Captivating The Witch. Michele Hauf
it was approved that she would spend time studying as she had mentioned that was her reason for seeking the job. Not a problem for her boss. And when Certainly had suggested she choose one of the messier storage rooms—the one housing all demonic artifacts, texts and accoutrements—she’d been thrilled.
Diabology fascinated her. Her grandmother Lysia (whom she had not the pleasure to know) had been a diabolotrist. The tales told by Tamatha’s mother, Petrina Bellerose, had been enough to stir Tamatha’s curiosity. She wanted to learn everything she could about demons because they were such varied and interesting creatures. And they weren’t all bad, as most people assumed. Their species and assorted breeds were as numerous and diverse as the humans who walked the earth.
She’d decided to start with the demons who inhabited the mortal realm, and after she’d learned all that was available, she’d move on to those occupying Daemonia, the Place of All Demons, and then Faery, and then perhaps even Beneath. Many years of work ahead of her to master diabology. She hoped Certainly wouldn’t mind if this cleanup project carried on awhile.
There wasn’t much else to do in the Archives beyond dusting and looking up things when her boss requested the assistance. The Archives housed the largest collection of paranormal ephemera in the known universe. All spells and grimoires, a copy of the Book of All Spells, potions, objects of magical nature and even creatures of mysterious origins. Some were preserved through taxidermy or in creepy glass receptacles. Some were even stored live.
Beyond the label of assistant archivist, Tamatha considered herself a keeper of books and historical material that told stories about the paranormal species and shaped their origins and evolution. And that was pretty cool.
Sighing, she leaned over the centuries-old grimoire of Basic Demonic Bindings and took a moment to consider how lucky she was to have scored this job. It paid the bills and she got to learn. A witch couldn’t ask for much more than that.
Not that she needed the money. She was quite well-off, thanks to nearly a century of wise investments. And she never got so deeply into a relationship with a man that they considered marriage, and thus, joining incomes. That way lay poverty, Tamatha believed. Her last lover, a cat shapeshifter, had been quick to suggest marriage, a combining of their lives. The familiar had been too charming, too suave. And she had fallen for his seductive spell like a cat to nip. Only, she had suddenly remembered one day, while in the midst of a sensual reverie, how much she didn’t like cats. And then the family curse had seen to preventing any rash decisions she may have made regarding making the relationship permanent.
The Bellerose curse ensured the females in her family for the past three generations had bad luck with love and lovers. Relationships never lasted. Most lovers went mad. Literally. The occasional unlucky lover ended up dead.
The familiar had been run over by a car a month after suggesting he and Tamatha start a family together.
Over the decades, a few other lovers had died, but maudlin grief wasn’t her style. She’d written such expected deaths off as the Bellerose curse and had moved forward. It was something she knew how to do. It was all Tamatha had ever known, for she had watched many of her mother’s lovers die, as well.
“But I am hopeful,” she whispered.
She was determined to never give up on love. Someday it might stick. And she strove to follow the family motto: Love Often. Yet what was generally whispered after that declaration of love was “because they never last long.” Not so much a family joke as the truth.
Why she was musing over the fate of the Bellerose women’s lovers was beyond her. Though her mind did tend to wander after hours bent over a book. Not that there was anything at all wrong with that. Tamatha’s favorite thing in the world was to lose herself in a book. And to try out new spells.
“I want to test this binding spell,” she said and tapped the handwritten text before her. “I think I’ve got it down. Just say the right words—scatura, demonicus, vold—and voilà!” Bound demon.
From there, she could ask the demon questions and study it while not having to worry it might harm her. Because the best way to learn was from the source. She preferred live studies as opposed to dusty tomes. But she had no demon friends, and none of her witch friends had close demonic contacts, either. Which was a good thing. She didn’t run with witches who summoned demons to do their bidding. That was cruel.
She wondered how difficult it would be to locate a demon willing to let her bind it. She had lived in Paris only a little over a year, after moving here from Belgrade, where—well, yes, that shapeshifter affair. Her “friends” list was slowly growing, listing mostly witches, because that was who she generally trusted and understood. But there were a couple vampires and the werewolf/vampire half-breed Rhys Hawkes whom she considered her friends.
Her boss, Certainly Jones—or CJ, as he asked her to call him—was a dark witch who practiced the dark arts. Didn’t make him evil or wrong. The dark was necessary to balance the light, which was what Tamatha practiced.
Though adding diabology to her oeuvre would darken her talents. She didn’t mind shadowing her aura. She aimed to be well-rounded in all magical arts, and knowledge of all aspects of witchcraft would help her to understand and relate to others much better. And as long as she avoided malefic magic, she was good with the balancing act the light and dark would work on her soul.
“Tamatha?”
She spun around from the grimoire she’d been perusing to spy CJ’s dark sweep of long hair. He stuck his head between the opened door and wall. The tattoo on his neck was a ward against vampires. CJ sported dozens of tattoos and most were spells or wards.
Tamatha found a tattooed man incredibly sexy. Something about creating art on his skin to share with the world. But she would keep it professional with CJ. His wife would appreciate that.
“I’ll leave soon, boss. It is after hours, and I wanted to do some studying. I found something interesting.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“Really?” Wow, time had flown this evening. She eyed the teapot on the table, which was empty—five cups ago. “Right. I suppose I should be heading out.” Not that she ever slept more than a few hours a night. “I’ll be back in the morning, bright and early.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” CJ said as she gathered her purse and stepped into her high-heeled shoes, which she always slipped off when she tucked up her legs in the plush gray velvet easy chair. “I don’t want to see you in here until Monday. Got that?”
She saluted him. He winked and left her to straighten the work area and turn out the lights. While her OCD magic generally took care of things in her immediate range, snapping unarranged items into order as she walked by, it worked only in close range. Mostly, humans didn’t notice, and those who did, she quickly did a hands-on straighten to make it look as though she’d physically touched the object.
Swiping her hand over a sprinkling of dust on the top of a stack of books, she had to restrain herself from grabbing the feather duster. And then she couldn’t resist a quick touch-up. Tapping her littlest fingers together, which activated her air magic, she blew gently over a row of books. The dust swirled and lifted and dispersed into nothing.
With a satisfied nod, she said, “Always better than manual labor. So! Midnight. And a full moon tonight. This night promises a new beginning.”
Or so it had said in her horoscope that she’d read on the back of a stranger’s newspaper while taking the Métro to work this morning.
“Ha! Horoscopes,” she said with a laugh as she strolled down the dimly lit hallway to the elevator, her heels clicking brightly on the bare concrete floor. “I’ll take real astrology any day. And that says the full moon brings family and challenge to my life.”
Her only living family—her mother, Petrina—lived in Greece with her current lover. Petrina and Tamatha talked once a month. They had a great relationship. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on the degree of attachment—Petrina’s lover was dying. Again, the