Witchy Woman Read online

  Now Nate was baffled. How did this man know he and Tess had the statue? The thing had been wrapped in a bag when he’d carried it out of Judy’s apartment. He couldn’t help but voice the question. “How do you know—”

  “I felt it,” Solca said. “This is something you, with your white Anglo-Saxon Protestant upbringing, will never understand, but I have a spiritual connection to the statue. I need it. It completes me.”

  This was too weird. What if all that stuff Tess had spouted about Gypsies wielding the Cat’s power for evil purposes … no. It was ridiculous even to consider. Still, he had to ask, “Are you by any chance descended from Gypsies?”

  Solca’s face hardened. “I am from Romania. What has that to do with anything?”

  “You’re the one who brought up the differences between us.”

  “Enough of this,” Solca said, spitting. “Are you going to sell me the statue or not?”

  “I can’t,” Nate replied. There was nothing he would like better than to rid himself of the thing. He could turn the considerable profit over to Judy, for whom it might come in handy. Hospital stays weren’t cheap, even for those with good insurance.

  But Tess would be livid, not to mention frightened to pieces, if he sold the statue to someone she believed would use it for evil purposes. She was intent on casting this ridiculous spell.

  Maybe a compromise would work. “We’ll be done with the statue in a few days. After that, I might persuade Tess to part with it.”

  Solca narrowed his gaze. “What are you planning to do with it during this ‘few days’?”

  “Nothing I can talk about.” And still sound sane.

  “The spell! Damn, I should have known the witch’s little daughter would try to succeed where her mother had failed. Fools! Don’t you know that’s what drove Morganna insane? The Cat’s powers aren’t to be taken lightly. Moonbeam will only succeed in hurting herself.”

  Nate refused to be drawn into this group delusion. He was willing to admit that Tess had abilities—maybe everyone had them. But the Crimson Cat was just a statue, made of stone. It didn’t have powers.

  “Believe what you will,” he said. “The Cat is not for sale at this time.” He folded his arms and stood implacably before Solca. “If you don’t stop hanging around in front of my building, I’ll call the police. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly.” Solca reached inside his tweed jacket and Nate stiffened, ready for anything. But all he withdrew was a business card. “Call me if you change your mind. If you’re still able to dial a phone when the Cat is done with you.”

  Tess had watched the exchange from the window. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about it. Two men standing on the sidewalk, talking. It was over in less than three minutes.

  She rushed to the door and unlocked it when she heard Nate’s footsteps on the landing. She swung the door wide. “What happened?”

  He stood there with key in hand. “Tess, the reason I had you lock the door is so no one could get in. How did you know it was me out here?”

  “I knew,” she said with certainty.

  Nate sighed, lowered the key, and walked in. “His name is Tristan Solca. He’s Romanian, which means he could have Gypsy blood. He wants the Cat. He claims your mother gave it to him, and it was subsequently stolen.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That it wasn’t for sale. Not even for five hundred dollars.” He shook his head, appearing mystified. “I must be crazy.”

  Tess drooped with relief. “You did the right tiling.”

  “Would you be interested in selling it after we remove the curse?” he asked in a conversational tone, as if removing a curse were as easy as taking out a grass stain from a favorite pair of jeans.

  “Let’s just take this one step at a time,” Tess said. “And the next step is food. It’s getting cold.”

  They fell on the Chinese food. Tess was hungrier than she could ever remember being. She inhaled her vegetables and rice, fried wonton, and spring roll, savoring every flavor. Like a doomed prisoner enjoying a final meal, she couldn’t help thinking. They ate without talking much, other than an occasional “Pass the soy sauce.”

  The food was gone in record time. Nate cleared the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher; Tess gathered the paper cartons and trashed them, then wiped down the coffee table. Each move she made brought her closer to that inevitable moment when she would have to face the grimoire and the spell. Her powers, such as they were, would be called into battle.

