Forever Charmed (The Halloween LaVeau Series, Book 1) (4 page)

He wasn’t exactly being forthcoming.

I hesitated for another moment, not sure what I was waiting for. After an awkward pause, I motioned for him to follow me.

“Let me show you to your room.”

Nicolas reached out the door and grabbed his case. I was glad to see that he truly had one.

As I turned to move up the stairs, I felt him behind me. His presence was strong, comforting, and scary at the same time. He was awfully close, but boy did he smell good—vanilla with a touch of sandalwood and spice. It was exhilaratingly masculine. My stomach did a little flip-flop.

When we reached the third-floor landing, I hurried down the hall toward the bedroom without glancing over my shoulder to see if he was following. I shoved the skeleton key into the lock and turned. The old door creaked when I pushed it open. Mr. Mysterious and Sexy was right behind me.

I opened the door and stood back. Nicolas entered the room, but I waited just outside the threshold. Sheer white curtains hung beneath velvet corded drapes on the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one wall. The room was accented with antiques that Aunt Maddy had collected over the years, each touched by stories that I could only imagine. It had taken forever to clean the layers of dust off everything.

Antique lamp fixtures mounted against each wall lit up the room. On one side of the room rested a softly rounded chaise lounge and on the other was a simple, yet expensive-looking Parsons-type desk. A fireplace in the middle wall had a maple mantelpiece that I’d spent too much time polishing the day before. But the massive hand-carved bed was the most stunning piece in the room.

Nicolas moved across the floor and pushed on the mattress. Checking for lumps, I guess.

That same vibe pulsed through my body telling me to run, run, run, but instead, I stayed, stayed, stayed. This whole experience was nothing short of awkward.

“There are towels in the bathroom.” I gestured toward the small bathroom to the right. “Please let me know if you need anything.”

He walked over to the desk and picked up the copy of
The Raven
that I’d left for my guest’s perusal. Hey, it was an old, dark manor and I figured it would add to the mystique. People who stayed here were probably looking for creepy—I’d try my best to give it to them.

His lips tilted upward at the corners as he placed the book back on the desk. The mischievous smile revealed perfect white teeth, almost blindingly white. Did his gaze move down to my lips or was that my imagination? I thought I glimpsed a hunger in his eyes.

If he continued to smile at me with that perfect mouth there was no telling what kind of stupid comments I would blurt out. It was time for me break off the conversation while I still had an ounce of professionalism as an innkeeper.

“Breakfast is at seven. Do you have any special dietary needs?”

He stared at me before answering, as if I’d asked the strangest question in the world. “No, no special needs. Please don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

“It’s no trouble, really. If you need anything please let me know.”

“I’ll definitely let you know when I need something.” He flashed another knowing smile.

After leaving Nicolas in his room, I hurried back down the stairs to retrieve my phone. I had to call Annabelle. She wouldn’t believe it when I told her a dark, mysterious, handsome stranger had shown up at my home in the middle of the night.
In a thunderstorm. I felt like I was on an episode of some prank reality show. I kept expecting Ashton Kutcher to leap out holding a video camera.

“I knew you’d call. You heard the ghost again, didn’t you?” Annabelle said when she picked up.

I whispered into the phone, “I have a guest.” Why was I whispering? The house was so big there was no way he could hear me.

“
Hallie, I don’t think I’d call a ghost a guest. An
unwanted
guest, maybe.”

“No, I have a real person staying here tonight… a paying guest.” He would pay me, right? I realized I’d completely forgotten to mention the room rate. I’d hate to have to turn him over to collections.

“What? When did this happen?” Her voice sounded more alert.

“About forty-five minutes ago. I signed him in and took him to the third floor. It was like he just appeared right out of the fog.”

“You have a strange man staying at your home? Who showed up in the middle of the night! What are you thinking? What if he wants to kill you? He appeared out of the fog? What does that even mean?”

She sounded hysterical.

“Annabelle, calm down. You know I can’t live my life in fear. I’ll be fine, but I wanted you to know just in case I do come up missing. Better safe than sorry, right?” I chuckled nervously.

“That’s not funny, you know. You shouldn’t say things like that. You didn’t answer my question. What did you mean by ‘he just appeared out of the fog?
’”

I let out a deep breath. “There was a knock on the door and when I opened it, he was standing at the front door. He said he walked here.”

It sounded crazier when I said it out loud.

“What the hell is going on? He walked there? What kind of serial killer have you allowed in your home?”

“His car broke down. That’s all.” I was trying to reassure myself more than her. “He was walking and saw that little sign I had out front.”

“I knew I should have thrown that sign away,” she said under her breath.

