Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble (4 page)

Christa leaned forward, her eyes wide. “How’d you do that?”

“With the help of a little mental persuasion. They’ll wake upfeeling as if they need to take a drive in the country, which will turn into a weekend away. I’m hoping we’ll complete the task by the weekend but, if not, perhaps they’ll need a longer vacation.”

Well, at least he hadn’t disposed of them. I was worried such might be the case. It was a scary thought, since I didn’t really know anything about Rand. He had incredible power, but I didn’t know to what capacity. My gaze slid to his large and sinewy hands. Even without magic, he could easily overpower me. Not like that would be hard to do even if he weren’t a warlock, but anyway…

“We’ll carry out the spell in the living room,” Rand finished.

“What will I have to do?” I asked, twisting the napkin in my lap. Once I caught myself, I forced my hands to the table, not wanting anyone to realize how nervous I was. I’m definitely not someone who wears her heart on her sleeve.

Rand looked about himself and gave an arrogant nod—to whom I had no idea. Within moments, a waiter was at his side, bent on refilling his wine glass. Both Christa’s and my glasses were still full. I smiled to myself as I considered that maybe Rand did have a flaw. My lips widened as I further considered it. An alcoholic warlock…

“You won’t have to do much. I’ll carry the bulk of the spell. You’ll just need to focus on Jack’s spirit, and if the charm works, you’ll find yourself as a spectator in 1922 when someone shoots Jack in the head. All you have to do is find out who did it, and Bob’s your uncle.”

“What?” I frowned.

“Bob who?” Christa asked.

Rand chuckled, and his whole body shook with the effort.

“It’s something we Brits say—similar to…and that’s it.”

“‘The only thing separating Americans and Brits is a common language’,” I quoted with a grin, forgetting exactly who’d said it. Maybe Churchill? I wasn’t sure. I’d have to check my quote dictionary when we got back to L.A.

Rand’s smile was wide enough to touch his eyes, and I wondered if it might turn into a laugh.

“Well, what if the killer doesn’t say his name?” Christa asked.

Rand ran his fingers up and down the stem of his wineglass, sending a wash of heat straight through my body. “That’s why I wanted a psychic for the job.” He faced me. “Jolie, you’ll have to use your ability and your intuition.”

Reality came crashing down on me like a breaking window, a shard of glass ramming itself into my stomach. Maybe this was going to be more difficult than I’d anticipated. My visions were unreliable at best and now to have so much hanging on them…it left me uneasy. I guess this was different, though, because essentially, I was becoming one of my visions.

“We’ll have more than one go at it,” Rand said, as if he was aware of my inner turmoil. “If we don’t get it the first time, we’ll have more opportunities. I’m hoping we’ll have it by the end of the weekend, but again, it’s not crucial if don’t. You can take as much time as you need, Jolie.”

I relaxed. So, I didn’t have to be perfect right off the bat. There was a learning curve. Thank God.

#

I woke up in a sweat, my body flushed and an aching need pulsing through my veins. With a groan, I glanced at the clock. It was one a.m. The dream had been pretty intense, involving me going back in time to help with the mystery of Jack’s killer. To my shock, the killer had been Rand. After the discovery, we’d engaged in graphic sex, the threat of his double-sided nature adding fuel to my hormone fire.

I never have erotic dreams—I don’t think of myself as an erotic person. Seeing as how I don’t have a dating life, I guess it goes hand in hand that I wouldn’t be the most sexual person in the world.

I stood up and grabbed a bottled water from the minibar. The water was probably at least seven bucks, but I didn’t care. Rand seemed to have no problem with money, so I didn’t think he’d mind if I helped myself.

A high shrill interrupted my Evian moment and it took my half-awake mind a second or two to realize it was the phone. I debated answering it, assuming it was Christa. It wasn’t rare for me to get a call from her in the middle of the night from time to time—sometimes she drank too much and needed a ride home or maybe she got into a fight with her boyfriend, the list went on. I couldn’t imagine what it would be tonight, though, as I’d thought she’d gone to bed when I had.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Jolie.” Rand’s voice washed over me like a caress.

