The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

Jackie Kessler To Hell with Love

People have the oddest ideas about witches. They should be green-skinned. They should fly on broomsticks. They should have black cats as constant companions. Caitlin Harris blamed Hollywood for all the misconceptions. When it came to Caitlin, the truth was that her skin was pale, she flew only in airplanes and she was allergic to cats.

She could also throw magic like snowballs, reshape specific portions of universal memory, and brew a potion to transform demons into humans. But just because she could nudge probability on its backside and magic up her favourite movie on television whenever she wanted didn’t mean she should. Magic had a price. And DVDs had been invented for a reason. Caitlin used to hear that all the time from a man who had once meant everything to her: magic was too important to be used for frivolous things.

Of course, without the remote control, the DVD was just a big dust collector. She used to tell that to the man in return — even as he’d pluck the remote out of whatever crevice it had fallen into. But his lesson still stuck, even two years after she’d told the man goodbye. So there Caitlin was, in the middle of tossing her sofa cushions around for the umpteenth time to find the wayward remote, when her phone rang.

Growling, she stomped into the kitchen to pick up the receiver. After the call, she’d give into the inevitable and use magic to locate the clicker. What she really needed, she thought as she answered the phone, was a GPS for her remote control. Maybe she could magic one up. .

“Caitlin? It’s Paul Hamilton.”

Her eyebrow arched. Paul was her twin sister’s boyfriend. Nice enough guy, from what Caitlin knew, although he was a little too Captain America for her taste. Still, he was good for her sister — and Goddess knew that Jesse Harris needed good influences in her life.

“Hey, Paul,” Caitlin said, trying not to sound too weird. She and Paul had never actually spoken before. Everything she knew about him had come from Jesse. . and from Caitlin’s under-the-radar scrying. It wasn’t being nosy. Really. She just had to keep tabs on her sister. “How are you?”

“I need your help.”

Caitlin rather admired that Paul didn’t waste time with social niceties. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jesse. She’s in trouble.”

Of course she was. Caitlin’s twin had a penchant for trouble. “Could you be a little more specific?”

“She’s unconscious and glowing.”

Yes, that would be trouble. “Tell me everything.”

He did so, calmly and coherently, even though tension laced his words. He’d come home at six-thirty, right after work. He’d been surprised to see Jesse’s bag on the kitchen table; she should have been at her job since four. He’d called out hello, but there’d been no answer. At first, he hadn’t seen her sprawled on the living room floor because the coffee table had partially blocked his view. When he found her lying prone, he’d rushed over to her. She was breathing; that much he could see. But she was also glowing with a pale blue light, so as much as he’d wanted to touch her, he’d held back.

“That was the right decision,” Caitlin murmured. When mundanes fooled around with magic, the results were unpredictable at best.

“I can’t tell if she’s hurt,” Paul said, the anger all too clear in his voice.

“Touching her might have triggered something even worse. Tell me what else you see. Any marks? Anything out of place?”

“There’s a small box in her right hand. Looks like a jewellery box, made of wood. It’s open.”

“Don’t touch that, either,” Caitlin said, frowning. “Just in case it has something to do with her condition.”

“Figured that part out all by myself.” He paused, but Caitlin heard the wordless snarl of him blowing out an exasperated breath. “Sorry. I’m just. .”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Anything else you see?”

He cleared his throat. “There’s a padded envelope. Torn. It’s on the floor near the sofa. Jesse’s name is on the envelope, written in black marker. But there’s no address, no postage. And no return address.”

“Don’t—”

“Touch it. Yeah. I didn’t.” He took another breath. “I don’t know what to do, Caitlin. I can’t call 911. I can’t touch her. She’s not waking up, no matter how loud I yell her name. Tell me,” he said, a plaintive note creeping into his voice. “Tell me what to do to wake her up.”

Well, she wouldn’t be magicking up the remote control after all.

“Sit tight,” Caitlin said. “I’ll be right there.”

A pause, and then Paul stammered, “You’re in Boston. We’re in New York City.”

Actually, she was in Salem, but she didn’t bother correcting him. “For family, I break out the big guns. I just have to lock up. Be there in a few minutes.”

“Um. Okay. You have the address?”

“Don’t need it.”

“Right. Of course not. Um. See you soon.”

Caitlin hung up, thinking that all things considered, Paul had sounded all right. That was something. Usually, mundanes didn’t take too well to anything extraordinary that interrupted their lives.

But then, her sister wasn’t a mundane human, so Paul had some experience under his belt.

Caitlin pulled together her travel bag, complete with basic spell ingredients, a small version of her Book of Shadows with its various magic recipes, and a portable ritual box. Then she slipped on her shoes and a jacket, grabbed her purse and locked the door. With a whispered word of power, her magical security system clicked on — enough to scare away the casual burglar as well as discourage any other practitioners or supernatural critters from entering her territory without permission. One experience of coming home to a houseful of fairies was enough for her, thank you very much.

Purse strap on her shoulder and travel bag in hand, she raised one arm and closed her eyes. She thought of her twin, and she felt the bond between them, the one that linked their souls together. Grasping that bond, she cast a silent prayer to the Goddess, asking Her to deliver her to Jesse’s side.

The Hecate responded: power danced through Caitlin, pulling her skin taut until she was crackling with magical energy. She inhaled deeply, and then she stepped.

Caitlin always equated stepping through reality to swimming under water — space thickened around her, slowing her down. She could see when she stepped, but everything was distorted, and looking too long stung her eyes. She couldn’t breathe when in Between places, and even with a lungful of air before stepping, she always felt like she was smothering. After, Caitlin would desperately want to shower, to wash away the remnants of Between from her skin. It didn’t itch, exactly, but it felt wrong, and reminded her of just how precarious existence really was. Caitlin would be the first one to say that it was far more enjoyable to take a plane first class — and that the plane ride would be significantly cheaper than the cost of stepping.

But as she had said to Paul, when it came to family, Caitlin pulled out all stops. And Jesse, for whatever else she was, was family.

Well. Sort of.

She stepped; she arrived. The world rippled around her for one dizzying moment. Then air became less oppressive, and she released the breath she had been holding. Caitlin blinked until the world settled back into its normal pattern of existence. Shapes sharpened. Colours brightened and sank within their lines. She found herself staring at an entertainment centre overstuffed with DVDs and CDs. A television roughly the size of an elephant took up most of the unit. A few framed Nagels decorated the walls. A battered coffee table stood in front of Caitlin, littered with magazines. To her right sat a plush sofa that promised to be comfortable.

