Wolfsbane: Aspect of the Wolf (4 page)

He remained staring at her. “Will you still come over tonight?"

She gave him a smile she hoped wasn't brittle. “Sure. I'll see you at eight. I love Thai."

"Are you sure you don't need—"

"I'll be fine. I'll see you later.” She kept her smile in place until he'd gone.

Daniel left Mystikal Excursions, feeling about as low as one of Chester Creek's demons. All he'd wanted was to make the town safe, to help undo some of the damage the warlock had accomplished while masquerading as a reputable business owner. He hadn't known Emilie when he drafted the petition asking the Mayor to ban her business from taking over the premises of Creek's Magick Shop. He had figured, if the petition succeeded, Mystikal Excursions and its young proprietress would just disappear, to be replaced by a normal business, like a bookstore or a flower shop. Something safe.

She'd been at the town meeting when he addressed the mayor, but she hadn't gotten up to speak. He'd thought at the time that the overwhelming positive response to his presentation had scared her into silence. A lesser woman might have given up and left quietly, but she'd hung on. The Mayor had agreed to allow her business to open, under the condition that it caused absolutely no trouble. Daniel wondered how long it would be before the seed of intolerance that he'd planted began to grow out of control, and what he could do to stop it.

Despite the broken window and the odd brown stain that had appeared in the center of the floor in the back room, the day hadn't been a total loss. Late in the afternoon, a bus from the County Seat disgorged a hungry group of senior citizens on a shopping tour. Emilie never dreamed she'd see her shop so full. For three hours they came and went in between trips to the ice cream parlor, the quilt shop and the bakery on the corner. No one seemed bothered by the taped up hole in the front window or the growing chill seeping in from the back room. Amazingly, the nether realm remained quiet all afternoon.

By 6:00, wreathless and down to her last besom, Emilie felt a little less hopeless than she had when Daniel had been there. She bid the last of the souvenir hunters farewell and closed the shop, exhausted.

Tomorrow she'd begin filling the mail orders for stock and supplies she needed, and work on a flier to mail out to more than two dozen new customers.

Not a bad day after all, she decided as she locked up.
Now for my next challenge—finding something to wear that goes with Thai food and werewolves.

As she climbed into her car and headed home, she tried not to think of Daniel. Her focus had to be on his brother's condition. But once she'd cured Vance Garrison, would Daniel still want to see Mystikal Excursions closed down? She'd always thought Charlotte's views on trusting men to be a little extreme, but perhaps in this case her cousin had a point. This wasn't about forging a friendship with Daniel Garrison. It was only about helping someone who needed help, then moving on, all the while taking care to protect herself and her business.

"I'll be glad when I don't have to lie to Bethany any more,” Vance said, setting the table in the dining room for three. “She thinks I'm crunching numbers with you on the Peterson portfolio tonight."

"Good excuse. I could actually use some help with that. Red or white?” Daniel asked.

"What?"

"What kind of wine?” Daniel looked up, kneeling next to the sideboard, where a wooden latticework held a few bottles of decent vintage in the lower cabinet.

"I didn't know this was a date.” Vance adjusted his glasses and smirked. In the light from the modest chandelier hanging over the dining table, Daniel could see the faint swelling on the side of his brother's face from the recent blow.

He felt a pang of guilt. What might he have to do next time to stop Vance from running loose? How difficult would it be to hide the next injury he incurred while in wolf form?

"It's a business meeting,” Daniel said, rising. He wasn't trying to impress Emilie after all; just being an attentive host.

Vance nodded, apparently unconvinced. “White. How about candles?"

"Do we have any black ones?"

"No, but I can dig out the fake spider webs from last Halloween and whip up some eyeball soup."

"Black candles absorb negativity. She'd probably appreciate it, after what happened at the store today."

Glasses clinked and silverware chimed as Vance finished the place settings. “Guilt getting to you?"

"It's not guilt. I just hadn't expected a frontal attack."

Vance sighed. “Look, I know my situation hasn't helped your personal vendetta against magick—"

"I don't have a personal vendetta against magick.” Daniel plunked down the wine bottle in the center of the table. “I don't have a vendetta against any one or anything."

