“A few minutes ago, I was in Boston. Hades and I were on my motorcycle, driving down the street and then, wham! A witch wormhole opens and here we are.”
The witch studied Hades with fascination. She caught her lip between her teeth, and a tiny line appeared between her eyebrows as she examined the giant schnauzer. “Is he your familiar?”
“Yeah, he is. Fuck …” His arm was really starting to hurt and he could feel his body going into shock. “I’m sorry, I need to cut this talk short. I’ve got to get to an ER.” He groaned as the pain made his knees wobble.
“Oh, that? I can fix your arm.” She took a step toward him.
Malcolm flinched, his instincts kicking in. “I think you’ve done enough,” he growled. “I don’t want my other arm broken.” He tried to stand, wobbling for a moment as pain shot up his arm and threw him off balance.
“Don’t be such a baby.” She grasped his good arm. Despite her forceful words, her grip was surprisingly gentle. Something traveled between them, an electric current that broke through the pain and created the strangest awareness of another person he had ever felt in his life. She continued to guide him toward the back of the house, not acknowledging the feeling. Perhaps she hadn’t felt it? He grudgingly let her take him inside her home.
Despite the pain radiating from his arm, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the witch’s house. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. He’d grown up with magic, but this was something else entirely… it was magic that felt… magical. The silver weaving of spells actually danced through the air, spinning and twirling like magical snowstorms. Potted plants hung in the air, and vines grew down the center stair railing, with exotic blooms so big they almost didn’t seem real. Scents of cinnamon, vanilla, sage and other flowers perfumed the air. The portraits on her walls moved about, but were far more animated than his own stiff ancestors. Most were happy, smiling men and women who waved at him before they continued on their journeys. If his arm hadn’t been broken he probably would have waved back. This place felt liberated, free, expressive in a way his old home in Boston never had been. There was a charm to the old world magic feel that came with his father’s world, but this…this was a witch’s house built around the magic of the natural world.
“Your spells …” he said as the witch led him into a kitchen.
“What about them?” The woman urged him to sit on a stool facing the kitchen island, which was covered with platters of cookies and pies. Some of them definitely made with pumpkin by the smell of it. He’d stick to the apple pies if she offered him any later…pumpkin wasn’t his favorite flavor right now.
“They…”
“One sec, the timer on these cookies was beeping just before you exploded my prized pumpkins.”
She bent over in front of the ovens and removed more edible cookies. He completely forgot what he’d wanted to say. His gaze wasn’t on the cookies, but on her very cute, shapely bottom that made him want to sink his teeth in and nibble and… what the hell? He wasn’t some damn vampire. Then he noticed the small burn mark on her jeans pocket from where his magic had zapped her.
Oops…
She set the baking tray of cookies down on the cooling rack and turned the oven off.
“Sit.” She pointed at the stool like she was commanding a dog. He hadn’t realized he was still standing, trying to get a better look at her ass.
When did I get so horny? Malcolm had had his fair share of girlfriends and flings. He had a healthy sex drive, sure, but something about this witch was doing crazy things to him. He couldn’t think straight.
“Let me take a look at your arm.”
She came over and placed one of her palms on his elbow, just above his broken arm. Her other palm cupped his cheek. She closed her eyes.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Shush.”
Her hand was warm and soft, and he felt oddly soothed by that simple contact in a way he couldn’t explain.
Malcolm contented himself with staring at her soft, full, kissable lips. Damn, he might just have to give in to temptation and kiss her. She’d probably hex him again, and he’d deserve it, but he was pretty sure it would be worth it.
Glowing streams of purple light spun out from all around her and hovered in the air, weaving themselves into a tight webbing that looked like a cast before the spell descended and wrapped around the skin of his broken arm. He expected to feel pain, but there was none. Instead, his body warmed up beneath the shape of the spell. He did feel the odd sensation of his bones knitting themselves back together. As the magic flowed through him, he felt more aware of himself and everything inside him in a way he never had before.
The witch’s lips parted slightly. He leaned into her palm, which was still cupping his cheek, wanting to feel that warmth, that sense of strange and wondrous connection that her touch had made him feel. After a moment, the magic faded, and she opened her eyes. The bright gold of her eyes softened back to an amber hue. She jerked her hand away from him, her eyes narrowing.
“Your magic’s not like mine,” she said. “Are you a hedge warlock?”
“No,” Malcolm sighed. “I have blood magic.”
Technically all witches and warlocks had magic in their blood, but his family had magic that came from within themselves. Hedge witches and hedge warlocks were elemental. Their strength came from the elements around them.
Hedge witches and warlocks were not popular in cities and usually not welcomed by those with blood magic. It was a silly prejudice between the two kinds of magic, but he’d seen it his whole life. He didn’t have a problem with hedge magic, but his father did. So he shouldn’t have been surprised that the mistrust went both ways.
“Oh,” the witch said, and pulled away from him.
Malcolm caught her wrist and she sucked in a breath like she was expecting another zap from him. “Wait, I don’t bite or anything.”
