Southern Witch - Would-Be Witch Part 10

"So my spell-" I said.

"We'll talk about it after I take a shower. Though I'm sure you're of the opinion that a dab of Neosporin and a Band-Aid would do-"

"I never said it wasn't a bad wound. Those werewolves are a real menace. What are you going to do about it?" I asked.

"What do you suggest? A strongly worded letter to the werewolf king informing him of their bad manners?"

"That's as good an idea as Cherry c.o.ke, and I'll be ever so pleased to proofread the letter for you."

He grinned and leaned forward so his mouth was near mine. "You like to have the last word, don't you? That's going to be a problem in our relations.h.i.+p."

"We don't have a relations.h.i.+p. I don't go out with men who take me on dates where I nearly get eaten."

He raised an eyebrow. "Then you haven't had the right man nearly eat you."

I gasped, my jaw slack. He brushed his lips over mine, making them tingle.

"Yeah, somehow I figured I'd have the last word with that comment." He opened the door to the room and walked in, but I stood stuck to my place on the plush cream carpet.

Chapter 10.I hesitated outside Bryn's bedroom, but there was no way I could leave without his help, so I padded into it and looked around in awe. There was an enormous faceted skylight of leaded gla.s.s creating a prism effect of the night sky. The pearly white walls had some sort of gloss over them, so they s.h.i.+mmered and s.h.i.+ned, reflecting the light. Large mirrors stood in each corner, making the huge room look huger. A sleek, black-silk duvet covered the king-size bed.

He nodded to a small sofa near the large bay window. I walked over and sat, looking down at the garden and pond that were lit up with landscaper's lights. It was like the pictures you see in Architectural Digest.

"Nice yard."

"Glad you approve." He pulled some clothes from a dresser, then went through a doorway that I guessed led to the master bath. When the door closed, I itched to get up and snoop around, but I sat still. I wasn't even supposed to talk to him. I should never have been in his house, but well, circ.u.mstances being what they were, there was no help for it.

I didn't move for the ten minutes it took for the door to open again. He walked out from the steam dressed only in jeans with a white gauze bandage taped to his wound. He was leaner than Zach, but still made of perfectly sculpted muscle, and I took a few extra moments to stare at his chest before looking away.

"All right, let me see it," he said.

"Are you going to finish getting dressed first?"

"Not yet. I want to see if this gauze stays dry." He held out his hand.

I pulled the paper with the spell from my pocket and handed it to him. He bent his head over the sheet for a minute and then looked up. "Not bad. Not the way I would have done it."

"Can you tell why it went wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's not the spell. I don't do much dirt magic, but this looks adequate for what you intended."

I pursed my lips. "Dirt magic?"

"Slang for Earth magic involving ground plants."

"Not a very nice way to describe it."

"No."

"And what kind of magic do you use?"

He looked back to the paper without answering. "The problem isn't the ingredients you put in, it's the magic."

"But I didn't put any magic in it. When Momma or Aunt Mel cast spells, they said they felt how much power they were using. But I never felt a thing."

He didn't respond.

"You can feel how much you use?"

"Yes."

"Since I didn't feel anything, do you think I actually used my own? Because I've never had any bona fide power. Maybe Momma and Aunt Mel's power is still in the house and yard, and I tapped in to it."

"No." Bryn went into his closet. I waited, drawing my brows together when he didn't come back. I stood and went over, peering inside. The closet, full of expensive designer suits, had a back door that led to a tiny workroom. Not exactly Narnia, but plenty intriguing.

Bryn leaned over an open book on a small antique desk.

"What are you looking at?" I asked, walking through the closet.

"A reference book."

"A spellbook? Can I see it?" I reached for the book, but he caught my hand, holding it and turning toward me.

"Didn't they teach you anything?"

I glared at him. "Of course they did."

He took a step forward so that our bodies were nearly touching. I took a step back.

"Then you know that you shouldn't touch another mage's book without permission."

"I wasn't going to cast a spell while touching it." I pulled my hand free of his.

"Give me a couple minutes. I'll be right out."

I walked back to the bedroom and sat on the bench at the end of his bed, feeling like a scolded child. I resented it and him and the whole darn mess.

I tapped my foot impatiently until he walked out with a couple pieces of paper. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking them over.

"Got it?" I asked, holding out a hand. I'd been gone for almost three hours, and I was anxious to get back to Glenfiddle.

He touched the bed next to him, and I moved to sit by him.

"Most of the fever-breaking spells were created to treat fevers that come from infection, not magic, but if the counterspell doesn't work, then you could try one. It might at least improve things temporarily."

I looked at the first sheet he handed me. It was marked "Fever Treatment Spell." It called for mixing henna with water and turmeric to make a paste that was supposed to be smeared above each eyebrow while reciting a healing blessing.

"What's the blessing?"

"You have to write it yourself. It's how you'll infuse your own power into the spell." I guess he could tell by the way I drew my brows together that I was skeptical about being able to put power in. He nodded encouragement, then added, "And here's a counterspell for you to cast." He handed me the second slip.

I looked over the list of herbs that were to be bundled together after being blessed by sacred verse. "I don't know if I have all of these."