"You blame magick for what happened to Pop."

"I blame Pop for what happened to Pop.
And
what happened to you. He got you involved—made you go off hunting werewolves like it was the family business or something. Look where you both ended up."

Vance raised an eyebrow. “I'm not dead yet."

"No, but how many full moons before you end up with a silver bullet in your butt? Someone saw you this time. Now they're looking for a rabid dog in the park. You were
this
close to attacking me. What if next time it's Bethany?"

That thought sobered Vance. He stepped back from the table and dropped his gaze, concern clouding his features. “I could never hurt Beth. No matter what."

"You don't know that. You don't know what you're capable of as a werewolf. And neither do I. You saw what you did to the padlock. And how many times do you want to wake up tasting squirrel?"

"Uh. Did you have to bring that up? How'm I supposed to eat now?” Vance gave a theatrical shiver.

"Seriously. This is more than just making sure you don't transform in the middle of your honeymoon. You could hurt someone, and if you do, how can I stop the other werewolf hunters from coming for you? Your own friends will have to hunt you. You don't want to die that way, do you?"

Vance clapped Daniel on the back and gave him a reassuring look just as the doorbell rang. “I'm not going to die. That's why we've got Sabrina the Sexy Witch in our corner. Go let her in and let's get started on de-fanging me."

Vance Garrison looked nothing like his brother. His glossy black hair had the unruly look of a self-inflicted haircut. Sensitive dark eyes hid behind copper-colored wire-rimmed glasses, and his lanky build reminded Emilie of a long-distance runner.

Unlike Daniel's somewhat stiff, gentlemanly manner, Vance seemed completely at ease with himself, his brother and their houseguest. By the time he poured her a second glass of wine, she felt like she'd known him all her life. She wasn't self-conscious talking about her family and even her coven. The twelve women with whom she met each month for moral support and friendship would have taken bids on the younger Garrison brother, if he hadn't already been engaged.

"Tell me about your fiancée,” she said when they'd finished their meal and moved into the spacious living room. For a home occupied by two males, the place appeared neat, nicely decorated and well maintained. The Garrison house had a homey feel that Emilie wouldn't have expected of Daniel. She'd figured him for stainless steel, ergonomic furniture and lots of sleek glass and leather. Seeing him comfortably seated in a corduroy recliner negated some of the stuffy attitude she thought he possessed.

"Beth and I met last year on a tour of Italy.” Vance swirled his wine, a fond reminiscence in his eyes. This was a man in love. “I'd never met anyone like her. She dazzled me."

Emilie glanced at Daniel, who seemed genuinely pleased for his brother, then smiled at Vance. “She's not going to understand about you being a werewolf?"

The dreamy look vanished from Vance's eyes. “She's a perfectly normal person. And I emphasize ‘perfect.’ She's a schoolteacher, works with disabled children. She doesn't even like scary movies. This would utterly freak her out."

Daniel cleared his throat. “You said something about tweaking the spell on the silver chain?” He seemed more anxious than Vance to begin the magickal work.

Emilie pulled the chain from her pocket and arranged it in a circle on the coffee table. “I'd like to see the spell you used to make this."

An uncomfortable look passed over Daniel's face. Vance eyeballed him suspiciously.

"The book is here.” He opened a drawer in the end table beside the recliner and pulled out a book bound in cracked burgundy leather. When he handed it to Emilie, she felt the resonance all the way up to her elbow.

"This was your grandfather's?"

Daniel nodded.

"And you say he
wasn't
a witch?” she asked, leafing through the old pages one sheet at a time. The book looked more like a diary than a grimoire, with dated entries written in the strong, angular hand of a man in a hurry. Here and there she recognized the cadence of spells and incantations, interspersed with accounts of what appeared to be werewolf hunts. “I understand."

"No, not completely,” Vance responded, but Daniel silenced him with a look.