  Was she strong enough? Was she worthy? Morganna had once claimed that Tess had more natural ability, more potential, than any witch she’d ever known, including herself. But without training and practice, Tess’s gifts were little more than untried mettle.

  “Well, let’s get cracking,” Nate said, rubbing his hands together. “Should I light a candle or something?”

  She shot him a long-suffering look. Should she tell him she’d once seen her mother grow a flower from a seed in five minutes, using a spell from this very book? No. Why bother? He’d be a believer soon enough.

  “I would appreciate it if you would handle the book,” she said. “Even after all these years the thing reeks of my mother’s vibrations, and I find that distracting.”

  He shrugged. “Sure.” Then he grabbed up the book as if it were a football instead of a fragile, hundred-year-old volume, and plopped it onto the coffee table. “I’m more comfortable on the floor. How about you?”

  In the end, she was the one who sat on the floor with the book before her on the coffee table. Nate sat in the chair behind her, straddling her with his knees, reaching over her to turn the pages so they could both see. Tess had procured pen and paper for writing down the ingredients they would need to collect.

  “I lost my place when we had the wreck,” Nate said as he nonchalantly turned pages, “but I think I can find it again—wait, here it is.” He pressed the book flat, smoothing out the creased and wrinkled page. The binding protested with a crack.

  Tess stared at the page, yellowed with age, the letters executed in a flawless calligraphic script. It wasn’t Morganna’s more flamboyant handwriting, but probably that of Tess’s grandmother.

  “ ‘A Spell to Counteract Black Magick,’ ” Tess read aloud. “ ‘If thou be cursed or hexed by thine enemy, work thee this spell to break the bonds of evil.’ ”

  “Where’s Vincent Price?” Nate muttered. “He ought to be here for this.”

  Tess ignored him and went on. “ ‘Heed thee this warning: The powers summoned for this spell are not of this world. Use it only in the direst circumstances. Prepare thyself and take caution; deviate not from the proscription here, not in the smallest detail, at the risk of peril to thine immortal soul.’ ”

  Tess shivered. Nate snorted. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

  “I think it means that this isn’t exactly white magic. But I already knew that. Any spell that can backfire and hurt you is bad stuff.”

  “It’s not going to hurt us,” Nate said. “It’s like voodoo. It can only do us harm if we believe in it.”

  “I do believe in it.”

  “We have the purest of intentions,” he tried again, leaning closer. His breath disturbed her hair and tickled her ear. “We’re not seeking vengeance, or trying to hurt anybody else.”

  “But we’ll be asking help from the wrong sort.”

  “Then let’s not ask them,” he said, as if the answer were obvious. “Isn’t there some other ‘sort’ we can call for assistance? How about … I don’t know. Angels? Saints?”

  “I’m afraid those are outside my frame of reference. Look, if you’d rather not go through with this—”

  He shook his head. “You’re the one afraid of evil, not me. I’m game. Let’s follow the spell to the letter and see what happens.”

  She nodded in agreement. Then she read further, and was seized with all kinds of doubts again. “This has to be performed during a full moon. That’s tomo
rrow night.”

  “Ah, so that’s what Morganna meant. She said something about the moon as we were leaving. That’s okay. We can do it. The sooner the better, right?”

  “At midnight. In a churchyard. At the grave of one who died a violent death.”

  Nate suddenly ran out of glib comebacks. “Did you say a churchyard? Is that like … a cemetery?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hoo, boy,” he said under his breath. “Is that the worst of it?” He peered over her shoulder. “Holy cow, look at that list of ingredients.”

  Tess almost smiled. She was familiar with most of the components of the spell, but to Nate, the list had to seem like some twisted version of a Julia Child recipe—one of those ones you watch on TV but could never make at home because you have no idea where to find pigeon livers or variegated couscous.

  “A white candle and garlic powder I can probably manage,” Nate said, “but where are we supposed to get unhexing oil? Dried and powdered sloe bark? Agrimony? I don’t even know what that stuff is.”

