Chapter Two
By the time Marsh got back to the office, he was irritated. He knew that one of the little shits who did the vandalism was the mayor’s son. It wasn’t going to be easy to deal with a pissy mayor when Marsh pulled the boy in.
“That didn’t take long,” Doris said. She was a woman of indeterminate years who had worked at the station for as long as Marsh remembered. She knew more about running it than Marsh or his father…and she knew where the bodies were buried.
“Yeah. Well, the dumbass spray-painted his name on the school.”
“Let me guess, Wes Wendell?”
He glanced at her, wondering not for the first time if she had spies all over town. She always knew what was going on.
“Yes. Mayor’s going to be a pain in the ass about it.”
“And just what am I going to be a pain in the ass about, Sheriff MacMillan?” Cynthia Wendell said from behind him. He winced, then smoothed his expression to face her.
Cynthia and Marsh were about the same age and had attended high school together.
She had been the prom queen then…and now.
She had her long blonde hair up in some kind of twist behind her head.
He didn’t have to see it because she wore it that way every day.
The tailored pink suit, low heels, and perfect makeup were a far cry from the little skirts she wore in high school.
He’d stolen a kiss from her at a high school dance… and regretted it ever since.
“Mayor. Your son’s been out painting. Again.”
“I’ve told you it isn’t Wesley.”
Another thing he didn’t like, other than the fact that she refused to accept her son was a spoiled pain in the ass. She’d named her son Wesley Wendell. You had to be sick to do that.
“There were witnesses. I’m going to have to arrest him.”
“I want to be there when you question him.”
He nodded. “He’s a minor, so of course. I have Adam picking him up right now.”
“And you did talk to Ms. Merryweather about that horrible cat, didn’t you?”
Doris snorted. Marsh often wondered if she knew how attracted he was to Constance. Doris always seemed to contact him when there was an incident between Simon and Killer.
“Yes, I did.”
“Good. That cat has been so horrible to my Killer since Ms. Merryweather arrived in town.”
He watched her, wondering about his first reaction all those years ago. When he had kissed her, something had felt bad. Not the good kind of bad…just wrong. It had freaked him out enough to stay away from her.
Now, with Constance, he could imagine that her kisses would be warm. As would be her body. He sighed and garnered a nasty look from Cynthia.
Before he could apologize, the door burst open, bringing Adam and a very petulant Wesley Wendell.
Oh, this was not going to be fun.
“So, when were you going to tell me about your Sheriff Hunk?” Caprice asked, appearing on the counter beside Constance.
Constance jumped. It had been hours since she’d seen her sister, and she had already opened the shop. She’d known Caprice was around. They were twins and witches, so they could never really fool each other. Still, Constance had hoped Caprice would have waited until she’d closed down for the day.
“I have no idea what you mean.” Constance had dreaded this conversation since the moment she had met Marsh. She knew Caprice was trying to make up for lost time after her divorce, but she had wanted to keep Marsh to herself.
“Constance Broomhilda Merryweather, don’t you lie to me.”
“My middle name is not Broomhilda.”
Caprice ignored that. “Are you going to tell me about him?”
She shrugged, a sinking feeling enveloping her as she reshelved some books. Since starting her little bookshop, she had found comfort in the everyday tasks of running it. She’d often used it to ignore the ache she had for her family.
“Darling, I’m not interested in him for myself. If we want to break that damned prophecy, we need to rid you of your virginity.”
She looked at her sister, stunned. “You knew what I was doing?”
Caprice laughed. “Yes, and I approve. Why didn’t we think of it sooner?”
Relief coursed through her. “I don’t know. Plus, all the guys we were around were…well they knew of the prophecy.”
Caprice rolled her eyes. “I would think one of them would have enough nerve to seduce you into bed.”
But no one had tried. Of course, they would have if Caprice had been the oldest Merryweather but that was another story.
“Back to MacMillan. Is he single?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, all I need to do is a potion—”
“No. No way.”
“What is wrong with a little nudge? He wants you.”
She slanted her a look. “Have you been into the pixie dust again?”
Caprice rolled her eyes. “No, and he is. He was watching your ass when you went up the stairs.”
“He was not.”
Her sister smiled and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “He was. It was odd.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No. There’s a vibe around him I can’t figure out. It’s almost…” she shook her head.