It was easy to see that this was a room that enjoyed being used. She could easily picture Paul and Jesse spending many an evening cuddling on the sofa, watching a movie, their fingers brushing as they both reached for the popcorn.

But then, knowing her sister, Caitlin thought the sofa was probably used for other, less passive, activities.

“Wow,” a man’s voice said behind her. “I believed you. But still. Wow.”

Caitlin turned — slowly, because she was still a little dizzy — to face Paul Hamilton, the man her sister had sacrificed so much to be with. Light brown hair that was a little too long; small hazel eyes that had seen too much. Broken nose. Good smile. Had Caitlin been into big and brawny, she probably would have thought Paul had a great body.

“Hey, Paul,” she said, dropping her travel bag and handbag to the floor. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Same here.” He flicked her a polite smile. “She’s over there.”

He walked past Caitlin to the other end of the coffee table. She followed him, and there her sister was, sprawled prone on the floor. Most of her face was hidden by the unruly black curls of her hair, but Caitlin still knew that face intimately. Jesse’s eyes were closed, but Caitlin knew they were bright green and sparkled with mischief; Jesse’s mouth was slack, but Caitlin was well aware that when Jesse grinned, she had a slight overbite. Caitlin knew everything about how Jesse looked, down to her birthmarks.

She had been there two months ago when Jesse had first stolen Caitlin’s looks. And her credit cards.

Caitlin stared at her sister in flesh: Jesse Harris, the former demon Jezebel.

For a long moment, Caitlin fought the urge to kick Jesse. Hard. But no matter how she felt about her twin, she had to protect her. All witches did, by the decree of the Hecate. That was why Caitlin had given the one-time succubus her name after turning her into a mortal two months ago: names had power, especially when offered freely.

She hadn’t told Jesse why the Hecate was so invested in her. Caitlin wanted to give her sister more time as a normal human first — a couple of years, maybe, for her to be together with Paul, to learn how to truly love. Then she would tell Jesse about her destiny.

But first, Caitlin had to figure out why Jesse was unconscious and glowing.

She squatted next to Jesse and created a magical probe, one that would tell Caitlin more about the magic in play. It shimmered, lit up like a miniature nova, and incinerated. She murmured, “The spell that did this is still active.”

“The glowing sort of tipped me off,” said Paul.

She ignored the sarcasm. “Between the faintness of the glow and the colour, it looks like this has to do with dreams.”

Paul hunkered down next to her. “You’re saying she’s sleeping?” He squinted at Jesse’s face as if he could will her awake.

“No.” Caitlin peered at the small open box in Jesse’s hand. The patterns in the wood were intricate and beautiful, etched by someone with skill. Staring at those symbols, Caitlin remembered the last time she had seen anything like them before.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

Stop, she told herself. Don’t jump to conclusions.

The torn envelope was on the floor next to Jesse. As Paul had said before on the phone, the package was padded and white, with only MS HARRIS on the front. No address. No information about the sender.

Ms Harris. Not Jesse Harris. Ms Harris. Written in black marker — by a hand that Caitlin recognized.

“Caitlin? What is it?”

Grimacing, Caitlin said, “This package wasn’t intended for her.” She turned to face Paul. “It was supposed to go to me.”

He stiffened.

“That’s a memory box she’s holding,” Caitlin said, pointing at the open box in Jesse’s hand. “When the proper recipient opens a memory box, that person gets to experience a particular memory like it was happening now. It shouldn’t open for the wrong person. Technically, it can’t. It’s made specifically for a particular recipient.”

“But Jesse opened it,” Paul said slowly.

“Maybe it’s because she’s my twin.” More likely, it was because Jesse had been made Caitlin’s twin by magic. “The spell wasn’t meant for her, so what should have been passive instead became aggressive.”

Paul’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “Once more, this time in words I can understand.”

“She’s trapped in a memory.” Caitlin gritted her teeth. “The spell within the box became corrupted when she opened it. If you’d touched her, you would have been sucked into the memory too.”

“Can you help her?”

“Not without also getting pulled into the spell.”

Something dangerous flashed in Paul’s eyes. “We have to do something. We can’t just leave her like this.”

“We won’t,” Caitlin said, dreading her next words. “There’s someone I can call. He’s proficient in memory magic.” Goddess knew, he’d said that very thing too many times to count. “If anyone can free Jesse, it’s him.”

“Who is he?”

Caitlin sighed and closed her eyes. “My ex-husband.”

Aaron Lighter had intended to spend a quiet night at home — just him, a couple slices of pepperoni pizza, a few beers, and both volumes of Kill Bill. Nothing like artful slaughter to cheer him up. He’d been in a funk ever since that afternoon, when he’d finally made the decision to send Caitlin the memory box. He’d crafted it months ago, from selecting the proper solid cedar board and making the initial cuts to bend the corners all the way to etching the outer designs with complex wards.

Every cut he’d made, Aaron had thought of Caitlin Harris.

Adding the memory had been the easy part; he was no master woodworker, but his subtle magicks were his strong suit. And memory was extremely subtle. Malleable.

Maddening.

He laughed bitterly as he popped open the beer bottle. Sending the memory box was supposed to be cathartic for him. Cleansing. Instead, it had left him feeling oddly hollow, and painfully lonely.

Which, when he thought about it, was no different from how he’d felt when he’d been married to Caitlin.

No, that was unfair. She’d been the one to leave him, after all. One too many fights, and both of them too proud to admit their egos had smothered their affection. She’d left him, and he’d thought at the time it was good riddance. Two years later, she had still infected his heart.

When you compared love to a disease, it was time to take drastic measures. And so, he’d crafted the memory box.

He was on his second bottle and his second slice when his cellphone rang. He checked the number and took a healthy swig of beer before he answered. Of course she’d be calling. Probably to thank him, and then make some small talk, ask how his rituals were going, that sort of thing. That’s all she was to him now: small talk. If he told himself that enough, he might actually believe it.

Swallowing his beer, he took the call. “Caitlin,” he said by way of hello.

“Aaron.” She said his name like she was spitting nails. “I know you sent the memory box.”

