kate storm 04 - witches dont back down (7 page)

She usually dressed like a really classy dominatrix. Tonight she looked like she had just stepped off the cover page of a 1970s fashion magazine.

Frankly, it didn't matter what Morgan wore. She was drop dead gorgeous. Period.

Even the movements of her body were graceful and sexy. Like love sonnets being read aloud in a rich Irish brogue. Morgan moved like poetry in motion, sensuous and rich and it made the breath catch in the back of your throat.

She held up two bottles of some sort of bourbon. "I went to Kentucky to get these." She tilted her head towards Drake walking close behind her. "Mr. Connoisseur here had to make a special trip to get his bourbon."

They'd brought
four
bottles of bourbon? I motioned them into the living room where Ash had moved the kitchen table. Al sat in the middle of the table.

My Chihuahua was going to be smashed by the time we got home.

"Trust me, my love, this will be worth the trip I made." Drake smiled at Morgan and winked at me. I caught a brief glimpse of fang.

Drake was the perfect match for Morgan. He stood several inches taller than her and his coloring was similar with the pale skin and green eyes. But where Morgan had sunset curls, Drake had hair so black I could see hints of blue on occasion. He moved with the masculine equivalent of Morgan's female grace.

Physically they complimented each other. Emotionally they perfected one another.

As perfect as Morgan is physically, emotionally she has scars. Some raw, some scabbed and hardened over. The majority of them can be laid straight at Morgause's feet.

Drake softened those rough spots. He filled in her holes. He treasured her and Morgan adored him.

Drake set his two bottles of bourbon down. I didn't recognize either label. Not a big surprise as I don't drink bourbon, but I knew they were old and probably expensive. Like they should be in a museum expensive. I could see a cobweb dangling from the top of one bottle. I didn't even want to know where he had unearthed them.

"I can't wait to try these two." Al walked over and sniffed one of the bottles. And promptly sneezed.

I eyed the bottles, nudged Morgan and whispered. "Are you sure they're safe to drink?"

Maybe I needed to be more concerned about Al being poisoned instead of getting drunk.

"Pretty sure."

I glared at her. Morgan laughed. "Don't worry, Chickie. Al will be safe. I'd never let anything happen to him."

I did know that.

Morgan loved Al almost as much as I did.

She smiled. Beautiful and teasing and almost perfect. Except for the shadows in her emerald eyes. They were growing darker all the time.

Morgan and I didn’t talk about it, but we both felt the ticking clock of Morgause moving closer and closer all the time. I could see it in her eyes every time I looked at her. And I knew Morgan could see it in my eyes as well.

"Did ya bring the photos?" Al tilted his head to look up at Morgan.

"I bookmarked the pages in my phone." Morgan leaned over and unsnapped an outer pocket at the top of her boots. I hadn't even noticed it. She pulled out her phone.

"What photos?" I moved so I could see what they were talking about.

"Al and I were thinking of getting our own karaoke machine. I've been researching different models."

I froze. A karaoke machine? One that didn't reside in a bar, but they had access to all the time?

Oh Sweet Glinda. The horror.

Ash stepped into the living room. "Hi, Morgan. Drake." He held out his hand and they shook. "Kate, are you ready?"

I said my goodbyes over my shoulder as I hustled down the hall. I didn't even wait for Ash.

Next thing I knew, they'd be planning karaoke nights at my place.

"Kate, have you thought some more about Friday night? I could pick you up at sunset."

I pretended I didn't hear Morgan and almost ran down the front stairs.

****

Ash opened the door to
Spike's
and ushered me through.

Spike's
is a typical bar. A few windows, neon signs in those windows, tables and chairs scattered around inside and a long L-shaped bar with stools lined up. Behind the bar there were the usual display of alcohol bottles.

It was still early, which meant there was a decent crowd, casually dressed and casually chatting.

It suited the after-work crowd perfectly. The music was mellow and so was the clientele.

Around ten every night the bar changed. The after-work crowd went home and the late-night group came out. And they all wore spiked accessories of some sort.

It was almost a rule.