"What? Don't keep me in the dark. If there's more I should know, then—"

"Pop hunted werewolves for thirty-two years,” Daniel said. “He personally killed more than a hundred in Europe and even chased one all the way to Australia.” Daniel leaned toward Emilie, flipped over a few of the book's crinkled pages, then pointed to an entry. “Here—a tribe of aborigines helped him track down a creature they believed had escaped from the fevered dreamtime of an injured man."

Emilie scanned the page. “It looks like they taught him a few protection charms. We may be able to use these."

"Do you think you'll be able to come up with something before the next full moon?” Vance asked.

"I'll try my best. At the very least, we'll find a way to keep you safe during the next cycle if I haven't come up with a workable spell. Do you have more of your grandfather's papers?"

Vance hesitated. What was he hiding?

"It's all right if you prefer to keep them private."

"Why don't you show her, Dan? I'm going to give Beth a call and let her know we're not coming up for air on the Peterson portfolio.” Vance stood and headed for the kitchen, grabbing Emilie's empty wineglass on the way. “I'll refill this for you."

"Just half, thanks. When I get home I've got to do some research. I don't want to fall asleep with my nose in a book."

"I'll show you the room Pop used as an office,” Daniel said.

He guided her out of the living room and up a narrow flight of stairs to a hexagonal garret on the third floor. The floorboards creaked and groaned as they stepped inside. The smell of old books and dried herbs surrounded Emilie, and she immediately got a sense of the man the Garrison brother's called “Pop."

"This was his house?” she asked.

Daniel found a pull chain that turned on a fringed lamp. The old bulb illuminated an open roll-top desk, overflowing with papers, letters, old-fashioned inkwells and bottles labeled in the same tight handwriting as the journal he'd shown her. “Vance and I inherited the place. I'm buying him out so he and Beth can get a house of their own."

Emilie's fingers ached to touch everything in sight. Pop might not have been a witch, but he had magick. A great deal of it still lingered in the room. Like her grandmother, it seemed everything he had touched contained a powerful essence. Emilie wondered if his grandsons had inherited any of the power. She certainly thought she felt something from Daniel.

Standing with him in the little room, she realized the feeling was more than just her own traitorous attraction to him. He possessed a hidden strength, something coiled just below the surface. She saw it in the tight set of his jaw and the controlled way he moved. She watched him now, bending to retrieve a box from under the desk. He brought it into the amber puddle of light and let her see inside.

"These were things he used on his trips. Maybe there's something that will help. You can have all of it."

She gave him a skeptical look as he handed her the box. “You're giving it to me?"

"Unless you'd like to work up here. You can use anything you find in this room, anything that will help Vance. In a way, I'd be happy to be rid of the stuff."

"It makes you uncomfortable."

He gave her one of those looks that made her tingle. “To me, it's like having a loaded gun in the house. It's too dangerous. Pop—my grandfather—experimented with magick and it caused him a lot of trouble. Vance is following the same path."

"Vance was hunting werewolves in Germany, wasn't he?” The whole story started to click now. Werewolf hunters rarely survived long once they'd been bitten—his own kind would turn against him.

"He's been spending summers doing it since we were in high school."

"They won't kill him unless he's transformed,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. She felt the tension in his muscles and the heat of his skin. “He's safe until next month."

"Then what? I don't want Vance to lose his fiancée, but I don't want him to lose his life either."

"I'll do everything in my power. And if I can't locate the right spell, I'll find someone who can. I promise."

A faint smile flickered on his lips, cutting the tension just enough for them to realize how close they were standing. Emilie felt Daniel's breath on her cheek, smelled the warm masculine scent of his cologne, and let her imagination run free. She imagined those muscular arms around her, his lips bruising hers in a demanding kiss and...

Fantasy over!

She backed up a step, putting Pop's wooden magick box between them and tightly pressing it against her stomach to ease the sudden ache below her navel. “I'd probably better get home and start working on the problem."

Daniel held her gaze for a moment longer, then sidestepped to give her access to the stairwell. “Let me carry the box downstairs for you."

She gave it to him, and he waited while she descended.

Vance met them in the living room. He eyed the box and gave his brother a smirk. “I see you found a way to get rid of some of Pop's junk."