Magic by Moonlight (2 page)

“Well?” Kate asked, leaning back and
crossing her arms over her chest.

M. C. licked her lips. “Well. I need a place
to stay for a few days.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed and she suddenly looked
way less irritated at the unannounced visit. “Are you in some kind
of danger?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. I just need to hang
out until things cool down.”

“Left in a hurry, did you?” Kate eyed her
when she lifted her brows. “No luggage,” she explained.

M. C. shrugged. “You look like you were on
your way out. I didn’t mean to mess up your... er ... plans.” It
was Halloween. Probably crazy Kate’s biggest night of the year.

Kate tilted her head. “Samhain is important,
dear, but not as important as your safety. I’ll stay—”

“No way, Aunt Kate. I’m fine. Honest. Not a
soul in the world knows I’m here. You go on. I’ll curl up on the
couch and watch some TV. Maybe thumb through that old book of yours
and look for spells to turn bad guys into toads. You, uh...still
have it, don’t you?” As she said it her gaze strayed to the table
in the corner where the dusty tome lay open.

Kate touched her shoulder, drawing her gaze
back again. “The grimoire is not a toy, Mary Catherine. The spells
are powerful, particularly tonight. An amateur could cause a
complete disaster by making some simple mistake—particularly if she
were a neophyte with as much Pagan blood in her as you have.”

A little tingle danced up Mary Catherine’s
spine, but she only smiled at her aunt. “I was just kidding. Don’t
have a cow, okay?”

Kate studied her, her eyes probing, then
shook her head, making her dangling earrings—all six pairs—jangle
like bells. “If you want a spell of protection, darling, just ask.
I’ll take care of it for you.”

“You know I don’t believe in that stuff,” M.
C. said, her gaze straying to the book again.

Aunt Kate sighed. “You’re sure you’ll be
okay alone?”

“Sure. You go on. I’ll be fine. Really.”

Looking worried, Aunt Kate nodded and turned
toward the door.

“Hey,” M. C. called. “Aren’t you forgetting
your broom?”

Kate glared, but when M. C. sent her a wink,
she smiled instead, waved good night, and left her alone.

M. C. wandered the living room, flicked on
the TV, searched the channels. An old black-and-white version of
The Three Musketeers
was playing, and she watched that for a
while, but her gaze kept straying back to the dusty book on the
table. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to just peek?

No. She’d promised Aunt Kate.

Glancing back at the screen, she shook her
head in disgust. How could any man hope to hold his own in a fight
with those silly ruffles hanging from his sleeves? And those hats!
For crying out loud, were they supposed to look heroic with puffy
plumes jutting out of their hats? She decided the Musketeers must
have all been closet drag queens, and further judged she’d far
rather have her .38 in hand during a crisis than one of those
fragile-looking swords that seemed like they’d break in a strong
wind.

Despite the ridiculousness of the film,
though, she felt her heart twist a little when D’Artagnan leapt
between his lady fair and the evil villain, vowing to protect her
with his life.

Too bad heroes like that weren’t around
these days. She wouldn’t even mind the stupid hat.

The book called to her again, and this time
Mary Catherine got up and wandered over to it. She reached out to
touch it, drew her hand away, then reached out again and gently
flipped some pages. And she paused when she read, “Spell of
Protection.” The thing looked pretty simple. You were supposed to
be in a spot where the light of the moon fell on you, during its
first quarter. Light a white candle. Envision the protection in
whatever way worked for you—a bubble of white light or a strong
stone wall around your body were given as examples. Then, keeping
that thought in mind, you just repeated the invocation written on
the page.

Hmm.

Mary Catherine glanced sideways at the tall
window, and saw a thin beam of moonlight peeking between the heavy
velvet curtains. Hmm. She meandered over there and opened the
curtains, and sure enough the moonlight flooded the room. It wasn’t
a quarter moon. But wouldn’t a full moon be even better?

If
you believed in any of this
nonsense to begin with, which she did not.

She casually walked back to the table, where
the moonlight spilled brightly over her and the book. Two candles
sat there, one on either side of her aunt’s precious old grimoire.
One was pink and one was red. No white ones in sight. But a candle
was a candle, right? And a long wooden match was laid there just
begging to be lit. What the hell.