He wasn’t the sort of man to think Well, duh. But in this case, it was damn close. “Given the memory that was inside, I’d certainly hope so.” He’d chosen it specially, out of all the time they’d had together. Goddess knew that after twelve years, there had been quite a few choice memories.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Aaron. .”

“Listen, you caught me right in the middle of something, so enjoy the present.” He really wanted to watch some righteous murder right about now. Uma Thurman in a tracksuit was a bonus. Not that he was into tall, blond women with a thing for swords; he was much more about small brunettes with untamable curly hair.

He wondered if Caitlin still kept her hair pulled back in a ponytail, or if she let it go loose around her shoulders.

“Don’t hang up,” Caitlin snapped. “You messed up, Aaron. The box didn’t go to me.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. He didn’t mess up, not when it came to memory boxes. While he enjoyed working various subtle craftings, the one area he truly excelled in was memory. Current actions defined a person only for the moment; memories defined them forever. “Of course it went to you,” he said. “I was very specific when I crafted the package. I infused it with the essence of your dazzling smile and sharp tongue, dearest.”

She sighed, clearly exasperated. “Aaron—”

“It couldn’t not go to you. Besides,” he added with a smile, “I felt it when you opened it.”

Oh, he’d felt it, all right: the initial surprise, then a flood of lust so powerful it had given him a raging hard-on. He hadn’t known Caitlin could feel any emotion that strongly. Maybe he wasn’t the only one doing without sex.

“That wasn’t me,” Caitlin growled. “Jesse got the envelope. Jesse opened the box.”

Her words hit him like ice water in the face. His mouth worked silently for a moment, until he finally spluttered, “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were. But I’m looking at Jesse right now.” Caitlin paused, and Aaron could hear her grind her teeth. “She’s trapped. Something went wrong, and she opened the box, and now she’s trapped.”

Aaron ran his fingers through his hair. Of all the possible ramifications he’d thought of when he had first crafted Caitlin’s memory box — and he’d thought of just about everything, from Caitlin despising him to Caitlin throwing herself at his feet and begging for another chance — this scenario hadn’t come up. Hell, this scenario should be impossible. But then, he admitted to himself, when it came to Caitlin’s pseudo-sister Jesse, “impossible” didn’t really exist.

He said, “Tell me everything.”

She did.

By the time she finished, Aaron was sweating and his heartbeat was erratic. Caitlin had been wrong — he hadn’t merely messed up. He’d fucked up, hugely. What was supposed to be a gift for his former wife had turned into a potentially lethal weapon against the one person the Hecate’s followers had sworn to protect. The old saying was true: no good deed went unpunished.

“I need your help,” Caitlin said.

Well, that had to kill her to admit. The thought made him smile. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said.

“It doesn’t take that long to step.”

“No, dearest. But it does take that long to get a cab.” He paused. “I’m right here in New York, Caitlin. I left Salem after you walked out on me.”

“Don’t,” she said, her voice sharp.

Caitlin never had liked hearing the ugly truth when it came to their relationship. Some things would never change. “Fine,” Aaron said. “I’ll get there shortly. Just don’t touch her.”

She snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“The address would be nice.”

After Caitlin gave him the address, she said, “You could just step here and be done with it.”

“Unlike some,” Aaron said pointedly, “I don’t like throwing around power when something more mundane does just as nicely.”

“Aaron—”

“And taking a cab,” he added quietly, “doesn’t cost me a year of my life.”

There was a long pause before Caitlin said, “Just get over here, Aaron.” With that, she hung up.

Aaron dumped the leftover pizza and beer and turned off his television and DVR. He wasn’t surprised that she had stepped all the way from Salem, even with such a high price to pay. Of course she’d come running to her sister’s side. It’s what Caitlin had been handpicked to do. Jesse was part of her life now — and Aaron was not.

The thought was distressingly bitter.

Steeling himself to work with his ex-wife, Aaron went to flag down a cab.

“I was starting to think that witches didn’t travel like regular people,” Paul said as Aaron took off his jacket.

“Female witches might not,” Aaron confided. “But male witches tend to be more practical. We even ask for directions.”

Caitlin bristled. She hated that Aaron looked so damn good, from his hazel eyes to his mop of sandy hair to the dimple in his left cheek. He wore all black, of course, from his button-up shirt to his slacks to his socks and shoes. His underwear — if he were even bothering with any — would also be black. She remembered that far too well.

Damn it. Stop thinking about him in his underwear. Or not in his underwear.

She did not find him attractive any more. Absolutely not. They were exes, formers, already-done-thats. She wasn’t sorry that she was wearing her comfortable, baggy sweater with its shredded collar, or her well-worn sweatpants. No, not sorry at all.

He was by her side now, flashing his teeth. “Dearest,” he said, offering his hand.

She wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face, but she forced herself to remain calm. Calm, calm, calm. She took a cleansing breath and blew it out slowly.

Yes. She was perfectly calm.

“Call me ‘dearest’ again,” she said sweetly, “and I’ll curse your hair to fall from your scalp and grow on your back.”

Aaron threw back his head and laughed. “Still the charmer, Caitlin.”

“Still a pompous ass, Aaron.”

“Hey.”

Caitlin tore her gaze from Aaron to look at Paul, who was glowering at the both of them.

“Fight later,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “You’re here to help Jesse. So make with the helping. Now.”

Caitlin felt her cheeks flush, but she ignored it. Paul was right. “Take a look at her, Aaron.”

Her ex-husband walked over to where Jesse lay on the floor, and he squatted next to her. His lips moved as he cast a silent spell — Caitlin used to joke that if he were ever gagged, he’d never be able to work magic — and then white sparks flew from his outstretched hands and covered Jesse’s form. After a few moments, the lights faded. The glow around Jesse’s body remained a steady, soft blue.

“It’s as you said. She’s trapped in a memory. But it’s not yours, as I would have thought.” He glanced at Caitlin. “It’s hers.”

Oh. . crap. Caitlin sank down on to the sofa and held her head in her hands.

“What?” That was Paul, sounding worried and angry. “What does that mean?”

“Jesse was a succubus for 4,000 years,” Caitlin said grimly. “Three guesses what sort of memory she’s stuck in.”

“And the first two don’t count.” Aaron let out a strained laugh. “Sex and demons. This is going to be fun.”

“Don’t forget that she’s an exotic dancer now,” Caitlin added with a groan. “So that could be in there too.”

“Sex, strippers and demons,” Aaron corrected. “What’s not to like?”

