Hot Magic Read online

  Hot Magic – Copyright© 2013 by Holli Bertram

  Cover design by Lyndsey Lewellen

  ISBN: 978-0-9894138-0-0

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected].

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

  For more information on the author and her works, please see www.hollibertram.com

  This is for you, Cols.

  I met you when I first set foot on this crazy, winding road. I’m thankful for that every day. You’re the best, kiddo!

  Chapter One

  “Harrison Chevalier is sitting in a tree,” Doreen announced as soon as Julie Dancer answered her phone.

  “The new neighbor? I didn’t know he’d moved in already. Why is he in a tree?” Julie leaned over the kitchen sink to look out the window. She gently pushed several small pots of fading herbs off to the side of the windowsill with a silent promise to water them later. “I can’t see him from the kitchen. His garage is in the way. I’m going upstairs to look out my bedroom window.”

  “He’s in that old oak next to my property line.” Doreen Lessing lived in the split-level behind the small cedar shake bungalow that Harrison Chevalier had just rented. She had a much better view of his backyard than Julie. “Do you think he has some kind of mental illness that involves a compulsion to climb trees?”

  “You mean OTCD, obsessive tree climbing disorder?” Julie took the steps two at a time. “That’s usually accompanied by an excessive ingestion of bananas. Unless there’s a mound of peels on the ground, I’m thinking he’s an entomologist, studying a rare species of oak mites.”

  “We have a rare species of oak mites in Ann Arbor?”

  “I don’t know. Ask Harrison.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  Julie hopped over the dirty jeans scattered on her bedroom floor and pulled aside her bright, yellow bedroom curtains. From this angle she could see most of Harrison’s tidy backyard. Sure enough, one shiny wingtip moved back and forth amid the leafy branches of the oak tree near Dorie’s yard.

  “This is so weird,” Julie murmured.

  “I say he’s a spy for the CIA, and Cindy is really an international terrorist. He’s keeping her under surveillance.” Cindy Lui, also referred to as Sexy Cindy, Sin Cindy or Luscious Lui, depending on Dorie’s mood, lived in the beige, vinyl-sided ranch on the other side of Harrison’s house. “Why else could he possibly be in that tree?”

  “She rented him the house. She’d have to be a pretty inept terrorist to do that. You’ve been reading suspense novels again, haven’t you?” Julie pushed aside a couple of books that had fallen onto her bed from her nightstand. She sat and thumped her bare feet into her running shoes, which she never used for running. “I’ll go welcome him to the neighborhood and find out what he’s doing in the tree.”

  “What?” Dorie’s low screech made her wince. “Grown men in shiny shoes don’t sit in trees. Seriously, what if he has some kind of problem?”

  “I’m a trained social worker. I can handle it.” Okay, she worked in research and hadn’t actually counseled anyone since her practicum training. Still, it was like riding a bike, right? It would come back to her. “I’ll call you as soon as I get back in the house.”

  “I’ll keep watch. I’m not comfortable with this, Julie. If things get rough, tuck your hair behind your ear as a signal, and I’ll send the twins into the yard. They’ll be the perfect distraction.”

  “If things get rough? This is not a military campaign.” Though Dorie’s six-year-old twin boys probably qualified as weapons of mass destruction. “I’m going to introduce myself to our new neighbor.”

  “Who happens to be sitting in a tree,” Dorie pointed out.

  “He’s probably trying to rescue his cat.”

  “Julie, he just suddenly appeared in his yard in a tree. No car, no moving truck, nothing. Seriously, don’t you think that’s strange?”

  “I think it’s strange that you know that.”

  “I’m a stay-at-home mom. It’s important to keep abreast of changes in my work environment.”

  Julie paused, impressed. “That’s a really clever rationalization for being nosy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “His car’s probably parked in the garage, and the moving truck is coming later. I’ll talk to you soon.” Julie pressed the off button and shoved the phone in her pocket.

  She jogged down the stairs, lifting her knees high so she could consider it her exercise for the day, and stopped in the kitchen to look for a new-neighbor food offering.

  When Tasha left for college, Julie pretty much quit making dinners. The planning, buying, and cooking of healthy meals took time and energy that could be better used for…okay, she currently used it for watching movies and catching up on old television series she’d missed over the years. But hey, Firefly with oatmeal or Chicken Marsala with lots of dirty dishes—not a hard decision.

  Unfortunately, that meant her cupboards were fairly empty. She hit the jackpot with an unopened package of Krispy Kremes in the freezer. They’d been an impulse buy, frozen once sanity returned so they wouldn’t become dinner. While they defrosted in the microwave, she grabbed a serving plate out of a bottom cupboard. The dish was fine china with little stars decorating the scalloped edges. She piled the slightly warm but now soft donuts onto it and headed out the back door.

  Harrison had a detached single-car garage that sat behind his house. She followed his driveway and veered off around the garage into the backyard. A tangle of rose bushes bloomed in the September sun, adding a sweet note to the perfume of freshly cut grass. The foot still hung from the tree, a well-shod pendulum.

  “Hello! Mr. Chevalier?”

