Touched By Magic (Château Nocturne #3)

Chapter One

GENEVIèVE

Before we start... Be sure to sign up for my newsletter – you’ll get three free books, a free audiobook, and dozens of exclusive bonus scenes!

* * *

I put my hand on the door of the boulangerie, bracing myself for what awaited me. Then I mustered a friendly smile and stepped inside.

Ding-ding! The bell above the door chimed as I stepped from chilly November air into the warm, welcoming bakery.

Madame Martin, the baker, looked up from her conversation with Madame Fontaine, the retired schoolmistress. When they spotted me, they practically clapped with excitement, exactly as they had when I’d first arrived in town two weeks ago and every time in between.

Now I knew how endangered species felt.

“Oh bonjour, Geneviève! Look, Gérard. It’s Geneviève!” Madame Martin gushed to her husband.

Subtext: It’s her — the one who finally showed up after months of procrastinating.

I hadn’t been procrastinating, though. I’d been finishing my contract at the Children’s Theater of New England…and disentangling myself from another disastrous romance.

My shoulders sagged at the thought of all the head- and heartache Brandon had put me through. Correction — all the head- and heartache I had put myself through. Again.

But that was my past, and I’d learned from it. No more men. No more reckless flings. No more trusting my notoriously poor judgment.

I sighed. No more fun?

“Geneviève!” Madame Fontaine echoed Madame Martin’s surprise. “So good to see you again!”

Subtext: Good to see you haven’t abandoned us…yet.

“Bonjour,” I replied as sweetly as I could. I leaned left and waved to Monsieur Martin, who was pulling a rack of buns out of an oven in the back. “Bonjour, Monsieur Martin.”

He was just as surprised as the others. “Geneviève! You’re still in Auberre?”

“Why would anyone leave when the best éclairs in France are right here?”

He grinned proudly, while Madame Martin held her hand out for my shopping list, like she had ever since I was a kid. I’d spent every summer visiting my grandmother in France, and now, my sister, my cousin, and I had inherited her place.

A very big, very run-down place. Chateau Nocturne.

“I can’t get over how much you look like your sister,” Madame Martin said, though Madame Fontaine’s expression said, She sure doesn’t act like her.

I heaved an inner sigh. Similar packaging, very different interiors.

We shared the same blue eyes (our father’s) and the same long brown hair (our mother’s), though mine had a natural auburn tint.

But while Mina was reserved and responsible, I was…

Well, me. More outgoing. Slightly more reckless — er, spontaneous.

And equally inconsistent when it came to using the little bit of magic that had trickled down to us through a very mixed family tree.

Brushed by moonlight, some called it, though I preferred touched by magic.

Either way, it showed up in the weirdest way and at the damnedest times.

Not that we let on about that. Our human neighbors didn’t know about magic, and it was better to keep things that way.

“How is work going on the chateau?” Madame Martin asked while assembling my order. “I know your sister is delighted to have your help.”

Subtext: Finally helping her after months of shirking family duty.

“It’s going well, thank you,” I said, embellishing a bit.

We were all busting our asses to renovate the place on a shoestring budget — a very frayed shoestring — but sometimes, I felt we were rolling boulders uphill.

“We’re still looking for an electrician. Do you know any?” I asked.

That was the one job we weren’t willing to try ourselves, lest we made an amateur mistake and burned the entire place to the ground.

They shook their heads. “None around here. Not since Jules Delmont retired.”

“Didn’t his son take over the business?” I tried.

Madame Martin huffed. “He took it, all right — all the way to Dijon, where the high-paying customers are. It’s the same with anyone else in the business — their fees are too high or they’re impossible to book.”

Darn. That was what my sister had said, but I’d been hoping she was wrong. We were on Jules Jr.’s waiting list, but we’d be lucky if we got new wiring before the first Starbucks opened on Mars.

“And how are your sister and that beau of hers?” Madame Martin went on with a knowing grin.

The subtext on that comment was X-rated.

“Mina and Marius are fine. They send their regards,” I fibbed, giving the wholemeal loaf a significant look. Couldn’t she hurry up and give me my order?

“Very fine, no doubt,” Madame Fontaine insinuated, totally missing my hint.

The two women chuckled. I sighed. As happy as I was for my sister, it was hard to be around blissfully mated lovebirds — especially when those lovebirds were dragons who were constantly touching, kissing, and cooing, not to mention soaring side by side over the chateau.

Only slightly jealous, I swear.