Oh, Goddess. There was no way Caitlin was going to survive this with her dignity intact.

“So,” Paul said slowly, “what are you going to do? How can you help her?”

“We have to enter her memory and pull her out,” said Aaron.

“You’re making it sound simple.”

“Hopefully, it will be.” Aaron paused, and Caitlin felt his gaze on her. “She knows you, so I suggest that I anchor you.”

Caitlin looked up at him. He was still smiling, but it looked forced. And what she had first taken as haughtiness sparkling in his eyes now looked more like worry. Not that she blamed him. The worst that could happen to her if she failed to find or free Jesse would be getting stuck in Jesse’s memory. But the worst thing for an anchor, should the rescue go awry, would be death. Caitlin was a strong anchor, though. Chances were, she wouldn’t die, even if things went terribly wrong.

“You’re better at navigating memories than I am,” she said. “Maybe it should be the other way around.”

“Won’t work. Jesse doesn’t know me, so she won’t trust me enough to shake her loose from the memory.”

Caitlin couldn’t help it; she barked out a laugh. “You think she’ll trust me? She hates me, Aaron.”

His smile slipped into something warmer. “That doesn’t mean she won’t trust you.”

He had a point. Sort of.

“She’s your sister,” Paul said to her. “She’ll listen to you.”

Caitlin’s lips twitched. For all that Paul was a good man, sometimes he was horribly naive. Even though he knew about Jesse’s sordid history, he still believed she was a good person. He loved her, despite her faults. Paul and Jesse made it work, even though it shouldn’t. A former succubus, in love with a mortal man bound for Heaven? Impossible. And yet, there they were, Paul and Jesse. Together.

“Together,” she said to Aaron. “We can go in together.”

He frowned at her. “That’s not how it’s done. One to enter, one to anchor. It can’t be any other way.”

“Just because it’s not done that way doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Think about it,” she said, imploring. “You’re a strong navigator; I’m a powerful anchor. If we join, we can be both navigator and anchor, with all our strength combined. If we do it together, we have a better chance of getting to her quickly and pulling her free.”

Aaron asked softly, “And how do you suggest we join, Caitlin?”

She blushed again, but she refused to look away. “I brought my ritual bag. We can call upon the Hecate to bless us and join us.”

“Or we could do it the old-fashioned way.”

Her eyes narrowed. “In your dreams.”

“You mean, in her dreams.” Aaron motioned to where Jesse lay.

“It doesn’t have to come to that,” Caitlin said tightly. “We’re strong. We can fight it.”

“Fight what?” Paul asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Sex,” said Aaron, sounding horribly chipper. “Sex magic is the ultimate way to join essences. And sex is the only thing to expect when we enter the memory of a succubus.”

“If I didn’t know better,” Caitlin said, “I’d think you were looking for a quickie.”

“Strictly here for a rescue mission,” he said, throwing his hands up in a universal Don’t Hurt Me move.

Get a grip, Caitlin scolded herself. Maybe Aaron was her ex-husband, but he was also the best person to help her rescue Jesse. And that’s what mattered right now: freeing her sister. She could deal — or not deal — with Aaron after.

“We’re calling on the Hecate,” Caitlin said, rising to her feet. As for what would happen once they were in Jesse’s memory, well, they’d tackle that then. She moved to get her travel bag, and she pointedly did not think of having sex with her former husband, or how long it had been since she’d last had a lover.

Or how she still missed Aaron’s touch.

“Terrifi c,” said Aaron. “Nothing like getting a little Goddess-inspired bliss to really kick off an evening.”

“Paul, you might want to go out,” Caitlin said as she rummaged for her ritual kit. “There’s no way to tell how long this is going to take.”

“I’m staying right here,” he insisted.

“I like a man who’s into voyeurism,” Aaron said with a grin.

Caitlin ignored him. “Then I’d appreciate it if you could please take your phone off the hook.”

“Done,” said Paul, marching into the kitchen to take care of it.

Caitlin glanced at Aaron. “Well then,” she said. “Let’s make some magic.”

Aaron offered to help Caitlin set up the altar, but she was persnickety about anyone other than her touching her ritual items. Gosh, what a shock. He grinned as a memory flashed: the first time they were participating in their coven’s circle, sky-clad by the light of the moon, the sound of a crack as an eighteen-year-old Caitlin Harris slapped his hand away from the ritual chalice. “For the Goddess,” she’d said tartly. “No shit,” he’d replied, chuckling even as he rubbed his hand. She’d glared at him, and he’d winked at her.

Three months later, they were dating. Two months after that, they were lovers.

She hadn’t been his first. But by the Goddess, she’d been the best.

As Caitlin set up the items on the portable altar, Aaron worked on his breathing to help him prepare. Pure thoughts, he told himself. It would have been easier — and more fun — if instead of a formal ritual, Caitlin had agreed to have sex with him. She’d always been the perfect match for him, the high priestess to his high priest. When their bodies moved in concert, all in celebration of the Goddess, there was nothing they couldn’t do.

But that had been back when she’d loved him. Anything that happened between them now would be strictly for the purpose of making magic. And that meant no sex. Caitlin wasn’t into casual sex. Never had been, not even when the other coven members had taken advantage of sky-clad rituals and joined beneath the stars.

No, for Caitlin, making love had never been casual.

Feeling sad and bittersweet, Aaron breathed.

Next to her sister, Jesse lay prone, the memory box yawning open in her outstretched hand. So much trouble, Aaron thought, for something that was supposed to be a gift. Seated on the couch behind Jesse, Paul watched everything with curious, haunted eyes. Aaron didn’t envy the man. Being in love with any woman was heartache enough. But in love with a former demon? That had to be a nightmare.

But then, given that Jesse had been a succubus, Aaron guessed the sex was damn terrific. That had him thinking about Caitlin again. Biting back a frustrated growl, he worked on his breathing.

Soon, everything was ready. Set on the altar were a silver chalice, pewter bell, a small metal cauldron, a bronze pentacle, a besom, a wooden wand, a black-handled athame, candles, a censer filled with incense, and a bowl of salt. Aaron usually didn’t bother with such trappings, but given that they had to beg a blessing from the Hecate, he admitted it couldn’t hurt to follow at least some of the protocol.

“Paul,” Caitlin said, “some of what you hear and see may sound strange.”

