Текст книги "Lost Souls"

Автор книги: Delilah Devlin

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

7

“Are you planning a summer wedding? Or early fall? Keep in mind I can only provide monarchs through November.”

Sam shot a glare at Cait, who’d been smiling like a giddy bride since the moment they’d arrived at the Paradise Butterfly Farm—or at least like she imagined a giddy bride might smile.

On Cait, the forced excitement looked strangely maniacal. The vision wasn’t helped by the quick transformation she’d made in the car while driving there. Her long curly hair was confined to a high ponytail. She’d bitten her lips and pinched her pale cheeks to make them pink since she didn’t carry a handbag with cosmetics. The vacant stare and vapid smile wouldn’t have looked amiss on a blonde. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cait said, twirling the end of her ponytail. “I’m not feeling it. Do you have anything rare? Something really special?”

Mrs. Edelstein’s polite smile faltered. “The silver gulfs have a shorter season, but they would cost you more.”

No doubt she’d eyed Cait’s well-worn jeans and plain black tank and figured she was the one marrying up. Maybe Mrs. Edelstein figured her daddy’s bank account wouldn’t cover the expense of a butterfly release.

“I meant, do you have any truly rare butterflies here at all? I’ve been fascinated with butterflies ever since the idea popped into my mind.”

Mrs. E’s lips tightened just a little more, revealing a hint of annoyance.

Sam didn’t blame her. She hadn’t expected customers to arrive this late in the day. Cait’s wheedling pleas and hint that she needed “masses and masses” of butterflies to celebrate her wedding had convinced the woman to stay open long enough for them to make the twenty-minute drive to the outskirts of the city, where her “farm” sat on three acres of forested land.

Middle-aged and with unnaturally dark brown hair and a stout figure, Mrs. E, as she’d told them she preferred to be called, caved beneath the bright expectancy and stubborn charm of “Caitydid Migelo.” Her sigh gave away her surrender.

“The rare ones aren’t for release, dear. But if you’d like to see the butterfly house, I have some endangered species there. I don’t get many folks interested in seeing my treasures, other than the odd collector, and I won’t sell to them only to have their desiccated little bodies displayed on a wall like some trophy.”

“That’s so sweet of you!” Cait said, her expression wide-eyed, admiring. “Could I see those before we make our decision about which butterflies we’d like to have released during our nuptials?”

Nuptials? He’d never heard Cait use that word before. It made him shiver with dread. And what was she up to? The woman had tons of bugs. She’d never miss one from those swarming the monarch shed.

As Mrs. E turned on the beaten path to lead the way, Sam mouthed, What are you doing?

Cait lifted her shoulders. Go with it.

Mrs. E led them through another deeply wooded trail in her large backyard, toward a plastic-wrapped domed greenhouse. “It’s such a thrill to have visitors. Most of my business is conducted via the Internet these days.”

Cait tugged her hand free and skipped behind the older woman, her hair bobbing behind her. She tossed a smile over her shoulder and gave Sam a wink.

He couldn’t help but smile at her antics.

“I had no idea so many people were ordering butterflies for their weddings,” Cait jabbered on. “But when Aunt Celeste mentioned there were local breeders, I had to come see. I can’t imagine anything more appropriate for a wedding.”

Mrs. E nodded. “Yes, a caterpillar leaving its chrysalis to fly free… The change is so very symbolic of new life, isn’t it? Although butterflies are becoming the rage at funerals these days too.”

Sam shook his head at the nonsense. The thought of the type of wedding or funeral where butterflies flying out of boxes would be appropriate made him itch.

Cait had been far more sensible when they’d decided to marry. A service at City Hall with a judge had taken all of fifteen minutes. The only thing either of them had wanted to savor was the wedding night.

“You’re so very lucky you came today,” Mrs. E said, pausing at the door of yet another shed. “I found a Hessel’s hairstreak nectaring on an Amelanchier today. I bought an Atlantic white cedar, that’s the hairstreak’s host tree, and planted it years ago, hoping it would thrive so that I could see this day.”

