The Witch's Journey Read online

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“Not what? Not spending too much time alone, not distancing yourself from the things you like because Genny isn’t here to enjoy them? Not dating, ever! Open yourself up, Angie; maybe you’d find true love. At the very least you might get laid.”

  She glowered. “That’s definitely not a discussion I’ll have. You put way too much emphasis on sex.”

  “Because you don’t—just confirms you’ve never had good sex.”

  “If I ever sleep with someone again, you’ll be the first to know. Well, the second I suppose but I haven’t found anyone I like enough.”

  “You’re a beautiful, healthy young woman. You don’t have to spend your life with the guy, maybe just a night or two. Sex is a great stress reliever.”

  “Casual sex really isn’t me.”

  “Have you used that toy I bought you?”

  She scowled. “Say more and I’ll place a damn spell on you!”

  “It isn’t healthy to deny your needs, Angie.”

  “Say another word of something I don’t wish to speak and all that’ll be heard is a mouse-like squeak!”

  She waved her hand before him.

  “Have you even ever had an org…eek, eek, eek.” Only high-pitched squeaks followed.

  Angelique snapped her fingers and disappeared to her bedroom. Newt soon followed.

  “You’re using magic to silence me and avoid me. You must be annoyed.”

  “I’m serious, Newt. You apparently enjoy making me uncomfortable. My love life or lack thereof is none of your concern.”

  “For a strong, determined modern woman you’re really old-fashioned regarding sex. Are you sure you’re not Amish?”

  “Very funny. My birth parents were from Ireland, not Pennsylvania. Maybe I am a little cautious about sex. Two men I slept with were killed not long after, another became a freaking stalker. My father has a damn sex addiction and my mother was raped. All that might affect me, don’t you think?”

  “Genny wanted you be happy and to find love. Maybe you should use magic to summon a man.”

  “Even magic couldn’t summon a perfect match for me.”

  “Fine, be lonely. Stay annoyed at me, but I’m ordering pizza and I am putting on Hocus Pocus. Genny would thank me, even if you don’t.”

  Chapter Three

  “Half hour till midnight,” Newt said taking the disk from the Blu-ray player. “Still time to summon your perfect man. Maybe you’ll fall madly in love and next Halloween we’ll include him in these wild celebrations.”

  “Maybe we’d be having wild sex and not want to be with you watching movies and eating pizza.”

  His broad smile confirmed his amusement.

  “You could probably tear yourself away for a couple of hours,” Newt joked.

  “Maybe not if it was as amazing as you seem to think it can be.”

  “Create a spell, Angie. Your magic should be powerful tonight with it being Halloween, your birthday and a full moon. Here, in your warded house, you’d be protected.”

  “It might be fun,” Angelique admitted.

  She lighted the dark purple spell-casting candle and placed it on the mantel near her crystals bathed in moonlight.

  “Be specific in stating everything you’d want in a man,” Newt said.

  “He must be tall and strong.”

  “Weird that’d be the first thing you’d think of.”

  “Well, he’d have to be able to carry me to bed and recklessly ravish me.”

  She made her eyes exaggeratedly wide, and he smirked.

  “You’re naturally slender. I suspect Mr. Nivens from the care home could carry you.”

  “Ha-ha; you’re very funny. I’d want that in my perfect man, too—someone who’d make me laugh.”

  “Well built and funny. That’s it?”

  “No, if he’s my fantasy man, I’ll be completely shallow. He must be smoldering hot—ruggedly handsome, with amazing eyes, nice teeth, a sensual smile, irresistibly kissable lips, a fantastic body—not grossly body-builder muscular, maybe somewhere between Chris Hemsworth and Jason Momoa with taut muscular arms and chest, a six-pack, a great ass and firm sculptured warrior’s legs.”

  “Whoa, you’re turning me on!” Newt joked. “You’d want another man who hangs out at the gym?”

  “God, no. Jake practically lived there. Probably just liked watching himself while he worked out.”

