The Seven Year Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 2 (8 page)

“
Kate Moss
? Are you telling me I look like a skinny chick with no ass?” Before he could answer, Willa’s eyes narrowed. “Obviously the rumor about you being a world-class charmer is a smoking pile of crap.”

Despite her barb, or maybe because of it, his mouth stretched into a grin. “I don’t remember you being this feisty. Damn, maybe I shoulda hit on you when I had the chance.”

Willa pressed the heel of her hand into the center of her forehead, smoothing her scowl lines. “Yeah, that ship’s long sailed out of the harbor, buster.” She dropped her palm and blinked at him, her mouth softening. “I have no idea where any of this is coming from.”

“Where what’s coming from?”

“
This
.” She made an agitated gesture that seemed to encompass her entire body. “The feistiness. It’s so not my thing.” A dark worry cloud shadowing her expression, she tugged the stool away from the counter and plopped onto its seat. “There’s something very wrong with me.”

“Why? Because you’re acting like a normal woman?”

“Yes.” Willa yanked her purse from the other stool and hugged it to her lap. “All I know is that I feel like a damn alien has taken over my head lately. I’m edgy, I can’t sleep, and sometimes I…”

“You what?” he prompted, leaning his elbows on the bar.

She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s not important. All of this is probably just an early life crisis.” She pillowed her chin in her palm, her nose scrunching—presumably in response to his questioning look. “My birthday is next Friday. The big three oh no.”

“Yep, you’re ancient. I can see why you’re wiggin’ out.”

“Bite me.” She jerked her head up and stared at him. “Did you hear that? I just said bite me.”

It took every ounce of control he possessed not to bust out laughing at her shocked whisper.

“I’m not even completely certain why people use that phrase.” The worry lines etched into her brow deepened. “I, uh, don’t actually want you to bite me, either.”

Struggling to keep his expression deadpan, he nodded. “Glad you cleared that up.” Behind Willa, he noticed a grizzled dude wearing a leather vest and a green-and-white ball cap mosey from the short hall that led from the restrooms. He frowned, trying to figure out where the guy had come from. Sure, it wasn’t like he’d been keeping close intel on everyone in the restaurant, but there was no way anyone could have gone into the johns the past half hour without crossing directly in his line of vision. Course, maybe the guy had holed up in there with a newspaper and a mission. In which case, no force on earth would get him near the men’s room any time soon.

The guy passed the far end of the bar, and Logan returned his focus to Willa just as she shuddered violently. Her purse tumbled to the floor, but she didn’t seem to register it as a strange look washed over her face. Worried she was about to keel over dead or something, he hiked his boot on the floor rack beneath the bar and prepared to leap over the counter. She snapped to before he even ducked to his knees. Her stare shifted to her purse lying on the ground and the assorted contents that’d spilled as a result of the fall. “How did that happen?”

He gaped at her. “You don’t remember?”

Her cheeks still featuring an unhealthy white pallor, she scrambled from the stool and scooped up her belongings, stuffing them methodically into her bag. She stood just as one of the busboys scurried up to the bar with a carryout bag. Tucking her purse strap over her arm, she eyed the packages of food like they were gifts directly bestowed from the gods, rather than scrawny Tommy Finkle.

“Is that for me?” Fumbling for her wallet, she dug out a twenty and passed it to Logan.

Folding the bill between his thumb and forefinger, he strode to the register. Willa clutched the carryout bag to her chest and dashed toward the exit. He skidded to a halt. “Hey, I’ve still gotta make your change.”

“Keep it. I owe you for listening to my lunatic rantings.”

Bemused, he watched her rush out the door. Shaking his head, he continued to the register and rang in her order, putting the change aside to later stuff in the tip jar. Almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, he glanced in the direction of the ball-cap guy, who was sitting in a booth with Harper Coogan. Given the fact that Harper was a lowlife who saved up his precious time spent away from the bars to use at the racetrack, he couldn’t help wondering if Harper’s new
friend
might be a bookie.