“It’s that rare?” Cait said, her excitement unfeigned.

Mrs. E unlocked the rickety plastic door and pushed it open. “On the endangered species list, my dear. Just wait until you see it.”

As they entered, Sam blew out a breath, worried because Cait’s expression had lost its giddy vacancy for a split second.

Her eyes narrowed as her gaze flitted about, looking for her quarry. “What’s a hairstreak look like? I’m assuming that’s a butterfly, or is it a moth?”

“A butterfly. Minty green and brown. Ahhh. Here he is.”

The woman stood with her hands clasped in delight beside a butterfly “nectaring” on a white flower.

Sam eyed it, wondering about the fuss but admitting it was pretty. Mostly vivid green, the insect had white spots on its forewings, a dashed white line on its hindwings, and a rim of brown and black along the edges of its delicate larger wings.

“She’s perfect,” Cait whispered.

With his stomach sinking to his toes, he watched as Cait pulled her phone surreptitiously from her pocket and held it to the side while she tapped the screen.

A telephone rang in the distance.

Mrs. E turned toward the distant sound. “Oh my. That might be another customer. If you would come with me…”

Cait’s expression fell. Disappointment shone in her puppy-like eyes. “Can we stay here while you answer your call?” she asked, the wheedling note reentering her voice. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful, the ambience I need to convince my fiancé that butterflies are just the thing we need to finish off our wedding plans.”

The woman’s gaze darted to her precious butterfly, her smile slipping. “Well, if you promise not to touch a thing. I won’t be a moment.”

Cait smiled, her gaze following the woman until she left through the plastic door. Then she whipped her head toward Sam. “Quick, your coffee cup.”

Sam shook his head. “Cait, why not ask her for one of the monarchs? She has hundreds.”

She pulled a mulish face. “Because this butterfly has to be special.”

“It has to be endangered?”

“It’s the most special one here.” She stomped her foot. “Now give me that cup.”

Still in bride mode. He thought maybe the wedding thing had gone a little too far because she was acting like a bridezilla. But he handed her the cup. She was the witch. She knew what kind of butterfly she needed to summon the spirit of Sylvia Reyes.

She popped the lid and stepped off the path next to the tree. Then she lifted the cup over the butterfly, still munching happily away. But the moment she dropped the cup, the butterfly fluttered off. “Shit. Help me, Sam. Don’t let that butterfly get away!”

Sam started to lift his hands to tell her she was on her own, but her eyebrows dropped and she gave him that hundred-yard bridezilla stare guaranteed to scare the piss out of any red-blooded man.

And oddly, that look produced a feeling inside him, one that curdled his insides and made him start to sweat. “Honey, what do you want me to do?” he found himself saying automatically.

Cait hopped back onto the path and passed him the cup and lid. “Catch it! We have to get him before she comes back.”

Sam tucked the lid into his pants pocket and then followed her wild gaze as she scanned the greenhouse. He spotted the green butterfly fluttering on the branch of the stunted tree. “There,” he said, pointing, and then he leapt forward, the Styrofoam cup raised. He slowed once he neared the bug.

“Don’t let him get away. And don’t hurt him.”

“Shush,” he whispered.

“Like he can hear you?” she snarled. “Do butterflies even have ears?”

“Why am I suddenly wishing I was green and had wings?” Sam muttered. He stared down at the butterfly as its wings fluttered twice and its skinny little legs repositioned until it stared directly back at Sam. His heartbeat slowed, his eyes strained, unblinking as he brought the cup nearer.

“She’s coming back,” Cait hissed.

“Lord, fuck a duck,” he muttered and clapped the cup over the branch, trapping the butterfly.

A door rattled in the distance. “Miss Migelo? Yoohoo, I’m back. Um, what are you doing?”

Sam cursed, scooped his hand under the cup and turned, sure he’d just gotten caught, but his gaze snagged on Cait, who was sitting, holding banana slices while half a dozen butterflies swarmed her fingers.