She struck the match and lit it, touching
its flame to both candles because, hey, two candles were better
than one.

She grinned. This was kind of a fun way to
spend Halloween.

Okay, next steps: envision protection, and
say the chant. She tried to imagine a bubble of white light
surrounding her, and then tried picturing a bulletproof wall. But
her mind kept straying back to that scene in the movie, where the
Musketeer had vowed to protect his lady with his life. Cornball
bunch of crap.

She read the words on the page, and heard
the clock singing backup to her chant by striking midnight.

Without warning, something exploded and a
ball of smoke enveloped her. Coughing, she waved it away, and
suddenly she had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t alone in the
room anymore.

Alexandre sat up and rubbed his head, eyes
closed tightly. He wasn’t certain what had happened. He’d been in
the midst of a minor skirmish, setting to rights an insult to the
king of France, when he’d heard a lady calling to him from afar.
Fair damsels in need of aid were nothing new to Alexandre. He was
sworn to protect the king, of course, but there were plenty of
Musketeers available to the king at all times. Alexandre often got
sidetracked protecting ladies in distress. He didn’t mind the task
at all, especially considering the delicious ways the fair maids
often expressed their gratitude. He must have been clubbed on the
head while distracted by the odd cadence of this particular lady’s
voice.

At any rate, he heard nothing of his enemies
now, and imagined they’d fled, as his opponents often did before
he’d finished with them. Clutching his rapier in one hand and
righting his chapeau with the other, he got to his feet and peered
through the odd smoke that surrounded him.

And then he went still and blinked in shock.
He was no longer in the Provençal village where he’d faced off
against the three ruffians only moments ago. He was inside a
chateau, and staring into the very wide and frightened eyes of a
beautiful—if oddly dressed—young woman.

He gave his head a shake and looked again.
She was still there. Frightened as if she were looking at a ghost.
Her eyes gleamed like dark sapphires in the moonlight, and her hair
was a delightful mass of raven curls he imagined would feel like
silk twined round his fingers. Never mind the odd clothing, or the
odd feeling in his head. A beautiful woman like this one certainly
took precedence over such trivial worries.

“
Bonjour, mademoiselle,”
he
whispered, quickly removing his chapeau with a flourish and bowing
deeply. Sheathing his sword, he gripped her small hand and drew it
to his lips. Ah, warm salty skin, and a telltale tremble. She liked
him already.

The hand in his jerked away fast. “Who the
hell are you?” the fair lady demanded. “Wha-what are you doing
here?”

He straightened, smoothed the luxurious
plume, and then replaced his hat. “So it is English you prefer,” he
said. “ ‘Tis well I speak it fluently. I am Alexandre, one of the
king’s finest Musketeers, my lady.”

“Get real,” she said. “You are not.”

“But I am.” He took a step closer. She
backed up, and it surprised him. “Do not fear me, pretty one. I
am... a bit disoriented, but believe me, I have only come to help
you.”

“He-help me?”

“
Oui, ma petite.
I heard you calling
out for help—a protector, a hero I believe you cried for.” He
rubbed his perfectly pointed beard with his fingers. “It is a bit
of a blur, but I do recall that much.”

She shook her head back and forth slowly,
taking another step away from him. “This is crazy. This is nuts.
You can’t be here; this can’t be happening.”

He shrugged, smiling to himself, quite
familiar with the power of his presence on females. “Many a lady
has been overwhelmed by my charm, little one. Do not be concerned.
It is not a dream,
ma belle.
I truly am here. At your
disposal.” He let his gaze stray lower, to her lips, which looked
full and tempting, and added, “Anything you need, pretty one, I
assure you, I can provide.” As he said it he moved closer.

The lady whipped a tiny weapon, which
vaguely resembled a black powder pistol, from somewhere beneath the
clothing she wore, and pointed it at him. “Don’t you come one step
closer, mister.”

