This Wicked Magic

Chapter 17

Vika handed Libby a cup of chamomile tea, which was steeped with fennel the way she preferred it. Her sister sipped yet held her vigil positioned on the couch arm, above Reichardt’s thick crop of midnight hair. She stroked her fingers down his cheek and over his goateed chin.

Nothing wrong with unrequited love, Vika figured. As long as Libby didn’t abandon all hope for other men. Real men whose hearts beat and were not made of glass. Men who could return her love with open arms and kisses.

She sighed, and Libby followed suit with a bigger sigh.

“He’s going to be okay,” Libby said, though her tone belied such belief. “Do we still have the compendium of the paranormal breeds?”

“Possibly. You want me to find it? Yes, I will. It’ll give you something to do while you’re sitting shiva over the guy.”

“Vika, he’s not dead, and we’re not Jewish.”

“His heart isn’t beating.”

“It’s glass. It can’t beat.”

“Uh-huh.” Vika rose and wandered into the spell room. She located the book, which was thin but folio-size so it was an awkward carry, and laid it on the coffee table for Libby. “I was going to head over to CJ’s, but if you need me here?”

“No, there’s nothing you can do. I’ve got him covered. I mean, you know.”

“I know.” She kissed her sister’s forehead. “See you later. And if he wakes, give me a call. I’d like to know how he’s feeling when he comes to, and the reason he’s here.”

Vika took the stairs in CJ’s building up. Her heart dropped when she tried the light switch and it didn’t flicker on. It was afternoon—outside the sun shone—but the stairway was shadowed with no windows or other light sources.

“Doesn’t mean anything,” she said. “He’s up in his loft. Safe under the light.”

And then she heard the wretched sobbing echoing like a death mourn from deep within a freshly dug grave. Tugging up her long skirt, she hastened up two flights of stairs, along the way avoiding the broken glass from the shattered lightbulbs. She stumbled onto CJ’s prone form. He clasped her arms and pulled her down, clinging.

Falling into his embrace, she nuzzled her head against his hair, preparing to face whatever it was within him that had control of her lover. He hadn’t lashed out at her and wasn’t growling, so this one might not be such a trial.

“You are her,” he said with a sniffle. “The one his wretched heart needs so desperately. But it is not to be. This one can never have happiness. Such mirth is only for dreamers and the bold.”

“Oh, my dark one. Who are you?” she whispered.

“Grief,” the demonic voice wailed out, burying his face against Vika’s shoulder.

How to deal with grief? On the scale of emotions, Vika could relate to many, save this one. She’d never lost anyone close, nor had she experienced true tragedy. Her grandmother’s nail hummed against her skin, reminding of her family’s grief.

Perhaps she did know it.

“He’s so dark, isn’t he?” CJ muttered. “Darkness is better. Though, nothing is better, is it? It’s all tragedy and misery. Where we belong. Not out there in the light. It’s stifling there. Too bright. We’ve lost the light. We don’t deserve it.”

Certainly’s body heaved, and he sighed a sigh for the worlds. Grieving his loss of the light, even while the demon thrived in the darkness.

“He’s pined for the closeness you hold before him as if a tease. When he returned to this realm with us, he abandoned his hermit ways and began to seek more. Something beyond his own selfish interests. Foolish witch. More will only result in sacrifice, and ultimately loss.”

She wouldn’t listen to what the demon said. It was forged from a deep emotion she couldn’t imagine affecting Certainly. Yet the mention of loss frightened her. A sense of foreboding nodded its head.

The safflower petal reading had suggested a warlock had entered her life. Could it be Certainly? She hadn’t opportunity to ask him, and still he had wanted to tell her something. She could not have a relationship with a witch who had broken the witch’s rede. No matter how much she felt she knew CJ, if that were his confession, the game would be changed.

Best not to raise the subject until Grief was gone. Right now she had to get him into the light. The electricity wasn’t out. The lobby had been lit. Someone—likely some demon—had knocked out all the bulbs. Four more flights to go.

“Walk with me,” she said, surprised when CJ slid his arm into hers and did so. “Tell me your sorrows.”

“I have so many.”

They took the stairs, a funeral march to Vika’s heart.

“I have seen it all. Death. Violence. Rage. Annihilation.”

“I imagine so.”

“You cannot imagine Daemonia, red witch.”

“No, and I never wish to.” The final staircase remained.

CJ paused. “If you wish to avoid grief you will walk away from us.”

She kissed CJ and led him upward. “Never. He means too much to me. I love him.”