He clipped the lid in place and then hid the cup behind him as he stepped back onto the path. “Honey, we have to go. Aunt Celeste is expecting us for dinner.”

“Do we have to?” she whined, but then her eyes nearly crossed as a plain brown-and-black butterfly flitted to the top of her head.

“Will you be placing an order today?” Mrs. E asked, her voice sounding strained.

“We’ll get back to you,” Sam said. “But thanks so much for your time and for sharing this,” he said, spreading his hands, forgetting about the cup in his hand for a second and wondering if the woman could hear the soft thuds of the butterfly trying to escape its confines.

Sam reached down with his free hand and hauled Cait to her feet. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist to propel her toward the door.

“Just give me a ring,” Mrs. E called after them. “And you can order directly from the website.”

Outside and heading at a swift clip toward the gate, Sam didn’t dare glance back. “Seriously, Cait?” he huffed. “You had to steal her pride and joy?”

“It’s not like I’m going to pluck its wings,” she groused.

Relief had him slowing his steps. Good Lord. He’d been worrying about a bug?

“Trying to return it will be troublesome,” Cait said softly.

Sam gave her waist a squeeze. “I’ll have a uniform drop it by. Say it was found by a concerned citizen.”

Cait laughed and glanced up from beneath her lashes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so nervous. All that talk about weddings had you sweating.”

“I wasn’t nervous,” he said, his voice gruff. “Just in a hurry.”

“Sure you were.”

He helped her into the car, handing her the cup to hold while he backed out of the driveway. The trip to Celeste’s took a good thirty minutes due to drivers heading home from work.

The moment they pulled up, Celeste turned the CLOSED sign in the window. “I have da ingredients prepared. You have da butterfly?”

“The rarest I could find,” Cait said, holding up the cup. “Endangered, even.”

Celeste clucked her tongue. “Will make a powerful spell. Shall I steep da wings in boilin’ water?”

“No!” both he and Cait shouted. They shared a sheepish glance.

“Um, all I need are scales,” Cait said, reaching up to tug the rubber band from her hair. “Not so much he won’t be able to fly. He’s a living creature. Wouldn’t want to anger a goddess at this point.”

“Uh-huh,” Celeste said, eyeing them both. “It’s a bug. Not a metaphor for your love life.”

Sam’s jaw sagged.

“Who you t’ink gave her da idea to pretend ta be a bride? Not the first idea dat came to her mind. She wanted ta be a collector.”

Cait’s cheeks burned as she hugged the Styrofoam against her chest. “We’ll take everything home with us. I’ll mix it when the moon’s full. It’ll give the ink a little extra punch.”

Celeste eyed her doubtfully. “You don’ need help?”

“This one I can manage. It’s something I helped my mother make. I remember everything.”

Celeste gave her a grave nod. “Let me bottle up da steeped saffron. Be right back.”

Sam waited until Celeste disappeared and then grabbed her wrist to pull her close. “You were pretty convincing back there,” he drawled, looking down into her wide green eyes.

Cait sniffed. “I’ve watched Bridesmaids. I know the secret code.”

He gave an exaggerated shiver. “I’m glad you’re not really like that. Your act was kind of scary.”

Her soft grunt was pure Cait. “Scarier than me going ninja on a demon’s ass?”

“Uh, I get your point.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and then spread wide. Her fingers walked up the buttons of his shirt. “Do you know your voice was higher when you were calling me ‘honey’?”

“Felt like my balls were in a vise,” he growled. “But it was kind of fun. You can play a giddy bride to my whipped fiancé anytime,” he said, knowing he flirted with danger but unable to resist this playful side of Cait.

“You were pretty convincing yourself, Detective. Maybe you should consider undercover work.”

“Huh” came a soft huff beside them.

Sam raised his head to find Celeste standing there, her dark brows raised high. “Now I know why you’re bot’ so eager ta get home.”

