But thinking about gossip...she really needed to get together with the girls and tell them about her studly new protector. Tuesday was living with the handsome vampire Ethan Pierce. And Zoe had been shacking up with the gorgeous slayer Kaspar Rothstein for years. It was high time Melissande got to brag about a sexy man.
But first she needed a better reason to brag than that she was paying him.
“Can you not touch?”
“Of course I can. I mean, cannot.” She pulled back her hand and watched as Tor fit a knife in the inside pocket of his suit coat. A box of shells and another Order-of-the-Stake-issue stake were grabbed and tucked away in various pockets or loops on his attire. “What is everything for, exactly?”
“Vampires, werewolves, demons.”
“Mermaids?”
“I have a suffocating lariat should I encounter a vicious mermaid.”
He ran his fingers over a small iron sphere that had spikes coming out of it.
“What’s that for?” she wondered aloud.
“Dragons. They need to swallow it, and it’ll explode in their gut. Messy.”
Wow. Melissande had never seen a dragon. He lived an exciting life. Gossip-worthy, even.
“Faeries,” he recited as he moved his gaze over various weapons. “Reptilian-shifter. Angel. Kitsune.”
“What about ghosts?” Melissande tried.
Tor turned his gaze directly on her. “I don’t do ghosts.”
“Oh, but—”
“No ghosts,” he repeated firmly. And he brushed his fingers over the crystal talisman hanging from his belt. She was about to ask what it was for when he said, “Ghosts are just... No. Now come on. And don’t touch that!” he called as he filed out of the room.
Melissande made a point of gliding her fingers along a bayonet-like weapon after he’d called out the warning. She barely slipped out into the fore-closet as the door swung shut. Tor gestured for her to vacate the room, and she felt like she was being directed around like a child. She wouldn’t have ruined a thing in that room. How could she, a tiny witch, manage to do that?
“You have trust issues,” she concluded as she followed him down the hallway and into the living area and kitchen.
“And you are far too trusting,” he countered. “Where’s the heart?”
She caught herself before saying oops. Holding up a staying finger, she then dashed down the hallway, grabbed the plastic container from the end of his bed—took one more moment to inhale his uniquely sexy scent—then rushed back out to the man who waited by the open front door.
“Don’t worry,” she said as they exited his place with her bags in hand. “We’ll sync onto one another’s wavelength. I’m already dialed into yours.”
“Is that so? Right.”
She turned right as they walked outside and remembered he’d parked in that direction.
“Yes,” she said. “You’re controlling, precise and closed. I might be able to work with that.”
They arrived at his van, and he opened the passenger door for her. “You don’t need to work with anything. Just be you. Cloak and ward the heart. Go about your normal—whatever it is you do. And let me do my job. Deal?”
As she slid up onto the seat, Melissande turned and stuck out a foot to prevent him from closing the door on her. “How much is all this going to cost me?”
“We’ll come to an agreeable arrangement.” He shoved her foot inside and closed the door on her.
The man could be intolerable. But that made her smile. He was a tough one. She would enjoy peeling away his layers to get to the soft mushy stuff in the middle. Because everyone had that mush. Some even wore it on their outermost layer.
She did. And she knew she had to toughen up for the unavoidable trial that would arrive in a few days. She could do this. Her mother needed her. And her father would be so proud.
“Maybe I can learn to toughen up from Tor,” she muttered. Behind her, he deposited his supplies in the back of the van and closed the door. “Time to step up, Jones. Your family needs you.”
She smiled when Tor got in and fired up the engine. She had made the right choice in choosing her protector. But no ghosts, eh?
That could prove to be an issue.
Chapter 6 (#u2c642c33-4ad2-5409-a129-4da84c389f75)
“Carrots, celery and an onion.” Melissande set the vegetables on the counter before the cutting board and handed Tor a knife. “When you’re finished, I’ll get the mirepoix simmering for soup. Meanwhile, I’m going to the spell room with Bruce to put that cloaking spell on the heart.”
“Please do.” Tor grabbed a carrot. “Peeler?”
“Nope, I leave the skin on. It’s better for you. Nutrients and all that.”
He gave an indecisive tilt of the head at that statement. “What is it that you do, anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“Earlier, when I said you should go about doing what you do. I—Do you have a job? Will I be guarding you while at work? Or are you just...a witch?”
“Oh, I work! I mean, most of the time. I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, like you. I worked at Shakespeare and Company for a few months. Then I got a gig at the ice-cream shop around the corner. I loved that place. They didn’t love me giving out free samples. Oh, and just last month I was taking tickets at the d’Orsay, but the manager fired me for letting in tourists on expired city passes. I’m sort of between jobs right now. Which is a good thing. I’ll be focusing my attention on perfecting the spell this week and making sure I’ve got it ready to go. Which means we’ll be spending a lot of time together! Come on, Bruce!”
The witch scurried out of the kitchen on a sweep of fluttering black hair. Tor paused before touching the knife to the first carrot.
Bruce floated through the kitchen, passing eye level with Tor. The frog delivered a judgmental croak. Then he floated out. Or levitated. But wait—wasn’t levitation more a nontraveling action? It was floating that moved a person—or frog—from one place to the next. Levitation merely moved an entity up and down. Maybe? He wouldn’t argue with the witch about it. She was just weird enough to have a completely rational explanation for it.
And he was just curious enough about her to want to engage in such a chat.
“Right, then.”
They’d be spending a lot of time together. Tor wasn’t sure how he felt about that. While she was definitely pretty to look at, and wasn’t at all a threat to him, he wasn’t sure her wackiness could be endured for more than short bursts at a time. He did value his privacy and alone time. He had his...ways. And he didn’t like when they were disturbed. Like finding his silk tie hanging about her neck. Even if she had been the cutest thing ever—
Well, she had been.
Tor remembered the time he’d had to protect a celebrity singer from the vampire she’d attracted by mistakenly answering a text she had thought was a tease to drink her blood. That woman had clearly defined high-maintenance to Tor. He would never live down the trips to the beauty salon for seaweed wraps if anyone learned he’d had to accompany her there.
He should be thankful Mel was seemingly self-sufficient and didn’t seek the spotlight or have too many friends. He liked to keep what he did a secret. It was a necessity.
He turned back to the task. Chop vegetables? Not a problem. He eyed the length of carrot, took a moment to calculate his slices, then began. She hadn’t told him how many carrots to chop. There were at least ten in the bag. And as much celery.
As he chopped, he decided this activity was a weirdly soothing task that occupied his brain in a way that allowed him to focus. So often, he had a dozen things going on at once in his temporal lobe. Where was the dangerous creature? How many? Was he surrounded? Where were the escape routes? Had he loaded enough ammunition? What chemical was required to clean up sticky, tar-like demon blood? And would he get a call for the second interview?