My mouth dropped open. Dear God! Did he somehow know about the dream? The thought brought a flush to my face, and I wanted nothing more than to hang up.

“What are you doing awake?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.

My laugh sounded breathless and forced. “Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question or why you’re calling me so late?”

He chuckled. “Ah, yes, I guess I should’ve mentioned that I’m able to tell when you’re awake and when you aren’t.”

“And when I’ve been bad or good so I better be good for goodness sake?” I sort of sang it.

“Pardon?”

I laughed. “Like Santa Claus…”

“Oh, Father Christmas.” Rand chuckled, but I wasn’t sure if he actually thought my joke was funny or if he was just humoring me.

“So, how are you able to tell if I’m asleep or not?” I asked, suddenly thinking that maybe I shouldn’t be joking when what he was telling me was pretty damned weird.

“I send out mental feelers and based on your vibrations, I can tell if your mind is actie or asleep.”

It took a second for this to sink in and I wasn’t sure if I was creeped out or fascinated. Rand definitely had some strange abilities. After a long and awkward pause, I managed to find something to say. “What are you doing up?”

“Warlocks don’t sleep much. We need perhaps an hour or two every couple of days. Now, your turn: why are you awake?”

“I had a bad dream.” Very, very bad.

“Oh, sorry to hear it. You aren’t worried about tomorrow, are you?”

I shook my head and then realized he couldn’t see me. “No, I’m not worried about tomorrow.”

“You’ll do fine.”

But his statement did nothing to soothe my frazzled nerves.

“What was your dream about?”

My cheeks colored. “I can’t remember,” I answered quickly, maybe too quickly.

There was silence on the other end. “Okay, I was just calling to see how you were. I suppose I’ll say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Rand.” I hung up the phone and dropped back into the warmth of the bed, wondering if it was possible for my dream to pick up where it had left off.

#

My palms were sweaty and itching. As we sat in the living room of what was once the home of Jack the ghost, I thought about the task at hand and wanted to throw up. Forcing my less than attractive thoughts to the deep recesses of my mind, I focused on Rand’s Roman profile. Tracing his strong nose and chin with my eyes helped to calm me.

Rand centered his attention on me, and the feelings of calmness exploded, replaced with more primitive and unwholesome thoughts. These thoughts revolved around certain appendages on his person and I don’t mean fingers or toes.

I exhaled, hoping the images of a naked Rand would float on my breath and right out of my head. I compelled myself to take note of my surroundings, figuring that might combat my newly awakened sex drive, which was in overdrive.

I turned my attention to the entertainment center—it spanned the entire length of one of the walls and revealed an impressive DVD collection. Photos of the Fords, the family Rand had sent on vacation, smiled down at me. My heart did a strange little jerk. I wanted a family some day—a husband, two kids and a white picket fence. I wondered, though, if that was the life for me. I didn’t have the line of beaus waiting to court me that Christa did.

“Jolie, are you ready?” I turned at the sound of Rand’s voice and found him watching me.

I nodded and slipped my hands in his as the now familiar current coursed through me. We sat cross-legged, facing one another. According to Rand, we were to concentrate on each other and envision a circle of energy around us—that was to act as a shield. A shield against what, I didn’t know and didn’t want to ask.

Jack, the ghost, was nowhere in sight. It seemed a rude thing to be late to your own séance, I thought and closed my eyes once I noticed Rand doing the same.

“When will Jack be here?” I whispered.

“He is here.”

My eyes popped open. Glancing around, I didn’t see anything. My gaze returned to Rand, who still had his eyes closed.

“He’s sitting in between us, right in front of you.”