  The shoe abruptly stilled and the branches of the oak tree began an ominous rustling. Two legs, clad in perfectly creased black slacks, appeared beneath the lowest branch. In a rush, a large, lean male body dropped to the ground. The man crouched for a second, then straightened.

  Julie brought the plate of donuts closer to her chest. “Mr. Chevalier?”

  He was not the quirky, little Frenchman that his name and actions might suggest. He was not at all the type of man you’d expect to find sitting in a tree. High, haughty cheekbones graced a too-serious face. Thick blond hair brushed the collar of his black shirt and seemed more suited to a surfer than the elegant man in front of her. Eyes the color of old gold watched her with unnerving intensity.

  “I saw you in the tree.” The words were breathless and not at all the welcome she’d intended. She shoved the plate into his hands.

  The man glanced down at the donuts. “You saw me in the tree?” He had a British accent. She was a sucker for a British accent.

  “Your foot, actually. I saw your foot hanging from the tree when I just happened to glance out my bedroom window.”

  She shifted uncomfortably under his steady stare. Walking into his backyard and calling him out of a tree to welcome him to the neighborhood suddenly seemed more intrusive than friendly. “Uh, I thought you might be stuck and need some help,” she improvised.

  “You thought I might be stuck and you brought donuts?” He nodded as if this made perfect sense. “Were you going to arrange them into a soft landing spot in case I fell?”

  Julie sucked in her breath and kept a pleasant expression on her face. Did he mean to be rude, or was this an example of the wry sense of humor the Brits were rumored to have? She managed a laugh, j
ust in case he’d said something funny.

  He didn’t smile. “I’m quite capable of getting myself out of a tree.”

  “Obviously.” She had the ridiculous urge to apologize for doubting him. She stifled it. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” she said belatedly.

  “Thank you.”

  They stared at each until Harrison shifted the plate of donuts and glanced pointedly at his watch.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but why were you up in the tree? Do you own a cat?” Julie was usually better at polite small talk, but her brain felt unaccountably scrambled.

  “No, I don’t own a cat. And you’re right. It’s none of your business.”

  She laughed again, turning it into a cough when he looked at her as if she were a lunatic. Okay, so he meant to be rude, not funny. She could handle that.

  She gave him her most charming smile. “Being the new guy on the block means everybody is curious about you.” She leaned in slightly. “Rumor has it you’re a spy. If you give me the real scoop, I can let everyone know that you’re actually a bird lover or an arborist or…whatever.”

  She caught a flash of alarm in his eyes.

  “There’s talk about me already? I only arrived fifteen minutes ago.”

  Julie waved a hand in the air. “Small-town America. Gossip, gossip, gossip. You can’t avoid it.”

  “You consider Ann Arbor, a city of over a hundred thousand people, small?”

  Julie shrugged. “It’s all relative. We have some really big cities in America.”

  His lips curved in something that was almost a smile. “I’ve heard that. What’s your name?”

  “Julie Dancer.” She pointed to her right without looking away from his face. “I live in the Cape Cod next door.”

  “Julie.” His gaze intensified, and she felt sudden empathy for every amoeba ever examined under a microscope. He studied her from the top of her head down to her toes, absorbing the boring details of her brown hair, brown eyes and short nose. She became conscious of her worn University of Michigan T-shirt and khaki shorts. Had she shaved her legs recently?

  “Julie Dancer.” The way he repeated her name—slowly, like he held it in his mouth and savored it—sent a dart of unexpected heat through her. “At last.”

  “At last?”

  He took a step closer to her. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

  She took a step back. Maybe Cindy had told him a lonely divorcée lived next door. Maybe he had plans to hit on her. Her pulse beat faster until reality intruded. If he wanted to hit on anybody, it would be Cindy, who far outclassed her as potential hit material. Which was fine by her because she didn’t want to be hit on.

  Wait a minute.

  “You moved in fifteen minutes ago and have been waiting to meet me while sitting in a tree?”

  “Of course not.” He frowned up into the branches of the tree. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She pulled herself to her full five feet, seven inches. He didn’t look impressed. Maybe because he still towered a good six inches above her. “I’m not ridiculous.”

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  Americans cock a brow and look amused or perplexed. Only the British could convey such arrogance with a simple facial movement. They probably employ specially trained nannies to teach the skill— “A little higher, Master Harrison, or there will be no bangers and mash for you.”

  Fascinated, she watched until the brow dropped. “Why don’t you explain what you meant by the ‘I’ve been waiting to meet you’ remark?”

  “Certainly, though I prefer to do so in private.”

  Could Dorie be right? Was he a spy? Or maybe he was a serial killer, trying to get her indoors where he kept his electric saw. She took another step back. “This yard is private. No one can hear us here.”

  His jaw firmed, and she had the distinct impression that people didn’t argue with him very often. “I’m Harrison Chevalier.” The words reverberated like a note rung on a gong. He paused, obviously waiting for a response.

  Julie nodded. “I know. Cindy Lui, your landlord, told my friend Dorie you were moving in. Cindy was pleased to get another renter so quickly. Eugene, who used to live in your house, had to leave suddenly when he got an unexpected transfer. He’s an engineer at Ford. He’s in Germany now.”