  “He was a conceited bastard. Never knew what you saw in him.”

  “Are you serious? You pushed me to go out with him. I just liked that he was in real estate when I was considering purchasing a house for a B&B. Thankfully I ended it. He was unbelievably self-centered.”

  “Until you broke up with him and he became obsessed. He hasn’t contacted you recently?”

  “Not for a while.”

  “No more obscene texts or photos?”

  “No, thank God. But back to my perfect man. He must have captivating light blue eyes, like Cillian Murphy. When he looks at me, even from across the room, when our eyes lock, he’ll be unable to resist the powerful attraction.”

  “Don’t make him mindlessly bewitched.”

  “No, he has to be drawn to me, not my magic. I’d want him kind and caring, good with animals and the elderly if he’s going to visit the care home and animal shelter with me. He must be confident, but not cocky—well maybe a little cocky.”

  “You’d want him to have a little cocky?” Newt laughed.

  She exhaled and rolled her eyes. “You really do make everything about sex.”

  “So you’d be okay with that?”

  “What, if he had a small dick?”

  He nodded.

  “Does it really make a difference?”

  “He’s your dream man, not mine.”

  “Fine, every part of him can be extraordinary, but he can’t sleep around. That’d make me incredibly jealous. He’ll be wholly devoted to me, able to sense when I’m down or lonely and instinctively know when to hold me. We’d be able to talk easily, have deep conversations about anything…someone I’m comfortable to be myself with and confide in. I’d want him to tell me what’s on his mind and not be afraid to express his feelings.”

  “Basically, you want another gay man in your life?” They both laughed again. “You don’t want to ensure he’s a fantastic lover?”

  “Well of course I’d want that since I’ve never had one.”

  “You’ve only had three lovers, one completely inexperienced, one you were too drunk to really remember, the last an arrogant, unstable asshole. You can’t go by them, Angie.”

  “Okay, I’d want my perfect man to be an amazing lover who’ll sweep me off my feet. A bit of a rake, who’ll carry me to bed and uninhibitedly ravish me, but tenderly make love to me when I need that, too.”

  “You’ve read too many historical romances and bodice-ripper novels.”

  “Probably and I’m trying to write one. Maybe I need to be inspired by this fantasy lover.”

  “It’s nearly midnight,” Newt said.

  “I’d also want him to have an accent. I’ve always been drawn to accents.”

  “Better be specific. Do you want him to sound like he’s from the Deep South; bonny Scotland; Australia, mate; mystical India; or Jamaica, man?”

  He capably did those accents.

  “No, I’d want him to have an Irish accent.”

  “Like one guy you’ve already gone out with and another who taught you karate.”

  “I do like Danhoul, but jeez, Newt, I told you, he’s in love with someone else. And Tristan’s only a friend. Oh…and my perfect man also has to love the water.”

  “Your relationship would be doomed if a water witch summoned a man who dislikes the water. Let’s get this clear. Mesmerizing light blue eyes filled with love for only you, good teeth, tall, handsome, sexy, great body, funny, compassionate, interesting conversationalist, in tune with your feelings, Irish accent, a great lover with a huge…”

  “I didn’t say huge! Who’d even want that?” she h
uffed.

  Newt’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

  “I’d also like him to have a job or lucrative business that he takes pride in, but doesn’t put above our relationship.”

  “What about kids?”

  “What about them?”

  “Don’t you want a man who’d be a great dad so you can have half a dozen kids?”

  “Maybe a couple.”

  “The guy sounds unattainable even with magic.”

  “It was all in fun anyway.”

  “You’re not going through with the spell?” Newt sounded disappointed.

  “Who’d want to be summoned to me?”

  “Maybe someone destined to be your soulmate.”

  “You’re a romantic, Newton Granger. I should summon someone for you.”

  “Nope. It’s your night and your perfect man.”

  “I’m really not sure I should be with anyone.”