Rand’s words jolted through me, and it was all I could do to stay seated. I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was with this whole ghost thing. I closed my eyes again and Rand tightened his grip, as if he were letting me know I’d be safe and more so, that I shouldn’t be afraid of a ghost.

“Okay, Jolie, I want you to focus on Jack being here in this house, and there’s a man who will come through the door. I want you to scrutinize that man, until you know his face. Then use your abilities to find out who he is.”

I tried, I really did. I concentrated like I’ve never concentrated before and…nothing. I opened my eyes and found Christa inspecting her nails. Rand’s eyes were still clamped shut, trying to get the charm to work. I closed my eyes again and focused on the ghost, trying to imagine a man shooting him in the head. All I could focus on was the intense heat of Rand’s hands on my own.

“Jolie.” His voice belied the fact that he knew I wasn’t focusing.

“Nothing is happening,” I answered with a sigh.

“Try again.”

I closed my eyes and focused again, trying to get through the darkness of my eyelids. I wasn’t sure what would happen or what I should be looking for but, undoubtedly, I wasn’t finding it.

Two hours later, I still hadn’t managed to see anything. Christa was napping on the sofa, and Rand seemed quite over the whole thing as well—stifling a yawn and tapping his long fingers on his thighs. I still couldn’t see Jack the ghost.

“Okay, let’s call it a day,” Rand said.

I didn’t say anything but nodded and wiped the sweat from my palms on my thighs. Tears of frustration stung my eyes, and I averted my gaze, not wanting anyone to witness the pathetic display.

“Jolie, you did well,” Rand said, and his voice was soft, soothing. “I think we need a bit more practice, though.”

“Practice?” I asked, not sure what we’d be practicing.

“Yes, I think I expected too much of you. I know you’re powerful, but you need to hone your skills.”

“Sure, sounds good.” Even though it sounded far from good. I just hoped this wouldn’t mean another wo hours of sitting uncomfortably while I focused on nothing and had only my disappointment to show for it.

#

I closed the door behind Rand as my heart sped up. I couldn’t say I was comfortable with him, and it didn’t help that we were now alone…in my hotel room. I glanced around, my vision coming to rest on the oversized bed in the center of the room. The emerald green duvet beckoned to me, trying to tempt me into its lush, pillowy softness. Taken in, I sat on the bed but then reconsidered and moved to an armchair next to the bed.

Rand watched me with quirked brows. “I won’t bite, Jolie.”

My giggle was forced. “You leave that to the vampires.”

He chuckled and took a seat on the bed. “We need to work on your concentration.”

“How do we do that?”

He shrugged and looked around him, at what I had no idea. Maybe Jack the ghost was in our midst again. “See that glass over there?” he asked and pointed across the room. My gaze fell to the unobtrusive, dime-a-dozen glass sitting on the bar. I nodded.

“We’re going to hone your attention, so you move the glass across the counter.”

Right, good luck. “We are?” The tone of my voice was as dubious as I felt. “How do I even know that’s possible?”

He focused on the glass and like a dog with worms, it skittered across the bar. I couldn’t mask my surprise and gasped. Rand chuckled. Okay, so it was possible, but maybe just for Rand. I sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to move it.

“I need you to focus on that glass, Jolie, and I want you to move it.”

I turned to face my opponent, the glass. “Does it help if I’m closer to it?”

Rand shook his head. “Doesn’t matter where you are. Now, stop stalling and try it,” he said sharply.

I honed in on the glass, thinking:
move glass, I want you to move
. But it seemed the glass was uninterested—it sat there and mocked me as if to say, “I’m only moving for the incredibly hot warlock.”

I didn’t blame it.

Rand stood up and blocked my view of the uncooperative glass. He crossed his arms against his broad chest and appeared to be all hot and bothered, but not in the good way. Even so, he was still a treat to my eyes.

A frown tugged at his handsome face. “Jolie, witches are very attracted to one another, so you have to move past that.”

“Wait, what?” I asked in total confusion. What the hell was he talking about?