  Harrison crossed his arms, a furrow of impatience between his eyes. Obviously, he couldn’t care less about Eugene.

  “I should recognize your name, right?”

  “Yes, you should.”

  She gave him a half-smile of apology.

  His frown deepened. “I’m one of the Penumbrae,” he said, as if that would make everything clear. “It’s time for you to assume your rightful place in the Triad and help block a curse that is being placed on me.”

  Several heartbeats passed in silence. A slight rustling in the branches above broke the unnatural quiet. Harrison grimaced as a twig fell on his head and he brushed it aside.

  Julie assumed the accepting, non-judgmental expression that she’d perfected during her last research project on psychosis. “What is the curse?” Her brain hummed as she searched her mental files for a diagnosis fitting a man who believed he was cursed. Schizophrenia? Psychotic disorder? Smart ass?

  “It’s a binding curse. The Walker who attempts it wishes to become my consort.”

  “Your consort.” Add a delusion of royalty to the mix. Fascinated, she decided to keep him talking. The more she knew about how his mind worked, the easier the decision about buying a privacy fence would be. “Does this curse make you impotent?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Consort’s an old-fashioned word for a royal husband or wife, right? It’s just that if I wanted to be your consort and I was able to curse people, I’d curse you to impotence until you agreed to…consort with me.”

  He cocked his head and considered her with more interest. “You are truly evil.”

  “Well, what’s the point of a curse if it’s not evil?”

  “I’m not impotent.” He stated the words flatly.

  “I’m glad for your sake.” Her biggest problem during that study had been a tendency to become too immersed in her subject’s fantasy lives. She forced herself to rein in her curiosity about the imaginary curse and stick to the basics. “How can I help you?”

  “Have sex with me.”

  This was her fault. She’d introduced the topic of impotence and had gotten the man thinking about sex. She really needed to be more careful about what she said. She pulled out her phone. “Look at the time! I’ve got to run. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Chevalier.”

  “You’re scared.” He sounded surprised.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She backed up a few more steps. “It’s very hard to be frightened of a man holding a plate of donuts.” That, of course, was untrue.

  He smiled. His eyes warmed with a hint of amusement that had the oddest effect on her. Did a little delusional thinking really matter in the big picture? They had meds for these sorts of things. Harrison looked down as if he’d forgotten the donuts, and she began to breathe again.

  “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I can explain. Come inside and share a pastry with me.” He looked up, his expression wry. “I promise to keep holding the plate of donuts if it will make you more comfortable.”

  How could she even think of stepping into a house with this man? He tugged at her in a way she didn’t understand. She nervously flicked a strand of hair behind her ear and heard a door bang shut.

  Dorie must have had the twins revved at the starting block, ready to explode into the yard if needed. When the first plastic arrow tipped with a suction cup bounced at Harrison’s feet, Julie muttered a weak, “Maybe later,” and beat a hasty retreat into the safety of her own home.

  Harrison carefully set down the plate of donuts, ignored the steady stream of sucker-tipped arrows flying over the chain link fence along the back of the yard and hoisted himself back into the tree.

  “This is uncomfo
rtable, Bascule.” He straddled an upper branch, brushing a leaf from his pants. “There is no reason we need to meet in a tree.”

  The great horned owl, perched on an adjacent limb, blinked. “Fun, Harrison. Sitting in a tree is fun.”

  “Only if you’re ten years old.” Though he’d never sat in a tree when he was ten, so he couldn’t be sure of that. “Are we just about done convincing the neighbors that I’m an oddball?”

  “Not quite. I have two more things to discuss with you. Word has reached me that small groups of Triad members have begun to organize and are fighting back against the demons.”

  “Finally.” A surge of hope lightened Harrison’s mood. “Our work is paying off. We have to build on this.”

  “You can’t do anything until you get rid of the binding.” Bas ruffled his feathers. “I also came to offer advice on how to handle the Dancer. Obviously, you don’t need it. Your charm and persuasive abilities have rendered me speechless.”

  “One could only hope.” Harrison lifted his foot, reached down and unstuck an arrow that had attached to the bottom of his shoe. “You sent me here.” He narrowed his eyes at the owl. “Marguerite’s curse is already distracting me or I would have questioned you first. Is there another way to break the binding?” The Dancer was not ideal. Her flip attitude irritated him.

  “The old-fashioned way is the quickest, most efficient way. Marguerite wove the first tie of the binding with earth energy,” Bas responded. “There is tremendous power involved in creating and sustaining such a tie. Theoretically, a Dancer who can channel enough light energy could undo it. The problem is finding someone with that capability. I sense the potential in Julie Dancer. If you two join together, the power should be enough to sever the tie.”

  “Join.” Harry repeated the word. Bas didn’t usually use euphemisms.

  “Shag, boff, bonk,” he promptly clarified. “Sex has power. Even humans use it as a tool in their magic rituals. But be careful. There’s something about this Dancer that I don’t understand, something that feels different.”