Captivating The Witch. Michele Hauf
mother had warned him about. She couldn’t be.
But then, that was the same thing he’d thought about Witch Number Two before she’d tried to enslave him.
Ed gripped Tamatha by the wrist and pulled her toward the office, but she planted her feet and tugged.
“We need to talk,” he said hastily.
“I’m not going in there with those creeps leering at me. A plastic bag,” she reiterated. “Seriously!”
Releasing his hold on the stubborn witch, Ed gestured toward the idiots. “Leave. Go do...that thing I needed you to do.”
“What thing, boss—?”
Inego shoved his partner out of the doorway. “You know, that thing. Sure, boss. We’re out of here.”
“There is no thing,” Glitch argued as they strolled down the hallway.
Exasperated by his employees’ incompetence, Ed pushed his hands over his hair, and then remembering his guest, he took a moment to vacillate on what he was about to do. Make nice. With a witch. Because he needed one.
First, he had to determine if he could trust her.
He gestured to Tamatha that she enter his office. “Please?”
With an impertinent lift of her chin, she strode through the doors, quickening her pace as she passed him and walking to the center of the black marble floor that stretched far too long to his desk. This office was too large and ostentatious, but he’d got the rental for a steal because a mass murder had taken place in it a few years ago. He had sensed the malefic vibrations in the air—and still did on occasion—and he’d had it smudged more than a few times, but that never seemed to clear the negative energies.
“I don’t know your name,” she said. “You know mine. Tamatha Bellerose.”
“Bellerose,” he repeated, but didn’t recognize the surname. “Pretty, like its owner. My name is Edamite. You can call me Ed.”
“Edamite? I’ve never heard that form of the name before. I would say ‘glad to meet you, Ed,’ but I’m not terribly thrilled about this situation.” She cast her gaze about the room, briefly noting the few items displayed on the wall. “Generally my dates are a bit less...kidnappy.”
She shivered and embraced herself. The blouse she wore was a sheer, filmy black thing that showed a glimpse of the black lace bra beneath. And on her arms, beneath the sheer black, he made out a tattoo, but couldn’t remark its design. Smaller symbols had been inked on the midsection of each of her fingers. Spell tats, no doubt. And there at her neck was a white ink symbol he recognized. A vampire ward. Smart witch.
He rubbed his forearm where beneath the shirt was the witch ward. It usually tingled when a witch was near. And it did now. But why hadn’t it when he’d run into her the other night?
“Cold?” He passed her by and walked to his desk, intent on maintaining his calm and not rushing over to steal her into his embrace and devour her again. What was up with that? He was not lusting over a witch. That way lay trouble.
“Something awful happened in this room,” she said, her gaze still taking the area in. “Have you smudged the place?”
“Half a dozen times. Never seems to chase away whatever morbid stuff remains. I’ve given up on trying.”
“I could do it for you and it would work. Whoever has smudged it previously wasn’t bleeding into the very pores of the stone beneath our feet. Earth magic is required. Murders,” she said suddenly and with knowing. “I don’t want to stay in this room much longer.”
“Okay, fine, Tamatha, but give me two minutes, please?”
“If that’s how long it will take for you to explain why you had me kidnapped, then...go.”
“It wasn’t a—” Ed surrendered the argument with an exhalation. “My men are assholes. I apologize for their ineptitude. To get to the point...” He spread out his hands before him. “I need a witch.”
He didn’t know if he could trust her yet. What was he saying? Why hadn’t he a plan? Damn, she was so gorgeous. He’d say anything to have another kiss.
Really?
“Well, well.” She lifted her chin and assumed a haughty pose, which was made all the more attractive by the tight skirt and slender gams and that curly goddess hair that Ed could still feel crushed between his fingers.
“Well, well, what?” he asked.
“I’m studying diabology and demonomancy. It so happens I need a demon.”
“You mean to study? To put under a microscope and observe?”
“Oh, not like that. Maybe a little. Textbooks and dusty old grimoires are excellent resources for learning, but I’m more of a hands-on kind of girl. I would love to have a demon to talk to and ask questions. Learn things.”
He smoothed a palm over his hair. She was annoying and she was appealing. And he wasn’t sure which side was going to win out, but she was the only witch he had right now. And apparently a powerful one. He wanted to play her carefully, lest he became one of those demons from his mother’s faery tales. They had never survived to the end of the story.
“I don’t do the bug-under-the-microscope thing,” he offered.
“You want a powerful witch? You gotta bargain, buddy.”
So that was the way of it? The magic he’d felt filling the atmosphere in the Montparnasse cemetery had been incredible. Immense. He needed dark magic to fight it, but more likely, light magic to win against it. And Tamatha looked like a witch of the Light.
“Are you a witch of the Light?”
She nodded. “Mostly.”
Well, she was honest. And her hair spilled like liquid silver over her shoulders. It was gorgeous— Ah! He had to focus.
“You said you are studying demonomancy? That’s controlling demons. How do I know you won’t try to control me? Er...again.”
“I’d never do such a thing. I’ve never summoned a demon, either. It’s wrong to exert your control over others.”
He lifted a brow at that one.
She shrugged. “Well, you know, I have to practice my spells. The binding was a reaction.”
“So you said. But it was an exertion of control.”
“Guilty. I do have a thing for keeping things orderly, which I’ve been told is also a means of control.” She glanced around the room. “I’d show you my OCD magic, but this place is spotless. Too cold.”
Yes, yes, so he didn’t do the decorating thing beyond the few magical items on the wall he displayed from the stash he’d acquired over the years.
“I don’t think I can trust you, witch.”
“You pronounce ‘witch’ as if it’s an oath or curse word.”
Now it was his turn to offer a shrug. “Your kind and mine have never been friends.”
“I promise you I won’t try to control you again, Ed.”
“Witch’s honor?”
She drew a cross over her heart, which gave him a shiver.
“You know what it means when I cross my heart?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Something bad, I’m sure.”
“When we witches cross our heart, it is the truest and most sealing bond to our word.”
That didn’t sound so awful. Rather noble, even. Hmm...
“It would mean a lot to me,” she said, “if you would agree to answer some questions and let me, well...”