The Soother (5 page)

Satisfied she’d done all she could to banish the wizard from her home, Calliope quickly showered, then pulled on her hot pink tutu over black leggings. A snug black tee and high top sneakers completed her ensemble. A little finger action and pink streaks appeared in her hair. She slathered on the lip-gloss, dusted glitter powder over the stars around her eye, and deemed herself ready for the party.

Passing through the kitchen, she averted her eyes from the scene of the carnal crime and stepped onto her porch. The clearing spell had taken longer to process than she’d intended. Either that or her constant daydreaming breaks had sped up time. A moon that stood proud and nearly full in the star-studded black sky had replaced the sun. Calliope took a moment to pray to the goddess and offer her thanks before beginning her trek. She could have simply flashed into town, but she needed the time to clear her head. If the coven found out she’d had a Mistropan in her home …
Ack
. She didn’t know what they’d do. It simply wasn’t allowed. To do so was to knowingly invite trouble and chaos.

Guilt slapped her in the face and had her stumbling. Calliope caught herself before she hit the dirt, then rested against a tree and sucked in the clean night air. The wizard was gone. Chaos averted. No harm done. Except, though she had no explanation for it, a corner of her heart had chipped. Nothing could be done about that. The festivities would go on as planned, she would have a great time and never think of Krystoff again. Swiping one palm across the other, she wiped her slate clean and continued her journey.

As she drew close to the edge of town, club music and laughter had her pushing any lingering woes away. She was safe, and more importantly, her coven was unharmed. Glowing lanterns lit the rest of her journey and guided her into the center of town. Lammas wouldn’t fully kick in until tomorrow, but witches knew how to make a party last. By the looks of things, this one had been going strong for several hours. More than one witch had snagged a bench seat, seemingly to take in the views. More likely they’d over-intoxicated and could no longer stand. Calliope could relate. She vaguely remembered parking her butt on those same benches a year or twenty ago.

The fact that no men were allowed in the village during the holidays had Calliope feeling doubly guilty about harboring Charmer. That rule had been put in place centuries ago to shield the younger witches. Calliope understood that considering what had happened in her kitchen. She shook her head and let the jovial vibe of the village wash over her. Magickal sparks in every color imaginable lit up the sky as she snagged a drink from a floating tray. She used the decorative blue umbrella to stir the potent concoction, then threw it into the nearest trash receptacle. Even the garbage bins had been decorated with festive streamers and soft glowing lights.

A tap on her shoulder had her turning and smiling at one of her favorite witches. Isabelle, a fellow soother, though still too young to fully work her specialty magick, stood with her arms crossed over her chest and one eyebrow arching toward the sky.

“Where have you been, Calli?”

Calliope winked. “Here and there,” she said, looking right and then left. “But I’m here now.”

Isabelle pursed her lips and angled her head, sending long blonde curls bouncing over her shoulders.

“Indeed you are. But me thinks you’ve been up to something.” She tapped her foot and a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

Other than the color of her hair, Isabelle looked like a smaller version of Calliope, all the way down to her purple high-tops. Having an admirer was something to take seriously. Isabelle had been mimicking Calliope for years now, which was just one of the many reasons Calliope felt it important to walk a straight line.

Wrapping her arm around the young witch’s shoulder, she said, “Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t.” She bumped her hip to Isabelle’s and pulled her drink away when Isabelle reached for it. “Oh, no you don’t. You’ve got about a hundred years to go before you can handle this.”

“I’m not that young anymore. You just haven’t noticed.” Isabelle pouted, then squealed and danced away while shouting, “I love this song.”

Calliope downed her fruity drink in two swallows. She swayed to the heavy music while watching Isabelle join a group of other witches shimmying their way from one end of the street to the other. Isabelle was right. The young soother was growing up and Calliope still treated her like a witchling.

“I think Isabelle was right.”

Calliope winced and swirled on her heel. “Hello, Carrine.” One look told her everything. Thankfully, the drink tray still floated nearby. Calliope lunged and grabbed two glasses. The polite thing to do would be to offer Carrine one of the beverages. She didn’t. She’d need all the liquid courage she could get her hands on because Carrine knew her secret and Calliope was in a world of trouble.

