Hot Magic (2 page)

She pulled herself to her full five feet, seven inches. He didn’t look impressed. Maybe because he still towered a good six inches above her. “I’m not ridiculous.”
 

He lifted an eyebrow.
 

Americans cock a brow and look amused or perplexed. Only the British could convey such arrogance with a simple facial movement. They probably employ specially trained nannies to teach the skill— “A little higher, Master Harrison, or there will be no bangers and mash for you.”

Fascinated, she watched until the brow dropped. “Why don’t you explain what you meant by the ‘I’ve been waiting to meet you’ remark?”

“Certainly, though I prefer to do so in private.”
 

Could Dorie be right? Was he a spy? Or maybe he was a serial killer, trying to get her indoors where he kept his electric saw. She took another step back. “This yard is private. No one can hear us here.”
 

His jaw firmed, and she had the distinct impression that people didn’t argue with him very often. “I’m Harrison Chevalier.” The words reverberated like a note rung on a gong. He paused, obviously waiting for a response.

Julie nodded. “I know. Cindy Lui, your landlord, told my friend Dorie you were moving in. Cindy was pleased to get another renter so quickly. Eugene, who used to live in your house, had to leave suddenly when he got an unexpected transfer. He’s an engineer at Ford. He’s in Germany now.”
 

Harrison crossed his arms, a furrow of impatience between his eyes. Obviously, he couldn’t care less about Eugene.
 

“I should recognize your name, right?”

“Yes, you should.”

She gave him a half-smile of apology.

His frown deepened. “I’m one of the Penumbrae,” he said, as if that would make everything clear. “It’s time for you to assume your rightful place in the Triad and help block a curse that is being placed on me.”

Several heartbeats passed in silence. A slight rustling in the branches above broke the unnatural quiet. Harrison grimaced as a twig fell on his head and he brushed it aside.

Julie assumed the accepting, non-judgmental expression that she’d perfected during her last research project on psychosis. “What is the curse?” Her brain hummed as she searched her mental files for a diagnosis fitting a man who believed he was cursed. Schizophrenia? Psychotic disorder? Smart ass?

“It’s a binding curse. The Walker who attempts it wishes to become my consort.”
 

“Your consort.” Add a delusion of royalty to the mix. Fascinated, she decided to keep him talking. The more she knew about how his mind worked, the easier the decision about buying a privacy fence would be. “Does this curse make you impotent?”

 
“Excuse me?”
 

“Consort’s an old-fashioned word for a royal husband or wife, right? It’s just that if I wanted to be your consort and I was able to curse people, I’d curse you to impotence until you agreed to…consort with me.”

He cocked his head and considered her with more interest. “You are truly evil.”
 

“Well, what’s the point of a curse if it’s not evil?”

“I’m not impotent.” He stated the words flatly.
 

“I’m glad for your sake.” Her biggest problem during that study had been a tendency to become too immersed in her subject’s fantasy lives. She forced herself to rein in her curiosity about the imaginary curse and stick to the basics. “How can I help you?”
 

“Have sex with me.”

This was her fault. She’d introduced the topic of impotence and had gotten the man thinking about sex. She really needed to be more careful about what she said. She pulled out her phone. “Look at the time! I’ve got to run. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Chevalier.”

“You’re scared.” He sounded surprised.
 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She backed up a few more steps. “It’s very hard to be frightened of a man holding a plate of donuts.” That, of course, was untrue.
 

He smiled. His eyes warmed with a hint of amusement that had the oddest effect on her. Did a little delusional thinking really matter in the big picture? They had meds for these sorts of things. Harrison looked down as if he’d forgotten the donuts, and she began to breathe again.
 

“We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I can explain. Come inside and share a pastry with me.” He looked up, his expression wry. “I promise to keep holding the plate of donuts if it will make you more comfortable.”
 

How could she even think of stepping into a house with this man? He tugged at her in a way she didn’t understand. She nervously flicked a strand of hair behind her ear and heard a door bang shut.
 

Dorie must have had the twins revved at the starting block, ready to explode into the yard if needed. When the first plastic arrow tipped with a suction cup bounced at Harrison’s feet, Julie muttered a weak, “Maybe later,” and beat a hasty retreat into the safety of her own home.

H
arrison carefully set down the plate of donuts, ignored the steady stream of sucker-tipped arrows flying over the chain link fence along the back of the yard and hoisted himself back into the tree.
 

“This is uncomfortable, Bascule.” He straddled an upper branch, brushing a leaf from his pants. “There is no reason we need to meet in a tree.”
 

The great horned owl, perched on an adjacent limb, blinked. “Fun, Harrison. Sitting in a tree is fun.”

 
“Only if you’re ten years old.” Though he’d never sat in a tree when he was ten, so he couldn’t be sure of that. “Are we just about done convincing the neighbors that I’m an oddball?”

 
“Not quite. I have two more things to discuss with you. Word has reached me that small groups of Triad members have begun to organize and are fighting back against the demons.”

 
“Finally.” A surge of hope lightened Harrison’s mood. “Our work is paying off. We have to build on this.”
 

“You can’t do anything until you get rid of the binding.” Bas ruffled his feathers. “I also came to offer advice on how to handle the Dancer. Obviously, you don’t need it. Your charm and persuasive abilities have rendered me speechless.”

“One could only hope.” Harrison lifted his foot, reached down and unstuck an arrow that had attached to the bottom of his shoe. “You sent me here.” He narrowed his eyes at the owl. “Marguerite’s curse is already distracting me or I would have questioned you first. Is there another way to break the binding?” The Dancer was not ideal. Her flip attitude irritated him.
 