“You shouldn’t. You’re a foolish witch.”

“I happen to think I’m lucky.” His front door was open, thank the goddess.

But before she could lead him over the threshold, CJ clutched her arm and shoved her against the wall. Taking her in, he swept his red eyes over her face, down her body. She didn’t struggle because he was not rough, merely needy. She would give him what she could.

“I am made of him,” CJ said. “I cannot exist without Certainly Jones.”

An exhale spilled out Vika’s sudden dread. “You mean you couldn’t have hitched a ride in CJ without having already existed within him?”

“Exactly.”

“But what has he to grieve?”

“Life. His family. Lost his parents long ago. Very violent that. They’d taken what he now possesses. Foolish witches.”

“I didn’t know,” she said on a hush. “What does he possess?”

“Oh, no, witch, you won’t get that from me. I cannot exist if he tells you his truth and shares his grief.”

“Then you are good for him. You give his grief voice.”

At that statement, CJ tilted his head in wonder. And Vika used the moment to catch him unawares and tug him across the threshold. She closed the door behind them and flicked on the lights. A blast of prismatic light swept the room, and CJ yelped as the demon retreated to the darkness of his soul. Stumbling against the wall, he slid down, his legs sprawling across the hardwood floor.

“That was misery,” he muttered, gripping his hair and pulling. “Hell.” His body shaking, he wrapped his arms across his chest, drawing up his legs. “I’m not sure I can fight them much longer. It’s draining me.”

Vika’s heart went out to him. Never had she seen him so vulnerable. And yet Grief had voiced his heartache. She drew him into her arms and kissed his head. “It will be better, cushlamocree.”

“That word. You said it to me once before. What does it mean?”

“I think it’s Irish. My mother used it when we sisters were sad or frightened. It calmed us.”

He nodded. “I could feel my soul crumbling every moment the demon held reign. My parents...they were tortured by a mistake they made. I can’t explain it completely. Yet you led me toward the light. Thank you.”

“You thank me far too much, witch. Just doing what had to be done. I can’t begin to understand what you’re going through, but if I can soften the pain, I will.”

“You do.”

“Let’s get up and make you some tea.”

“Just give me a moment to enact a spell.” He reached to his left biceps and tapped one of the tattooed boxes, muttering the Latin spell for—Vika recognized it—peace and relaxation. Sort of like an aspirin spell. With a sigh, he propped his elbows on his bent knees. “Better.”

“How many left inside you?”

“As far as I can determine? War, Grief and Pain.”

“Now that’s a festive bunch.”

He laughed and took her offered hand and stood. “How’s your sister and the comatose soul bringer?”

“Holding vigil. I figured I could slip out for a bit. You had something you were going to tell me?”

“I do. And now that Grief has brought it up, I can no longer avoid the confession. Let’s brew some peppermint tea for an open mind and truth.”

The soul bringer suddenly sat upright. Libby scrambled up from the floor, where she’d been perusing the compendium. “Reichardt? Are you okay?”

“O...kay?” He nodded, looking around, taking in the living room surroundings, from the gleaming crystal chandelier to the white leather sofa and glass coffee table adorned with fresh daisies from the garden. “I landed here?”

“Yes, in our kitchen, actually. You freaked me out because you fell from out of nowhere. What happened?”

“Where is Viktorie St. Charles?”

“She’s with CJ. Why? What’s wrong? I don’t understand what happened, Reichardt.”

She wanted to pull him into a hug and smother him with kisses. He was back! But, much as her fingers slid closer to his hand, Libby knew better than to press the man with effusive displays of affection.

Reichardt rubbed his brow. His jaw muscle pulsed in a sexy way that caught her eye. “I was expelled from Above by His Most Highest.”

“What? The Guy?”

“Yes.” He cast his gaze about the room and to his lap, turning his hands over, as if he were still orienting himself. “Here?”

“You’re still wondering why you landed here? Maybe you went the one place you most wanted to be?” she said with hope.

He nodded. It wasn’t exactly an agreement. “During the expulsion I was only thinking to land someplace safe. Interesting.”

“So why were you expelled?”

His kaleidoscope eyes fixed to hers, and Libby gasped as if fixed in the sight of a pistol. “Apparently, I’ve been ferrying tainted souls Above. I had no idea they were tainted. But now I understand. It is Viktorie’s fault.”

“What? No, she—” Libby closed her mouth.

