For Becky. Shes been sleeping less than a hour a week lately. The vampire, who was Vikas best friend, had a lot to deal with, her dad being the devils fixer. Becky worried about him constantly. I dont need help. I know you had plans for today.
Libbys mood perked. On the other hand, when wasnt her mood perky? The dress she wore was vintage, and the cinched skirt with wide white plastic belt reminded Vika of an old baking ad shed once seen while paging through her grandmothers magazines from the fifties. Always so spiffy, those pre-feminism women, when doing household chores.
I figured I should stick around, Libby said. When do you want to head back to the crime scene to look around for the will-o-the-wisp?
Will-o-the-wisp was another name for the corpse light or wandering soul that usually stayed firmly attached to Vikas soul until the soul bringer arrived to scrub her clean.
Soon as Im done here. But I can do that myself. Really, Libby, go and have fun.
I wish youd come along with me. The witches bazaar is always a riot.
I know. Youve told me about all the eligible young witches.
Im sure theres a few to catch your eye. I know you like them tall, muscled and blond.
The opposite of your thick, brute and dark, Vika answered with a grin. She tapped the last spider eye into the mortar and rolled the marble pestle over the contents with a satisfying crushing noise. You think Reichardt liked the cookie?
Oh, Vika. Libby sighed. I dreamed about The Taking of the Cookie last night. You dont want to know.
Yeah, you probably better keep that one to yourself. Would it matter if I said, once again, how wrong having a crush on a soul bringer is?
Nope. Hes the guy for me. I know it.
Good luck with that. The guy was thousands of years old and hadnt cracked a smile in a millennium, Vika felt sure. His life consisted of collecting souls, all day, all night, all the time. She imagined he did not have a social life, or even a concept of what socializing implied. And to consider love or romance? Forget about it.
If theyve any vetiver for sale today, would you pick me up a pint? Im fresh out. Salamander got into the plant out in the garden and mowed that down smartly.
Will do. Libby leaned in and kissed her on the brow. Talk to you later, sis. Good luck tracking the soul. But if you cant find it, Ill put in a good word for you with Reichardt.
Libby flounced out of the spell room, and Vika sighed. If only that were possible.
She knew well if she didnt find the soul, Reichardts retaliation would be swift and just. She didnt particularly favor the idea of having no soul, but she knew she could live without one. A soulless body grew cold and emotionless. Soulless would leave her open to all sorts of untold evils. She would not be the same witch of the Light, and she didnt know if she could live with the consequences.
Um, Vika?
She looked up to see Libby peeking into the room, her smile gone. You forget something?
Theres someone here to see you, her sister whispered covertly. The guy from last night.
Vika dropped the heavy marble pestle in the mortar. The derelict?
Derelict? A tall man with coal hair and an easy stance walked around beside Libby and crossed his arms. He looked only one step up from derelict, with his black clothing hanging on his broad frame and his jeans hems scraping the hardwood floor. He gave the spell room a once-over, drawing his eyes from the walls of glass-fronted cupboards to the inset halogen lights that fashioned the space into the ultimate clean room for concocting and conjuring. This is your spell room? Its very...
Clean? Vika offered hopefully.
Sterile.
Thank you. Pleased with the comment, she stood and gestured her sister to leave. Its okay, Libby. The problem may now be solved.
Her sister winked and made a kissing gesture behind the mans back before giggling and dashing off to spend the afternoon trading spells and herbs with the local covens at the weekly bazaar.
Viktoria St. Charles? he asked, stepping down into the room. His boots clicked the highly glossed marble floor.
The man inserted a void of darkness into the clean room with his presence. He wore black from head to toe, and the room was white upon gray marble. As much as black was her preferred color scheme, Vika always wore pale colors in this room to honor the pure atmosphere. Today, it was a soft heather, fitted to her body from shoulder to ankle in a corseted maxi dress that flared out from the knee.
Viktorie, she corrected. As in successful. Its an old Russian name.
Oh, yes, Viktorie. Im sorry.
Why are you here, monsieur...?
I looked you up on the Council database. Im Certainly Jones. He offered his hand to shake, and she did so, quickly, finding his grip sure.
Why are you here, monsieur...?
I looked you up on the Council database. Im Certainly Jones. He offered his hand to shake, and she did so, quickly, finding his grip sure.
The man recoiled, shaking his hand as if hed been stung. What the hell was that?
She had no idea what hed felt. Pressing a hand to her throatah, yes. My grandmothers nail. She lifted the leather cord she always wore about her neck. A centuries-old nail was twisted about it as a pendant. It was taken from her grave after shed been buried by the villagers.