“The old-fashioned way is the quickest, most efficient way. Marguerite wove the first tie of the binding with earth energy,” Bas responded. “There is tremendous power involved in creating and sustaining such a tie. Theoretically, a Dancer who can channel enough light energy could undo it. The problem is finding someone with that capability. I sense the potential in Julie Dancer. If you two join together, the power should be enough to sever the tie.”

“Join.” Harry repeated the word. Bas didn’t usually use euphemisms.
 

“Shag, boff, bonk,” he promptly clarified. “Sex has power. Even humans use it as a tool in their magic rituals. But be careful. There’s something about this Dancer that I don’t understand, something that feels different.”

“The difference is she doesn’t bloody know who I am.” Harrison said as he rubbed at his temple.

Bas blinked slowly. “Marguerite bothers you more than I thought.”
 

The fact that Marguerite had successfully completed the first part of the binding curse didn’t bother Harrison. It enraged him. She sat in his mind like a weed that couldn’t be plucked. He wanted her out. Yesterday. “Julie Dancer may have been raised human, but she is one of us.” A connection that gave him a dark sense of satisfaction. “Once she understands the consequences of this curse, she’ll agree to help.”

The owl made a strange, gravelly sound.
 

Harrison looked at him suspiciously, but Bas merely spread his wings. With a powerful thrust, the owl lifted off, a soaring shadow against the sun-bright sky.
 

 
J
ulie almost ignored her phone, not wanting to rehash the whole strange Harrison encounter with Dorie until her head stopped pounding. At the last minute, years of conditioning triumphed. She picked up her phone, tucking it to her ear as she reached for the ibuprofin in her kitchen cupboard.

“Hi, Mom.” The voice of her nineteen-year-old daughter made her pause.

“Hey, Tash. Is everything going okay at school?”

“School is fine. Grandma just called me.”

Julie put four extra-strength tablets into her mouth and swallowed, without water. Her mother had promised not to tell Tasha her news until they were all together over the Christmas holidays, about three months from now. Darn the woman. She couldn’t be trusted.

“Could this be a symptom of menopause?” Tasha’s normally soft voice held an edge of anxiety.

Julie closed her eyes and slumped into one of the maple chairs that matched the small kitchen table. “As far as I know, homosexuality isn’t a recognized symptom of menopause. Besides, I think Grandma went through menopause a good decade ago.”

“Then what’s wrong with her? It’s ludicrous for a sixty-eight-year-old woman to suddenly decide she’s a lesbian.”

“She’s sixty-five,” Julie offered weakly.

“I know she hasn’t been in the closet all these years. You used to cover my ears when we’d be watching those old Paul Newman movies together because of the comments she’d make.”

True. Her mother was quite the Paul Newman fan. And not because of his acting skill.

“Is she supposed to even be thinking about sex? I thought the whole libido thing wound down as you got older and that people had to use drugs or lubricants to even do it.”

 
“Well, no. That’s not exactly….” Julie stopped, and tried again. “Homosexuality isn’t just about sex.”

Tash wasn’t listening. “I bet she’s going through the early stages of senile dementia. We need to get her help. I think we should fly to Chicago together and do one of those intervention things.”

“Calm down.” How like her mother to drop this bomb and leave her to deal with the aftermath. They’d both known Tasha would not easily accept her grandmother’s change in sexual preference. Tash didn’t have a problem with homosexuality; she had a problem with change. Her daughter craved stability. “You don’t do interventions for senile dementia or homosexuality. You do interventions for substance abuse.” Thankfully her child was studying English, not social work. “And many older people have active, satisfying sex lives.” So she’d heard.

“Does this mean she never loved Grandpa? Oh, Mom! Thank God he’s dead. He’d be so devastated!”

“Honey, why don’t you let this news sink in for a while before we talk about it. Can you come over for dinner tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s busy. I have a paper due Monday for Great Books.” Tasha attended the University of Michigan, and lived in a dorm about fifteen minutes from their house. “How about next Sunday?”

“Call me if you want a ride.”
 

“Okay.” Tasha sounded calmer. “Maybe this is one of Grandma’s passing fads.”

Not likely. Last time she’d spoken with her, her mother had begun organizing a Chicago chapter of the Gay Grays. “Just get your studying done and we’ll talk about this next week.”

“Mom.” Tasha sounded surprisingly serious. “You’re happy, right? You don’t have any big changes planned that I should know about?”
 

The fact that she even asked the question was progress. Tasha had learned that she handled transition better when she could prepare for it in advance. Tash’s father, Jack, was the exact opposite. He didn’t know the meaning of the word “stable.” An adventure junkie with a degree in archeology, he flitted from dig to dig like he was Indiana Jones with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. When Tash started middle school, Julie had decided the family should settle in one place. Jack had decided they should get a divorce.

Julie sighed and glanced out the window. She did a double take. Was that an owl swooping across her new neighbor’s back lawn? An owl? In the middle of the day?

“Mom!”
 

Tasha’s voice brought her back to their conversation. She turned away from the window and what was probably just a very fat sparrow. She’d have to quit putting leftover buttered popcorn in the bird feeders. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m very happy with my life. I’m always going to be your predictable, dear old mom.”

“Which is just the way I love you.” Tasha hung up, sounding comforted.

Predictable, comfortable, safe—that’s just the way Julie wanted to live the rest of her life. She’d had enough adventure with Jack, and then with single parenting. These were going to be her quiet, peaceful years. She glanced out the window again trying to see Harrison’s oak tree. So why was she suddenly feeling restless?

Chapter Two