Her sister had been using the souls to chase demons from CJ. And then she’d catch them and give them to Reichardt. Souls tainted by demon exorcism. Oh, great goddess, she could not let Reichardt find Vika.

“You want a cookie?”

Vika sipped the peppermint tea and then resumed the shoulder massage she’d insisted on giving CJ. He didn’t protest overmuch, and it had been an excuse for him to remove his shirt. Not that she needed an excuse. But also, she wanted to relax him so they could talk. It had seemed he’d something dire to tell her out in the garden earlier. And Grief had intrigued her with hints of the secret. She wanted to make it easy for him now.

Sliding her hands down his back where the largest sak yant tattoo held court, she was surprised to find so much tension knotted in his muscles. And then she was not. While normally a witch was ultra-aware of his or her body, she assumed harboring demons would put any person’s muscles—and soul—into a twist.

“I wish I could have exorcised Grief for you,” she said.

He slid a hand over hers. “It’ll happen. Come here.” He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. “I was fully present with Grief. I let it speak for me.”

“You...? Certainly?” She touched his cheek, so warm and stubbly. “Do you want to talk about your parents?”

“There’s not much to tell that you probably can’t guess. Witch hunters got them early in the twentieth century. My brother and sister and I watched in horror as their bodies burned at the stake.”

“Goddess,” she whispered, pressing her cheek aside his bare shoulder and wrapping her arm across his chest.

“But not before they committed a grave crime against the Light by summoning something...evil.”

She touched his thigh, reassuring him.

“I have strived for peace ever since.” He settled against the couch. “Vika, before I went to Daemonia my life was a constant, unchanging force. I enjoyed my work at the archives and spent most hours of the day there, researching and studying magics I hadn’t yet mastered. I’ve always been focused on improving my arsenal of the craft. To the detriment of a social life. My best friend, Lucian Bellisario, calls me Brother.”

“Because the two of you are so close?”

“No. It’s because I’ve led a monkish life. Especially regarding my social and sex life. I’d much rather hole up in the archives than hold a conversation or engage a woman in, well...” He sighed. A flick of his tattooed fingers made him smile. “I’m not a complete monk. But I’ve never had a relationship that lasted beyond a week. Nothing that could begin to broach an emotional connection. Nothing that touched my heart.”

How sad. She couldn’t imagine not engaging with others, even if only as friends. That truly was something to grieve. “Because of your parents?”

He sighed. “Perhaps. I’ve been afraid to establish a connection for fear it would be taken away from me. But since I’ve returned from Daemonia with a soul full of monsters, I’ve had a sort of mind adjustment. I don’t want to be a monk. I want to enjoy life. I want to have a relationship. To know love. To know what it’s like to have someone who cares for me and misses me when I’m gone.”

“Everyone should experience that.”

“But I’ve always set it aside.”

“No more?”

He shook his head. “No more. And since I’ve opened myself to this new way of thinking, look what has come to me.”

She nestled against his chest and kissed him at the base of his throat beside the vampire spell. “I care about you, Certainly. And I do miss you when you are away from me.”

“I feel the same. It’s an amazing feeling, yet it hurts to know I can care about someone so much, and to also know if anything ever happened to you I would be torn apart.” He hugged her tightly. “There’s no easy way to have closeness, is there? If I put myself out there, allowing for love and companionship, it is at the risk to my heart.”

She smiled. “That is how it works. Welcome to the real world, Certainly Jones. I hope you stay. And I don’t ever want to hear you’ve plans to return to the place of all demons.”

“I promise you I will not.”

He slid his hand down her back, stroking her softly, and Vika felt a buzz in her loins. “Whoa!”

“What was that? Did I do that?” He studied his tattooed hand. “I didn’t enact any spells.”

“Not that I’d mind.” Vika slid her hand in her pocket. “It’s my phone. Just got a text.” She checked the phone’s tiny screen. “Vika, B careful. Reichardt on warpath 4 U. Can only feed him so many cookies. He’s coming!”

“What the hell?”

Knowing her sister would never kid about something so serious, Vika stood and grabbed CJ’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “The soul bringer is coming for me. We need to ward this place. Fast!”

“All right.” He grabbed her hand and turned her around, so they stood back-to-back. “You know the angelic warding spell?”

“The zymeloz?”

“Yes. Let’s do this!”

Libby pushed the plate of cookies toward Reichardt while she texted the warning message to her sister.

“Why are mortals so attached to those electronic devices?” he asked, munching a cookie.

“It’s a handy thing. I can send a message to a friend, and it’s faster than calling.”

