Slightly Spellbound (2 page)

Now it was late December, and the supernatural drama had died down. Country music Christmas carols played on the radio, and in my kitchen I was minding my own business as I sometimes do. I wore a white T-shirt, boot-cut Levi’s, and a black apron with a Julia Child quote in white letters that said,
If you’re afraid of butter, just use cream
.

I was in the middle of stirring cake batter that had both butter and cream in it when the trees started kicking up a fuss. I don’t speak tree, but after an unfortunate incident involving pixie dust, I’m usually able to get the gist of what they’re trying to tell me.

Woody limbs scratched the roof and scraped against the kitchen window, making me look up from the bowl. I slid open the window and said through the screen, “I’m not coming out to visit right now. I’m busy being a regular person.”

The leaves crackled, and I rolled my eyes. A chilly breeze blew in. I shivered and closed the window. When I turned up the radio, Martina McBride drowned out the trees.

My ocelot, Mercutio, who’d just woken up, strode into the kitchen. It seemed like God couldn’t make up his mind when. He painted ocelot fur. There are stripes on their faces and necks like little tigers, but spots on their bodies like leopards. One thing’s certain, they’re the cutest cats of all, big or small, foreign or domestic. A person might say I’m biased and that person would be right, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong about ocelots being extremely cute. Just ask the Internet to show you some pictures.

“The racket woke you up?” I asked as I dripped a couple of drops of cream on my finger and held it down to him.

He licked and swallowed. Another scrape against the roof made us look toward the yard.

“For foliage, that’s pretty pushy,” I said. “I’m not fixin’ to go out there with bare feet. It’s full-on winter and that ground’s cold.”

Mercutio tipped his head down, touching his nose to the top of my bare foot.

“I meant I wouldn’t go
outside
barefoot. In the kitchen with the oven on is fine,” I said. “In here it’s seventy-five degrees. Out there, it’s forty-eight, and rumor has it it’s going down to thirty. By Texas standards, that’s blizzard cold. Now I ask you, would anyone in her right mind go out in a blizzard without socks and boots?”

Mercutio cocked his head and opened his mouth to answer.

“I meant that to be rhetorical, Merc.” I leaned over the bowl. I added finely chopped Texas pecans, a dash of chili powder, and another splash of cream to the cocoa cream cake batter. “Besides, I’m real busy.” I stirred and then dipped my finger into the bowl. As soon as the batter hit my tongue, I smiled.
Now we’re talking.
I added pinches of nutmeg and pepper.

Mercutio jumped onto the counter, nearly knocking the mixer off, and darted to the window that’s above the sink.

“Watch your step,” I said, moving the mixer to the middle of the counter.

Mercutio’s low growl raised the hair on the back of my neck. When it comes to announcing trouble, Mercutio’s more accurate than a police scanner. I reached into the corner and turned down the radio, then opened a bottom drawer and pulled out a flashlight. I turned it on and shined it out the window.

I jumped when I caught a glimpse of a figure in the tree. I instantly lowered the light and yanked open the top drawer. Reaching behind spatulas and tongs, I closed my fist on the handle of my gun.

I tucked it into the back of my jeans and moved away from the window. I yanked on the socks that were sitting next to my cooking clogs and slipped my feet into the shoes.

“What do you think, Merc? A neighbor boy trying to sneak a peek at me in my undies again? Or real trouble?”

Mercutio crossed the counter in two strides and pounced down to the floor. I watched him approach the back door. He kept his body low, in full-on stealth and ready-to-rumble stance.

“All right, then,” I said, and reached over to turn off the kitchen light. “Someone more sinister than a teenage boy it is.”

I crouched next to Merc. “Even with the lights off, he’ll see the door open. So we’ll have to move fast,” I said, and then rolled my eyes at myself. I didn’t need to tell Mercutio about speed. He could give lightning a run for its money.

I moved the flashlight into my left hand so it was ready to be flipped on and gripped the door handle with my right. I took a deep breath and opened it.

We burst into the yard. Claws out, Mercutio went up the trunk. I drew my gun with my right hand and shined the flashlight at the treetop.

