She emptied the contents into the bowl. Sage, an iron nail, a spare key, sandalwood oil, black yarn, and a clean chicken bone.
Wait! Where’s the pinecone? She dove back in, not feeling the prickly culprit, and sighed. Then she recalled having used it last week when she’d cast a teensy weensy spell on her neighbor’s dog who barked continuously all night long. The sleepy spell confirmed that as soon as midnight hit, the pooch fell into dreamland like a baby until sunrise. And ever since, she’d had the best nights’ sleep.
But she should have remembered to top up her supplies. Studying the kitchen, she scanned the counter, the bowl of red glossy apples, the mixer, and coffee machine. The speakers in the walls, the knives attached to the wall.
“What’re you doing?” Gunn’s low baritone voice made her flinch as she’d forgotten he stood behind her.
Something flashed beneath the surface of his stilted expression, as if he might break out into a smile, but the emotion disappeared too quickly.
“You know what they say about curiosity?” She turned away when her attention settled on a tiny magnetic wreath on the fridge. And her mind flew to the real one she’d spotted at the entrance when she’d first arrived, jam-packed with what she needed.
Rocking onto her heels, she rushed past Gunn and hurried down the hallway. She popped her head into the living room. “Nora, do you mind if I take one of the pinecones from your wreath, please?”
“Yes, take it. Whatever you need in the house, please use.” She nodded, and Cyra hoofed it toward the front door, which remained wide open. A rush of cold air circled her as she studied the decoration. She reached for a pinecone, but it didn’t budge. All those plastic ties and the glue held it in place.
“Guessing you’re planning a spell?” Gunn’s voice carried from deeper in the house as he strolled closer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, strutting his stuff as if he were on a runway. He had that rugged look where he probably spent two seconds on his morning routine. Drag on a T-shirt, jeans, and run your fingers through your hair. And yep, the look undid her, but when she met his charming smirk, she refocused on her job.
“And if I am?” With her hand wedged over a pinecone and her other palm on the wreath, she yanked. It gave a smidgen. Yes! “If I cleanse the house, I might as well amplify and drive whatever’s here out.”
“Are you experienced enough to do this?”
She twisted in his direction. “What sort of question is that? I was hired by Argos to do their spells, so, yeah, I’m qualified. Geez.” With her attention on the task, she sensed Gunn step closer, the heat from his body leaping over to her, pushing away the earlier frost.
“Means nothing,” he said, his voice bugging her. “You’re still in probationary training.” His cockiness grated on her nerves twofold.
“Yeah, well, you don’t understand how spell casting works. So, if you don’t mind.” She pulled at the object again. Come on, you little shit.
“I could watch this all day.” Gunn leaned a shoulder into the door, his grin widening. “You’re doing it wrong.”
“And you’re the expert at mauling a wreath?” With a huff, she really put her muscles into her attempt to rip the sucker free.
He reached out in front of her, his hand on another pinecone on the wreath. She stared at Gunn, who had his gaze locked on her, their bodies inches apart. “When something stands in your way,” he said, “you need a different approach.” A snap sounded, and she dropped her gaze to see Gunn holding a loose pinecone in his fist. He placed it in her palm, pressing her fingers around the spiky item. “And never be afraid to ask for help.”
“Really? You, Mr. Macho, saying to ask for help? I don’t believe it.”
He laughed, deep and raw, not the fake kind he often used when chuckling at her brother’s lame jokes. “Baby girl, we weren’t talking about me.”
“Okay, interesting chat then.” This might be the longest conversation they’d had, but clearly, his arrogance knew no bounds, and yet her libido still craved him and sent her knees into a jelly-wobble in his presence. But she’d seen him when he thought no one watched, the darkness sliding across his gaze, the way he transformed into a loner. He put on an act in front of others, but beneath it lay a person with a heavy past. Her grandma had once said that everyone lived with hardship one way or another and to never judge them.
He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she expected some smartass comment, so she marched away from him before she shoved the pinecone into his mouth.
Scooping up the bowl of ingredients in the kitchen, along with the lighter from her pocket and the smudge stick from the backpack, she headed into the backyard. She might not smoke, but she carried fire with her everywhere. Best way to kick-start most spells. Plus, it helped create a badass flamethrower when coupled with a can of hairspray if anyone attacked her.
Crouching on the back porch, she lit the items in the bowl, then whispered a chant. “Iron and bone. Strengthen the protection on this home.” With her palms cupping the tiny flame, she concentrated, imagining energy entering through the crown of her head and down through her arms and into the potion. “Be powerful, unstoppable, secure.” She clapped, and a puff of smoke swirled upward, curling toward the open rear door and into the house. She lit one end of the sage stick with the fire. Once done, she thanked the energies and closed the circle, then took the bowl into the kitchen sink and poured water over the contents.
Once she returned out front to commence her cleansing, a sense of being watched left her skin feeling itchy. She studied the
