Charmed: Destiny Romance (3 page)

The one-on-one classes were essential just to learn everything that needed to be learned. But they also protected her from the bullying and ostracism of her classmates. They’d prepared her for the isolated life her abilities had fated her to.

Mel rubbed her forehead. Her headache was only getting worse.

Michael’s jacket lay on the table beside her elbow. Would he bother coming back for it? Why exactly had he seemed so upset?

If only she knew what had happened! But when she was in a trance she never remembered anything of what the spirits had told her.

Ugh. Her head pounded.

As a rule, Mel hated accessing the other side. It took too much out of her, and she hated the out-of-control feeling of letting other consciousnesses use her as a conduit. She much preferred her usual, plain, old-fashioned mind-reading.

The thought brought her up short. Why hadn’t she been able to read Michael’s mind?

Maybe he was a witch, too? Skilled in blocking his thoughts from psychic-seers. Sent by the Magic Council to assess her performance – a magical mystery shopper! No. Surely Aunt Gertrude would know about something like that. Would have warned her.

On the other hand – Aunt Gertrude had been going on about some cruise she wanted to take, some trip around the Caribbean with Michael Bublé on board. Maybe she wanted to check on Mel’s work ethic, see if she was up to the task of managing the shop in Gertrude’s absence.

Yeah. The idea seemed more and more likely, the longer Mel considered it. He was a mystery shopper sent to spy on her. Why did that feel so disappointing?

She stared at the lump of his jacket. He’d seemed pretty smart – would he have been careless enough to leave anything behind that might give away his identity?

She hesitated for a moment – it was a breach of privacy to go through the pockets of someone’s clothing. But as someone who was used to regularly breaching the
most
private aspects of a person – their thoughts – she didn’t hesitate for long.

The search turned up nothing but a bit of pocket fluff and a crumpled receipt for breath mints and sixty-five dollars’ worth of petrol.

It was obviously a favourite item of clothing though – the fabric around the pockets was worn, and the lining fabric was fraying in a couple of places. Without thinking, Mel brought the jacket to her face and sucked in a deep breath, inhaling Michael’s scent of fresh laundry, cedar wood and earthy mystery.

Bam!

Her head snapped back as another technicolour vision assaulted her.

She was pressed against the wall. Michael’s hot, hard body pinned her there.

‘Wha— what are you doing?’ she asked. Her voice was barely more than a breath.

‘Kissing you,’ he said, as if that answer should have been obvious.

‘Why?’

‘Because.’

And then there were no more words, only sensations. Michael’s hands were braced on the wall on either side of her head. His hips fitted to hers. There was no doubting his arousal – the impression his cock was leaving on her, even through both their clothes, was insistent.

His eyes had none of the warm chocolaty brown that she’d observed today. They were so dark they were almost black, and Mel didn’t need to read his mind to know his intentions.

Her breasts ached, her nipples straining against her bra, as Michael’s rapid breathing matched her own.

Then his mouth was on hers. Gentle at first, his lips caressed hers with soft, tender strokes. Then the tip of his tongue ran along her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth to groan, and then their tongues were stroking each other, the kiss so deep Mel forgot to breathe.

Without breaking their connection, he moved away just slightly, and Mel dug her fingernails into his back, but all he was doing was making room to cup her breast in his large hand – so Mel dug her fingernails harder in encouragement.

His kiss was drugging her, shutting off her brain – a rare event for a psychic-seer – and all she could process was his touch, his mouth, his scent, his taste. It was more than enough to keep her every synapse occupied.

Then his hand moved down her body, sliding inside her pants – conveniently she seemed to be wearing her elasticised yoga outfit – and his clever fingers found her clit, which was begging for his attention.

‘Oh God,’ she said.

‘No, just an angel, remember?’ Michael said with a smile against her mouth.

‘An archangel,’ she corrected. ‘There. Right there.’

Michael nibbled kisses along her jaw, kissing down her neck to her collarbone. Mel arched her head back and her body into his touch. He was driving her wild, touching her in exactly the right way, building her excitement to an almost unbearable peak.

She wanted him with her – right here on the edge. She moved her hand to the front of his body, pressing her palm against his hard, hot length.

He groaned. ‘I think we should move this to another location,’ Michael whispered against her ear.

‘Why?’

‘It’s a little too public here.’

