The Seven Year Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 2 (23 page)

She blinked at him, slowly digesting his anguished admission. Like pictures being torn from a photo album, flashes of memories came spinning at her. The countless times her father had rambled on and on about the days before her mother left, not once mentioning their twisted past. She’d always just accepted it as a part of his Alzheimer’s. But now…

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she squeezed his hands. “Dad, are you saying that you asked Seven to make you forget?”

He nodded, and she wanted to weep at the pain and wretchedness that would lead him to barter such an existence in return for his soul.

“It was wrong of me, Rissy. I see that now. But I thought that if I could convince myself I hadn’t been such a horrible person and pathetic excuse for a father, I wouldn’t die hating myself.”

His words tightened the knot in her stomach, and she dropped her head to his chest, her tears soaking his terry robe. A moment later, she felt his fingers in her hair, combing through the strands. “I used to do this for you.” His voice shook with wonder, as if suddenly remembering.

“Yeah, you did.”

“I’ve missed it. I’ve missed a lot of things.”

She lifted her head and gave him a tremulous smile. “Me too.” Hugging him to her again, she rocked them gently. Soon enough, he dozed off, apparently exhausted from the emotional revelations heaped on him after all these years. Kissing his wrinkled forehead, she straightened and headed toward the door, knowing that if she stopped to look back, she’d break down again.

From this moment on, there would be no more looking back.

She returned to her car. This time she didn’t need to rely on the GPS. Funny how the knowledge that your life was crumbling before your eyes made everything so much more crystal clear—even the damn directions lurking in her mind. Exiting the parking lot, she drove toward Seventy-seven West Seventh Street.

And her inevitable future.

Logan figured he hadn’t spent much more than an hour banging on the damn spell box, but his raw throat from his endless shouts and curses made it feel like it’d been an eternity. In the end though, it was Izzy that inadvertently rescued his sorry hide. The puppy’s incessant scratching and whimpering at the office door must have finally attracted some attention, because the dog suddenly stopped its fussing and scooted back as the door swung open. Ms. Peach waddled inside and stooped, reaching for Izzy.

“Would you help me out of this fuckin’ thing?”

Ms. Peach yelped, jerking her hand back. She stared at Izzy. “Holy shit. You can talk.” Her eyebrows knitted together. “But why do you sound just like Logan?”

“Because it
is
me, damn it. Over here. By the desk.”

Her focus swerved to him and her eyes widened. “Sweet ghost of Elvis. Did an ET put you in there?”

“No. Clarissa.”

She looked sort of disappointed with his answer. Scratching her chin, she approached the box. “Hm, I don’t think I’ve got enough spell-breaker juice in me for this job. Why’d she shut you in there anyway?” An interested sparkle lit her eyes. “Is this some kind of kinky sex game between you two?”

Apparently Constance had let the cat out of the bag. “No. I suspect it was ’cause she didn’t want me runnin’ after her,” he said dryly.

“Oh. Told you she was leavin’, did she?”

“Yeah. But you can count on one thing. Soon as I’m outta this damn thing, I’m trackin’ her down and cartin’ her stubborn ass back here.”

Ms. Peach gave a decisive nod. “Sounds like a good plan to me. You wait here while I go gather the troops.” She blinked. “Guess it’s not like you can exactly go anywhere.”

“The troops,” he reminded to get her mind back on track.

“Oh right.” Her head bobbed again, and she scurried from the room. A few minutes later, she returned with Fiona and Constance. After running through his spiel again about what’d led to his current predicament, the three witches set about dismantling the box.

“Damn, is Clarissa’s magic made of Teflon or something?” Fiona wiped the sweat from her brow. “I’ve never seen wards this tough to break through.”

Constance plopped her hands on her hips and gave the box another inspection. “Maybe rather than us working on separate sections, we should concentrate on just cracking one of the side walls.” She glanced at Logan and gnawed her bottom lip. “You’re not wearing a protective cup by any chance, are you?”

He stared at her. “No.”

“Guess we’ll just have to be extra careful with our aim.”

“Uh…”

Constance’s lips twitched into a grin. “Relax. I’m only messing with you. Your groin is perfectly safe. Mostly.”