“Come over for breakfast in the morning and meet him.” I paused. If I treated Nicolas Marcos as some kind of novelty, perhaps I’d stop being afraid of him.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked. “And don’t say
nothing
because I can tell by the tone of your voice that something is wrong with him.”

“He’s gorgeous, that’s what’s wrong with him. I’ll see you at seven.”

“That’s in three hours!” she protested.

“I don’t plan on sleeping anyway,” I said. There was too much nervous energy running through me for any rest.

“
I
had planned on sleeping.” She sighed. “How gorgeous are we talking?”

“Tall, dark, and yummy.
Good enough?”

“Okay. Lock your bedroom door and I’ll be over as soon as the sun rises.”

After hanging up the phone, I moved back over to the staircase. I paused and gazed up toward the third floor. What was he doing up there? Removing clothing to reveal lean muscles and six-pack abs?

I pushed the thoughts of a shirtless Nicolas to the back of my mind an
d made my way back to the library. Fidgeting with my hands, I walked the length of the floor, pacing with anxiety. The feeling I’d had all day hadn’t left me. If anything, it had grown stronger. And it wasn’t only my guest making me feel this way. It was that damn book—I felt its pull. I’d left it tucked securely between a couple old volumes on the shelves. I had to look at it again.

I eased across the old creaky hardwood floor and paused when I reached the book. My hands tingled when I pulled it from the shelf. Holding it securely in my arms, I sat down in the chair and placed it on my lap, flipping the cover open. The same aged pages that had perplexed me earlier stared back at me. I had no idea what I was looking for—but I knew the book was trying to tell me something. If I couldn’t even read the words, how would I ever decipher the message?

A wind picked up and the pages began to flip out of my control. Then as suddenly as it had stirred, the wind abated and the pages settled. I looked down at the open book and the spell was now in English. I flipped back a few pages. Everything else was still in the strange language. I turned back to the page marked by my finger and studied the words. It wasn’t a coincidence that it had flipped to this page. Had my great-aunt Maddy turned the pages from the great beyond?

I carried the open book into the kitchen and placed it on the large island in the middle of the space. The room was bathed in shades of white. Various apothecary jars covered the
spaces around the room. The moon shone brightly through the back door window, casting a ghostly glow across the area.

The page gave no clue about what the spell was for—all it listed was ingredients. Aunt
Maddy had almost any item I could possibly ever need for a spell right there in the kitchen. She also had a collection of cauldrons. Not that I needed one. Sure, I owned a cauldron, but with my track record I’d never felt comfortable using it. Except for that time I burned all the pictures and mementos from Tate Monroe. He’d claimed witchcraft wasn’t the reason he’d broken up with me, but I knew that was a lie. It was no coincidence we’d split up the day after I cast a spell to help him with his golf game. How was I supposed to know the higher the score the worse the game? And at least
his
eyebrows had
grown back.

For my potions, I preferred to use a saucepan on top of the stove. My mother always said,
“No wonder the Coven doesn’t take you seriously. You use a saucepan, for heaven’s sake.” But honestly, who wanted to drag out a heavy steel cauldron for a potion that wasn’t going to work anyway?

I placed a pan on the stove and poured in spring water. While waiting for it to boil, I retrieved my herbs from the apothecary jars around the room.
Vervain, sea salt, frankincense and myrrh were the necessary ingredients. After the water had come to a steady boil, I poured it into a bowl and placed it in the middle of the island.

With more of the sea salt in hand, I sprinkled the crystals around the bowl. Drawing a small circle with the salt, I enclosed the bowl within it. The smell of earth tickled my nostrils and splashes of light—red, green, then blue—covered my vision for a few seconds. A light breeze stirred in the room.

As I placed the herbs in the water, I intoned the words written in the spell book: “Bring the magic to me. Protection from all negativity surrounds me. Harm threefold to thee who sends destruction my way. All hateful actions directed toward me, will be inflicted upon thee.”

A few pitiful sputters of smoke puffed up from the pot. The water boiled no more, the breeze stilled, the lightshow in my vision stopped, and the smell of Mother Earth vanished. Using a teaspoon, I placed a small amount of the potion in the amulet I wore around my neck.

Nothing happened.

Disappointed, I took a seat on the counter stool. I was
sure
the book had been trying to tell me something. Unwilling to give up, I shifted on the stool and stared at the pot. I closed my eyelids and took a few deep breaths. I opened my eyes again and my reflection stared back at me. I tried to guide my mind to the psychic light deep inside me—well, it was
supposed
to be deep inside me, I’d never felt much stirring down there. I waited for an image, an impression, for anything to appear. As with every other time in the past, I felt my magic, but instead of a strong vibrating hum, it was more like an annoying mosquito buzzing around my head.