On the bright side, beau was an upgrade for Marius, who’d gone from dangerous bad boy to enchanting new citizen of Auberre. All it took was marrying my sister and staying mostly out of sight.

“Isn’t Jules’s grandson getting married?” Madame Martin asked Madame Fontaine.

She nodded. “Yes. He’s just praying the bride doesn’t invite too many guests.”

“Oh? I’d love to get in touch with her,” I said, sensing an opportunity.

But Madame Martin took off on a totally different subject.

“How are those houseguests of yours?” She practically waggled her eyebrows.

Subtext: Those four hot men you’re scandalously living with, doing who knows what with.

The floor creaked as Madame Fontaine leaned in to listen.

I nearly laughed. Yes, we lived together, but in a chateau — hardly the kind of tight quarters that made hanky-panky inevitable. The guys were all the way over in the west wing, while I lived in the east wing, making for a very, very long walk of shame if one were so inclined.

Which I absolutely wasn’t, because I’d sworn off men. Those men, especially.

And if I were to eye anyone, it would be a totally different man. A man I’d secretly loved since I was a kid.

The bell over the door chimed, and six feet of magnificent man-flesh stepped in.

“Clement!” the women cried in happy greeting.

He doffed his hat to each of them. “Madame Martin. Madame Fontaine.” Then he turned to me and added, “Geneviève.”

My ears strained for a drop in pitch that signaled powerful emotions, but if there were any, they were hidden — and hidden deep.

“Bonjour,” I said a little breathlessly.

In my defense, Clem had that effect on a lot of people. He was that effortlessly gorgeous. So effortlessly, he even made a police uniform look good. Not a given, as his portly colleague, Monsieur Blanchet, proved. Hell, Clem even made that boxy police minivan they drove around in look cool.

An image of being handcuffed and hauled away zipped through my mind, and not in a bad way.

I tried very, very hard to recall why I was not in the market for another relationship.

Instead, I found myself rationalizing why Clement was a worthy exception to my new rule. The man was a cop and a family-oriented wolf shifter. That made him highly loyal and protective. Even my sister approved of him, though she had warned me that he took protective to a whole new level.

One look at his caramel-colored eyes, and I decided I would be up for a whole lot of protecting. Especially if I got to run my hands over his sculpted body and weave my fingers through his neatly trimmed, blondish-brown hair.

I inhaled his sage-and-lavender scent, picturing him running through woods and fields in wolf form.

As it so happened, I had a fair bit of wolf-shifter blood in me. (As well as bear and dragon, not to mention witch and warlock, but that didn’t seem pertinent at the moment.) We were practically made for each other, he and I!

Madame Martin had been one croissant away from assembling my order, but she stopped to serve Clem.

“What can I get you, dear?” she asked sweetly.

One baguette, one raisin bun, and a brioche, went through my mind.

“One baguette, one raisin bun, and a brioche,” he said.

I flashed a smug grin, picturing future marital bliss.

“Oh! Geneviève ordered a baguette too!” Madame Martin exclaimed.

So did half of Auberre, but I loved her for trying. The woman had gone straight from trying to fix Clem up with my sister to fixing Clem up with me.

God bless meddling, small-town matrons.

Clem turned to me slowly, “Let me guess. For your guests.”

Then his tone dropped, and not in a good way. One of those guests had stolen the love of his life — Mina. Which was terrible and everything, but here I was, ready and willing to help him back aboard the love train.

I wanted to jump up and down, wave my arms, and holler, Here I am! Can’t you see me?

But I’d been doing that since I was six, and Clem had never noticed. He didn’t notice now either.

“Well, our guests do have to eat.” I tried a joke.

Clem’s sour expression suggested I could use starvation as a tactic to get rid of them.

Sadly for him, I didn’t intend to. They made an excellent work force, and my godfather was paying good money for them to board with us, at least for the last few weeks of their contract with him.

After that… Well, everyone avoided the subject for the time being.

Marius had a plan for what to do next (renovating the chateau and living happily ever after with my sister), but the others had been pretty vague about their plans. My guess? They didn’t have any.

We had a lot in common that way.

“How have you been?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

Sleepless. Suffering. Heartbroken, the dark lines under Clem’s eyes said.

“Fine,” he grunted. “Work keeps me busy.”

I couldn’t imagine what with, since the majority of Auberre’s 200-plus residents were law-abiding senior citizens.

His nostrils flared, and he whirled as someone walked past the shop window.

“Claudette,” he murmured.

I sighed. I could wave pom-poms in front of his face and Clem wouldn’t notice, but Claudette got a full head whirl.

