off the comment and headed back into familiar territory. “You were supposed to wait for me at the hospital. In case you didn’t realize it, the doctors never officially released you.”
“I felt better after they got fluids in me. No damage, see?” she said, giving a little self-conscious twirl. “Good as new.”
Her hair was still poofy, but he didn’t mention it. If she wanted to pretend everything was back to normal, he’d let her have her fantasy moment. From here on out, he’d watch her like a hawk. His body stiffened. Nothing was going to happen to her on his watch. Not again. “Do you know what we’re facing?”
“Not yet.”
“Let me guess.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “You need to see a guy about a book.”
She wrinkled her nose and looked around, stepping quickly to her pile of clothing and beginning to dress. “I tried a location spell, but it didn’t work. So I had to cleanse my aura.”
“Will the spell work now?”
“Guess we’ll see. Ready to chase some birds?”
As the streets grew still and the sky darkened in an instant, Sam couldn’t deny a little thrill of wonder. Running behind Cait as she chased her murder of crows, he could see how magic could be every bit as addictive as scotch to someone like her.
She’d tossed the dried herbs into the air and then crouched while a mini-whirlwind caught the grit, funneling it tightly before it exploded into a swarm of birds. He’d watched her face, the almost childlike delight she took in seeing her spell work.
Chasing her through alleys, they wound their way to Beale Street toward a small alcove cafe where diners sat frozen with their forks held in midair, where a street musician’s pick clanged against guitar strings and the sound stretched eerily.
The red door with the shiny brass knob—a door that didn’t belong there—appeared once the crows bunched together before sweeping upward to disappear into the dark sky.
Cait reached out, twisted the knob, and then entered the dimly lit bookstore. Like a place out of time, gaslights flickered from old-fashioned wall sconces. Candles sat on tables awaiting a match.
Out of habit, because he could never quite believe it, he glanced over his shoulder at the large plate-glass window that looked out on the cafe alcove. A window where a brick wall should have been. He glanced to his right, noting a long marble counter he hadn’t paid attention to before. Behind the counter was a cabinet with small wooden cubbies, each with purple glass knobs glinting in the pale sunlight.
Footsteps scraped from the raised dais straight ahead, and he faced forward again, girding himself against Morin’s appearance.
The other man’s tall, dark figure appeared from around the corner of one of the bookshelves. In the golden lamp glow, Morin’s expression was wary as his gaze met Sam’s across the distance.
Morin was right to be hesitant. Every fiber of Sam’s body was taut. His fists curled at his sides. All it would take would be one risque remark, and he’d let loose his fury at the man who’d taken Cait’s innocence and then continued to play with her, hoping she’d be the one to unlock him from his self-imposed prison.
Morin was the one who had made the demon that had nearly killed Cait. All because he’d desired a girl who’d wanted nothing to do with him. He’d knowingly unleashed evil and then pretended regret, trying to pluck at Cait’s heartstrings to feel sorry for him in his self-imposed exile.
Only she wasn’t seventeen anymore, and she wasn’t innocent. She’d lived in the intervening years with her personal curse.
Morin wet his lips and then offered Cait a tentative smile. “I’m so glad to see you looking well,” he said in a low tone.
A soothing voice Sam was sure would charm snakes.
Cait wasn’t as immune to his charms as she liked to believe.
She touched her hair. “Don’t flatter me. I need something. It’s the only reason I’m here.”
“I assumed as much. A cup of tea?”
Cait hesitated. “And a bite to eat? I’m starved.”
Morin nodded, and then turned to lead the way toward the small kitchen beyond his library.
Sam snagged Cait’s wrist, holding her back but not knowing exactly what to say.
She gave him a sideways glance. “I’m okay,” she whispered. But when he released her wrist, she tucked her hand inside his. “Don’t worry, Sam. I won’t ever trust him again. Not like I do you.”
Sam felt the tension inside him ease a fraction. He was right to fear Morin’s influence, but the man didn’t hold her in thrall. Cait was all grown up. If the things he’d seen her do were any indication, her powers might one day outstrip her mentor’s.
For now, she needed him, wanted him. He’d hold that knowledge close to his chest and hope that Cait’s determination to keep her feelings for Morin unentangled from her past wouldn’t falter. His thumb rubbed along her pulse. If ever her determination weakened, Sam would have her back.
6
Cait took comfort in Sam’s presence beside her as she took a seat at the small round breakfast table in Morin’s kitchen. Perhaps done with playing games with Sam, Morin had mustered up a third chair rather than offering Sam one of his tall workbench stools as he had in the past, leaving him hovering from a distance. A deliberate attempt to leave him physically outside the conversation. Not that Sam seemed any more comfortable now as he angled his long legs beneath the table.
Cait cleared her throat and turned to Morin, whose face was clear of expression. Carefully neutral.
Did he know she’d told Sam everything about her last visit? Was he actually playing it safe rather than tweaking Sam to get a rise out of him? She hoped so. She didn’t need both men posturing while the room reeked of testosterone.
Morin sat still while she studied his familiar, masculine features: his black, shoulder-length hair, straight nose, and full lips. Although Morin was still every bit as handsome and alluring as ever with his unique brand of smoldering sensuality, she wasn’t seventeen anymore. He’d used her attraction then and had tried to draw her into his world again when she’d been forced to seek his advice with the last case. Yes, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever met, but she’d never trust him. And trust, she’d discovered, was something she couldn’t survive without.
Morin moved around the counter, choosing a plain earthen teapot, which he rinsed with a dash of boiling water from the kettle sitting atop the old-fashioned gas stove. Then his hand hovered over a row of painted tins until he selected the desired blend of tea.
She watched, knowing he was up to something, but with his back to her, she couldn’t see what else he might be adding to the brew.
Shifting in her chair, she cleared her throat. “We have another problem.”
“You do seem to attract exciting sorts of problems, Caitlyn,” Morin murmured, still turned away and swishing the teapot.
Sam stirred, muttering under his breath.
His impatience was evident in the curling of his hand on the tabletop.
She cupped her hand over his fist and gave him a single shake of her head, telling him silently to behave. They were here because they needed help. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted the tea, allowing Morin to extend her visit. But they weren’t wasting time. Not really. While inside Morin’s domain, time outside the shop stood still. Part of her understood her old mentor’s need to prolong their stay. He was lonely and bored. No one but those he invited—and who had the magical skills to find him—ever came. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him, day after day, locked inside this prison he’d created for himself as penance for one tragic mistake in his past.
Morin returned to the table with cups he set in front of her and Sam. Despite the fact he knew Sam wasn’t fond of tea, he poured him a cup, his focused stare daring her ex to complain. At Sam’s grudging nod of thanks,
