41 Dáinn
DáINN
Stepping through the void at the end of the garden path behind Prescott House, I stroll up between the beds of wildflowers.
This has been an exceptionally productive day.
My witch will be proud of all I’ve accomplished for him.
And I get to see Birdie again. Better yet, she finally gets to see me.
I stop at the back door and raise my fist to knock.
I’m only left waiting a moment before the old witch is peeking around the doorway from the kitchen.
The top half of this door is glass, so I know she can see me.
“There’s no soliciting here, Sunny. Be on your way.”
“But I’m not a solicitor, Hortense Hastings,” I call through the glass. “I’m a friend of Jasper’s and I’m here for dinner. Please, invite me in.”
In moments, Jasper is stepping around her, his big shoulders blocking out the light from the kitchen as he moves into the laundry room and crosses over to the back door.
We look like a matched pair in our T-shirts and jeans.
Though Baz accented my ensemble with a few additional jewelry pieces.
He called the look “rock and roll chic.”
Jasper’s eyes narrow as he takes me in. Groaning, he stands at the other side of the door, not opening it. “Oh, what the fuck are you doing?”
I smile brightly, brushing a hand down this render’s chest. “Hello, Jasper. I’m here for dinner.”
“You missed it. Try again tomorrow.”
My smile falls. “You won’t let me in?”
“Dáinn, seriously, what the fuck? Where the hell did you get a body like that, huh?”
“You know it’s me?”
He jerks the door open. “Of course I know it’s you, asshole. Get in here before someone sees you.”
Yet another rude invitation, but I’ll accept. We’re working up to the day he asks me nicely.
“Take your shoes off,” he adds.
“Right.” I stand on the inside of the door, watching as all the plants hanging from the ceiling shiver at me in warning.
They can hate me all they want; Jasper just invited me in.
I’m welcome here, no matter what the dill has to say about it.
I look down at my rendered feet. Baz put these shoes on me.
They appear to be some kind of boot with a set of laced ties.
Jasper stands back, watching me.
Brimming with determination, I offer him the set of architectural blueprints in my hand. “Will you hold these for a moment?”
He takes them. “What are they?”
“All will be revealed in good time.” Stepping around him, I sit on the nearby bench and bend over, slowly removing first one boot, then the other. Once both are off, I smile up at my witch. “Done. Exceptional boot-taking-off if I do say so myself.”
He just shakes his head. “Seriously, who the fuck gave you a body?”
I rise to my feet, flexing my socked toes on the flagstone floor. “How did you know it was me? This render looks nothing like me.”
“Because I know you. I see you in there, even if you’re wearing a different face.”
I can’t help but smile. “And what a gift it is to be known. Thank you, Jasper.”
Saying nothing, he hands the rolled blueprints back to me.
I glance around him, absently smoothing my shirt again. “Do you think Birdie will like this render?”
He turns away. “Birdie’s not here.”
I rush to follow after him. “She’s not—Jasper, what can you mean? We need her here! She belongs with us!”
As I step into the kitchen, the old witch lets out a shriek. “Oh, jumping Jupiter! You’re the wraith?”
I beam at her. “We meet again, Hortense Hastings. I trust you’ll find this render a suitable mortal disguise.”
Behind her, she has her air magic working overtime to clean the kitchen.
A broom dances across the tiles, sweeping dust into a little pan.
The dishes clink and splash as they wash themselves in the sink.
The old witch glances from me to Jasper, her magnified eyes blinking behind her red-framed glasses. “What is he doing here, Jasper?”
“I live here,” I reply for him.
We both watch as Jasper goes over to the fridge and pulls out a beer. Cracking off the top, he tosses the cap on the counter and takes a sip.
Hortense fills his silence. “Well, I never. Jasper Prescott, I refuse to share a roof with a wraith! Are you mad? He’s as likely to eat us as he is help us.”
Feeling dejected, I glance around at the trappings of this lovely kitchen, a room I’ve haunted with so much contentment in past weeks.
If Hortense doesn’t want me here, it doesn’t feel right to stay.
Haunting them was different. They couldn’t see me or feel my presence.
I could simply enjoy their company as they lived their lives.
But now they can see me. I strived to take a form that might set them at ease, and Hortense still wants me gone.
It’s never enough. Once mortals know the wraith, they can never see me as anything else.
I will only ever be a killer in her eyes, a devourer of souls.
It seems I’m not fit to share her kitchen or walk the garden paths.