“Claudette?” Madame Martin’s tone oozed concern.

Claudette was Auberre’s pierced, tattooed wild child who flitted in and out of town, providing townsfolk with a constant stream of gossip — when they weren’t speculating about me, my sister, and the goings-on at Chateau Nocturne.

Claudette must have spotted Clem, because a split second after walking past, she U-turned and entered the bakery.

“Claudette!” Madame Martin called in a sweet, I swear I wasn’t just talking about you tone.

Claudette barely nodded back, making a beeline for Clem, whom she kissed three times in the standard French greeting.

Well, standard was air-kisses. Her lips grazed hungrily over Clem’s cheeks.

“Back in town, I see,” he said warily.

“Paris isn’t what it used to be.” Claudette shrugged, oozing antiestablishment attitude. Then she turned to me. “Geneviève. You finally made it.”

Zero subtext, all straight talk. Kind of refreshing.

“I did.” I held her arms as we traded air-kisses.

And, oh. Her studded faux-leather jacket didn’t hide that she’d gone from lean to thin. Too thin.

“Good to see you,” I said.

As a kid, I’d spent every summer in Auberre, and Claudette and I had been steady playmates. We’d grown apart in our teens, when Claudette started smoking, dressing Goth style, and hanging out with the wrong crowd, but I still counted her as a friend.

“That’s new,” I said, picking one of a dozen new piercings to point to.

She flicked her tongue, revealing the studs there. “This too.”

“Nice,” I said, going for tact.

Mesdames Martin and Fontaine exchanged horrified looks.

“What are your plans?” Clem asked.

She shrugged, exuding exaggerated, I go where the wind takes me vibes. “We’ll see.” She studied me for a moment before hinting, “Could stay a while if I had a job. You still need help with those guests?”

I froze, tongue-tied. My sister had filled me in on Claudette’s brief interlude working at the chateau.

Claudette hadn’t been all too punctual or reliable, and she’d put more effort into flirting with the guys than into serving breakfast or cleaning.

When she’d quit abruptly, my sister had been relieved.

Claudette was trouble, as everyone in Auberre knew. Me too.

And while most of Auberre knew Claudette hung out with the wrong crowd in Paris, they didn’t know that crowd was vampires.

I did my best to look past the tattoos and attitude to the little girl I’d climbed trees and turned cartwheels with. I’d had many lucky twists of fate in my life. Claudette hadn’t. Didn’t she deserve a break?

Yes, but not with us. Not again, I could already hear my sister protest.

Claudette would distract the men and antagonize Madame Picard, our reliable housekeeper of fifty years. My sister would kill me for not consulting with her before opening my big mouth and for dangling a hot-blooded temptress in front of Henrik, our resident vampire.

Claudette’s aloof expression said she couldn’t care less, but I sensed her inner plea for just one more chance.

My magic didn’t stir, but it didn’t take superpowers to help a person in need. Plain old human compassion was enough.

“We can use all the help we can get,” I heard myself say.

Clem’s brow furrowed. Mesdames Martin and Fontaine exchanged looks that said Disaster on the way. But Claudette’s hollow cheeks lifted a little, and her eyes lit up.

Even the danger Henrik posed, I figured, was better than her heading back to an entire coven of vampires in Paris.

“Can you come by tomorrow at eight in the morning? We can discuss details with my sister then,” I said.

That would give Mina almost twenty-three hours to holler at me, I calculated. Enough for her to get everything out of her system before Claudette turned up for work…if she turned up.

I feverishly hoped that would be the case.

“Nine would be better,” Claudette said, already pushing the boundaries.

Behind her, Clem shook his head in warning.

How sad was it that I barely existed in his world, and only my proximity to Claudette put me on his radar. And, duh. Did he think I was a complete moron?

“Eight. Do you need a ride?” I told Claudette, channeling my sister’s firm-but-friendly teacher vibes.

Claudette scowled a little, then shook her head. “Nah. I have my own.”

I pictured her roaring up on the back of a leather-clad vampire’s motorcycle. Or, wait. Did vampires do leather and motorcycles? I wasn’t sure.

“Perfect. See you then,” I said, half in hope, half in challenge.

“See you then,” she echoed, leaving with barely a glance at the others.

The bell chimed as she exited, and five pairs of eyes followed. Clem grabbed his purchases, paid, and jogged out the door after her.

Yes, jogged, because he couldn’t risk not catching up to her.

I sighed. Would anyone jog after me one day?

“Bye,” I whispered, watching him go.