  Angelique leaned forward to blow out the spell-casting candle just as the streetlights outside went dark. The power went off precisely as the antique grandfather clock began to chime midnight and the candle flared higher.

  “Must be a sign, Angie. Say the words before the clock quits chiming.”

  “I summon my perfect man to me, he who is my destiny.”

  The candle flickered and the wind mysteriously blew, though the windows were closed. An odd glow filled the room and everything was eerily silent. But soon the refrigerator started humming, the DVR flashed and the streetlights came back on. The supernatural moment ended; they both looked around.

  “Clearly my magic isn’t powerful enough—or maybe there just isn’t a man perfect for me.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Newt said.

  “I shouldn’t mess with magic for something selfish anyway. Thanks for being here tonight, Newt.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, Angie. Well maybe with this lover you imagined, but that’d cause a bit of friction.”

  “Just a little.” She laughed. “Are you sleeping on that chaise longue? The bed in the spare room’s cluttered with books and papers. I could tidy it or call a cab.”

  “Toss me a blanket and a pillow; I’ve had enough to drink, I’ll sleep fine right here.”

  *

  “Want breakfast?” Angelique asked, handing Newt a coffee.

  “No, I have an early appointment. I’ll be forever indebted to you, Angie. Your generosity allowed me to get my degree in creative arts.”

  “I was happy to do that.”

  “Not to mention the small matter of buying me a freaking art gallery.”

  “You need a proper place to display your work. You’re exceptionally gifted. Besides, the abundance spell my father had me create so everything he touched turned to gold, so to speak, ensures an abundance of money.”

  “Genny seldom got angry, but that pissed her off.”

  That was true and the reason why in the divorce agreement her mother and father’s combined assets in Boston were signed over to Angelique and a percentage of his income, too.

  “I’m sure charities everywhere are happy you have money. You’re very philanthropic.”

  “It’s the least I can do. I have everything I want, well other than my perfect man…and I’d like a dog someday.”

  “Maybe you and your man will get a dog together.”

  “Clearly the spell didn’t work. He hasn’t magically appeared.” She gestured around the large sunny kitchen with the immense east-facing bay window.

  “Try again soon,” Newt said. “But I gotta go.”

  “Take some birthday cake and the banana bread I made this morning.”

  “Yum! Thanks. See you.”

  He kissed her cheek. She passed him two containers and locked the door behind him.

  Chapter Four

  Clearing the pizza box, plates and wineglasses, Angelique heard something near the back door. Probably the scraggly grey stray cat she’d been feeding, but it sounded like a moan. She tied her silky purple robe and grabbed her baseball bat. Peeking around the corner she felt her eyes go wide and tightened her grip on the bat.

  Sitting on the floor was a man dressed in period clothing. He almost looked like a pirate. A bottle of whiskey beside him, he shakily stood when he saw her. He was tall and powerfully built with striking blue eyes, light brown hair, a chiseled jaw covered in what looked like a three-day growth. Even at first glance he was easily the sexiest man Angelique had ever seen.

  He held his hands before him. “I mean you no harm, madam. I was waitin’ to see if the man with you was a possible violator or a lover. When he didn’t attempt to accost you, I presumed you safe. I was admittedly relieved; I fear I’m in no condition to battle to save your life or protect your honor.”

  “Who the hell are you? How did you get in?”

  “Captain Faolan Mahoney, madam. I find myself here by means I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe you’re too drunk to remember. You reek of whiskey.”

  “On that count, I must apologize for quaffin’ your whiskey supply, however meager it was.”

  “You’ve searched through my home and found my whiskey?”

  “You’ll be compensated, I assure you. I drank to alleviate the pain.”

  “The pain?”

  “I suffered injury last night.”

  “What kind of injury?”

  “A stabbing,” he said.

  Her eyes went to the sword and scabbard on his belt.

  “Did Newt set this up? He called you after I was asleep, right?”

  “He’s the man who slept here?”

  “My friend, yes.”

