The Witch's Dream - A Love Letter to Paranormal Romance (Black Swan 2) (14 page)

“Your mother and I want to do the right thing, the best thing, for you. If you decide to accept this offer, we want to be sure that you’re doing it for you and not for... any other reason. We love you enough to let you go if you're inclined to think this is the best thing, but we want you to stay if it’s not. Do you understand?” Storm nodded and tried to swallow back the lump in his throat. That was the longest speech his father had ever made, that he knew of, and he heard the love in it loud and clear. “Alright. You know what you want to do?” Storm nodded again.

So Storm and his parents signed the contract. He gave his mother a big hug and tried not to notice how hard she was working to keep the moisture in her eyes from spilling over. He was already two inches taller and could look down on her when she wasn’t wearing heels. He was more trouble than the other two put together... more trouble to the third power. Even so, although she would never admit it even to herself, he was her favorite.

He stowed the half-filled duffel in the trunk of Nemamiah’s understated black sedan and waved to his parents who were standing in the front yard watching him drive away. He had just turned fourteen.

They drove south toward San Francisco. Nemamiah wasn’t big on small talk, but he told Storm he was welcome to listen to whatever radio station he liked. He then rolled the driver's side window part way down and lit a little, thin, black cigar.

They kept driving until they reached the naval base at Treasure Island. They were headed for the compound in the middle surrounded by a twenty-foot wall. They passed three checkpoints where guards recognized Nemamiah and waved him through. As they passed a gorgeous old graceful mansion with lawns and tennis courts, Nemamiah said it had once been an Admiral’s home, but that it was being used for the school now, that Storm would eat and enjoy leisure time there.

They parked next to a brick building, opened the door with a key card, and entered a long dormitory-style hallway. Each door had a nameplate. When they stopped mid way to the end, Storm looked at the door. The nameplate said Engel Storm.

He reached up to run his fingers over the lettering. “Wow. You must have been pretty sure I’d come.”

Nemamiah didn’t smile, but his eyes did soften just a touch. “We’ve been doing this for a long time, Mr. Storm. We know what we’re looking for.” He turned the knob and swung the door open. “And you’re it.”

Elora got up early enough to take Blackie out for a run. She put him on leash, thanked the doorman for his cheerful, "Good morn'" and started jogging down Princes Street to the east. The north entrance to Calton Hill was rarely used because the ascent by small, paved trail was a straight up heart attack waiting to happen even for young legs. But it was exactly the sort of workout Elora and Blackie needed. So they ran up.

When they reached the top, Elora unsnapped the leash and pulled a tennis ball out of her fanny pack. When Blackie saw it, he was so excited that he spun round in circles so fast he looked like a Tasmanian devil. She threw it toward the other side of the park and laughed out loud to see how joyfully he tore after it. They played in the park for the better part of an hour, then jogged back.

Elora's hair was still damp from showering when she joined the others at breakfast which, for her, was a fruit cup, cranberry scone and hot chocolate.

They were to get a complete tour of the building before lunch and a little orientation on the old part of Edinburgh just outside the front door. Elora had seen a little of that the night before.

B Team was assembled for their private lunch in the room that had been set aside for their exclusive use. Director Tvelgar, who had asked to be called Simon, was in attendance. The War Room was a lovely large space. It held an oblong table for eight, suitable for work, conference, or eating. The wall behind featured a large screen monitor flanked by electronic pen screen boards on either side. The rest was furnished with comfortably plush lounge seating. There was a small bar with complete coffee service, a small, but well stocked refrigerator, and a quarter bath for the sake of convenience.

An inviting buffet lunch had been set out on the bar. When Litha arrived, Storm had just gotten up to serve himself. As she breezed up to him, he turned to look down into deep green eyes enhanced by the matching green of her lightweight and clingy cashmere sweater. She was wearing a shin length, A-line skirt that fell into a drape swishing around her legs with a captivating femininity, and flat heeled shoes that gave her movement the grace of dance in progress.

"Hi," she said in an American accent. "I'm Litha Brandywine."

He got a flash impression of dark clouds rushing by on the wind. Before he could stop himself he said, "You smell like a rainstorm."

As Litha looked up into Storm's handsome face, her red, bow-shaped lips formed a bewitching smile. "What a nice compliment!" she said in a voice that was naturally sultry without affectation. "There’s nothing more wonderful. Something about the rumble of thunder that’s so primal, so carnal. It’s the ultimate turn on. Add the smell of a rain storm coming and you have a witch’s dream.”

Storm wanted to look away, but seemed to be hypnotized by the illusion of tiny little flames dancing in her eyes. He shook himself internally, wondering if he had heard right. Did she just say carnal at the exact same moment his dick twitched in his pants in response to that smile?

"I'm not looking for a relationship," he blurted. He was thinking it must be a day for wondering because now he was also wondering what had happened to the simple security of having a mouth that cooperated with his brain. He was the kind of guy who liked control. Everything about the idea of his tongue going rogue was disturbing on a cellular level.

Having heard his part of the exchange, since he had added volume to the force of the proclamation, everybody in the room had stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him with a giant unspoken, "What the hell?" on their faces.

Litha's expression never changed. Nor did she miss a beat. She acted like his out-of-left-field comment was the most natural thing in the world. The beauty of her poise and composure bore through the stunned haze of Storm's humiliating behavior long enough for him to register that Litha Brandywine was extraordinary. Even the tease of her smile had never wavered.

"Oh," she said lightly, "I hadn't realized I was planning our wedding out loud."

That broke the tension and drew a few muffled chuckles, but Storm's friends were still regarding him with a question mark. The fact that she was so unflappable while he was acting like a dunderhead was annoying.

Simon came to the rescue and interjected: "Litha is here in the capacity of tracker. She's on loan from Magicks for the purpose of helping you isolate targets."

