An American Witch In Paris. Michele Hauf
hour later, Tuesday was full from pulled-pork tacos with pickled jalapeños, and a fruity drink that had a lot of alcohol and even more sugar in it. She would not even require magic to fly now. And Ethan had watched her gobble the food with little more than that constant smirk and a gleam in his eyes.
They were pretty gray eyes, and added a touch of niceness to his usual dour expression. While he was a handsome man, she could tell he dared not show too much. He had been honed and hardened over the centuries. Much as she had been. And she well knew it was never wise to let life play out on her face for others to interpret and use to their advantage.
“How long have you been walking this seriously whacked planet?” she asked as she noisily sucked the last bits of the red slushy drink through the straw. She wasn’t drunk, but she was feeling fine.
“Conversation now?”
“Yes. I’m finished stuffing my face. I’m feeling relaxed for the first time since my captivity—” She caught his scoff. “I was in a freakin’ cage.”
“Fine. I’m sorry, okay? It had to be done. But now you’re out, so get over it.”
It took a snap of the rubber band not to flip him off.
“What did you ask?” he said. “How old am I?” He lifted his feet and propped them on a nearby wicker chair, leaning back against the wall in the stuffy bar that had announced last call ten minutes after they’d arrived. “I was born in...the 1500s.”
“Can’t remember the exact year?”
He shrugged. “Early part of the century. We weren’t known for marking our birth dates back then.”
“Yeah. I was born in the 1640s, give or take a few years. Or decades. I remember at the time it was the great Puritan migration. They sailed to the New World by boatloads from England. All kinds of religious rabble, preaching and condemning. Fur traders and fishers, too. I dated a fisherman once. He smelled. So! That makes you the old man and me the sexy young thang.”
“Which should grant me wisdom and you...?”
Tuesday shimmied confidently on the chair. “A chick with a whole lot of experience on every single thing you can imagine.”
“It is interesting walking through the ages, isn’t it?”
“It is.” She teased a finger around the rim of her glass. “You ever get tired of it?”
“Not yet. Immortality suits me.”
“Save for the part about drinking all that blood?”
“Coming from a witch who must have consumed how many vampire hearts to keep her immortality over the centuries?”
“Five,” she said proudly. In order to maintain immortality, a witch had to consume a beating vampire heart once a century. Split the rib cage. Reach in. Feast. And try not to wretch. “Each one of those bastards deserved to die, too.”
“And what qualifies as deserving in your book?”
“Assholes. Murderers. And general idiots.”
Ethan quirked an eyebrow. “I shall endeavor not to be an asshole or an idiot. At least, not too often.”
Tuesday yawned. “You’ve had a pitiful showing in the trying department. But I won’t hold that against you.”
“I thought you intended to hold everything that made you uncomfortable against me?”
“Pretty much. But you’re lucky I’m tired now. I only got about two winks on your couch. Can we go back to your place? I need to seriously crash and recharge. If I can get some good sleep then I’ll be able to think clearly and maybe even stir up a demon-tracking spell.”
“Then here’s to a well-rested witch.”
* * *
The witch nodded off within five minutes. Ethan had offered her his bed. It was around the corner in the loft. None of the rooms had separating walls, save bathroom, and he could see the end of the bed from the kitchen. The city lights beamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the bedroom area. He’d bought this place for those windows. The view was incredible. He’d wanted to point out Sacré Coeur to her, but she had literally dropped onto the bed and rolled into a snore.
Now, he wondered what their next move should be. And if more kisses would be required to make her comply with his wishes. She hadn’t needed provoking to kiss him back after he’d initially kissed her. A retaliatory kiss? Bring them on.
And in his next thought, he frowned. He’d kissed a witch. And...he’d liked it.
A shower had never felt more welcome. Tuesday dried off in the steamy room. The floor and walls were grey marble that was deeply streaked with clear quartz. Gorgeous stonework. And she could feel some of the earth’s energies remaining in the stone when she pressed a palm to it, though they were weak. The manufacturing process tended to rape natural stone of most of its essence, but if she took her time, and had the inclination, she could restore its vital energy with an earthing spell.
It was a hell of a lot more than Stuart could do, that was for sure.
“Take that, Stuart.”
It was weird to think that an inanimate object was listening in, all the time, waiting for a cue to turn on some function in the apartment. Electronic witchcraft was not her thing. But apparently Ethan was one of those spoiled rich bachelors who could afford life’s luxuries. But he didn’t seem to flaunt it, with million-dollar wristwatches or fancy suits, so he earned credit for that.
The bathroom was attached to the bedroom, which was open to the rest of the loft. A nice setup, and she suspected the view out the picture window was awesome, were the shades not blocking the bright sunlight now. She hadn’t realized how dead tired she had been last night. Her face had hit the pillow. Snores had commenced.
Now she didn’t hear Ethan puttering about in the kitchen, but then, why should she? The guy was a vampire. He didn’t eat food. But she certainly hoped he played the charming host and either ordered in or found something for her to nosh on.
Fingering her black silk shirt, which revealed a nicely toned tummy, she sighed. She’d worn it for two days straight and a long flight across the Atlantic Ocean. She needed clean things to wear. And at the very least, some basic magical accoutrements.
Combing out her hair with Ethan’s comb, she then snapped her fingers and whispered, “Dry,” and a whoosh of air fluffed up and through the wet strands, instantly drying them. Sometimes Latin wasn’t necessary to kick in the magic. Keep it Simple, Stupid was a motto she followed with her spellcraft. She wove her thick hair into a loose side plait and left some in the back hanging free.
Without makeup or a toothbrush she felt out of her element. Not quite in top form. She scanned the insides of the medicine cabinet and spied the wood-handled toothbrush. Nah. She wasn’t going to use a vampire’s toothbrush. She squirted a blob of toothpaste on her finger and scrubbed the old-fashioned way. Centuries ago, this had been her only option to dental health. That, or use a bit of twig or the corner of some rough suede. It worked. But her kingdom for a dash of dark eye shadow and lip gloss.
“Ugh. Nature witch,” she muttered to her reflection. “I should concoct a makeup spell.” She tapped her fingernails against the mirror, thinking it odd that a vampire even had one in his home. “Yeah, I’ll worry about the lacking glamour later. I’ve got bigger problems to solve.”
Putting the obsidian crystal around her neck, she held it a few moments. Grounding herself. Finding a calm tone for her personal vibration.
Now ready to face whatever adventure the vampire with the attack kisses had in mind for her, she wandered out into the living area. Seated on the leather sofa, Ethan was focused on an iPad, but