“What?” Constance asked, worry pulsing through her. Many witches discounted Caprice, but she had amazing insight.
“Well, it’s like he’s one of us.”
“Okay, you have been dipping into the dust.” She shook her head. Pixie Dust was the name of a liquor made for witches. Regular alcohol didn’t work on them, but Pixie Dust could get them drunk—and it was highly addictive.
“I have not. I would if I thought it would work.”
There it was, that sadness again. She ached for her sister and even her brother-in-law Simon. They loved each other, but they drove each other crazy.
“Cappy, why don’t you call him?”
She sighed. “We’re divorced.”
Constance thought that her sister needed to know the truth. But, as soon as she opened her mouth, Simon appeared.
“What? The Merryweather sisters are at it again?”
The air sizzled with power, Simon’s and Caprice’s. They might be divorced, but there was something between them. In truth, Constance had always thought they were lifemates.
“We aren’t at anything.”
“But helping you get laid,” Simon said with a smirk. From the time they were teenagers, Simon had been one of them. While Caprice and Simon had fallen in love, Constance had gained a brother. One that she loved…and at the moment, hated.
“It is the smartest thing to do,” Caprice said, ice dripping from her words.
“I agree.”
“Come on, you two. This is weird.” It was okay for Caprice to talk about it, but she was uncomfortable with Simon knowing what was going on.
“Get over it, Constance. This affects us all. I really don’t want Alistair Higgenbothem running our world. He marries you, and then deflowers you, we’re stuck with him. He’s bad news.”
Of all the people she expected to help her—and she had only really counted on Caprice—Simon was the last person she expected to show up in Texas. His family had counted on their dealings with the Higgenbothems for years. Connections in the witch world were everything.
“No one else believed me. Other than Caprice.”
“If you say there’s something…there has to be. If the prophecy was true, then you wouldn’t feel weird things about your intended. So, ladies, what’s the plan?”
“I think we have this covered,” Caprice said.
Constance leaned closer. “Cappy, he could help us. If the Higgenbothems get wind of what I’m doing…I’m in trouble. Simon can help protect us.”
Caprice glanced at her, then away, but not before Constance saw the tears.
She hated to put her sister through it, but she was down to just two weeks before her wedding.
Or the wedding she planned to ditch. She knew Alistair wouldn’t marry her if she lost her virginity. She needed both her sister and Simon.
“Okay. But…I need to check out a few things.”
“I love you, Cappy.”
She smiled at her. “And I hope you love me enough.”
Then she disappeared. The instant she did, the suffocating feeling faded.
“So, Simon, you’re here to help?”
He shrugged and pretended to look at a shelf full of books.
He was tall for a warlock, which meant he was seriously tall.
Over six-five with a head full of dark brown hair and the most mesmerizing green eyes, he had been considered a catch in their world.
He’d been considered a god in the human world.
Constance knew he could have any woman he wanted, but there was only one he desired.
“Yes. Of course. I would do anything for my sister.”
That was the truth. “It has nothing to do with the fact you’re still bonded with my sister, does it?”
He gave her a side glance, then went back to studying the book spines. “Whatever do you mean?”
She walked up to him. “I know. I can feel it when you’re around. What on Earth are you thinking?”
He sighed. “I can’t let her go. Ever. I love her.”
She rolled her eyes. “You drive each other crazy.”
“So.”
It took all her control not to grab him and shake him. Caprice and Simon were equal parts good and bad for each other. The problem was when it was bad, it could be dangerous. The two of them had amazing power to destroy things when they were mad at each other—including themselves.
Still, she hurt for both of them. If Simon didn’t unbond himself from Caprice, it could be bad. Really bad.
“Love isn’t supposed to be like that.”
He turned to face her with an unusually serious expression on his face.
“Constance, sister. You need to find someone who drives you crazy. A person who entices you to be bad. Everyone should have that person in their lives.”
Every word he spoke resonated with the love he had for Caprice. She sighed.
“I’ve given up hope. I just need someone to help me with my situation, and then everything will be good.”
She heard a creak on the wooden floor behind her. Panic shifted through her. She turned to find a very irritated Sheriff MacMillan frowning at her. He had his thumbs tucked behind his belt buckle.
“What situation is that?” Marsh asked.