• • •

Krystoff had gotten no more than thirty miles away before his feet had carried him back to Calliope’s house. More precisely, he’d walked in a circle, collecting his thoughts and considering his next move. Riona had always been fond of chess, and Krystoff refused to be the pawn. She and her army would be searching for him and the farther he was from Calliope and her coven the better. He knew that, yet here he was, feeling like a lost puppy in need of a good belly scratch.

Ultimately, he’d grown tired of his own company, and he blamed that on Calliope. They’d only had the briefest of conscious interaction, but he missed bantering with the witch, missed the way her moods shifted faster than a falling star in a meteor shower. He’d practically busted in her door, ready to battle it out. She hadn’t been there. Without Calliope to decorate the place, it seemed duller than he’d remembered. Either that, or he’d gone all Mary Poppins in the few hours they’d been apart. This new personality trait of his was one he wouldn’t be keeping. All he had to do was get her out of his system, and then he could get back to his life. Except, other than his vow of vengeance, there wasn’t much to get back to. Nonetheless …

When a frustrated moan came from the nearby woods, Krystoff flashed away from the house and followed the now-familiar sound. He found her easy enough. It would have been nearly impossible to miss the ballerina-gone-rock-star costume. Quite an interesting — and sexy — combination. With a grumpy stomp, Calliope kicked away from a tree, mumbling to herself. He followed her and her wandering thoughts straight to the edge of town. He hung back and watched, unable to take his eyes off her enchanting face. Even the carnival-esque fireworks couldn’t distract him. The skin of her neck tightened as she swallowed some neon-blue, fruity concoction. Krystoff ached to wrap his fingers gently around her neck and feel that strong pulse that hinted at so much power beneath the pretty wrapping. He’d taste the sweet drink on her lips and more than likely go back for seconds. Her attempts to mask her beauty with dark make-up and crazy clothing failed miserably. He’d never met a female more breathtaking.

A roar thundered in his head as his pulse raged through his body, desperate to dance with the blood of another. Not anyone would do. Calliope hungered him like no other. One taste would never be enough to satisfy his thirst. Like the driest desert, he needed more than the gods were willing to give. If he didn’t drink soon, he’d have to perform another blood ritual. In order to do that, he’d have to be alone and he simply could not get his feet to match his mind. His body desired Calliope more than it had ever desired another. Yes. Definitely his body and not his heart.

A witch with long, slick black hair approached his angel. Calliope’s unease was evident in the set of her jaw and the widening of her eyes. He almost intervened, but held still and wrapped the shadows more tightly around his body to remain hidden. She’d lived long before he’d come around. Surely, she could get herself away if need be. Yet, she didn’t pull away when the other witch latched on to her elbow and led her into an alcove between two small buildings. Snippets of their conversation drifted to his ears, but not nearly enough for Krystoff to get a lead on the content.

“You know better … ”

“I — ”

“What were you thinking, child?”

“It won’t happen again, Carrine.”

“There’s always a price. Always a … ”

“I’ll take care of it.”

So the long-haired witch was Carrine. He’d heard enough tales in his life to be wary, but this petite being was not what he had pictured. Though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Immense power came in all kinds of packages. No one knew precisely how old Carrine was, but ancient had never looked so good. When the time came to search out his soul, this witch would be someone he’d need to talk to. Word on the street was she collected souls, but opinions differed greatly on what she actually did with them.

Carrine turned away from Calliope and with elegance few carried, glided back to the main street. Calliope leaned against the building, closed her eyes and softly thumped her head against the brick wall. “Stupid.”

Unwilling to stand by and watch, Krystoff flashed to her and silently placed his palms on the wall, anticipating where her head would hit next. She connected with his hand, gasped, and just as he’d predicted, Calliope’s eyes shot open. One look at those blue gems and he knew exactly why he had come back.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Calliope. Whatever it is, it’s not worth it.”

He watched the different emotions flicker across her face. Surprise, anger, impatience and finally resignation. Even through all that, he caught a lingering glimpse of sexual awareness.
Welcome to the club, angel.
In the end, she hid everything but annoyance.

“Really?” she finally asked. “You think so little of yourself?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Well, you’re here. I assume since you stalk, you also eavesdrop. Considering Carrine and I were speaking about you … ” She shook her head, stifled a yawn. “You’re right. Not worth it.”