Paul grunted. “Lady, you stepped here out of thin air. My girlfriend is glowing blue. My definition of ‘strange’ is being rewritten even as we speak.”

Aaron chuckled. He liked this guy. “Let’s get on with it, dearest, so the intrepid boyfriend can get back to his regular life with his not-so-regular girlfriend.”

Caitlin glowered at him. “Follow my lead.”

“Ladies first,” he said with a wink.

They began by casting the circle of protection, with Caitlin using the athame to draw four pentacles in the air, north and east and south and west. Aaron scattered salt in a large circle as Caitlin placed the candles in the directional points. She lit them from east to south to west to north, and Aaron felt it as she grounded the energy in the centre of the circle — a tickle of sensation dancing along his flesh.

He was very glad they weren’t sky-clad now. Nothing like a boner to undermine the seriousness of the ritual.

Shaking away such thoughts, he invoked the directions and the elements, and Caitlin followed with an invocation of the Goddess herself as she cradled the cauldron in her hands. Then the two of them raised their voices in song, praising the Hecate and asking to receive her gift of union.

What had started as a tickle soon became stronger, a gentle stroking, back and forth, like waves undulating over his skin. He was hyperaware of the sounds of his breathing, of his heartbeat, of the smells of burning candles and the scent of anticipation. He and Caitlin sang, their voices intertwined.

And then he felt Her presence — between them, around them. Inside them. The Hecate filled Aaron, infusing him with Her blessing. He threw back his head as his body reacted to his Goddess’s seductive touch — his breath caught in his throat, even as his erection strained against his pants. Awash in pleasure, Aaron’s senses stretched until he felt Caitlin’s presence as well, from the fine trembling in her upraised arms to the sweat dotting her brow to the building desire that pearled her nipples and licked between her legs.

Blessed be, whispered the Hecate. And then She vanished.

Shaking, Aaron commanded himself to breathe. Goddess, he was ready to blow! The twin sensations of his and Caitlin’s arousal made it impossible to think. He gritted his teeth, and he breathed.

“Now,” Caitlin said, her voice thick.

Aaron and Caitlin clasped hands, his left and her right, and then together they reached over to brush their fingers over Jesse’s head.

The shock was immediate — a surge of energy like none Aaron had ever felt before, a torrent of emotion and intention flooding him. Overwhelmed, he felt himself dragged under. He opened his mouth to shout, but he was drowning in magic, burning in Hellfire, lost in the power of the Hecate and the Underworld and sucked into a former demon’s dream. .

And then Caitlin yanked him back up, anchoring him in the here and now.

But it wasn’t as simple as that. Yes, they were in Paul and Jesse’s apartment, seated on the ground, their hands touching. . but they were also floating in a world of grey, the colour somewhere between a soft dove and a winter sky, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of mirrors. They were both in the Real and on the cusp of the Surreal, the place where memories and dreams mixed like cocktails. He blinked, and the real world was an after-image behind his eyelids.

Aaron, with his expertise in memory magic, was used to the Surreal. But he wasn’t used to navigating the Surreal while still being anchored in the Real. It was damn disconcerting.

As was the sight of Caitlin’s naked body.

Because they weren’t grounded in reality while in the Surreal, her form was more of a sketch of Caitlin nude, all bold outlines and pale skin and black hair, with no contours to give her depth. Her eyes flashed emerald; her lips were a splash of cherry red. She reminded him of the Nagels in Paul’s apartment, and Aaron wondered if Caitlin had been influenced by the art.

If so, he must have been as well. From the little he saw of himself, his flesh was just as white as hers. And as nude as hers.

Then again, it was possible he just had sex on the brain.

He shook his head to clear it. “That,” he said hoarsely, “was not at all fun.”

“I’ve been through worse.” Caitlin sounded nonchalant, her expression giving nothing away. But Aaron was joined with her, so he didn’t need his eyes or ears to tell him that she had been caught off-guard by the rush of magic and that even now, she was floundering. He read her emotions as easily as a scrying bowl: Caitlin was discovering that being both a navigator and an anchor was slightly overwhelming.

What was more unsettling to her, though, was how she was still sensitive to Aaron’s touch, how just a nudge right now would send her over the edge and leaping into rapture.

Aaron, never the fool, pretended he didn’t know. And he pretended he didn’t care. “I’m sure you have, dearest. After all, you were married to me.”

That got sliver of a smile out of her. “You read my mind.”

No, not that. But he had her emotions down cold. And since she was joined with him, she had to know how he was feeling. What he was feeling.

How he wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her.

“Well then,” he said abruptly. “Let’s get this rescue started, shall we?”

Caitlin had been in the Surreal before, many times. But she much preferred to be the anchor: firmly entrenched in the Real with only a cursory awareness of the miasma of winking mirrors that made up the Surreal. Those polished surfaces flashed hypnotically, beckoning to her.

Caitlin felt Aaron’s impatience before he spoke — a benefit (or not) of being joined. “Don’t look at the mirrors. Walk only where I walk.”

She sniffed. “You just want me to watch your ass.”

“It’s a great ass, you have to admit.”

Caitlin gave him her best Wicked Witch stare, and she firmly did not think about how great his ass really was.

His grin slipped. “I’m serious, Caitlin. Don’t look at the mirrors. With the spell on the memory box distorted by Jesse opening it, the mirrors may not be passive.”

Reluctantly, she nodded. If things had been normal — as normal as they could be in the Surreal — she could have gazed within any of the mirrors for as long as she liked, and she would have been treated to a view of a particular memory. But given how Jesse herself had been sucked into a memory, neither Caitlin nor Aaron could assume that they could look within and be unharmed. “You can find which mirror she’s in?”

“Yes. Just let me concentrate, and then follow me.” He frowned, then turned to the right. “This way.”

They walked for what felt like forever, their footsteps whispering along the grey nothingness. To either side, and above and below them, mirrors glittered like diamonds. Aaron strode confidently, taking turns without hesitation, as he sussed out which memory had captured her sister.

She had to admit, he did have a great ass.

Caitlin turned her head away so that she’d stop looking at how his buttocks moved as he walked and stop thinking about how she had enjoyed caressing him, letting her fingers trail across his bottom and slowly make their way to his front. She had to stop thinking about him, damn it. She had to stop remembering how good he had made her feel, how easy it would be to just touch him, kiss him. .

No. Stop, stop, stop.