Dont tell me. He winced as he studied the necklace. Nails had been pounded around her clothing to keep the witch down so she would not rise from the grave?
Actually, this one, and the one my sister wears, were taken from her jaw. The practice had been a cruel and unusual attribute of the witch-hunt madness of the eighteenth century. Her magic is contained within this nail. It protects me from dark magic. She lifted a defiant brow.
Its powerful. I felt it.
That means you practice dark magic.
It does. At her silence, he added with a splay of his hands, which revealed his left was covered in a tight assortment of black tattoos, Someones got to do it.
Uh-huh. Shed never had a dark practitioner cross her threshold before, and she wasnt sure she liked it now. Best to get rid of this one quickly.
So, Certainly Jones, she said. Ive heard of you. The Councils resident librarian.
Archivist, actually. My job involves much more than cataloging books. And you are a cleaner who is also a witch? This spell room is so...
Impressive?
Sanitary. He looked about as if a dark angel lost among the clean and pure. Rubbing a palm up his arm, he gave a noticeable shiver. Derelict, eh?
Vika walked along the marble counter, trailing a fingertip along the cool, curved edge. A means of grounding herself, because she suspected the witch was powerful and wielded much darker magic than she could imagine. It hummed from him, and it felt wrong in the air.
It disturbed her, and she wasnt sure if that was a good thing or not.
Derelict? You did present a bedraggled appearance last night. As well as now
And you look like a dream. Green eyes. I was right about that. A wink surprised her.
Ahem. She was not so easy to win over, despite the lucid warmth she felt from his soft stare. You look as if youve seen better days, Monsieur Jones.
He pushed a hank of hair away from his face. The motion revealed a tattoo on the side of his neck, but she didnt look too closely. He wasnt unattractive, Vika decided, just...not neat. Rumpled and scruffy. Her skin prickled to wonder at how ill-kept his home must be if this was the appearance he presented to the world.
I have seen better days, he said, followed by a heavy sigh. And Im hoping you can return those better days to me. I need your help, Viktorie.
She tilted up her chin. The call for help always tweaked at the protective bone in her body. She strived to be her best, always, to help others, and to do right by the witchs rede. But she was having a hard time relaxing around this man. His presence prickled across her bare arms, and it wasnt an altogether uncomfortable feeling. Persuasive, and yet warning.
She didnt need the warning; dark magic was something with which she refused to associate.
I dont understand how you think I can help you, Monsieur Jones.
Please, call me CJ. Last night you did something incredible for me. Im hoping youll be able to do it again.
I didnt do a single thing for you. I saw you. I got in the car and drove off. But Im still not sure how you saw me. That area was warded to keep bystanders from seeing us while my sister and I cleaned the crime scene.
The carrion drew me. Strange, because Im a vegetarian. But your little ward wasnt powerful enough to blind me.
Little ward? Vika stiffened, putting her hands to her hips. He was wearing out a welcome shed not granted him.
You sneezed, he offered.
Vika turned away. That damnable sneeze! It had put her on the soul bringers most-wanted list and now brought this practitioner of dark magic into her sacred spell room. She said over her shoulder, And youve come to say gesundheit?
How about I offer you a blessed be? Far too late, but well meant, I promise.
His manner was too kind to fit his appearance. And his presence. She didnt like how he made her feel unsure in ways that inappropriately warmed her skin. She slid her hands along her hips down to her thighs.
Did she feel attraction for the man? No, impossible. Maybe the tiniest bit of curiosity. The man was just so...there. Never had she felt another persons energy so strongly. And for as much as it was dark, it also pleaded. Which set up all kinds of warnings in Vikas wanting heart.
Now if thats all youve come for, I do need to get back to work. Ive a spell
I need you to do exactly what you did last night, Mademoiselle St. Charles. Please. You sneezed, and then I felt something move through me.
Vika gaped. She turned to face him. Had the soul shed sneezed away passed through this man? To consider it briefly, it may have been possible, since, if the corpse lights could permeate her, then they could certainly enter another.
She stepped closer to him and studied his deep jade eyes for a lie. Are you sure? You felt it travel through your body?
He nodded. Not a flinch or a blink. He was being truthful. What was it that I felt move through me?
A soul, she said softly, and then snapped her mouth shut. Shed said too much. She knew the man not at all. Yet, if she were to find the soul, he was the last person tonot have seen it, but rather, have touched it.