Cait laughed and pulled from his embrace.

“Saffron and gum arabic are in da bag,” Celeste said, handing her a small hemp sack with the drawstring loosened. “And som’tin’ for when you two are alone.” Her full bottom lip pushed out. Amusement gleamed in her large dark eyes.

Cait’s gaze widened, and she peeked into the bag. “An apple?”

“A golden apple. You so fond of Greek goddesses, you ask Aphrodite for her blessings.” Her chin pointed toward Sam. “Den have him take a bite.”

Cait whispered back harshly, “I don’t need that kind of help. And we don’t need to be discussing it with him standing right there.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

“Sure you do. He’s already mad for you, chère,” she said, tapping her finger under Cait’s chin. “But it never hurts ta give him anot’er nudge.” Celeste winked then went to the window to turn her sign.

At the car, Sam glanced back at the shop just as a customer entered. “Why is the store always empty when we go there?”

“Guess it must be magic,” Cait drawled as she slid into the vehicle.

Sam closed his own door and then shot a glance her way. “Do I have to ask about the apple?”

“It’s yellow. Not gold.”

He arched a brow. “And?”

“Do you know who Aphrodite was?”

Sam shrugged as he pulled into traffic. “Some Greek goddess? Was she the warrior?”

“Nope.” But her sigh was one of pure relief.

Sam made a note to Google Aphrodite and golden apples. “She’s right, you know,” he said, watching her from the corner of his eye. “I am mad for you, Cait.”

Her chest rose around a deep inhalation. Sam had said he loved her a few times, usually when they thought they were about to die or he was sated with sex. She deserved better from him. “You heard that?”

“She wasn’t whispering,” he said, giving her a wry smile.

“Hmm.” Cait turned away and fisted her hand at her side. “Yes,” came a quiet, but emphatic hiss.

Sam couldn’t help the deep chuckle or the urge to reach across the seat and capture her hand. Without saying another word, he drove on.

Her stomach growled. “Think we can drop the bag and the butterfly at my apartment and grab a bite? Morin forgot to feed me.”

“Have to wait for the full moon anyway, right?” Sam flipped the turn signal. “Sure. O’Malley’s?”

“We’ll kill two birds. We need to catch up with Jason.”

Sam nodded, then realized it was the first time the mention of O’Malley’s didn’t make his stomach tighten in rejection. So, the place was a bar. They served booze. But so far, Cait had held strong. He wondered if she still felt the urge to drown the voices with a bottle, but was afraid to ask in case the question got her thinking he wasn’t ready to start trusting her.

Morin’s words came back to him. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He was sure Morin hadn’t mentioned his trust issues because he wanted to help their relationship. But the mention did get Sam thinking that maybe it was time he tried a little harder.

Or was he holding on to his distrust for another reason? Did he want an excuse to guard himself against the pain if they didn’t work out?

Sam didn’t like to think he was a coward. But the last time they’d broken up, he’d been driven to his knees with sorrow and anger. That was before he’d learned she had reasons for hitting the bottle in the first place, although she’d only mentioned one. The whispers of ever-present spirits couldn’t be the only thing she wanted to escape.

Sam slammed the car door closed and met Cait’s questioning glance across the top of the car. Pasting on a half-smile, he circled the car and held up his elbow. “Can’t have anyone thinking Miss Migelo didn’t land herself quite a catch.”

8

Cait entered O’Malley’s and drew in a deep breath through her nose. All the familiar scents assailed her, the most prominent being alcohol. How she loved this place. Loved the feeling that swept through her when she entered. Here, she felt safe. Cocooned from sorrow and her problems. There was always a smiling face to greet her, even if it was only Pauly happy to serve her a drink.

Pauly gave her a small wave, perhaps holding his enthusiasm because of Sam. He was well aware she’d “taken the pledge” since renewing her working and personal relationship with her ex.