One glimpse told me the figure was all wrong. For a split second, I froze, staring at the gaunt face. His skin was so thin I could see stark white bones beneath the surface as he gnashed his teeth at me. Was there even flesh on those bones? Or just a translucent phantom covering?
Is he alive or dead?
I wondered frantically.

A bright flash of light blinded me as the man—or whatever he was—jumped. I dropped to my knees and rolled for cover. He didn’t land on me—or the ground, that I heard.

Tangled among the azalea bushes, I pointed the flashlight beam at the treetop. Mercutio howled a protest at the fact that the intruder had escaped before he’d gotten to him. I moved the light all around the yard, scanning every inch. I also checked the sky and the fence. No sign of the peeping skeleton.

Mercutio returned to the ground, strolled past, and padded into the house.

My heart thundered in my chest. “What the heck?” I muttered, rolling onto the patio. “We’re done, Merc?” I asked, following him inside. “Just like that?”

Mercutio meowed.

Apparently so.
I locked the door, set my gun down, and brushed off my clothes.

“Well, what was that? I didn’t hear it hit the ground. So was it a ghost, then?” I frowned. “I haven’t seen all that many ghosts, but the ones I have seen look like people. A little more transparent than a regular person sometimes, but not like a skeleton.”

Merc sniffed.

“And maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I think skeletons ought to be either covered with flesh and blood or buried in a coffin waiting to turn to dust as God intended. They don’t need to be creeping around in a person’s backyard, annoying the trees and giving me a heart attack when I’m trying out a new cream cake recipe.”

Mercutio yawned and curled up on the floor a few feet from the door.

I turned off the oven and put the batter in the fridge. “I’m going to consult some witches’ books. Not that I have many here to consult. But I’m not going to Bryn’s house. I’ve made it twelve whole days without sleeping with him, and no scary skeleton standing in a tree is going to send me to Seduction Central now that Bryn’s big case is finally over.”

Mercutio didn’t move a whisker. When it comes to fighting for my life, Mercutio’s the best friend I could have. When it comes to my messed-up love life, I’m on my own.

And actually it’s okay that Mercutio’s not into that kind of drama. That’s what the rest of the town is for.

2

THE ONLY LIVE-ACTION skeletons I found in Aunt Mel’s magical reference book were zombies. In my experience, zombies were a lot squishier than the treetop creature. Not that I had vast experience with them or anything. The only zombie I’d ever met had been the reanimated wife of our town’s retired psychiatrist, and probably Mrs. Barnaby hadn’t been dead long enough to be just bones.

Even so, I didn’t think the skeletal creature in my tree was a zombie. If he had been, I’m sure I would’ve heard him hit the ground when he jumped down. Zombies weren’t dainty. They also didn’t climb trees or run off when you threatened them with a weapon. They tried to maul you until they succeeded or you stopped them.

The creature from the tree seemed smarter than a zombie. There was also the slight glow and transparency to it, which made me think it might be a ghost.

Frustrated that I couldn’t decide what I thought it actually was, I returned to the kitchen. I’d get back to what was really important: cake. I whipped the batter and added a teaspoon of Kentucky bourbon. I was midtaste when the doorbell rang.

Mercutio lifted his head and yowled.

“I’m not expecting company. You?”

Mercutio stretched and walked to the back door.

“Okay,” I said. From Merc’s laid-back attitude I decided the doorbell ringer was probably a person and not one who had murder in mind.

I let Mercutio into the yard, and the person at the front door knocked. I swallowed another teaspoon of batter, then did a rapid tiptoe to the foyer to confirm Merc’s instincts that I didn’t need my gun. I stared through the peephole, my pulse doing a two-step at the sight of the man on the other side of the door. As usual, Merc was right. A gun wasn’t the kind of protection I needed. A chastity belt might’ve helped, though.

Bryn Lyons is ridiculously accomplished at many things, one of them being his ability to separate me from my clothes. He’s blue-eyed, black-haired, and the kind of gorgeous that the devil might use to tempt a nun to sin. Since I’m not especially nunlike, for me he’s like a chocolate truffle. In large quantities, I might remember he’s too rich for my blood, but intermittently he’s too delicious to resist. I sighed and rested my head against the door.