‘Yeah. Okay.’ Mel didn’t know where they were, and in her current state didn’t especially care. But then there was a noise.

A rude, interrupty noise.

Someone was clearing their throat. Repeatedly.

‘A-hem. A-hem. A-HEM!’

Suddenly, Mel crashed back to reality.

Blinking, she recognised the shop’s kitchenette around her. And . . . Aunt Gertrude. Standing in the doorway, looking at her with an expression of faint distaste.

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘No-nothing,’ Mel stammered. She realised she was clutching the jacket to her chest, her fingers digging into it, just like they’d been digging into Michael’s back in her vision. She forced herself to put it down in her lap, but couldn’t quite let go of it yet.

‘Hmm.’ Aunt Gertrude looked at her with narrowed eyes.

Mel wondered exactly what her godmother had seen. Aunt Gertrude was pretty good at hiding her thoughts from Mel, but if Mel made a really concerted effort sometimes she could chip through her godmother’s defences. But that was when she wasn’t battling a killer migraine. She had no hope today.

Mel pushed away the lingering effects of the vision and did her best to ignore the complaint from her almost-but-not-quite-satisfied body. ‘I just had a . . . tough reading.’

‘Tough how?’ Aunt Gertrude sat down at the tiny table, and Mel had to look away lest the colour and glitter of her godmother’s outfit worsened her headache. Today’s caftan was a shocking pink, with a fluorescent green-and-orange crochet caplet, topped by a purple beret with a diamante brooch in the shape of an owl. As usual, more rows of beads than could be counted swung from around her neck, and the fluorescents overhead caught the multi-jewelled rings on her fingers and sent light dancing around her.

‘I had to access the other side,’ Mel said.

Gertrude frowned. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’

‘Have you . . . Did you organise a visit from anyone from the Magic Council?’

‘No. Why?’

Mel risked reaching out with her mind. She didn’t sense any deception from Gertrude, but then there was a popping noise from deep in her sinuses and she quickly withdrew her probe. The problem was that Aunt Gertrude was just too skilled at hiding her thoughts.

‘I just thought, with your cruise coming up, you might . . . you know . . . check up on me.’

Aunt Gertrude shrugged. ‘I haven’t, but that’s not a bad idea now that you mention it.’ She clicked her fingers and a plate of vanilla slices appeared on the table. She picked the one with the thickest pink icing and took a huge bite.

The sight made Mel’s already wobbly stomach flip.

‘Eye oo sess o’er sye?’ Aunt Gertrude asked through her mouthful.

It took Mel a moment to work out what she meant. ‘Why did I access the other side? Oh, I . . . Have you ever heard of a non-magical person being able to block their thoughts?’

Aunt Gertrude’s eyes opened wide. ‘Oo coud eed smm on?’

‘Huh?’

Her godmother swallowed. ‘You couldn’t read someone?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, that’s a first.’

‘Is there . . . Is there a way for a non-magical person to block their thoughts?’

‘Never heard of it before.’

‘Really? Oh.’ Mel felt a strange disappointment that she couldn’t explain. But then she realised what it was – if Aunt Gertrude didn’t know how a non-magical person could block their thoughts, then Michael must have definitely been from the Magic Council with some powerful, council-granted protection spell. Aunt Gertrude had sent him, or someone else – it didn’t matter. He’d been sent to check up on her, and the visions she’d had were just manifestations of her own desires. Powerful ones, but nothing more than that.

It didn’t explain why he’d run out of the shop and slammed the door behind him, but then Mel had no way of knowing what had happened when she’d been in the trance, so maybe some awful relative of his had come forward and said something inappropriate.

‘What’s that?’ Aunt Gertrude asked, pointing to the jacket Mel still had clasped in her hands.

‘It belongs to him – he left it behind.’

‘Give it to me.’ Her godmother beckoned with her fingers, rings clacking together.

Mel handed the jacket over, feeling a weird sense of loss.

Aunt Gertrude gave it a sniff and then hovered a hand over it and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she smiled.

‘Well, well,’ she said, shaking her head.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Aunt Gertrude! You can’t have a look like that and then say “nothing”.’

‘I just remembered, I have to change the rosters.’

‘
What?
’ The effort of raising her voice kicked up Mel’s headache a notch, but honestly, sometimes her godmother could be downright infuriating.