And Sam wasn’t a fan. Too many times he’d lit a fire under Pauly’s ass for continuing to serve Cait past the point she could walk a straight line out the door. Not that Pauly was to blame. She’d liked getting shit-faced. She was a grown woman and had made her own choices. Or so she’d said.

Tonight, she wasn’t so sure she’d ever been the one in charge. Not with the irresistible sour odor of scotch wafting in the air. Her mouth watered.

“What’s your poison tonight?” Pauly asked as they drew near.

“Cokes,” she blurted before Sam had the chance to order for her. Her stomach growled. “And could we have some fish and chips?”

Pauly gave her a smile. “Glad to see you both,” he said, lifting his chin to the opposite side of the tavern’s crowded floor. “I’ll bring everything to the table. Your partner’s already there.”

Cait’s gaze whipped around, and she spotted Jason raising a glass of dark beer from across the room.

Sam’s hand guided her through the tables, and then he stood to the side as she slipped across the leather bench.

Jason grinned at Sam. “I see you found our escapee.” Then he leaned toward Cait. “How’d your day go?”

“Fine.” Cait cleared her throat, wondering where to start. “We got some workable intel from Morin.”

Jason arched a brow.

Sam shook his head. “She’s going to do a spell to summon Sylvia Reyes’s spirit.”

Cait gave Sam a quelling glare. “Way to jump right in.”

“So just another day, I see.” Jason made a face and nodded.

Cait eyed Jason. As always, his shirt was perfectly pressed, his blond hair smooth. The only time she’d seen him anything but dapper was after a wraith flung him around like a life-sized rag doll. She flashed him a quick grin. “Your fingers little nubs?”

He held up both hands. “Not so nubby, but I have a headache from staring at the damn screen. Why is it you always get the most exciting jobs?”

“Because I’m special.” Cait tilted her head.

“Oh, you’re special, all right,” Jason said, then took another gulp of beer. “So, what did your trip to the mage get ya?”

Cait filled him in on what she’d learned about the kinds of monsters they were facing, not sugarcoating the dangers.

“Really think the incubus might be that creep Clayton?”

“Or one of his cronies,” Cait muttered. “Just because he’s the mouth doesn’t mean he does the thinking.”

Sam nodded. “Mina seems a lot sharper than she likes to let on.”

“So we’re going to pull them into the investigation.” Jason leaned back and sighed. “Gonna share everything we know? Give them warning just in case they meet the demon in the walls?”

Sam and Cait shared a glance.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. How do you want to play it, Cait?”

Her brows waggled. “Given I’m so good at playing a role, huh?” she said, dropping her voice to a sultry purr.

“TMI, guys,” Jason groaned. “I don’t need to know Sam dresses up as Superman or that you have a French maid’s costume in the closet.”

Cait shook her head slowly. “Seriously? That’s the first thing you thought of?”

Jason’s face turned red. “Maybe I should tell you what I learned.”

Cait leaned toward Sam. “He’s changing the subject.”

“Let it drop, Cait,” Sam said, his voice deepening. “Some secrets are only need-to-know.”

Cait’s jaw dropped. “You told a joke? And a good one?”

He grimaced. “I’m not without a sense of humor.”

“No, Mr. Ex-Marine. You were born without a funny bone.”

“I love it when you two coo like lovebirds,” Jason said, a smile splitting his face, “but I really do have some information to share.”

Sam and Cait turned toward Jason, smiles fading.

“What did you find out?” she asked.

Jason tapped the table. “First, I checked with the medical examiner. Although Sylvia’s body was pretty dried out, he believes she died from the trauma of having her internal organs ripped out. Postmortem, her bones were methodically broken to make her fit into the space between the walls. He thinks it was done with a hammer because some appeared nearly pulverized, but he couldn’t actually find any rounded indentions in the bones to prove it.”

Cait wrinkled her nose. “Not sure how knowing that will be helpful, and I certainly didn’t want that picture in my mind. What did your Internet search turn up?”