Even while Logan pondered that question, the stranger shifted his attention from Harper and looked Logan dead square in the eyes. A strange sensation slithered along the nape of his neck, making the fine hairs there stand on end like iron filings attracted to a magnet. The wolf in him growled low in its throat, intuitively not liking the weird vibe coming off the guy.

Just as he was contemplating the risk of getting fired if he gave in to the urge to kick creepy dude out of the restaurant, the stranger broke his stare and smiled at Harper.

The heebie-jeebies holding Logan hostage slowly evaporated. It wasn’t until the tightness in his chest eased that he realized he’d been holding his breath. His natural animal instinct telling him to stay on high alert, he kept his wary focus trained on Harper’s companion in between stocking the bar for the evening crowd. It wasn’t until the two men left Champions together that he finally figured out precisely what had gotten his wolf’s hackles up. It’d sensed a mutual predator.

Only that dude hadn’t been a wolf. Or anything else that he could readily determine. The fact that he couldn’t figure out what the guy was—other than dangerous—left him uneasy.

It wasn’t until Clarissa drove completely past Charmed Moon that she knew why she had no desire to go into work just yet. The entire time she’d been sitting with her father at the nursing home, her mind had been consumed with Seven.

The notion that the son of a bitch was culling victims from a pool of senior citizens made her nauseous. And furious.

Somehow, she needed to find a way to stop Seven from contracting those souls. But how exactly did she go about that when she didn’t even know how the creature was able to convince its intended victims to agree to the unthinkable? She knew how Seven had gotten to her. Even knew how it’d gotten to her father. But surely not everyone Seven contracted possessed similar desperate circumstances.

For that matter, she still didn’t quite understand precisely what had drawn her father into Seven’s path, and vice versa. Considering that her father barely remembered what had happened, it seemed likely she would never get the answer to that question. Which meant she was flying blind, with minimal clues to give her the necessary ammunition against Seven.

There was only one option left. In order to bring down the bastard, she needed to discover its weaknesses.

Hitting the button on the GPS, she pulled up the address for Seventy-seven West Seventh Street. This time the coordinates loaded with no problem, and several minutes later, the Miata was bumping down the same dusty back country road she’d traveled the other day. Parking in plain sight of the mansion obviously would be a dumb move, so she found a place to pull off a quarter mile down the street that offered concealment behind a thick hedge of overgrown kudzu. She left the vehicle in its protected cubbyhole and took off across the field, intending to approach from the less visible south end of the property.

Once she reached the dense copse of overgrown cypresses and wax myrtle bordering the fence line, she ducked to a crouch, scanning the mansion for sign of movement. Just because Seven appeared to be busy in town doing its despicable deeds for the day didn’t mean the creature hadn’t decided to take a break and pop home for a little R&R. And there was also the butler, Harrison, to consider.

She gritted her teeth, wishing—not for the first time in her life—that her magic came with the ability to cloak herself with invisibility. The red front door suddenly swung open and Harrison stepped out, a broom in hand. Although the porch seemed to be impeccably clean from what she could tell, the butler began vigorously sweeping the whitewashed floorboards. Ignoring the ache growing in her hamstrings due to her awkward position, she watched his brisk movements, silently wondering how long it’d take him to rid the veranda of nonexistent dust.

Just as her numb legs were on the verge of falling asleep, the butler halted, his expression annoyed. He carried on a heated one-sided conversation that she couldn’t quite make out before he unexpectedly vanished.

Clarissa blinked. Okay, she’d suspected that Harrison was something other than human when he’d disappeared so quickly on her the other day. Seeing him perform a trick that even David Copperfield would be hard-pressed to replicate only confirmed her suspicions. Did that mean Harrison and Seven were of the same ilk? She stared intently at the empty spot where the butler had been only seconds ago. Well, whatever the hell Harrison was, she needed to take advantage of his absence. Now.

Jerking to her feet, she raced to the front gate. The scrolled latch lifted beneath her fingers, offering no resistance. Praying her luck would hold, she barreled up the wide stairway and tried the door. Fortunately, it appeared that Harrison hadn’t thought to lock it before taking off. She hurried inside the house and surveyed her surroundings.