I'd never figured out if Spike, the owner, had somehow arranged it to happen that way or if he'd just seen an opportunity and taken advantage.

Either way, his business savvy impressed me.

At ten, the display of alcohol bottles opened up to reveal various leather and spiked accessories for sale: wrist cuffs, necklaces, bandanas, belts and jewelry. The music changed and took on a heavier and rougher beat and so did the later crowd.

Depending on what time we came to
Spike's
, I dressed accordingly. Tonight I had on my usual biker boots, jeans and a beautiful dark blue stretchy top that managed to hug my breasts without hugging my stomach. I had two spiked, leather cuffs in my purse in case we stayed later.

Ash had on his typical biker boots, leather pants and leather vest in dark gray. His head wrap was also dark gray. He looked like he fit in better with the later crowd, but no one ever complained to Ash about the way he dressed. Most people crossed the street to avoid him. His physical size alone is intimidating. And once you toss in the scars, the bulging muscles on prominent display and the don't-fuck-with-me attitude, it added up to one formidable package.

I loved Ash's package. His whole package.

Our table was easy to spot. There was a white piece of paper, folded on top, letting everyone know not to sit there. Literally the sign said, "Do Not Sit Here." I figured Spike had written the sign. He says exactly what he means. I figured the single white rose in the beer bottle was Sandra's work. She's a total romantic.

When Sandra first hired me to find her a match, I'd been somewhat shocked. Sandra is gorgeous. Perfect blonde hair, perfect blue eyes, perfect body. And a killer sense of style. When I first met her she was crazy coordinated. Her purse would match her belt and her shoes. Barbie in the flesh. I'd been a little intimidated. And I'd gone through several potential matches without finding a single one that was right for her.

Until I met Spike Harrison.

Every time I saw them together, I felt the same bone deep satisfaction I'd felt the first time I'd introduced them.

They were perfect for each other. Opposites in so many ways and yet they fit together better than pieces of a puzzle.

Seeing his sign and her rose made me smile. Different shaped puzzle pieces that made up a wonderful whole.

Ash pulled out my chair for me.

It wasn't just a date night thing. Ash is a very courteous demon. And I'm a very appreciative witch. So it all works.

Ash ordered us both a beer then leaned forward and caught my hand in between his much larger ones.

"You look beautiful," He said, amber eyes roaming over me from my riotous curls to my significant cleavage.

He meant it, too.

Ash isn't a demon to say things lightly.

When he looked at me, he didn't see a mess of curls that resisted any attempt at control or style. He didn't see excess weight. Or a half-breed that didn't quite fit in to one community or another.

Ash somehow saw me. The heart of me.

The witch that believed in love despite being cursed to Fail in Love. The hopeless romantic who refused to give up or give in. The loyal witch.

I'm a lot of things. Good. Bad. Insecure. Determined.

Before Ash, when I'd thought about myself, the parts that made up my whole, I'd always found something lacking.

Cursed. Half-bred. Mortal.

Parts that never seemed to fit together well. Leaving gaps. Large gaps. I couldn't ever be a solid whole. I was always slightly broken. I was always less.

Ash never saw me as less. Not once.

From the moment our eyes had met, he'd seen more than I'd ever been able to. More than I thought was actually possible.

Somehow, Ash has always seen me as more. Period. Not less. I wasn't just this or that, I was both. Unique. And special.

"You look very handsome yourself." I used my free hand to cup Ash's left cheek when he started to turn away.

Ash rarely acknowledges his scars. He ignores them.

The moment our eyes had met for that first time, I hadn't seen them either. I'd been caught up in his eyes. In what I saw in them. In what they made me feel.

When I had finally been able to see beyond the tractor beam pull of his gaze, and I could see the angles and planes and scars that structured Ash's face, I'd been torn. I love scars. I find them fascinating. They don't bother me.

I wanted to caress them and yet at the same time I wanted to place myself in front of him and brandish my wand like a sword.

Not that Ash needs anyone to defend him. He's quite capable of hacking any threat to bits.

I got that.

In the beginning I thought Ash truly wasn't bothered by his scars.