Jason leaned forward. “There are more bodies to be found. That’s a certainty. The Deluxe has been the center of several missing persons investigations, going back to the early eighties. But there’s never been a single shred of evidence found. Not until they dug Sylvia out of the wall.

“And our ol’ bud, Oscar Reyes?” Jason snorted. “He’s been busted a couple of times for battery. He’s not shy about using his fists when someone pisses him off. Last time he was convicted of beating up a girlfriend. Another ex-hooker. Guess he thinks if he saves them, they’re his to treat however he pleases.”

“Nice guy,” Sam murmured. “So it’s possible Oscar might have something to do with Sylvia’s death. But I can’t see him being the incubus.”

Cait turned to meet Sam’s worried gaze. “But he might have met him. Maybe he’s the one who put the incubus onto Sylvia. If we can figure out the incubus’s hunting grounds, we can figure out whether Oscar had a hand in all this.”

Sam nodded, running a hand over his chin.

Cait heard the chafe of his five o’clock shadow. Sexy. Maybe her expression had turned dreamy because Sam’s gaze sparkled as he continued.

“I’m sure Leland would appreciate having someone human to pin this on.”

Cait blew out a deep breath and leaned back against the leather-upholstered seat. “I was so hoping it was a completely demon thing. Oscar really gives me the creeps.”

Both men gave her disbelieving stares.

“Yeah, I said it. Oscar’s a sleazebag. He hired us to find proof of his wife’s infidelity when he had it right in his hands. He’s the kind of guy who would take it out on her flesh himself—unless he found an easier way of disposing of her. Something more painful. And note this,” she said tapping the table for emphasis, “we haven’t heard a word from him since this all went down. I would have thought a grieving husband would be on the phone that night to hear what we found out.”

Sam nodded, his gaze turning to the window as though lost in thought. “He already knew she’d be dead.” He shook his head, his lips tightening. “I’ll have Oscar hauled in for questioning in the morning.”

“You need to do the questioning,” Cait said, turning her body toward Sam. “Your homicide buddies won’t have a clue what to ask. Can you handle it on your own?”

He grunted and slouched in the chair. “You think I don’t know how to conduct an interrogation?”

“It’s not that. I want to get with the Reel PIs guys as soon as possible. Since I’m Teflon-coated now, you don’t have to worry about me getting zapped.”

“And being pulled back in time and pushed into a wall isn’t something to worry about?”

She cocked her head. “I don’t think I’ll be that vulnerable again.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Careful. Jason’s gonna think you’re the one who wears the cape.”

“Which would put you in the black skirt,” she said, smiling.

The sound of a throat clearing beside them had all heads turning.

Pauly stood beside them, grinning. “I don’t wanna know.” He slid two large plates of fish with fries in front of Sam and Cait.

“Want some?” Cait said to Jason as she stuffed a fry into her mouth, savoring the crisp potato and its saltiness. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

“I don’t want to lose a finger.”

She snagged the malt vinegar from Pauly’s tray before he had a chance to offer it.

“Douse your food with that?” Jason said, his head shaking as he watched her mill into her food. “Sam won’t be kissing you anytime soon.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll make it worth the effort.”

Pauly and Jason both groaned, and then laughed. Sam chuckled and tucked into his food.

“Gonna eat all your fries?” she asked him, blinking her eyelashes.

“Course not, honey.”

“Aw,” Jason moaned with a shake of his head. “Another one bites the dust.”

Back at her apartment, Cait listened to the sound of the shower starting in the distance before moving a chair to the closet and climbing up to root into the top shelf. She pulled down the leather-bound book and carried it to the kitchen table where she had her ingredients spread before her.

Rubbing a finger across the engraving of a pentagram on the front cover, she drew a deep, calming breath. The book was hers now. Not her mama’s. Not any of the witches in its long past.

Just like the rose quartz ball handed down the generations, the book came with mystical energy that transferred ownership to the next with a touch. The first time she’d sat at this table and read through the spells and stories her predecessors shared, she’d felt as though a part of their souls mingled with her own.

