stubble and a mustache.

“And tattoos,” she said with a smile.

She had many. Some were spell tattoos; others were personal, such as the Bellerose family crest she wore on her right biceps. It featured a bell-shaped pink rose surrounded by black and gray shaded arabesques, and the family motto Love Often was inked in Latin—Amor Modum Saepe.

She recalled the corax demon had tattoos on his neck. A vampire ward similar to the one she wore in white ink (more discreet). And the backs of his hands had been virtually blackened with ink, though maybe that had been the black leather half gloves creating the effect; she’d looked so quickly. That was the only body art she had noticed because he’d worn a suit and buttoned-up gray dress shirt, which had given him a GQ-with-an-edge look. And his black hair and brows had drawn her focus to his pale gray eyes.

Eyes that had briefly glowed red. She wondered now if the glow was something that happened without his volition. Was it controlled by emotion? Anger? Reaction to surroundings? Instinct? Was he aware when they turned red? All of the above?

So many questions and so many books to read to learn the answers. The prospect of research thrilled her.

She smoothed a hand over the volume on European demon breeds she’d taken from the Archives, thinking reading was pleasurable, but an afternoon sitting across a café table from a sexy demon, asking him anything and everything she wanted to know, would prove more desirable. Gazing into his eyes. Drawing in that interesting icy cedar scent...

Tamatha straightened abruptly and slammed the book shut. “You do not have a thing for him,” she admonished. “He called you vile.”

The guy must harbor the age-old hang-up most demons had toward witches. She thought it silly. But some habits died hard. And she knew more than many witches who still avoided vampires because the longtooths possessed the ability to steal a witch’s power through bloodsexmagic—biting, and draining them of magic while they had sex. Ugh. Nothing sexy about that scenario whatsoever.

She had never dated a vampire and generally preferred human men. They were easy enough to figure out. Though she never got too serious. The family curse and all. While she’d never been directly responsible for a death, there had been that time she’d mixed magics and a windstorm had uprooted a tree and sent a branch straight through her lover’s heart. He’d hit her once, and she’d feared him every time he’d walked through her door. Had he got what he deserved? It wasn’t for her to judge, but certainly she hadn’t cried over his death.

What she wanted was a challenge, someone to seduce and stimulate not only her mind, but her body, as well.

“I don’t even know his name,” she whispered, then sighed again. Chasing the mysteriously sexy demon out of her head was proving impossible. Ah well, a little daydreaming never hurt anyone.

Nearby the octagon pond, Tamatha heard a splash. She saw two feet upend over the edge of the pond and a sailboat bobbled frantically. A child had fallen?

Heartbeats thundering, she reactively touched her middle fingers together to activate her water magic and whispered a controlling spell. A whoosh like a tidal wave curved toward the pond shore, spitting the kid back onto the pebbled ground. A mother shrieked and rushed for her soaked child.

And Tamatha exhaled with relief. “Whew.”

Chapter 4 (#ulink_e176b4e0-2039-586c-b7a8-b19e56de530c)

Ed looked up from his laptop to see Inego and Glitch forcing a squirming, struggling—bound—woman into his office. A plastic grocery sack hung over her head, though the long silver-white hair that he recognized so well spilled out beyond her shoulders.

“What the—?” He marched up and pulled the bag from her head.

“You?” she gasped. Lifting her bound hands, the fingers of which having been completely wrapped up with thin white cording, she asked, “What in all the moons?”

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked Inego (of the twosome, the one who he suspected had more brains). “I asked you to bring me the most powerful witch in Paris.”

“She’s it, boss. We saw her save a boy in the park. Didn’t even have to twitch her nose to do it, either.”

“Did John verify it?”

“Yep. He picked her out before that happened. Said his witchy radar was going off the scale and told us to check her out.”

Ed stepped back from the witch and noticed she looked as surprised as he. Though that could have something to do with the ropes and the rough treatment she must have received when brought here. If John Malcolm had verified her power, then it was possible. He’d had no idea she was so powerful.

On the other hand, she had bound him with nothing more than a few words.

Well, well. This could get interesting. If not...uncomfortable.

“What are you up to?” she asked. “I thought you hated witches. Called us vile.”

Indeed he had. Not the best way to start a working relationship, but he could manage. “I needed to speak to you,” he said. Could he really do this? Did he need a witch? Especially one so distracting as this one?

“So you—you kidnapped me?”

“This is not a kidnapping.”

Though when she shook her bound hands between them and gave him an incredulous gape, he couldn’t deny it did look nefarious, if not downright cruel.

“Now you know what it feels like,” he said reactively. “To be bound.”

Her jaw dropped, stupefied. He couldn’t help a vainglorious smile. So he wasn’t keen on condescending to her sympathies. The witch had bound him. And it had hurt like hell.

To his men he said, “I didn’t tell you to tie her up. I just asked you to bring her to me.”

“She’s a witch, boss. We had to tie her up or she’d put a spell on us. Malcolm told us the marks on her fingers cast spells if she can use her hands.”

Ed considered that one and conceded with a nod. “True. Good call, men.”