Until I touched them for the first time. And I realized I was the only person he'd let touch them.

Ash saw his scars as a weakness.

I saw them as a strength. He'd endured horrible pain and he'd come out on top.

We both saw things in each other we ourselves were not capable of seeing.

It confused me at the start until I finally understood it was part of love.

Love makes you stronger. There is a power in it. A magic all on its own.

Ash turned back to me. He tightened his grip on my hand. And I saw in his eyes what I was feeling.

"We're going to make this work, Kate."

Morgause. The Curse. His sin. We had so many things against us. The unknowns weighed on both of us.

But we were determined to find a way to make things work. To make us work. To have our happy ending.

Because we fit together perfectly. I couldn't have created a better match for myself than Ash.

Together we were both more.

8. Research and Information.

I went in to work early the next morning. Ash and I hadn't stayed out late. We'd held hands and danced and generally acted like a typical witch and demon on a date. We tried to get as much loving in as we could. Just in case. But then I'd started to worry about the four bottles of bourbon and the karaoke machine.

My worries about the bourbon had been well founded. All three of them were drunk. Drake's bottle had been a big hit. Luckily, they'd been too intoxicated to concentrate on anything else. I'd had to cast a sobering spell so Morgan and Drake could leave and drive home safely. And I'd managed to put off an answer to Friday night.

This morning I'd woken up with the dreadful feeling my clock was ticking down. Fast. Ash and I were running out of time.

If there is one thing my family history has taught me, it's never to turn my back on my super scary aunt. Morgause had stabbed at least three of her sisters and several cousins in the back. I think she felt it was some sort of poetic justice. I thought it was cowardly and evil. And since I had absolutely no idea where my aunt lived, the possibility remained for my own back-stabbing.

When Ash had set up his original deal with Morgause, they'd done so through neutral portals. It's the HC version of turning off GPS and removing caller ID.

Neither Ash nor Morgause were aware of the exact location of the other.

It suited them both at the time.

Now it meant we were back at square one.

Morgause is able to hide her location with black magic. I've had zilch luck in finding even a trace of her. However, my luck is not all bad.

I know. I know. It shocked me, too.

Turns out, my town of Dominion has its own barrier. A sort of natural immunity against magic and supernatural powers. The magic and powers all work just fine, both inside the town limits and outside. But there is some sort of organic field surrounding Dominion. If you're using magic to search for someone, Dominion doesn't exist.

I'd explain it better, but I failed geographical magic. The Bermuda Triangle is as much of a mystery to me as it is to the next Witch Academy drop out. It all has to do with magnetic fields, polar anomalies, methane hydrates and, of course, aliens.

I'm positive my mom could have explained it. And I'd bet my broom it was the reason she chose Dominion to settle down in.

I had a general plan in mind when it came to Morgause.

1) Find her. 2) Attempt to reason with her. They say dwelling on and actively seeking out revenge is not good for the soul. I say I want to live and let bygones be bygones. We're talking centuries of bygones at this point. 3) If the previous step in my plan didn't work then I needed to kill her before she killed me.

That last step is my final resort. Issues with Lana Jacobs aside, I really am a nice witch. I prefer to nourish life. Not extinguish it.

At the same time, I am not about to let some crazy relative kill me or Morgan or my Aunt Tabitha. Certainly not my Chihuahua.

But I had a couple hurdles in my way: 1) I had no idea where Morgause was living. And 2) I didn't think I could kill her.

I'm not talking about a lack of spine. I've been up against bad vampires wanting to kill me before. Let's just say I'm here and Ivan is not and leave it at that.

I am talking about the actual ability to kill. Morgause uses black magic. I didn't know of any way to defeat black magic except with black magic.

Did I want to tarnish my soul in order to live?

Some might say I'd be alive and that's what counts, but you can't undo certain things.

All magic takes a toll on a witch. It's nature's way of keeping things in balance. Otherwise there would be widespread use of uncontrolled magic.

Every spell cast uses energy of some sort, and the bigger the spell, the larger the toll. It could be as simple as moving a freckle around. Or it could be much more significant.