The entry was spacious but held no furniture. There were, however, several large oil paintings in ornate, gold-leafed frames. They all seemed to be from the Renaissance period and depicted the same dreary landscape—a desolate, barren wasteland with a towering mountain in the distance. She eyed the closest of the paintings, a shiver coursing down her spine. There was nothing outwardly evil about the scene but something about it still gave her the creeps. A creak sounded and she froze. It wasn’t until a breeze whistled against the shuttered window and the snapping noise repeated that she realized it was only the house settling. Still, who knew when Harrison would be back?

Or Seven, for that matter.

Intent on getting as much snooping in as possible while she could, she systematically began checking the entire main floor. Strangely enough, each room turned out to be as empty as the entry. Moving her focus to the massive mahogany staircase, she worked her way upstairs. The upper level consisted of seven rooms. As always, Seven had taken the freaky symbolism thing to a brand-new level of weird. But unlike those downstairs, these rooms did contain furniture, at least.

With the exception of one room, each interior was tidy and dressed in various décor that stood in direct contrast with each other. She moved from one opulently appointed accommodation decked out with French antiques and silk tapestries to its neighbor filled with minimalist, modern furniture and disturbing framed wall posters depicting devastating scenes of war. It was clear by looking around each space that its trappings probably offered a glaring clue as to which of Seven’s personalities occupied it.

She walked into the last room. Though it was the largest of them all, it held the least accoutrements. Just as she was about to refocus her efforts on the previous spaces she’d rushed through, her attention fell on a book propped upon a tall, marble pedestal situated against the farthest wall. She crossed to the display and inspected the manuscript. It appeared to be ancient—much older than any of the tomes in her office at the coven house. And that was saying a lot, considering the age of some of the books in her collection.

Carefully flipping the delicate parchment to the opening page, she glanced at the single word written there in black ink.
Commedia
.

“Comedy?” She grunted. “Not the first title that springs to my mind.” She turned back one page to the intricately detailed engraving of people in medieval garb being consumed by fire and hideous beasts. Yeah, that was always a chuckle buster. Shuddering, she closed the manuscript.

“Hello, sweet Clarissa.”

She jumped, a cold wash of dread sluicing through her veins. Slowly she pivoted and locked gazes with the personality that had kissed her last night at Tatum’s. The creature leaned against the doorframe, a sly smile tilting one corner of its mouth. “What a most unexpected surprise. I had no idea you missed my company this much.”

Tamping down her instinctual fear, she stepped forward. “Hardly. I’m only here to demand why you’ve gone back on your word to leave my father alone.”

“Have I?”

“I saw you at Lafayette today.” She sucked in a deep breath when her nemesis’s left eyebrow took a cocky upward slant. “Well,
one
of you, anyway. Our bargain was that you would stay away from my father.”

“You misunderstand. Your father’s soul was not the goal this morning.”

“So you
were
contracting souls.” Having her suspicions confirmed only stirred the furious brew of rage churning in her stomach.

The personality abandoned the doorway, its eyes flashing with an intensity that made her uneasy. “Never fear, sweet Clarissa. Yours will always be truly beloved above all others.”

It took a moment to absorb the meaning behind the declaration. She gaped at the creature. The notion that it thought she’d be the slightest bit jealous of her place within its catalog of collected souls would have been laughable, if it weren’t so damn disturbing.

“I see that you doubt my words.” He shook his head with a tsking noise. “Have you not figured it out yet?”

She desperately wanted to resist the magnetic draw radiating from Seven, but the force tugged at her, ripping the words from her mouth. “Figured out what?”

“That unlike
her
, I will never choose another to replace you within my affections.” The silken purr of Seven’s voice held a certain mocking quality that complimented the creature’s sly expression.

She staggered backward, a fresh wave of nausea roiling in her stomach. The creature’s chuckle rang in her ears. “Have I struck a tender nerve?”

Her mouth dry and gritty, she swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? Shall I refresh your memory?” Seven’s cold fingers trailed like ice down her cheek, causing her to flinch. “Forsyth Park. Your mother. The proof that verified everything you’d always suspected.”