Glancing over her shoulder — nowhere in sight of Aaron’s terrific ass — she gasped as a mirror sparkled in front of her. And within, she caught a glimpse of her own face.

Not Jesse’s copy of her face, no, but her own face — hers, Caitlin Harris, smiling. Not a reflection, but a memory. And Caitlin watched herself open her mouth and. .

. . she says, “If you want another favour, Jesse, then you need to give me something in addition.”

The demon Jezebel stands before her, wearing a copy of her form, and she gives Caitlin a tiny, helpless smile. “You’re right,” she says. “I’ll give you something.”

And Caitlin feels that something settle over her, a subtle tickle of desire. She sneezes once, and then she looks into Jezebel’s face, her amazing face, and Caitlin feels her lids become heavy and her breathing quicken. Jezebel licks her lips slowly, suggestively, and Caitlin’s lips part in return. She feels invisible fingers skimming over her body, and a sound escapes her mouth — the softest of ohhhs. Heat kindles in her belly and lower, blooms over her chest until her nipples are hard, ready to be suckled.

Caitlin slowly unfastens one button of her flannel nightshirt. And then the next.

Jezebel’s voice is soft as silk. She purrs, “Say my name.”

Caitlin’s fingers fumble the third button open, and her right breast pokes out from the gap in her nightshirt. In a breathy whisper, she says, “Jezebel.”

And now she’s lost in Jezebel’s touch. .

Until pain shattered the memory.

Gritting her teeth to keep from shouting, she stared daggers at Aaron. She pulled her arm out of his grip. The man had nearly dislocated her shoulder! How dare he. .!

And then she realized what had happened.

She blushed fiercely. One slip. One small slip, all because she hadn’t wanted to stare at Aaron’s backside any longer. She could still feel the ghost of Jezebel’s fingers travelling along her body, tracing her curves, heating her blood. The memory had been from two months ago, right after she’d brewed the potion that would transform the demon Jezebel into the mortal Jesse. Jezebel had tricked her, bespelled her.

Seduced her.

Caitlin gingerly rubbed her shoulder as Aaron glared at her. Rage was stamped on his features — but through their joining, she felt the fear that gnawed at his gut. He was furious with her, but also terrified by what had nearly happened. “When I say ‘Don’t look in the mirrors’,” he snarled, “that damn well means don’t look in the mirrors!”

“It was an accident,” she said, hating how lame her words sounded.

“Penicillin was an accident! This was intentional!”

Her eyes narrowed. Yes, he was right to be angry with her; even so, she wouldn’t be his whipping post. “Stop yelling at me.”

She felt his emotions dance in quick succession: fury, frustration, relief, and something else, something she couldn’t — or wouldn’t — name. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Keep your head in the game, dearest, or a memory will try to eat you again.” He whirled around and stomped off, leaving Caitlin to hurry after him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! She mentally slapped herself for being careless, and she slapped herself again for having to be rescued by Aaron. He’d never let her live that down. Damn it.

Well, at least he had rescued her. And now she was too mad to think about his ass. So that was all right.

Aaron came to a halt in front of a mirror. He was careful to keep his gaze on his feet as he reached out with his magic to confirm that this was it. And. . yes, there. Jesse’s spirit was somewhere within. He was amazed by how similar her soul felt to Caitlin’s, and he wondered, not for the first time, if Caitlin had given Jesse more than mortality and a shared name two months ago.

Did they share a soul? If so, no wonder the memory box had gone awry.

But as he recognized Jesse’s spirit, he also noted that it was too solid, too present within the memory. He frowned. Whatever she was reliving, it would be real to her. And it would loop continuously, keeping her sealed within while her body starved. Soon enough, she would die in the Real. Her soul would either fade or be locked within the Surreal — all because she had opened a memory box not intended for her.

It was an insidious trap. If he had done it on purpose, he would have been terribly impressed with himself.

“Got her,” he said, turning to face Caitlin. Like him, she was purposely not looking at the mirror. “Remember: we go in, you go up to Jesse and wake her up. Do it fast, before the memory overwhelms you.”

She nodded curtly.

“As soon as she wakes up, the memory will shatter. We’ll launch ourselves out before everything winks out. Be ready for a hasty exit.”

Again, she nodded. And then she did something that nearly dropped him on his ass: she kissed him. It was sudden, and passionate, and over far too quickly. A moment of heat and promise, and then she pulled away, leaving him rather dazed. “For luck,” she said softly.

“Luck,” he agreed, his head spinning. He steadied himself, then said, “Ready?”

Face pale, she nodded.

Then they stepped into the mirror. .

. . and Aaron flinches from the intense heat baking his skin. The ground is flat and hot beneath his feet; he takes in a startled breath and he feels his throat char. And he knows in his soul that he’s in Hell.

Not me, he tells himself. This isn’t happening to me.

Ahead of him is the biggest wall he’s ever seen, and a pair of wrought-iron gates. Muffled sounds echo beyond the wall — screeches and moans and laughter and snorts and more, so much more, a cacophony of exclamations that make him want to clasp his hands to his ears. But this isn’t real.

Not real.

In front of the gates, two demons are groping each other. Satyrs, both of them — the woman bald with cherry red skin and a curly black pelt, the man a bright turquoise and blond. Fire-red horns jut out from beneath his golden hair, and his eyes flash amber as he grins at the woman — the succubus. “Patience,” the incubus says as he wraps his arm around her waist and crushes her against his chest. “Just a little taste first.”

Not real.

He kisses her, hard, and Aaron sees, feels, their passion as she kisses him in return. Now the incubus is licking his way down her chin, tracing the lines of her jaw, teasing her collarbone with his mouth. She arches back, exposing her breasts, telling him with her body exactly what she wants him to do.

Not. .

Aaron wants to pull his gaze away. But he can’t. He watches as the demon sucks one of her nipples until she is writhing in his arms, her delighted groans like music. Now the incubus attends her other nipple, working on it with his lips and tongue, blowing on it.

Aaron is groaning, too, as the demons play. He feels their arousal, their need, and it sinks into his skin, setting him on fire. Panting, he watches the demons and slowly loses himself to lust, thinking of Caitlin as he wraps one hand over his shaft and begins to pump.

Hurry, he thinks, but whether it’s for Caitlin to hurry over to Jezebel or for himself to come, he couldn’t say.