Amused, he reached out to snatch the toy
from her hands. “What is this silly thing?” He gazed down the
barrel, fingers grazing the trigger. The lady lunged forward,
knocking the rounded end upward, away from his nose, just as the
small device exploded in his hands. He felt his chapeau sail from
his head and heard the looking glass behind him shatter. Alexandre
dropped the weapon to the floor. “
Mon
Dieu!”

“You nearly shot yourself, you idiot!” she
shouted. “Or did you?” Gripping his shoulders, she scanned his
face, hands running up and down his arms in a most familiar
fashion.

His fear faded quickly, and his notorious
smile returned. “Ah, do not fear for me, lady. I am unharmed.
But...eh...you may examine me further, if it would reassure you.”
He took advantage of her closeness to clasp her waist and pull her
tight to him.

She drew back and punched him in the jaw so
hard that Alexandre staggered backward and wound up landing on his
derriere. But he never stopped smiling at her. “So,” he said,
rubbing his jaw, “you are shy,
non?”
He retrieved his hat
from the floor, frowning at the neat round hole in the front of
it.

“I’m the farthest thing from shy, Al. Touch
me again, and you’ll wish I were.”

He was quite confused by her reluctance.
Never had any lady sought to withhold her favors from him. They
tended to swoon at a mere glance. But he’d already noticed this
one’s strangeness. Perhaps her mind was unbalanced. Pity. She was
truly magnificent. He shook his head, sighing in disappointment but
resigned to defeat. His first. Perhaps she’d come around yet, but
for the moment he sensed it might be best to stop trying. “Very
well,
ma chérie.
I will not touch you again. Until you
request it, at least.” He got suavely to his feet, smoothing one
hand over the long, wavy locks he wore and brushing at his
breeches.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Nonetheless, never let it be said that
Alexandre failed to come to the aid of a lady in need.”

“What I need is to know who does your hair.
Captain Hook?”

“Why were you calling for help?” he asked,
ignoring her puzzling question.

She looked at the floor, shook her head.
“This is unreal.”

“I can see you are greatly distressed. Has
some rogue insulted your honor, then? Shall I call him out, teach
him a lesson he will not soon forget?”

She closed her eyes and he noticed how thick
and dark her lashes were, resting upon her fair cheeks. “You’re the
one who’s gonna be distressed. I think I—I think I messed up.”

“It is understandable,
chérie.
You
are only a woman, after all.”

Her head came up, eyes narrow. “Watch it,
Al.”

“I am only saying that whatever is wrong, I
can make it right. So, tell me now, what has befallen you?”

“It’s what’s befallen you we have to worry
about,” she said.

He frowned at her. “I do not
understand.”

“Do they have witches where you come from,
Al?”

He lifted his brows.
“Oui,
but they
are not a problem. If they get out of hand, we simply hang them.”
Then he frowned. “You are not a witch, are you, lady?”

“No. Not...exactly. But...well, maybe you’d
better sit down.”

“If you wish it.” He tucked his damaged hat
under his arm and walked to the settee, but he didn’t sit until she
did. “Now,” he said, “tell Alexandre what troubles you...but first,
ma chérie,
tell me your name.”

She blinked. “Oh. It’s Mary Catherine
Hammersmith. But I go by M. C. Hammer. It’s...sort of a joke.”

“My lady Hammer,” he repeated, lowering his
head respectfully. “Now, why are you so troubled, eh?”

She looked decidedly sheepish. “I got into
trouble. I needed help. And I found this...old book...with a...an
incantation...”

“A witch’s spell?”

She nodded. “Right...a spell for protection.
And I said the words out loud...and I must have messed it up,
because the next thing I knew, you were here.”

He smiled slowly, and lifted a hand to
gently pat her head. “Poor Lady Hammer...you truly believe that you
have brought me here by witchery?”

“Oh. I’m pretty sure of it.”

“What makes you so sure, little one? Perhaps
I simply heard your lovely voice asking for protection, and
followed the sound to find you here.”

“Well, that wouldn’t have been possible, Al.
See, you...you sort of...traveled...through time.”

He studied her face. Poor, disturbed beauty.
Surely he could find a way to pull her from her delusions! He must.
She was entirely too beautiful to be a lunatic.

“You don’t believe me, do you? This is the
future, Al. The year is 2012.”