Authors: Marilu Mann
Marilu Mann
fact that he knew about the keys as well. Hopefully she could weasel enough information out of him to help her in her hunt.
“Order what you like. It’s all good.” James gave a cool nod to the waitress who faded into the background after handing them their menus. “I hope you will allow me to suggest a wine?”
Nodding, she perused the menu. The choices were few but the details were so precise that Mari thought if she weren’t hungry already, she would have been after just reading the lasagna description. Then she ruined it by wondering if Rosier had ever eaten here. Knowing he was bound to the house except for coming to her assistance, she had to wonder if her father ever ordered takeout for them.
She realized that LaPierre watched her as if he could read her thoughts. Could he?
Mari didn’t have a clue but she yanked her mind back to dinner and her companion.
“James. I have so many questions.”
“I’m sure you do, my dear.” His eyes narrowed. “Shall we order and then you can ask me anything you like?”
His flick of a finger brought the waitress back to their table in moments. She ordered the lasagna then sat back while he completed his part. She didn’t know the winery but knew that she liked that type of wine.
“That’s a good choice. I’ve enjoyed the syrahs I’ve tried.”
He simply nodded at her. “So, what is your first question?”
Mari hesitated. There were so many questions in her mind. Trying to pin just one down was like trying to grasp a swallow by the tail as it swooped by. Still, she knew she needed to take advantage of this time.
“Witch. What does my father mean when he tells me that I am a witch too?”
James gave a small laugh as he reached over to grasp her hand in a warm, quick squeeze. “Marielle, I don’t mean to disappoint you but your father really was not thinking clearly if he told you that you were a witch. To be a witch takes years of study 40
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and practice. It is not something you are born into. He probably meant that you had the ability to learn just like he.” A pause as his eyes met hers. “And I.”
It wasn’t that she was disappointed, Mari told herself. After all she’d only just learned that she was a witch. So why would it hurt to hear that she wasn’t one after all?
Like he said she could become one if she studied. For years. Fighting off the tang of bitterness, she nodded.
“Okay so I’m not a witch. But he was. How did he trap Rosier? More importantly how can I release him?”
A flicker of something darted across James’ face. Mari couldn’t be sure what the emotion was—something between envy and desire maybe. A chill swept up her spine as his icy eyes darkened to midnight blue. Her early warning system kicked into high gear.
“My dear, your father was a very powerful witch. More powerful, I hate to admit, than myself. How he conjured Rosier is not something I was ever privileged to know.
According to Augustus, I was never going to be ready for that. It is the one thing your father and I fought the most over. You see, I didn’t know about Rosier’s existence until recently. Really, just a few months before your father died.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Something sinister seemed to stare back at her from his face. His features sharpened as his eyes maintained their darkness. He slid his tongue out to moisten his lips. It looked like a snake tasting the air. His hand reached out to hold her wrist. His chilly grip sent a shiver through her. She opened her mouth but he tightened his fingers.
“I do not know how he trapped him, but I do know that you can order Rosier to serve someone else. Then you won’t have to worry.”
Mari heard the words but it was the sharpness to his voice that set her teeth on edge. Hadn’t she told him that she wanted to free Ros?
“James, I…”
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He cut her off again. “I know, my dear. You want to free him. But you can’t, you see. He’s a demon. His kind kills humans. Oh he will tell you differently, but believe me, I know.”
Sadness swept over his face and a tear welled in one eye. “You see, my parents were also witches. My mother tried to conjure a demon but did not have her circle set correctly. The demon she summoned killed her and my father as well when he tried to rescue her. I swore I would avenge them. I was only sixteen when it happened and I’ve been studying my craft ever since.”
Avenge them? What was this? A bad gothic novel? Mari tugged her arm free of his touch, feeling suddenly unclean. “I am sorry about your folks, James. But I can’t just give you another human being. That’s slavery!”
The demand in his voice nearly overwhelmed her. “He’s not a human being. That’s where you are making your mistake. He is a demon. A thing. An evil of biblical proportions. Give him to me and you won’t have to worry about him.”