My hand hovered over the knob. Why was he here? I often visited Bryn at his mansion in Shoreside Oaks, taking advantage of his giant library of magical reference books, chatting over tea and scones with his gentleman butler, and curling up with Bryn on the fancy cushioned furniture, but Bryn didn’t come to my house. Because I never invited him.

I’d been raised with a family prophecy that made nine families, including Bryn’s, off-limits. Bryn’s savvy, though, and he might have shown up unannounced because he realized my keeping him out of the old Victorian house wasn’t just about following family rules. It was also a way of keeping our relationship in a holding pattern.

I stepped back as the chemistry between us thrummed clear through the door. My fingers tap-danced on the knob as his knuckles rapped on the wood. I folded like a falling soufflé and pulled the door open.

“Hey there,” I said.

“Hello,” he said, all sparkling blue eyes. Magic as enticing as the smell of cookies fresh from the oven surrounded me. “Would you like to help me celebrate?” he asked, holding up a bottle of champagne.

I grinned. He’d been doing battle with one of the biggest law firms in Dallas, and as the case progressed, they kept adding lawyers to the team against him. Working until three in the morning, he’d likened it to David versus Goliath, with him holding the slingshot.

“It turned out okay?” I asked, pulling open the screen door. “When I didn’t hear from you I was afraid to call, but I should’ve known!”

Under his dark topcoat, he wore jeans and a black V-neck sweater. He looked scrumptiously casual. High-priced suits had been his daily uniform for weeks. It was nice to see him dressed down.

“I was late returning to Duvall. The client insisted on taking me to dinner to celebrate.”

“She has a crush on you,” I said. “I would, too! You got rid of the cheating husband who browbeat her for fourteen years. You’re a hero.”

“I found a loophole in the prenuptial agreement. The judge awarded her ten million dollars.”

I let out a low whistle and gave him a quick kiss. “Congratulations.”

A few seconds passed, and I hadn’t stepped back yet to let him inside. He gave me a considering look.

“Is this an okay time?” he asked.

“What? Oh sure, I guess,” I said, finally moving aside. “I’m baking.”
And seeing creepy skeleton guys.
I didn’t tell Bryn that. I didn’t want him to worry. I’d dragged him into more than enough magical messes. He deserved a night off.

“I have to get up early tomorrow,” I said. “And you must be exhausted. We should celebrate a different night when we can do it up right.”

He stepped inside and handed me the bottle. “You heard he’s back in town.”

“Who?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about.

Bryn cocked an eyebrow but didn’t say more on the subject of Zach Sutton, my ex-husband.

Zach and I had been childhood sweethearts who’d gotten married too young. After the marriage went bust, we should’ve gone our separate ways, but the breakup was kind of a bust, too. We’d had an on-again, off-again relationship for three years. Then I’d needed Bryn’s help with magic and in a matter of weeks, I’d fallen in love with him, too. I can’t recommend being in love with two men at the same time. Knowing I’d have to choose between them had my nerves as frayed as old wires.

Bryn pulled a piece of rolled paper secured with a gold ribbon from his back pocket. He set it on the side table in the foyer.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Something for you. For the smoked salmon at midnight on Tuesday and the coffee and spice cake at two a.m. Thursday. I appreciated it.”

“I was glad to do it. You were working so hard!” I said. “You didn’t have to get me a present,” I added, but snatched it up and pulled the ribbon strings to unravel it.

When I unrolled the paper, my heart about stopped. Sarah Nylan’s secret recipe for amaretto caramel sauce is the stuff of culinary legend. The Hill Country candy maker’s sauce elevates an apple crumble to a five-star gourmet treat. I’d been dying to get my hands on her recipe forever.

“Holy moly! How did you get this? I’ve written Sarah Nylan twice with recipes to trade and sent her samples of my pastries. I promised never to serve the sauce without giving out her website, but she never responded. I would just order bottles from her, but she can’t keep up with demand. It’s a four-month wait to get one jar. What in the world did you do to get this?”

Bryn shrugged with a smile.

“You went to see her, didn’t you? One visit from you and she would’ve handed over her firstborn. What’s a little recipe for caramel sauce?”

“If you think I coerced her, you could tear it up.”

“Probably I should. As a rule you should be using your powers for bigger causes,” I murmured. “But I really, really want this recipe,” I said, staring at it like I’d found the Holy Grail.

“I know,” he said.