“It seems impersonal.”

She lifted a brow. Had the soul bringer suggested she was doing something impersonal?

“It allows me to keep in touch with my sister without actually bugging her.”

“You say she is at the dark witch’s house?”

“Did I say that? I don’t think I said that. Have another cookie.”

Taking a bite, Reichardt growled. “I owe the witch a good flaying for the damage she did to my souls. I think I will do that.” He finished the cookie. “Flay her open to bleed out the souls clinging to her sticky soul.”

“No!” Libby gripped his hand. “You can’t do that. She’s my sister. You are not allowed to hurt her.”

“I need no permission to mete justice when it is due. Perhaps I will break her in half and squeeze out the souls. It is less messy than flaying. Thank you for the cookies, Libertie.”

And he disappeared. Gone. Without so much as a goodbye, or an “I’m sorry, I must now go torture your sister.”

Libby frantically texted Vika.

They stood in the center of CJ’s loft, beneath the dazzle of light. Spell enacted, each scanned the periphery, their senses alert and hearts pounding. Vika had no idea what the soul bringer could want her for, but it couldn’t be good.

Suddenly the entire loft shook. The chandelier crystals tinkled and light beams flashed over their skin in a riot of prismatic color.

“He’s here,” she said, looking toward the roof.

“I can’t believe he found me through my wards,” CJ said. “No matter. He’ll never get past the zymeloz. As well the protection demon has put up sigils against angels. Don’t drop my hand!”

Back-to-back, they held vigil as the soul bringer pounded against the roof, the windows and the walls, yet could not gain entrance.

Libby almost dropped her sparkly purple iPhone when the man appeared directly before her. “Reichardt! That was fast. You didn’t find Vika?”

“Give me that texting device.” He grabbed the phone from her. “Show me how this works. I will send a message to your sister.”

“Uh.” Well, a text was much better than being flayed alive. “Okay. What do you want me to say?”

“You show me how to do it,” he said, and his forceful command sluiced through her like molten fire, and she wanted to do anything to make him happy.

“Use the letters to write your message.”

His fingers were thick, but he got the hang of it quickly.

She read aloud what he typed in. “Come to me or I will kill your— Oh, goddess!” Libby dashed for the garden door.

Reichardt materialized before the gleaming double doors, stopping her as she slammed up against his mighty build.

“Oh.” Her hands landed high on his chest, and she could feel his firm pectorals through the black shirt. He wasn’t warm, but neither was he cold. And wow, his muscles were so hard and...touchable. “I’ve always wanted you to hold me.”

“I will hold you until your sister surrenders herself to my bidding.”

“Not very nice of you, but I’m cool with the holding part.”

She was Vika’s only hope now. And she had a plan. Of sorts.

“What I’m going to do will freak you, soul bringer, but then again, you have no concept of being freaked, am I right?”

“What do you mutter about?”

“Hold on, Reichardt. This is my kind of magic.”

And she kissed the stoic soul bringer. His mouth was as firm and compelling as his pectorals. Closing her eyes, Libby gave him every ounce of unrequited desire she had. He did not react. She did not relent.

And then...

The soul bringer’s palms slid up her back and pulled her—gently—closer.

Five minutes felt like an hour as the soul bringer had battered at CJ’s walls. And then silence fell and Vika could hear her heartbeats over her ragged breathing. And the ring of her cell phone.

She read the text message—from the soul bringer.

“I have to go home.” She started toward the door and Certainly followed. “He’s got Libby. He’ll kill her if I don’t return.”

“Wait.” He stopped her at the door. “Did he say why he wanted you to go there?”

“No, but—”

“But if he’s threatening your sister, I don’t think that’s going to play well to your hand. Think about it, Vika. What would make the soul bringer so angry he would come after you?”

“He never gets angry. He doesn’t do emotion.”

“Exactly. Yet he would have torn my place apart to get to you. It’s something about the souls, has to be.”

“But he’s gotten all the souls stuck to me. Even the ones I’ve used to exorcise your demons. He has them all.”

“Save the ones you gathered while he was knocked unconscious.”

“He can have them. He doesn’t need to threaten me for that. But if he’s threatening Libby, I’ll rip out his glass heart and smash it against a big rock.”

“Then I’m going with you. You’ll need me. You know those bastards are infallible and basically indestructible. Our magic combined may have some effect against a soul bringer.”

“He better not hurt Libby.” She handed him her keys. “You drive. I need to summon some powerful magic.”