I look to Jasper. “I have information that will help you in your quest to break my bond to Ludmilla. I’ll only ask for enough of your time to relay this information. Then I’ll go,” I add with a nod to the old witch. “And leave you in peace.”
Sighing, Jasper sets his beer aside. “No, stay.”
I brighten slightly, not daring to hope. “But . . . you don’t want me here.”
“Yes, I do.”
All the magic in the room stops as the old witch gasps. The dishes splash to the sink as the broom clatters to the floor. “Jasper, you can’t be serious—”
“He’s staying,” Jasper snaps at her. “The wraith is my friend. And my friends are to be granted welcome in my home. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
After a moment, Hortense huffs a haughty sniff.
“Well then. It appears my high priest has spoken. I suppose that means I am overruled.” With a snap of her fingers, all the out-of-place cleaning supplies right themselves.
The broom scurries to the corner as the dishcloths stuff themselves back in their drawer.
“I’m off to bed,” the old witch declares.
“Jasper, reset the wards before you turn in.” Spinning on her heel in her fuzzy pink slippers, she marches from the kitchen.
In moments, a door down the hall snaps shut.
Sighing, Jasper takes another swig of his beer. “Sorry about that. You said you had something to tell me?”
I look to him, searching his handsome face. “You stood up for me.”
He stills, bottle poised just before his lips. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“Why?”
Slowly, he lowers it. “Because I meant what I said. You’re here under my protection. I love Hortie more than my own life, but she doesn’t get to be rude to you.”
I smile gratefully. “No. Only you get that privilege.”
At this, he winces. “Yeah. Sorry. Asshole is sort of my natural state of being.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I reply. “Your rudeness excites me. It gives me hope that when you do finally surrender to my many charms, our lovemaking will be made all the sweeter.”
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You know, you don’t have to say out loud everything you’re thinking, right?”
“I know that. There’s plenty of things I’m only thinking and not saying. For instance, I haven’t said a word about how I can scent Birdie’s cunt on your mouth and fingers. I see now what you mean when you said I missed dinner.”
His expression goes carefully blank, but his aura gives him away. Apology, confusion, desire, and yes, pulsing there at the edges . . . is that worry? Was he afraid to tell me about what transpired between them this afternoon? As if in answer to my question, the witch shrugs. “It just happened.”
“There’s no reason for you to feel ashamed,” I assure him. “Birdie is a creature divine in every attribute. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here to watch you devour her.”
His brows arch in surprise. “You’re not gonna make me fight you for her or . . . I don’t know, rip my spine out of my back?”
I chuckle. What a silly mortal notion. “Birdie is mine, Jasper. There will be no fighting me for her. So long as whatever happens between you is consensual, why should I care if she finds pleasure with you too?”
“Because you think she’s yours,” he replies. “Why would you let me take pleasure in her without threatening to rip out my spine?”
I just shrug again. “Because you’re mine too.”
Sighing, he sets his beer aside.
I glance around the quiet house. “If things went so well between you this afternoon, why isn’t she here?”
He bristles. “She left, Dáinn.”
“But—”
“I’m not her keeper,” he says over me. “She’s allowed to leave if she wants.”
“But why wouldn’t she want to be here? It’s clear you serviced her well. The scent of her cunt is positively radiating off the—”
“Stop.”
I huff, crossing my arms. “Well, what happened?”
Oh, my witch is positively humming with anxiety now.
“Jasper, what did you do?”
Letting out a heavy breath, he looks to me. “I told her I was a witch, okay? I told her everything. Then I pulled two orgasms from her. Then she left.”
“Well . . . where did she go?”
He frowns. “Back to her little apartment so she can freak out in peace.”
Interesting. Jasper Prescott is the type of consummate loner who never lets anyone in. Never changes a habit. Never takes a risk. But hiring Birdie? Letting her live in the apartment? Trusting her with his coven’s secrets and sharing with her in the delights of the flesh?
Risk after risk after risk . . .
I lean in, smiling at my not-so-lonely witch. “You’re infatuated with her.”
“I’m not.”
Oh, this is fantastic. “There’s no point denying it,” I chime.
“I can read your aura, remember? Not to mention, I’ve been haunting you for weeks.
And I’ve tasted your soul. I’ve all but devoured it.
I know you, Jasper Lyons Prescott. Far better than you know yourself.
You are completely besotted with the human, and you’re sad she’s gone away. You want her here with us—”
“Get out of my head,” he growls. “And stop using my whole name like that. It’s weird.”