She hadn’t moved away. Krystoff wouldn’t mistake that for a good sign, especially since the tone of her voice reminded him of thin ice on the verge of cracking. A wiser man would tread carefully. Instead, he leaned in and tightened his muscles, expecting her to pounce or flee at any moment. Hiccups and laughter from the street warned him they weren’t alone. Krystoff released his shadows, pushing them away from his body to form a misty curtain. Any witches passing by would never be able to see them. The narrowing of Calliope’s eyes told him his tactics hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Yes, I heard a bit of your conversation with Carrine.” Krystoff shrugged and said, “I tried to respect your privacy.”

Calliope snorted. “I hadn’t taken you for a liar.”

He shrugged again. He seemed to be doing quite a lot of that lately. “Fine. I was listening, but I wasn’t close enough to hear everything.” This beautiful creature muddled his thoughts. He rubbed the back of his neck, and then dropped his arm to his side. “I sensed your frustration and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why?”

Any moment now he’d be sporting one major headache. “Why, what?” How had he ever thought bantering with this witch was enjoyable?

“Why do you care?”

He gave a mock pout. “It hurts me that you have to ask that question.”

“Doubtful,” she said. “I see you eyeing my neck. You’re simply here to get drunk.”

He smiled, cocked his head and purposely stared at her pulsing vein while pulling the cool shadows closer, tightening their cozy little hideaway. “Am I?”

“Yes.” She shook her head and blinked. “I know your kind.”

“Want to know what I think?” Krystoff wrapped his arms around her waist and supported her weight. Fatigue showed under her eyes and her voice had dropped to a whisper. She hadn’t been lying before. His shadows really did wreak havoc on her system. He could have pushed them away, given her more space, but he was thoroughly enjoying the feel of her feminine curves. Though Calliope fought the confinement of his embrace, her legs gave out and she slowly sagged against him with a sigh.

Bliss.

“Not really, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

She laid her cheek against his chest, her breaths slow and even. Krystoff kissed the top of her head, breathed in her unique scent of powder and wildflowers. “I think you’ve never met anyone like me and I intrigue the hell out of you.”

“Again,” she mumbled. “Not really.”

Krystoff chuckled. “Ah, but I do captivate you, angel. And I’m not the only one here who wants to get drunk.”

Riona traced a plump vein on the back of Eron’s right hand with her burgundy nail. Sensing his agitation, she sank the pointed tip deeper, drawing blood. Eron’s black eyes grew even darker until they appeared to be nothing more than two portals leading to a haunting abyss. Provoking him had become her new favorite activity, and she wasn’t bothered in the least when he pulled his hand away with a snarl. The distance only gave her a better view of his sculpted body. Riona had insisted he wear the leather breaches she’d purchased for him. The soft, supple hide conformed to his muscles deliciously. He’d squawked. She’d won. Oh, what a reward his backside was.

Sitting in a comfortable chariot on the outskirts of the witches hideously decorated village, Riona was anything but bored. Personally, she found the fireworks show not only romantic, but a prelude to destruction. The combination had her imagination running wild. Torture. Pleasure. Many times the two were interchangeable.

Eron had wanted to act immediately, but Riona preferred the anticipation of such an event. During the long trip, she’d imagined just how everything would take place, and since she was the one in charge, Eron would have to wait until she gave the word. Perhaps this was what had him so on edge. His emotional state was of no consequence to Riona. She and she alone ruled the Mistropans. He should feel privileged in the rank she allowed him to carry. And know that she could — and would — strip Eron of said rank with nothing more than a nod and a wave of her hand.

Riona slid a retractable telescope from the pocket of her voluminous skirt, pulled one end away from the other until she heard three clicks. She held the magnifier to her eye and scanned the expanse of the dark meadow that separated her from the witch festival. If it weren’t for the magickal sparks, she wouldn’t be able to see anything. There had been no sign of Krystoff earlier, or now, and she briefly wondered if he was still in the area. She’d find out soon enough. Even if he’d left, she’d destroy the witches anyway. They’d crossed her and could not go unpunished. Especially since those two bitches had made a fool of her in her own realm. Yes, the witches would go down. Then she’d find her son and make him pay for every mistake he’d ever made in his measly existence.