Not that she was suddenly as wise as Yoda. She was still herself, but with knowledge that was inborn and unawakened until she’d accepted the gift.

It was sudden knowledge she hadn’t mentioned to Sam because he wouldn’t understand. At times like these, when she was feeling reflective, she wished she had a friend in the magical world to talk to. Morin would have been the perfect choice if he hadn’t turned out to be no friend at all.

Maybe she was being harsh and more than a little bitter about how things had gone down. But the fact was her mother died because she’d wanted to sever both of their unnatural attractions for the man. Both she and Lorene had been seduced.

He’d played the soulful mentor, the reluctant lover, all in hopes of drawing her into his life and teaching her just enough to free him. Cait felt shame over falling for his act.

Her mother had figured out Morin’s motives but really should have told her. Lorene had forbidden a lust-addled seventeen-year-old girl from seeing a man Cait believed was her romantic destiny. Then Lorene had attempted a spell to break the bonds, only to accidentally poison herself in the process.

Out of grief and guilt, Cait had shunned Morin and magic. Turned her back on Celeste as well, because she’d wanted nothing of her old life. Instead, she’d submersed herself in her father’s, becoming a cop. Something she’d been good at until the voices got the best of her and she’d begun to drink to quiet them. Maybe they’d driven her a little crazy.

But she was back now. Ready to embrace the part of herself she’d so long denied.

She turned the pages until she found the summoning spell her mother had recorded all those years ago, after she’d attempted one last reunion with Cait’s father.

On this day, I summoned my husband from the dead. This spell is one I read about in Morin’s Book, but some of the ingredients had to be substituted because they are no longer commonly found.

Steep three strands of saffron in boiling water and set the strands and water aside to cool.

Add a tablespoon of gum arabic for thickening.

Pour a jigger of alcohol into the mixture and stir…

Alcohol, hell.

Cait bit the side of her lip and eyed the bathroom door, heard the water still trickling down, and hurried to the broom closet. At the bottom, behind the mop pail, she pulled out a small bottle of Glenfiddich scotch. One Sam had never found when he’d cleaned out all the booze.

She rushed to the table and tipped the bottle, splashing good scotch into her mother’s conjuring chalice. Back to the closet, she quickly hid the bottle, stopped to light incense on the counter to mask the odor, and then added the other ingredients.

The smell that rose as she swirled her mother’s athamé nearly had Cait bending to put her nose against the rim to breathe it in. The scent was beyond enticing.

Delicious. Bracing. Pulling memories from the farthest corners of her mind of a time when her mother had sat quietly beside her father, watching the television, while he’d sipped from an old Waterford highball glass he’d inherited from his Irish mother.

Scotch had been her drink because it had been her father’s.

The bathroom door opened and closed. Cait braced herself, wondering whether he’d detect the smell, and then feeling guilty as hell for trying to conceal the alcohol.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she set aside the blade and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “Sam,” she called out.

He padded to the kitchen door, a towel around his lean hips. “Need something, Cait?”

His gaze resting on her was so calm, so steady, she couldn’t stand the suspense a moment longer.

“I have a bottle of scotch in the broom closet,” she blurted. “I needed a jigger for the spell.”

Sam’s expression remained unchanged. “Thanks for letting me know, sweetheart.” He turned and made his way back into the bedroom.

Her shoulders slumped. “That’s it?” she whispered to herself.

“I have to give trust to earn it, Cait,” he called from the other room.

She shook her head, oddly disappointed at the fact he seemed to be taking this all in stride. “You really are Superman if you heard that,” she muttered.

“Capes are for pansies.”

A gust of laughter surprised her. “Want to help me with the butterfly?”

“Sure. Let me get on some pants.”

“Don’t bother. Magic works best when you’re naked.”

“I’m not the one casting, Cait,” he said, wry humor roughening his voice.

“Oh, right.”

He appeared in the doorway again, sans towel. “But it would sure save time for when you finish.”