With that disturbing disclaimer hanging in the air, the trio of witches combined all their whammy power, sending a barrage of green, red and orange thunderbolts pummeling into the shield. The side wall facing them shimmered, putting up a tenacious resistance, just like its pig-headed creator. Finally a visible hairline crack snaked across its surface, rapidly radiating outward like a concentric series of spider webs. Fiona, Constance and Ms. Peach ceased their firepower as the wall dematerialized with an angry crackle. Freed from his invisible prison, he barreled from the office.

Clarissa might have severed their familiar connection, but she hadn’t counted on the other thing that still tied her to him. His wolf. If there was one thing a lupine was proficient at, it was tracking its mate, even across thousands of miles.

He sprinted upstairs, ripping off his clothes along the way. Thoroughly stripped by the time he reached her room, he transformed into his wolf form and leapt onto her bed, his claws sinking into the comforter. He buried his muzzle into the bedding. Her scent swirled in his nostrils, heady and intoxicating. A zip-line of energy arced down his spine and he raised his head, a triumphant howl trumpeting from his chest.

With her scent still heavy in his nose, he jumped from the mattress and bound from the room. The stairway a blur, he ran for the front door. Luckily someone had the foresight to leave it open. Unluckily, they hadn’t done the same for the screen. He tore through it, shaking himself from the mesh, and galloped down the drive, his muzzle leading the way.

He took the less traveled route, bounding through abandoned cotton fields and the occasional swamp. The going was rougher than if he’d taken the open road, but less perilous for a wolf in broad daylight, particularly since there were plenty of hunters in the area who’d salivate at the idea of stuffing him for their trophy collection. He came to yet another tract of unused farmland and stopped, snuffing the air that whistled through the clumps of snakeweed.

She was close.

Victory singing through his veins, he raced onward, leaping over the rusted carcass of a long-forgotten tiller partially imbedded in the baked earth. A few minutes and several acres later, he wiggled between the spires of a wrought-iron fence. Once on the other side, he trotted forward, cautiously eyeing the exterior of the imposing Greek Revival mansion that stood before him. His hackles lifted, instantly putting him on high alert. He didn’t like the vibe of this place.

What the hell was Clarissa doing here?

His senses tuned for any possible threat, he snuck around the side of the mansion. A noise rustled and he instinctively froze, the tufts of his ears cocking flat in warning of danger. A field mouse suddenly jumped from a crevice between a cluster of rocks and scampered out of his path. He released his rigid stance, his ears popping back to normal. Under different circumstances, he would have been mightily ashamed letting a pipsqueak mouse get the better of him. Chuffing through his nose, he crept closer to the front of the building. He spotted Clarissa’s Miata, its presence verifying what he already knew. She was here. And likely somewhere in that house.

He stared at the empty, wide expanse of the porch. It was even bigger than the one at the coven house, but it didn’t hold a lick of furniture or any other sign that the mansion’s occupants ever used it. The big red door was like a beacon calling him. There was no way around it. The only way he’d get to Clarissa was through that door.

And from the looks of it, he’d be doing it nekkid, since he doubted whoever greeted him would be willing to let a wolf stroll into their house. Course, they might feel a little funny about inviting in a naked man, too, but he’d have to take his chances. Transforming from his canine shape, he hoofed it up the steps and rapped on the door. In less time than he’d been expecting it swung open and a silver-haired dude in a butler’s uniform peered out at him.

“I’m sorry, but we’re not interested in solicitors.”

He gaped at the butler, wondering where the hell the fella thought he could possibly be stashing whatever goods he might be selling. “I’m here for Clarissa. Tell her to get her ass out here. Now.”

The butler looked like he was on the verge of slamming the door in his face, so Logan quickly wedged his shoulder into the opening.

“Let him in, Harrison.”

He stiffened at the unmistakable sound of Clarissa’s voice. How long had she been standing there? He pushed his way past the butler and stared at Clarissa. “What the hell are you doing in this place? What’s going on?”

“You look angry.”

He was pretty damn sure his incredulity had to be written all over his face. “
Angry
? Hell, shug. I can’t imagine why. Maybe it has somethin’ to do with you lockin’ me in a box and then skippin’ out. Or perhaps my fifteen-mile chase just now has my tail a little tweaked.”