The succubus’ hands tangle in the demon’s hair, and her hips roll as he sucks her, back and forth, first one nipple and then the other. His hand reaches down, snaking over the curve of her belly. Down more, trailing his fingers over her mound. Stroking her sex. She lets out a throaty growl — insistent, demanding, hungry.

Aaron growls, thinking of Caitlin, wanting her like never before. He wants to pin her to the ground and fuck her senseless. He wants to hear her squeal as he pounds her again and again.

Caitlin. .

And now Caitlin is rushing past him, dashing over to where the incubus is prodding the succubus to orgasm. She throws her arm back and cracks her palm against the female’s cheek. “Wake up, you stupid succubus!”

The incubus keeps fingering the female demon, who is looking at Caitlin with heavily lidded eyes and a lazy grin. “Heya, Sis,” she says thickly. “Come here often?”

“Jesse Harris,” Caitlin says in the way that siblings have mastered over the millennia, “you stop this right now!” She slaps the succubus again. “Come on, Jesse — it’s time to wake up!”

No longer grinning, the succubus blinks. “What?”

“You heard me,” Caitlin says, preparing to strike her again. “This isn’t real.”

This time, the succubus catches Caitlin’s arm. For a moment, it looks like she might rip the limb from Caitlin’s body. But then she cocks her head and looks at Caitlin, and then at Aaron, and then she considers the incubus, who’s still playing her body like a fiddle.

“You’re right,” she finally says to Caitlin. “If this were real, Daun would be at least four inches bigger.”

And like that, the succubus disappears in a puff of brimstone.

Aaron feels the lust recede just as everything around him fades out. Caitlin launches herself at him, tackling him to the ground. .

. . and Aaron opened his eyes. He was in Paul’s living room, seated on the floor, Caitlin’s hand in his. He stared at Caitlin, and he shivered from the vestiges of lust that danced along his body. He wanted to pin her to the ground and fuck her senseless.

No. That hadn’t been real.

Yes. Yes it had.

Embarrassed and flustered and horny, he opened his mouth to say something, anything. But that’s when Jesse propped herself up and said, “Sweetie, you look much better with your clothes off.”

The coffee shop was fairly empty, which, for Manhattan, was a small miracle. Caitlin murmured her thanks as Aaron handed her an environmentally-friendly cup filled with steaming liquid caffeine. He sank into the chair opposite her, and for a few minutes neither of them said anything as they drank their coffee. No longer joined, Caitlin couldn’t feel Aaron’s emotions. There was no need; the damage, if that’s what it was, had already been done.

She still wanted him. And she knew that he wanted her just as much.

But lust wasn’t love. And love with Aaron hadn’t worked.

Maybe it could work again. .

No. And no.

With a sigh, Caitlin drank her coffee.

“So,” Aaron said, “when are you heading back to Salem?”

She shrugged. “After this, I guess.”

He gazed at her, drinking in her features. “You’re drained, Caitlin. Stepping now isn’t just a frivolous waste of a year of your life. It’s potential suicide.”

“I could do it,” she insisted.

His mouth quirked a smile. “Of course. The great and powerful witch Caitlin Harris would never risk casting a spell strong enough to bend the Universe’s rules when she was falling-on-her-face exhausted.”

“So dramatic,” she said with a sniff. And never mind that he was right.

He reached over and touched her hand — hesitantly, even shyly. “Stay the night,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ll give you the bed, and I’ll take the couch. But stay. Rest. And tomorrow, travel the old-fashioned way. I’ll even drive you to the airport.”

Her head swam. Aaron had no business being chivalrous, not when she was already on the precipice. He needed to be a jackass, a pompous jerk who thought the world revolved around himself. “You don’t have a car,” she said.

“Well, I’ll put you in a cab.” He squeezed her hand, once, then snatched his hand away. “If you don’t want to stay with me, can you go back to Paul and Jesse’s and stay there overnight?”

She shuddered. “Ugh, no. Jesse didn’t even wait for us to leave before she started attacking Paul.”

Aaron’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “They were still dressed when we snuck out of there.”

“A temporary condition, I promise you.”

They shared a laugh.

“Stay,” Aaron said. And Caitlin agreed — but only for the night. And as long as Aaron took the bed; she’d take the couch.

As Caitlin finished her coffee, Aaron put the memory box on the table. He’d grabbed it before they had made their unobtrusive exit — carefully ignoring how Jesse was eating Paul’s face — and he’d carried it tucked under his arm as he and Caitlin walked to the coffee shop. Caitlin had noticed Aaron’s fingers brushing it as she worked on her latte, saw his lips move silently. Now she stared at the ornately carved wooden box, and she marvelled how something so small and so beautiful could be so dangerous.

Aaron slid the box over to her.

“I fixed it,” he said quietly. “It got all messed up when Jesse opened it, but it was easy enough to nudge everything back into its proper place.”

Caitlin arched a brow and said nothing.

“It’s just a memory box,” he said. “Nothing nasty inside. No wicked surprises. It’s for you.”

She looked at Aaron, scanned his face for any hint of deception. What she saw made her feel horribly sad and tired and, damn it all, hopeful. She saw not the arrogant man but the young warlock she’d married, the man she’d once thought she’d love forever.

“Caitlin,” he said. “Trust me.”

And she did. With trembling fingers, she opened the box.

It’s a summer night in the park, and grass is tickling Caitlin’s bare feet as the tree leaves make music with the wind. She is eighteen and immortal, and she’s intoxicated with the power of participating in the coven’s circle. Thirteen witches, sky-clad in the moonlight and linked hand in hand, sing their praises to the Hecate, thanking Her for the gift of magic. Aaron’s hand is so large, it swallows Caitlin’s completely.

After, as the coven members dress or pair off to make their own sort of magic, Aaron and Caitlin linger in the clearing. His hand is still in hers, and he presses her knuckles against his lips, his tongue darting between her fingers. She blushes, both from the attention and from the way heat blooms in her breasts and belly. It’s been two months since she and Aaron have started dating — two months of sweet kisses and curious hands, of a slow awakening of her body. She’s not a virgin, but the boy who had taken that piece of her had been rough and uncaring. That boy had dumped her a week later to move on to the next girl, leaving Caitlin to wonder what she had done wrong.