  “I don’t know the man.” He eyed the bat. “Your weapon to fend off untoward men?”

  “I shouldn’t use it as a weapon. It’s a collector’s item signed by Babe Ruth.”

  “I don’t know this person either.”

  “Obviously, you wouldn’t. He’s been dead a long time. Show me your wound.”

  He opened his knee-length black overcoat. Angelique stared at the red stain on his tunic and he winced.

  “Is this part of the act so you’ll have to take off your shirt and wow me with your great body?”

  “The act, madam? I don’t understand what you imply.”

  “This isn’t a strip-o-gram is it? Are they even a thing anymore or—you’re not a freakin’ escort are you? Newt better not have hired one or I’ll strangle him. He probably said I needed a man and liked Irish accents?”

  “I understand very little you speak of. You think me an actor? You wound me, madam.”

  “You wound me calling me madam. I don’t consort with prostitutes.”

  He glanced at her short robe and low neckline.

  “You think I look like a madam?”

  “You’re clearly not of an age to be proprietor of a brothel.”

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “Perhaps eight and ten,” he guessed.

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  “Where’s your husband?”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Widowed then?”

  “I’ve never been married.”

  “What faults or unfortunate flaws have caused this grave misfortune?”

  “Faults?”

  “No woman of such advanced age and fine appearance would remain unmarried if not without impairment or defilement. Are you dim-witted or spoilt?”

  She laughed and snorted in doing so.

  “You complimented and insulted me in the same sentence plus made me laugh. Leave now and I won’t report you to the police for breaking and entering. Although Newt might have let you in—so he must trust you. You can tell him, he’s very funny.”

  “I told you I’ve never made his acquaintance.”

  “He could have just called you. Whatever—you should go.”

  “I’m still somewhat dizzy and weakened by blood loss. I’m uncertain if I can walk any distance.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed, sensing he would
n’t hurt her.

  “Come have a cup of coffee to sober up. But then you’re leaving.”

  He nodded but winced again. When he started walking she could smell blood. Evidently the stain on his shirt wasn’t only part of this elaborate façade.

  “You’re really hurt?”

  “Why would I speak falsehoods?”

  “Come to the bathroom then,” she relented. “I’ll look at your wound.”

  “Are you a healer?”

  “Of a sort.”

  He followed her. When she looked up she observed just how tall he was. Surely six foot three or four, at five foot five, she felt dwarfed by him.

  “Sit here.” She pointed to the wooden bench. “I’d let you sit on the comfier chair but that’s authentic Victorian fabric. I’d prefer you didn’t bleed on it.”

  “How very compassionate,” he sarcastically said, though he grinned. “You have a modern home, madam.”

  “Call me Angelique.”

  “It would be inappropriate to speak with familiarity when we’re newly acquainted.”

  “Staying in character, huh? Did you get knifed last night?”

  “The weapon wasn’t a mere knife, but a sword.”

  “If you say so. Well, obviously you’ll need to take off your coat and shirt.”

  He nodded, removing the overcoat. She hung the weighty coat on the hook behind the door. He struggled to unfasten the ties on his tunic, then pulled it over her head. She wasn’t sure what caught her attention most—his impressively broad, tanned, muscular chest; firm rippled stomach; or the deep gash on his shoulder.

  She draped his stained tunic over the bathtub, glancing at the collar to see if there was a tag for a costume shop or a reenactment company, but there was neither. He stared for the tie on her robe had come undone. She was wearing a skimpy nightie beneath. When their eyes met, he quickly turned away.

  She retied the robe and located the first aid kit, taking out bandages, antiseptic and lidocaine. She’d stitched wounds before for Newt and Tristan. She found the needle and medical-grade thread.

  “This is going to hurt,” she warned, placing the cloth soaked in antiseptic to his wound.

  He flinched, but didn’t make a sound.

  “Evidently this isn’t your first violent encounter,” she said observing scars on his chest and stomach.