‘Yes. Dorothy can’t come in until lunchtime tomorrow, so you’ll have to work her shift in the morning.’

‘But —’

The rustling and jingling of Aunt Gertrude’s outfit as she stood up made further protest pointless.

‘It’s after six,’ she told Mel. ‘Be a dear and lock up for me?’

And then she vanished. Well, she walked out – not even Aunt Gertrude was powerful enough to simply transport herself bodily from place to place. Especially not with a body as hefty as hers.

‘Argh!’ Mel growled at the empty room.

There was nothing for it but to draw a line underneath today, chalk it up as ‘the day from hell’ and head home. At least at home she could pop a couple of painkillers, curl up on the couch and rest her head on a feather pillow she kept especially for headaches like this.

Oh, and remember to set her alarm, because now she had a work shift in the morning.

Great.

Mel opened the front door of Crystal Gaze with bleary eyes, wishing she was still wearing her sunglasses. It was one of those rare crisp, sunny winter’s days, and on any other morning, Mel would have been incredibly grateful for Melbourne turning on the sunshine and blue sky.

But even after a full night’s sleep her headache hadn’t quite left her. She felt as if the spirits she’d allowed inside her body the day before had been of the
tequila
kind instead of the
higher plane
kind.

‘What are you doing here?’

Mel turned around to find Dorothy pulling aside the bead curtain. It was testament to the magnitude of her hangover that she hadn’t felt Dorothy’s presence when she’d entered the building.

‘Huh?’ Mel gave Dorothy a frown and her co-worker looked just as confused. ‘Aunt Gertrude told me you weren’t coming in this morning.’

‘What?’ Dorothy hurried over to check the whiteboard. ‘I’m still on the roster,’ she said with a frown.

‘I know. I hadn’t got around to changing it yet.’

Dorothy gave her a close look. ‘Are you okay? You’re the one who looks like she shouldn’t have come in today.’

Mel waved away her concern. ‘I’m fine. If you were coming in, what was Aunt Gertrude going on about?’

‘I have no idea. But . . .’ Dorothy gave Mel a pleading look. ‘If you
are
here, would you mind terribly if I did slip out? I’ve had the worst morning – it was like the world was trying to stop me from coming in to work! My dishwasher broke, I set off the smoke alarm burning toast, and then my car wouldn’t start, but luckily my neighbour offered to give me a lift. If I could just pop back home and sort all that out, I could be back by lunchtime . . . Please?’

‘You poor thing. Of course, go.’ Mel didn’t need to be psychic to read the waves of anxiety rolling off Dorothy.

‘Thanks, Mel.’

She gave Mel a quick hug. Dorothy was one of the rare non-psychic-seer witches who didn’t mind being around Mel. Mel figured it was because Dorothy was one of the most straightforward people she’d ever met. If it was in her brain, Dorothy said it. No mincing words.

‘Honestly, worst morning ever. I feel like I’ve been cursed! I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘No problems, take all the time you need.’

Blessedly, the morning unfolded relatively uneventfully. A woman came in mid-morning for a reading and – goddess be praised – Mel had no problems with telling her that yes, her current boyfriend was a snake, and absolutely, she should dump him and take the promotion she’d been offered interstate. And because Mel was feeling so relieved at the easy return of her powers, she gave the woman enough numbers to win fourth division in Tatts –just a few thousand, but enough to finance her to move to Sydney and set up on her own.

The woman was so grateful for the good news she bought three books and a crystal she didn’t really want and hugged Mel on her way out of the shop.

That had to be why she hadn’t noticed Michael. Because it wasn’t until Mel was waving the woman goodbye that she saw him, standing by the counter. He must have come in when Mel had reopened the door after the reading, while she was helping the woman with her purchases.

She hadn’t felt his presence at all, which wasn’t surprising, because – just like yesterday – she couldn’t detect him at all on the spiritual plane. No detail in his aura, just a glow. No random thoughts. Everything around her vibrated with an energy she could see or feel. But not Michael.

It was almost . . . creepy.

It
had
to be a Magic Council protection spell. There just wasn’t any other explanation.

He cleared his throat. ‘Uh, hi.’

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘I, uh, left my jacket. Yesterday.’

Ah, the jacket of erotic visions. Mel had taken care not to touch it again after what it had done to her. It was still lying in a crumpled heap on the table in the kitchenette where Aunt Gertrude had left it.

