Chapter 5 #2
Her nostrils flared. “I am fully aware of the ethics. I am also aware that if Sasha so much as breathes in his direction, amphibians will be the least of her worries.”
“Charming.” I used my foot to slide the flamingo pool a touch closer in case Pete felt like making an escape attempt. He bobbed, unimpressed. “Let’s address the paralysis before discussing frogs.”
She huffed. “Fine.”
I snapped on gloves and moved to examine her.
An anchoring weave hummed under her skin.
It was messy, but effective. I could break it gently without tearing the dermal structure if I took my time.
I murmured the softener, felt the spell threads loosen under my hands, then finished with an enchantment to reduce inflammation.
The bruises would do what bruises do, but the muscles remembered how to be muscles again with a few coaxing pulses of power.
Her eyebrows twitched. An eyelid fluttered. Then, like thawing permafrost, emotions returned to her face. She sighed with operatic relief. “Bless you,” she said, then caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room. “Oh, thank the Triple Goddess. I was starting to look permanently surprised.”
“Now, let’s talk about Pete.”
Her gaze darted to the pool. The frog blinked, then kicked a lazy froggy kick that moved him in a slow circle past Barbie, his golden eye tracking her plastic smile.
“I can reverse the transformation,” I said. “I will not, however, compel his affections. That’s manipulation, not medicine.” I needed her to fully understand.
“Don’t be sanctimonious,” she snapped. “It was supposed to be a binding of tongues. Communication, Cora. We’ve been fighting.
I found an old rite that said if lovers share tongues under the new moon, they will speak the same language.
I didn’t—” She swallowed, and honest tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to do this. I was… angry. ”
“Love and obsession are very different emotions. I won’t help you ensnare his heart.”
The frog croaked, a sound that vibrated through its entire body like a plucked bass string. He stared at her and blew a bubble. It popped with comedic delicacy.
“That rite is archaic,” I mumbled. “In the old texts, ‘tongue’ often stands for ‘speech’ or ‘words.’ It means to share truths.” How apt a spell that could reveal all our secrets was sitting in my office. Now, how to undo it?
“Soul extraction,” Indigo suggested in my mind, smug, as if she’d been waiting to contribute. “Quick snip. He won’t feel a thing.”
“Not helping,” I told my resident soul-sucker. “We’re not harvesting anyone’s anything today.”
Marcia sucked in a sharp breath. “Can you fix him?”
“Yes,” I said as I held my hand up. “But not today.”
She huffed. “What do you mean?”
“That spell has a backlash. I need to keep him for observation, to check for magical residue, and to ward against a personal consequence of undoing a spell I didn’t cast. I need the original one you used to make sure I don’t rip his soul out through his sternum.
I’ll also need the components you used.”
She leaned back and folded her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yes, you do. “The tongue of the lover, as in the language of his heart. Three truths only Pete would know about you. You wrote them and sealed them with your blood.”
“They are private,” she snapped.
“And you’ll have doctor-patient confidentiality, but without the originals, I can’t help you.”
She tried meeting my stare with her own but only managed a few seconds before dropping her gaze. “Okay.”
“Real love isn’t a potion, Marcia. It’s the unglamorous daily choice to stay. If Pete chooses you, you’ll know it was his choice, not some cocktail of ground root and bad Latin.”
Her chin trembled. “Fine.” She stood and stared at the frog, tears slipping free. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I’m an idiot.”
The frog blinked, then did a slow bob that looked suspiciously like a nod.
“You’ll keep him?” she asked.
“Yes, but if he bites me, I’ll charge extra.”
She didn’t laugh. My humor was lost on the witch.
“Thank you. I’ll return with the truths.”
Forgoing the typical trip upstairs, which would give us another look at the ghostly activity, I led Marcia out of my office, through the examination room, and out of the house.
I locked the door behind her and returned to glare at my spreadsheets mocking me with their rainbow of colors.
Bella licked her paw while eyeing the paddling frog.
He bumped his nose into the Barbie, who stared back with unwavering, problematic encouragement.
I slid the flamingo to the corner, away from drafts and sunlight, and fetched a gauzy mosquito net. “There. That should keep you safe.”
He croaked, low and resentful. I took that as an agreement.
Harry drifted through the far wall. “I hear there’s an amphibious romance situation,” he said, floating toward the pool and peering in. “Oh. He’s handsome for a one-eyed frog.”