Aaron is far from uncaring. In the eight weeks they’d been together, he’d made her laugh and made her furious. He is as passionate as she about magic, and he is funny and smart and sexy. But he is also cocky and arrogant, completely sure of himself even when he has no idea what he’s talking about. Caitlin had been stunned to discover that she liked that about him. . and even more stunned when she realized that he liked her as well.

Their first kiss still makes her lips tingle even after two months.

They had gone slow, with him letting her set the pace. Trust built, and attraction deepened, bringing them to tonight, to this moment — to Aaron, naked in the moonlight, kissing her hand and flicking his tongue against her knuckles.

Nervous, eager, she smiles at him and leads him across the clearing to a more secluded section of the park. She finds a spot near a cluster of trees, private and yet inviting, and she wraps her arms around his shoulders and stands on her tiptoes as she pulls his head down to hers.

The kiss begins softly, tenderly, as Aaron embraces her. His mouth is warm against hers, and she slowly melts in his arms. Now his tongue is nudging between her lips. She opens her mouth to him and his tongue rolls against hers.

His hands leave her waist to travel up her back, caressing, stroking. Warmth turns to heat as she feels those touches in other places, small sparks along her arms and chest and lower.

Caitlin moans, but the sound is eaten by Aaron’s kiss.

Now his mouth is moving down her jaw, her neck, along the curve of her shoulder, his kisses damp on her skin. Back up along her throat, and now the shell of her ear, licking and teasing, kissing and nibbling, making her pant.

She wants this — just her and him, together, tonight. She wants him to touch her all over. She wants to explore his body and discover what he likes — what he loves.

She wants him.

Caitlin lowers her arms until they’re circling his waist. As he’s kissing along her jaw and her other ear, her hands move lower until they’re skimming along his bottom. Lower still, until her fingernails graze the backs of his thighs.

His erection pokes her belly.

“Caitlin,” he whispers in her ear, his voice husky. “Tell me. Tell me when to stop.”

One hand still playing along his backside, she reaches up with her other hand to cup his chin. Her gaze locked on his, she says, “Don’t stop.”

He licks his lips before he asks, “You sure?”

“I trust you.”

Something dances behind Aaron’s eyes — excitement or arousal or maybe something else completely, and he says, “I trust you too, Caitlin.” And then his mouth is on hers again, pressing hard now, bruising her lips with his own. Lower now, down her neck again until he’s licking between the swells of her breasts.

Caitlin is breathing heavily, her chest thrust out, feeling her body flush. Aaron’s mouth latches on to her nipple, and her knees buckle. He catches her, supports her back as his tongue licks that sensitive nub. Now the other nipple, coaxing it until it’s as hard as its twin.

Deep inside her, something begins to coil, a delicious ache that quickens her breathing and makes her say his name.

His hand leaves her back, glides its way along her hip until it’s resting on her belly. And he’s sucking her nipples, first one and then the other, now kissing the swells of her breasts, mouth and tongue working against her skin. His fingers stretch down, whisper over her pubic hair.

She’s rocking against him, panting, telling him with her body to do more. The ache within her increases to an insistent pressure, building as his hand moves farther down — slowly, so very slowly. Too slowly.

“Aaron,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”

His fingers slide between her legs, and she gasps. He’s inside her now, probing, stroking, and she’s bucking against him, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. And then he hits a spot that makes her blood catch fire. The coil winds tight tight tight. . and she cries his name as the orgasm takes her.

Aaron slides his hand out, and now he’s lowering her to the ground, and she barely feels the grass along her shoulders and back and bottom because she’s still floating in bliss so sweet she never wants it to end. She hears something tear, like foil, and she looks up to see Aaron fumbling a condom over his erection. She tries to imagine which spell he’d used to make it appear out of nowhere but her mind is foggy and her body is pulsing with aftershocks, and Caitlin can’t really think at all.

He pauses for a moment, standing over her as he drinks in her form, and the way he’s looking at her makes her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. “You sure?” he asks, his voice raspy.

She smiles up at him. “Yes.”

Triumph shines in his eyes as Aaron climbs on top of her, and now he’s kissing her and kissing her and kissing her as he moves on top of her, slides inside her, nudging that spot that makes sparks shoot behind Caitlin’s eyes. Aaron is pumping inside her and she’s moving with him, hips together, bodies fluid, up and down and up and faster and faster now as he’s thrusting and she feels that amazing pressure build again, yawning up like a tidal wave inside her, up and up and up and just as she thinks she can’t take it anymore, Aaron shouts her name and thrusts one final time and as he shudders against her, the wave crashes over Caitlin and she spirals down in rapture.

He sags against her, spent, grinning like a fool and laughing. “Caitlin,” he says like a song. “Caitlin. Oh my Caitlin.”

“My Aaron,” she says, her voice thick and sleepy.

They lie there for a time, limbs entwined like pretzels, as their sweat cools beneath the glow of the moon. Caitlin has never been more at peace. She wants to thank him, but what she actually says is, “I love you.”

And by the Goddess, Aaron replies, “I love you too.”

It’s the first day of what assuredly will be the rest of their lives together. .

Caitlin blinked away tears as the memory ended. Closing the lid, she looked at Aaron, and the man she had once loved so very much, and she asked, “Why? Why this memory?”

A long pause as Aaron gazed at her, his eyes sad, the lines on his face suddenly prominent. And he said, “Because it hurt me too much to keep it any longer.”

This time, Caitlin can’t stop the tears.

“I still love you,” Aaron says softly. “I wish I could just turn it off, or that it would have faded away. I wish I could say I’m not the same man I was when you left me, that I’ve changed. But I am who I am, Caitlin. And all the magic in the world won’t change that.”

She closed her eyes and remembered the boy she had loved.

She opened her eyes and saw the man who loved her still.

The man she still cared for, still wanted.

Still loved?

She bit her lip and reached over to take his hand. “We travelled to Hell to save my sister. Why is this the hard part?”

Aaron’s lips twitched in acknowledgment, but he said nothing as he waited for her to pass judgment.

With her free hand, she brushed away her tears. “I don’t want you to change, Aaron. I don’t know what I want. But. .”

When her voice faded, he prompted, “But?”

Caitlin took a deep breath. “But maybe we can both sleep in the bed tonight, and then take it from there.”

Aaron’s eyes shone, and he lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. “ ‘Maybe’ has never sounded so good.”

Caitlin, smiling through new tears, had to agree.

They left the coffee shop, hand in hand. And soon they were making new memories together.