His eyes narrowed as his voice deepened. “You must give him to me, Marielle Greenlea. I will take care of this for you. You can trust me. I am your friend. You want to give the demon to me, don’t you?”
“James.” Mari paused. The first words out of her mouth were nearly “yes, I want to give the demon to you”. Her self-control overrode the compulsion. The locket around her neck felt warm—almost painfully so. Focusing on that sensation eased her need to agree with him. “I need to think about this. And why did you use my full name that way? That was a bit formal, don’t you think?”
James rocked back in his seat. The way his face fell was almost comical. Mari wondered why he seemed so surprised. He recovered quickly leaning forward to rest his hand lightly on hers. “You should think about it, but not too long. When a demon has a new owner, there is only a two-week grace period where you can reassign his contract to another witch.”
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“Another witch? But I thought I wasn’t a witch?” Tension snaked across her shoulders, fusing the muscles. Something was wrong but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
His dismissive hand wave made her want to snarl. “Oh Marielle, you are not a witch but you are a demon owner thanks to your father. I told him he was an idiot when we fought. I’m sure he meant to leave me everything including Rosier, but his anger ruined everything.”
His anger? Mari mused. From her seat, it seemed that it was James’ greed that had caused this problem. She wondered if it were true. If James and her father had not fought, maybe she would still be in her apartment watching the evening news, unaware that her father had even died. She could have gone on as she was and never known about demons and witches and any of this.
The arrival of the food was a welcome interruption to her train of thought. She dug into the salad and made appropriate noises as James launched into the story of how he’d met her father. If he was to be believed, her father was part Svengali and part Fagin who had taken a young, naїve but talented James LaPierre under his wing. Still she wondered why he had approached her father and how he had even found him. Was there some sort of witchy Yellow Pages?
Excusing herself after the meal, Mari went to the restroom as much for a bio break as for a brain break from James’ nonstop me-me fest. Washing her hands, she looked into the mirror to check her lipstick.
“Rosier!” Her yelp echoed off the tiles in the room. “What? How?”
He held up one hand. “I can travel by mirror to you and you only, Mari. I wanted to apologize. I’ve been waiting for you to go to the restroom forever. Please. I know I was heavy-handed today about LaPierre. But you truly need to be careful around him. He has power, and you are not protected when you are not in the house. Not yet.”
Ros paused. He tilted his head slightly inspecting her carefully. Mari barely stopped herself from fidgeting. “What is it?”
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“I think I am wrong. I think you may have some small protection now. Are you wearing anything that was your father’s? There is a tangible sense of his power on you right now.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t have anything of his on me. But I do think James was trying to work magick on me. He used my full name and I almost told him yes when he asked me to give you to him.”
His head jerked away from the mirror. “He what? Mari-girl, you must tell me everything. He may be working a spell of demand on you.”
Mari nodded. She chose to not ask him why he called her Mari-girl. A small part of her liked the nickname. Walking away from the table, she had felt as if a net were loosening from her shoulders. And for whatever reason, she trusted Ros’ snarling more than James’ smiles. “I told him I’d have to think about it. Ros, is it true that there is a two-week grace period?”
The wince told her before he nodded. “Yes. That is true. You can offer me to another magick user.”
“Is that time limit also a part of your release?”
Ros put one hand up to the mirror. She had to restrain herself from placing her own palm against his. “Yes, Mari, it is. If you do not share release with me three times before this fourteen days—now twelve—is up, you will not be able to release me.”
His fingers curled into the mirror. “But I need you to tell me what LaPierre did that made you—”
The door to the restroom opened. Mari whirled around as Ros vanished from sight.
“Your boyfriend told me you weren’t feeling well. Is there anything I can get you, ma’am?”
The waitress swept a curious glance up and down Mari, leaving her feeling wanting. She shook her head as she gathered her purse. “He’s not my boyfriend. I’m just putting on some fresh lipstick.”