"Witch?" Elora asked.

"Best we've got," answered Simon. "You know, Storm, Litha's also from wine country."

Litha tore her gaze away from Storm, who was still staring at her and wondering what had happened. She glanced around the room at everyone present and nodded as she set her things down next to Elora. "Yes indeed. Cock Bay."

Elora’s eyes widened at the remark.

"Sorry." Litha chuckled. "It's just a little bit of local color. Back in the fifties Alfred Hitchcock filmed a movie called 'The Birds' at Bodega Bay. Since it's our only claim to fame, the locals started calling it Hitchcock Bay. Eventually it got shortened."

Elora smiled. "Oh. I just assumed there must be a unit of Black Swan knights there."

Ram snickered and grinned at her like he couldn't be more proud.

Turning to hang her sweater on the chair, Litha knocked her satchel off the table strewing papers on the floor. In the messy stack were some sketches and a little watercolor of a pink, Italianate villa with red bougainvillea trailing from pots on steps.

Squatting down to help gather the spill, Storm picked up the small square of colorful art and examined it. “What is this?”

"Oh nothing," she took it from his hand. "It's a pretty little vineyard close to where I was raised. It sits high up on a cliff, the ocean on one side, the Russian River Valley on the other." She smiled at the little square. "To me it's heaven on earth."

Storm stared at her for a split second then straightened and walked to his chair. He had a photograph of the same villa in his luggage. It was dog-eared from being with him wherever he went. It had been in his pocket that Yuletide day when he walked away from Elora Laiken. He had been planning to show it to her on the plane, hoping with all his might to see her face light up with a description of his dreams for the future. He'd been in love with that place ever since he was sixteen, but had kept that fact hidden from even his teammates, because there was a part of him that was afraid his desire for it was dangerously close to obsession.

For over half his life, he had been saving so that one day, when the time was right, he could walk up to the front door, ring the bell, and say to the owner, "How much?"

It was hard for Storm to concentrate on the details of the briefing. His mind kept drifting to the unlikelihood of such a coincidence. Plus his eyes kept wandering back to the witch's red, red lips. Or her dark, green eyes. Or her skin with the bronze patina that made it look heated from the inside. Or her mess of black hair that fell to her shoulder blades and curled like she had just been well loved.

Completely aware that he was taking her measure, Litha finally looked him straight in the face, not bothering to hide that she hadn't been kidding about wedding plans.

When they had finished lunch and were ready to begin structuring the new department, the door opened and a young woman hurried in carrying a large stack of papers. The latest arrival hesitated, eyes darting around the room, registering that the only vacant seat was next to Baka. He took in her chestnut curls, amber eyes, and generous curves in one practiced sweep - along with her hesitation about taking the chair next to him.

Simon glanced over his shoulder. "Ah. Help has arrived."

Baka gestured to the empty chair next to him. "Please."

She appeared to be gathering resolve. Once decided, she walked to the end of the table purposefully and sat next to Baka. With conspicuous formality and unmistakably Anglish dialect she said, "How do you do. I'm Heaven."

“I can see that,” he said in his usual flirtatious manner.

“Right. And I've never heard that one before, have I?” Turning her attention to Simon she said, "The newly arrived employees
are
familiarized with sexual harassment policies are they not?"

Before Simon could decide how to answer, Baka had bristled at the suggestion that he would sexually harass Heaven or anyone else and had taken personal offense. “I beg your pardon. What I meant to say was that Heaven is an excellent stage name for stripping, but most 'dancers'..." He formed air quotes when he said the word 'dancers'. "... take on more understated names when they enter respectable occupations such as this.”

Her amber eyes took on an angry glow and narrowed on him while the flush on her face began to spread downward.

“I don't know much about stripper names, Master Vampire." She drew out the word vampire and said it like it was something the plumber would throw away after clearing a drain. "But I did a two-year internship in Chronicles when I was taking certification in demonology and read some of your history. Until, what? Three weeks ago
you
were classified a demon yourself. Was that the sort of respectability you had in mind?"

They stared at each other with enmity having instantly taken root and growing by the second. Baka was speechless. His jaw tightened visibly revealing that he was clenching his teeth.

Tvelgar thought it might be a good time to mention why Heaven McBride had joined them. Looking at Baka, he said, "Meet your personal assistant." The Director's tone managed to be dry and wry at the same time.

While Baka stared at Simon like he must be deranged, Heaven was saying, "Not by choice I assure you," under her breath.

Baka wasn't pleased to let her have the last word. The conflict he was experiencing was almost painfully unnerving. He was attracted to her and repelled by her at the same time. The first was understandable. The second was not. Something about her put him on edge and made him want to flee the room.

The rest of the afternoon was spent sorting out a starting point for one of the biggest and most involved projects of the century: a mass migration of refugees from hell to the everyday problems of humanity, including shortcomings like weakness and mortality. Every time Baka gave his assistant a task, she glared at him, eyes flashing, nostrils flaring. It was most unfortunate that her new boss enjoyed the fallout of her distress. When he had realized that the nature of the job gave him the upper hand, his mood was restored to stable, if not outright euphoria.

Elora had decided that, since Katrina and Kay's sisters were leaving the following morning, she would organize a night out: pub food, live music, and maybe a pint or two. She included Baka, Aelsong, and Litha in the invitation then had a nice long chat with the doorman about the best place in walking distance for good stew and an unplugged jig. He suggested a pub in the shadow of the Balmoral Hotel, six minutes walking distance. So Elora told everybody to meet in the lobby at eight. Ram was not all that excited about a night out in Fairyland, but Elora wanted it so, naturally, he agreed. Kay said he would go by the hotel for his women and meet up at the pub.