‘Yeah, it’s through here.’ Mel held the bead curtain to one side and gestured for Michael to go in to take the jacket. She wanted to keep well away from it, just in case it had the same effect on her today. Especially in front of him.

It took Michael only a couple of strides to lean in and grab the wayward item. As he did, his jeans tightened across his bum, his shirt around his back.

Mel remembered from her vision how firm his muscles had been under her fingers, but thankfully it was just a memory and not a fully fledged hallucination like yesterday. But damn, the man was hot. Overnight she’d wondered if her memory had exaggerated his attractiveness in order to justify her overwrought reaction to him, but no. He was definitely as eleven-out-of-ten as she’d remembered. Maybe twelve.

Michael ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face.

‘Thanks. I also, um, forgot to pay.’

Mel waved a hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. You clearly didn’t get what you wanted from the reading.’

‘You have a satisfaction guarantee?’ he asked with a little smile.

No. She wasn’t letting that smile make her stomach dip. Nope. She just wasn’t letting it happen.

Crap.

‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘But really, don’t worry about it.’

He nodded. ‘Okay. But let me buy something instead.’

Mel sometimes wondered if Aunt Gertrude had put some kind of charm on the shop that compelled people to buy. All she knew was that for a little new-agey bookshop, they made
a lot
of money. And that was without even counting the sales to the magic community from the stock in the Other Room.

‘You don’t have to buy anything.’

‘Please. To salve my conscience.’ He looked genuinely apologetic, and as far as puppy-dog eyes went, she had to give him kudos. It’d be a hard woman who turned down that gaze.

But Mel wasn’t about to let it get to her. Especially not when she still suspected that he was a spy from the Magic Council.
Didn’t she have to live with enough restrictions without the Magic Council pouncing in to check up on her every five minutes?

But if he
was
from the Magic Council, then she could make him buy something. At least then he’d have to fill in some paperwork for the expense. It was petty and pathetic, revenge, but in the absence of anything else, it would do.

‘How about a pack of angel cards, then?’ Mel suggested.

‘Yeah, okay.’

She went to the shelves that held a wide range of fortune cards and chose the most expensive pack. It also happened to be her favourite – the illustrations borrowed inspiration from medieval manuscripts. ‘Here, this one,’ she said, holding it out to Michael. Mel took great care to ensure their fingers didn’t touch.

‘Fine.’

Mel rang up the purchase at the counter and Michael handed over a credit card. A platinum credit card. In the name of Michael G. Harrison. As a spy, shouldn’t he be paying cash to avoid a paper trail?

‘I don’t believe it,’ Michael said under his breath.

While Mel had been ringing up the purchase, Michael had opened the pack of cards and chosen one that he now held between his thumb and forefinger, looking at it with disbelief.

‘What?’

He flipped the card around to show her.

The archangel, Michael.

‘I just chose a card at random. Seriously, what are the chances?’

‘It’s not about chance,’ Mel said.

Michael shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said again. ‘I mustn’t have shuffled them enough.’

‘What difference would shuffling have made? There’s only one Michael card in the deck.’

Michael flipped the pack over and began looking through it, card by card, as if trying to prove that it was stacked full of replicas.

Finally, he gave up. After a long sigh, he looked at Mel. ‘What does this card mean, again?’

‘It means you have to have courage. Michael is one of the most powerful angels of heaven. The card says that he’s on your side, to help you through whatever battle you face. It’s about finding the strength within yourself to overcome and move on.’

Michael didn’t look happy about that. ‘Crap.’

‘It’s actually a positive message.’

‘Yeah, I guess.’

He stood there for a moment, scuffing his feet, his bottom lip caught in his teeth. Then, finally, he spoke. ‘Listen, would you give me another reading? Talk to the . . . the
spirits
, or whatever?’

Mel took a step back. ‘No. No way.’

‘Please? I know I wasn’t a very good customer yesterday, but there was something . . .’ he trailed off.

Mel shook her head and cast around for any excuse she could muster. ‘I – I’m fully booked.’

Michael looked pointedly around the empty shop.

‘My . . . my next customer is due in thirty minutes,’ Mel invented on the spot.

‘Then you have thirty minutes.’

Damn
. ‘No. I was just about to close up for a while. I . . . I have to go buy some supplies.’

‘What kind of supplies?’