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She looked pointedly at the door. “You can tell him I’ll be right out.”
“Oh okay.” Just before she shoved the door open, the waitress added, “You know, he’s very powerful. I wouldn’t deny him what he wanted.”
Mari shrugged. The last thing she needed was advice from a total stranger. Bad enough she had James telling her one thing and Ros another.
As she walked back to the table, she realized she had a real problem. Who to trust?
All she had to do now was figure out which one to believe. Rosier who could melt her with a touch—was he using his Demonae powers on her? Or James LaPierre whose touch felt slimy but whose voice was so mesmerizing? There were more questions to be answered by both men.
James gave her an unctuous smile as she smoothed her trousers before she sat.
“Well, my dear. I do hope you are okay. I got worried when you were gone for so long.”
Mari gave a mental snort. He thought that was long? He hadn’t met her girlfriends who could turn a five-minute potty break into a twenty-minute gabfest. She didn’t even give him the courtesy of a response. After Rosier’s interruption, her shoulders were tense and her guard was up.
“James, your personal story has been so interesting.” Mari hoped she wasn’t laying it on too thick. “I do have one question though. How did you find my father after your parents died? I mean—you were only sixteen.”
LaPierre leaned back in his chair for a moment then rocked forward with a solid thump. The unexpected sound made Mari jerk just a bit. His slight chuckle told her she might have just failed a test.
“Marielle? Why are you afraid of me?” He took her hand in his again. “There is no need. I am just a man whose parents were slaughtered by a demon. Your father actually found me. You see, demons leave an energy trail that an experienced witch can pick up on.”
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The pause he allowed gave Mari just enough time to wonder if he could trace Ros’
mirror visit. He confirmed it with a small chuckle. “Even when they travel via mirrors to the ladies’ room.”
At her small gasp, he jerked his head in what might pass for a nod in some places.
He squeezed her hand to the point of pain. “Oh yes. I know he was in the restroom with you. What did he tell you? What lies did he weave around you?”
Mari tugged fruitlessly at her hand. “You’re hurting me. Let go.”
James frowned down at their joined palms. “I’m sorry, Marielle. I am not hurting you nearly as much as keeping that vile creature living in that house will. You must relinquish him to me. Now.”
The whip of urgency he threaded into that last word came across as a command.
Mari again found herself fighting the urge to say yes. She snatched her hand back when he eased his grip. Rubbing her wrist, she toyed with her locket under her shirt. The unfamiliar lump on the chain caused her a moment of confusion. Then she remembered it was her father’s ring. She’d found a picture of the stone on the Internet and now knew it to be a red tiger’s eye. Because it was too and very masculine—a very simple square stone in a silver band—she’d hung it on the same slender chain that held her locket. Until now it had been tucked under her shirt. As she touched it, she lost the desire to agree with James.
His eyes narrowed as he focused on that piece of jewelry. She watched as his lips pressed together into a pencil-thin line. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath.
When he spoke, anger roiled off him like thunderclouds before a nasty summer storm.
“I see you are already wearing your father’s device.” His voice crackled with rage.
“As that was supposed to come to me on his death, I hope you will understand why I need to end this dinner. I find looking at it brings back unwelcome memories.”
He stood holding his hand out for her. The trip back mirrored the trip out with opera swelling from the car stereo, but James remained silent for the majority of the 46
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journey. When they pulled into the driveway, James reached out with one hand to gently touch her shoulder.
“Marielle, please forgive me.” He sounded tired but sincere. “You have to know that I only want to help you. I am sorry for my loss of temper over your father’s ring.”
Cautiously, she nodded at him. She had not forgotten how he had hurt her when he’d held her wrist. “I can understand being upset about that.”
His smile did not reach his eyes. “Thank you. I’ll be honest with you.”
He sighed. It was a deep weary sound. “Yes, I want Rosier so I can avenge my parents’ death but I also know that you are not strong enough to control him. If you do not relinquish him to me, I fear you too will die like your father.”