"You can replace an herb if you have to, but just don't delete one. You'll also have to be sure the replacement herb has the same properties as the one you're removing."

I nodded. "You're not going to come with me?"

"No. I've got some of my own work to do, and it can't wait. But there is one other thing I can do to help prepare you."

"What?"

"Focusing energy is the most important part of casting any spell. You have to be able to ignore distractions."

"Not my best thing."

"Take off your shoes," he said, moving back on the bed and lying down.

"What have my shoes got to do with it?"

"Trust me. Take off your shoes and lie down." He stared up at the skylight.

This sure sounded like one of Zach's millions of ploys back in high school to separate me from my clothing and my virtue. But I imagined that Bryn's routines, by this point in his life, would somehow be a bit more sophisticated than trying to trick a girl into his enormous silk-covered bed.

"You forgot to put your s.h.i.+rt on. Maybe you want to do that before we start?"

He glanced over, looking me up and down. "Do you need me to?"

"Do I need . . . No, I'll be just fine. Right as rain." I lay down next to him on the bed.

"I want you to count the number of facets in the gla.s.s and then, with your eyes, trace the squares created by the lead between the panes. No matter what I do, keep your count."

I imagined him sliding his fingers over my skin and blushed. I hadn't even started counting, and it was already hard to concentrate, which was silly. It wasn't like he'd said "I want you to trace my muscles using your tongue." And, come to think of it, why the Sam Houston hadn't he? He'd been flirting nonstop, and now that he had me in his bedroom, he wasn't even going to try to trick me into having s.e.x with him? In my book, we called that a tease.

I stared at the cut edges and began to count. I got to around five before he touched me, tapping my forearm with his thumb. I stopped and bit my lip. I started counting again.

He moved his hand to hook my jeans pocket closest to him. He tugged on the fabric.

"Darn it," I mumbled, starting to count again. I couldn't see his face, but felt sure he was laughing at me. I was only on number three when he laced his fingers through mine and pulled my hand to his body.

I turned my head to look at him. His perfect profile didn't move for several seconds as if he were studying the skylight, too.

The back of my hand lay against his side, growing warm.

"I can't do it. I can't concentrate."

He looked over. "No? Why not?" His fingers tightened his grasp on my hand.

"Because you're purposely trying to distract me, and it's distracting."

"You have to learn."

"Oh, really? And you could concentrate with a strange woman touching you?"

"Try me."

Uh-huh. "Recite something. Some poem out loud so I know you're not cheating and just telling me some number that you already have memorized."

"The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair upon the straits," he began.

I rolled onto my side, studying him.

"On the French coast, the light gleams and is gone."

I put my free hand on his stomach and slid it down to the waistband of his jeans and unb.u.t.toned them.

His voice slowed, but continued. "The cliffs of England stand, glimmering and vast . . ."

I put my thumb just inside where I'd unb.u.t.toned and rubbed it against his skin.

His voice trailed off, and he chuckled. "I know what you're thinking," he said as I pulled my hand back from his waist.

He rolled suddenly, knocking me onto my back and pinning me under him. I would have been shocked, if I'd been born yesterday. He'd reacted to being touched the way any guy would have. My body reacted to him lying on top of me in the usual way, too, but I didn't let it show.

"I was just proving a point. That wasn't a special invitation to make like a dog on a steak," I said.

"As a matter of fact, you didn't prove your point."

"You're counting ceiling gla.s.s with the eyes in the back of your head?" I asked.

He smiled. "I'm going to explain everything in a few minutes when I finish kissing you."

My heart sped up. "Don't you dare kiss me."

"Hold on to me," he whispered, then pressed his lips over mine. I felt hotter than a campfire, and it wasn't only from the velvety feel of his tongue parting my lips or his solid gorgeous male-smelling body pressing mine into the expensive feather bed.

He paused and mumbled something against my mouth, and white heat burned inside me, coiling like a spring. I writhed under him. The sensation was like moving toward o.r.g.a.s.m, but it wasn't that kind of energy. I grabbed his back, digging my fingernails in, clawing against the unbearable tension. And then something flashed red before my eyes, and the spring snapped. It knocked him back, separating us. He knelt above me, head tossed back, and murmured something I didn't understand.

All the breath left my lungs and I was falling, breathless, suffocating and cold. I couldn't move, and a blue haze descended with a blistering wind gusting against me.

I stood on a playground. Georgia Sue, Zach, and I were out for recess from Ms. Smith's first-grade cla.s.s. A pair of demons on purple horses galloped toward us with sickles drawn.

Chapter 11.

I don't know how long I lay there hallucinating. I came back to myself, wrapped like a tamale in the silk-covered feather bed. My breath was frosty on the warm air. I coughed, s.h.i.+vering, and sat up, stiff as a plastic doll.

Bryn stood at the mirror. There were scratches on his back from my fingernails, but he peeled the gauze back, and the werewolf's gouges were gone. The skin looked smooth and perfect. He saw me staring at him in the mirror and turned.

"What did you do to me?" I asked, shaking like a newborn calf. I felt like I'd been doused with ice water and left in a freezer.