Clarissa licked her lips. “I guess that explains why you’re so sweaty.” Her eyes turning smoky, she sashayed forward and ran her fingertips along his pecs. “Not that I’m complaining. There’s nothing more arousing than a sexy man drenched in perspiration. Gets me all hot and bothered.”

Confusion and wariness surged through him. Why was she talking like this and looking at him like she was two seconds away from jumping his bones? Particularly considering everything that’d happened earlier in her office? Trying to make sense of it, he dragged in a deep breath. It hit him then, the total lack of her scent. He growled low in his throat, stumbling away from her.

“What’s wrong, hot stuff? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Her smile provocative, she leaned in to kiss him.

“Get away from him.”

He jumped at the furious demand in Clarissa’s voice. Only the words hadn’t issued from her mouth. He jerked his focus sideways and noticed Clarissa slumped in the opposite doorway, a wealth of fear and weariness riding her features. Staggering backward, he slashed his attention to the other Clarissa.

Sweet Jesus.
Another
Clarissa. What the fuck…

A peeling laugh erupted from the Clarissa imposter in front of him. “Oh, you should see the look you’re wearing right now. In fact—” A distortion flickered over her face and suddenly he was staring at himself, his mouth gaping in perfect duplication of his twin.

He was half convinced he was suffering a psychotic breakdown. That none of this was truly happening and he’d wake any minute and laugh with Clarissa about this incredibly crazy dream.

“Enough.” Clarissa—the real one—hurried from the doorway and rushed at the doppelganger, shoving it against the wall. A hiss tore from the creature as it tried to claw at Clarissa’s face. He leapt to defend his mate, only to collide with thin air when the thing, whatever it was, vanished.

A raspy chuckle floated behind them and he whirled, his gaze landing on the creepy trucker dude from the bar. His already befuddled brain stalled, unable to cobble together even a passing explanation for what was going on. And why the hell Clarissa seemed to be smack dab in the middle of the insanity.

Another figure materialized next to the trucker. It took him a second to figure out why the dude looked familiar. It was the guy from Tatum’s. The one he’d thought was only a figment of his imagination.

The one who’d had his tongue rammed down Clarissa’s throat.

A roar ripping from him, he pushed away from his mate and lunged toward the dickwad. Just like the doppelganger had done, the guy vanished and Logan banged into the wall. A hearty chuckle came from the trucker. “Ouch. That’s gonna leave a mark.”

Logan swung his arm. And punched through nothing but thin air again. What were these motherfuckers? Panting, he swung around. His blood froze in his veins when he saw the dickwad from the bar cozied behind Clarissa, stroking her possessively with his inhuman, talon-like claws. Fearful for her, and enraged at the blatant poaching of his territory, he clenched his fists and stalked forward. “Keep touchin’ her and I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

A laugh snaked from Clarissa’s captor. “Something tells me that you’d love to kill me regardless if I touch her or not.”

“True. Guess it all comes down to the degree of pain you wanna suffer before I put you out of your fuckin’ misery.”

A tsking sound came from the creature. “So much rage. So much wrath. You know, I have a sibling that I suspect you’d get along swimmingly with. Still, I more than anyone understand where you’re coming from. Sweet Clarissa is certainly a prize worth killing for.” A hot flare of covetous lust glinting in those creepy eyes, he bent his head and licked the side of her face.

Clarissa’s violent shudder only stoked the fury that’d erupted within Logan the instant that fucker’s tongue made contact with her cheek. “By the time I’m done with you, you’re gonna beg me to kill you.” He took a menacing step forward. “Let go of my woman.”

“
Your
woman? I think you’re mistaken, wolf.” A heaping dose of derision was shoveled on the last word. “I own Clarissa. She belongs to
me
.”

The zealous smugness in that hissing voice as it crowed about ownership made him see red. “She’s not a possession. Especially not yours, asswipe.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Tell him, Clarissa. Tell him how your soul belongs to me.”

“Her
soul
? Who do you think you are, Satan?” More like a fuckin’ loon.

“I’m a million times more powerful than that horned weakling. My catalog of souls is far superior as well. Though Clarissa’s will always be valued above all others. From the first moment she approached Gluttony with her request, I knew I had to have her.”