  “Agrimony? It’s an herb, in the rose family.” She wondered at her knowledge. Maybe some of Morganna’s teachings had sunk in despite Tess’s best efforts. “We can find most of the ingredients in an occult shop,” she said calmly. “I think there’s one right here in Cambridge.”

  She turned the page. The list of ingredients continued.

  “Green ash-tree leaves. Do we even have ash trees in Boston?” Nate groused. “And what about that? Oh, hell, we’re toast. The blood of a virgin? Yeah, right. Where are we supposed to come up with something like that?”

  Tess stayed very quiet. She could easily alleviate Nate’s apprehensions about finding that particular ingredient, but she didn’t think she could bear to tell him she was a virgin. It seemed so pathetic to be twenty-eight and without any sexual experience at all.

  “Well?” he said. “We’re supposed to grab some fifteen-year-old from a convent school and bleed her? I mean, in this day and age you just don’t find virgins on every corner. Maybe it was an easier proposition at the time this spell was written—”

  “Enough, already!” Tess broke in. “We’ll find a virgin’s blood, okay? Trust me on this one.”

  “You know someone who would actually donate their daughter’s blood to this craziness? ’Cause I’m telling you, I’m not doing it without parental consent. I don’t need a jail term.”

  Now Tess was hot. “You assume there aren’t any virgins above the age of consent in all of Boston?”

  “Well, there might be a nun or two,” Nate said.

  “And I guess all the rest are just panting to go to bed with you or anyone who’ll take them? You’ve never heard of celibacy?” She was really pushing it here. The fact was, she was a virgin not because of any lofty moral codes, but because she’d never found a practical way to change her status.

  “Let me put it this way,” Nate said. “I hear celibacy bandied about, but I don’t know any virgins.”

  “Yes, you do,” Tess said, exasperated.

  “No, really, I don’t think—”

  “Me, you idiot. I’m the virgin.” In a quieter voice, she added, “We can use my blood.”

  Nate was dumbstruck. How could he have been so stupid, so ignorant? Tess had told him often enough how uncomfortable touching was for her, but he’d assumed, on some level, that she was exaggerating.

  “How old are you? Twenty-seven?”

  “Twenty-eight. Don’t rub it in.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that … well, I’m only a few years older than you, and sex is one of my greatest pleasures. No, it’s the greatest pleasure, has been since I was seventeen. Call me shallow, if you will.” And just talking about it was making him hard. Tess, a virgin.

  He’d thought about making love to her, maybe only a million times since he’d met her. Now, knowing what he knew, he had to ask himself what were the chances?

  “Pretty damn slim at the moment,” she quipped.

  “Ahhhhghrmn!” Nate jumped away from her. “You read my mind.”

  “I told you I could do that on occasion,” she said mildly.

  “I knew you could get vibrations from objects, but … it doesn’t seem fair, somehow. You … turn around so I can at least look at you?”

  She did as he asked, swiveling in the space in front of his chair and curling her legs under her. “You see the problem?”

  “Huh, yeah.” What man would want a woman knowing every single thought that crossed his mind when he was making love to her? Like, what if some guy mentally compared her to his last girlfriend? Not that Nate would do that. Or, what if, while some guy was caressing her breasts, he wondered what she might look like with silicone implants? Instant slap. Not that Nate would ever think that, either. He thought Tess’s breasts were perfect.

  A sudden thought occurred to him. “Can you read my mind right now?”

  She shook her head. “Not unless we’re touching, and even then, not a hundred percent. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve read your mind quite a bit over the last few days—”

  “Oh, yeah, feeling better already.” What had he thought? What did she know about him?

  “—and,” she continued doggedly, “I haven’t picked up one single thing that made me uncomfortable. That’s a first. In fact, I’d even started to think … well, that maybe you could be the one who, um …” She stopped, unable to continue, as her face turned a becoming shade of pink.

  Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

  Suddenly everything changed. “God, Tess, I’d be, you know, honored and—” No, that wasn’t what he wanted to say. “Thrilled. Real happy to be—I could give it a try. Of course, if you knew what I was thinking the whole time … well, I’m a guy. Guys think all kinds of things different from women, but we don’t mean anything by it.”

  “I understand,” Tess said. Then she flashed a shy smile that undid him.

  He couldn’t stand it. He had to touch her. She knew what he was thinking anyway, he figured. He was one big mass of quivering hormones right now, and all he wanted was to be closer, closer. He reached for her.

  She didn’t flinch or pull away. In fact, she leaned in when he grasped her under her arms and pulled her gently into his lap. She was so light, so soft, and she smelled like something rare and fleeting.

  He cradled her face between his hands and brought her lips to his. She tasted faintly salty, then so sweet. His mind filled with all sorts of sensual images that he was helpless to stop, so he didn’t even try.

  “Mm-hmm,” she murmured against his mouth as her arms stole around his neck. “Oh, yes.”

  Was she sharing his thoughts, or just approving of the way he rubbed her back?

  “Both,” she whispered.

  He was just reaching his stride with the kiss when abruptly she tensed and pulled away a short distance, staring intently into his eyes. “Oh, my God, it’s going to happen.”

  “Good,” was all Nate could think to say. If he didn’t have this woman in the next ten minutes, he was going to explode.

  “I’ve been seeing flashes of this ever since I first held your business card, but I wasn’t sure—”

  “I’m sure,” he said, cutting her off with another kiss. He’d been seeing flashes, too, and he wasn’t psychic. His hands wandered away from her back to her front, lingering on just the sides of her breasts, not wanting to move too quickly. Oh, yes, they were the perfect size, just right to rest in a man’s palms. Slowly he brought his thumbs to her nipples and gave a groan of satisfaction when they hardened.

  Suddenly she tensed again, pushed him away, and scrambled to her feet as if he had the plague. The look of horror on her face was alarming.

  “Tess?”

  “We can’t do this! I’m a virgin!”

  Nate felt cold and abandoned and none too rational. “It’s not a terminal condition.”

  “The spell.” She lowered her voice to a more rational tone. “I can’t compromise my status as a virgin un
til we’ve cast the spell.”

  The spell. The Cat. Right now he wished he could throw the grimoire and that infernal statue into a cement mixer and be done with it. But he could tell, just by the hard glint in Tess’s eyes, that she wouldn’t be swayed on this particular point. Whatever he and Tess might be headed for, it wasn’t going to happen tonight.

  NINE

  Only one ingredient for the spell remained to be discussed. Tess read of it silently. She knew Nate did too. “The blood of a virgin, and a lock of hair from her own true love.” Neither of them said a word about it. It simply wasn’t mentioned.

  Tess had never been in love. She’d never even known anyone involved in a lifelong, monogamous, loving relationship. Her father had died before she knew him, and Morganna spoke little of him, leading Tess to believe her parents hadn’t truly been in love. Morganna had been involved in a few other relationships over the years, but none of them had lasted longer than a few months.

  True love was harder to find than virgin’s blood, in Tess’s opinion. The spell was doomed to failure. Yet she felt compelled to push forward. Maybe something would occur to them, some way to make an exception or get around the dictates of the spell. Or maybe they would stumble upon another virgin, one who had a boyfriend, at least.

  Right.

  “I think we should get started tonight,” she said. “The occult shop might still be open. And we can start checking out cemeteries.”

  Nate tugged at his collar, which was already loose. “Mmm.”

  She felt silly asking her next question, but they had to start somewhere. “Do you know of anyone who died a violent death?”

  He pondered for a moment. “I can think of a couple of people. But, Tess, we can’t expect to hang out at a cemetery in the middle of the night, doing weird things. The police will haul us in. We’ll have to find some place out of the city.”

  They fell silent for a few more moments.

  “Wait, I know,” Tess said. “A girl in my high school died in a car accident. That counts as violent, right?”