I nibbled on my bottom lip, unsure how to answer that. The boundary wards clanged in my head, heralding the arrival of company of the corporal variety and saving me from having to come up with a suitable response. Instead, I ignored him and slapped a Post-It on the flamingo.
Patient: Pete
Do not kiss.
“Reminds me of my uncle,” Harry mused, then bent so close his nose almost dipped into the water. “Poor sod. Is that a toy?”
“Emotional support lifeguard,” I replied. “Don’t haunt him. He’s got enough problems, and I’m not sure how much intellect he retains.”
Harry drifted back and straightened his tie. “I am excellent company.”
The rumble of an engine circled the property. Maggie stuck her head in my door and thrust a Tupperware toward me. “Delivery is here.” After I accepted it, she dove back out and thudded up the stairs.
I stalked through my office and examination room, throwing open the door just as the distinct reversing alarm sounded, reminding me of a heart monitor.
After it parked, Mike, a tall guy with a buzz cut, green eyes, and a permanent smile, jumped out the driver's side. He was one of the few who didn’t mind the supernatural creepiness at Summer Grove House.
Likely because we tipped him in Maggie’s cookies.
He glanced at the offering in my palm. “What delights do you have for me there, Cora?”
“Raisin and oatmeal.”
He grabbed the box, held it to his chest, and sighed like I’d made his entire week better. The power of a good cookie cannot be underestimated.
The passenger door opened, and a guy I’d never met approached us.
I tilted my head in question.
“Oh, this is Owen. He’s training and learning the ropes with me this week.”
“Hi,” he mumbled as stuffed his hands in his dark jeans pockets and swiveled his head, taking in the carport.
“How’s the family?” I asked Mike with a wary eye on the newcomer.
He placed the cookies on his seat, which made me grin.
He’d eat them while on the job today. He yanked on the handle and slid the door open, revealing a van full of brown unmarked boxes.
“Twins are running circles around me, but Tanya has them under control.” He tilted his head.
“Mostly. Lord help us when the next pair arrive.”
Wrangling a pair of four-year-old boys whose names should be Double and Trouble was no mean feat, and now they had another set on the way.
“How far along is she?”
“Seven months. She said to thank you for the nausea medication. It worked more than anything her doctor gave.”
“She’s very welcome.” Nature held a lot of the answers to the ailments that affected us. It was too bad we’d lost sight of that fact with synthetic drugs.
Mike handed me the invoice, and my brow rose as I checked it over. What the hell were unicorn surgical gloves? At least they were half the price of the standard ones.
Owen grasped the first box. “Where do you want them?”
I didn’t want a stranger in my house, so I directed him to set them by the door while I scanned the rest of the paper.
Harry floated out of the house and stopped next to me.
Owen blinked. “Is that a ghost?”
“Yup.” No point in lying when the country was experiencing a supernatural uprising.
“I’ve seen them around, but not had the guts to get close.”
Owen stepped toward Harry and swept his hand through his stomach.
“Rude,” Harry snapped.
Owen’s mouth fell open, and his eyes went wide. Harry disappeared, his startled yelp left floating on the breeze. Mike froze with two boxes in his arms.
I glanced at where Harry should be and back at Owen, folding my arms. “What did you do with my ghost?”
“Right here, Miss Roberts,” Owen grumbled with a shiver. “I feel discombobulated.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Harry.”
Owen blinked and shook his head, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “I think your… thing… possessed me.”
Harry yanked himself out with the sound of a wet balloon peeling from vinyl.
“Pineapples,” he told the unfortunate human.
“Pineapples every which way. Upside down pineapples.” He hovered for a heartbeat, his expression one of mortification before he disappeared again, making Mike snort. I scratched my temple.
Owen’s expression cycled between fight, flight, and something resembling the need to call a therapist. He settled on the fourth—getting the hell off the creepy doctor’s property. He stumbled toward the van, muttering something about TripAdvisor being right.
I narrowed my eyes. “What did you say?” Instead of answering, he dove into the van, slamming the door behind him.
Mike shrugged and dropped the final box at my feet. “I told them not to put him on my rounds today.”
“Not sure a brush with a ghost was on the risk assessment or job description.”
Mike smirked as he backed up and spread his hands. “Until next week.”
“Lose the idiot,” I instructed before he climbed into the van and took off.
I strode into my office and grabbed my laptop, pulling up the popular review site. My mouth fell open, and I growled low. “I’m going to murder a vampire princess.”
Pete let out a long, vibrating croak that sounded absurdly like agreement.