Witches Get Stitches (Stay a Spell, #3)

by Juliette Cross

“Yeah.” She nodded her head, seeming disappointed. “My sister Evie and him are friends.” She gestured toward the young woman swishing out of the kitchen, her ponytail swinging.

“I really am sorry for bailing on you that night.” She closed her eyes in misery for a second. “That was seriously shitty of me.”

I knew the second I kissed her what she was to me. One taste had sealed her into my flesh and bones.

Maybe werewolves were only good enough to toy with. Not date.

was suddenly relieved I’d already found a place and was putting down some long-term roots because, apparently, this conquest was going to take some time.

My psychic magic had flat-out given me a vision of Evie and Mateo living blissfully together one day, whether they knew it or not, which also told me I needed to keep my thirsty thoughts off of Nico Cruz.

I’d done a reading on Evie privately and was well aware that she and Mateo would be together forever. But it was better she didn’t know right away. Not that she’d rebel and toss the guy before their romance ever took place, but sometimes interference from a Seer could muck things up. So I typically only interfered when necessary.

What that did mean was that Nico was a permanent fixture in our lives. And my usual MO of love-em-and-leave-em wasn’t going ...

Ever heard that phrase when time stood still? I’d never felt it myself, until that moment. His eyes locked on me, paralyzing me on the spot. A feverish frenzy of adrenaline flushed through my blood. Magic tingled along my skin. A bare caress of it lifted the hairs on my arms. Was he the one?

Swallowing hard against the exhilarating possibility that the man of my dreams could very well be the devastatingly handsome werewolf singing a soft ballad with a sexy voice and staring at me with those hypnotic eyes, I got my ass to the kitchen. Then I kept myself busy all night.

Then I smiled to myself when Evie danced with Mateo before the two of them disappeared down the hallway to the storage room.

All that did was draw my attention back to Nico. I needed to know.

I rummaged in my desk drawer for my oldest deck of Tarot cards, the one Mom had given me when I was sixteen, the same year Aunt Beryl gave me the premonition about my one true love. I’d pretended that her words hadn’t sunk in. That her psychic vision hadn’t jarred something loose inside me and had realigned the way I moved about in my adult life. It was no secret that I enjoyed the hell out of men. But if I didn’t get the sense that they could be the one, I’d moved on pretty damn quickly.

My chest pinched with disappointment. Especially when I remembered the way the man could make me feel with one glance of those deep green eyes. If Aunt Beryl was right—and Aunt Beryl was always right—he wasn’t the one.

I wouldn’t put myself through all that turmoil. Nor would I put him through it. And if those green eyes made me weak again, I’d just think of burning, crumbling towers, three sharp swords stabbing my heart, and that wicked fiend Death grinning back at me.

“Sorry, Nico.” And sorry, self. “Friends it is.”

Present day…

Yes, I was a masochist. I enjoyed pain. Why else would I lay here shirtless beneath Violet Savoie with her hands on me and unable to move a muscle?

I wanted to touch her. What’s new? I always wanted to touch her. But I couldn’t, so I kept my arms and hands limp at my sides—claws threatening to come out—while she tattooed a crescent moon surrounded by mystical stars at the top of my right pec.

Nope, I just lay there dormant as fuck like every brush of her hand and fingers wasn’t utter agony. The pain of the needle while she detailed the sh...

Then there was Violet. Pretty, foul-mouthed Violet. My unhealthy obsession was tempered only by the brick wall she’d erected when I’d moved to New Orleans. Despite the fact that I could tell our attraction was mutual, she’d solidified our status as friends pretty damn fast. But my patience was starting to run out. Becoming her business partner was my newest tactic to get closer to her.

Just having her near me was a sweet torture I couldn’t live without.

“Well, I did the same. And though I’m not proud of it, I left him with a limp. A bit worse than a little scar.” Her frown softened, then she smiled. “Good. I’m glad you got payback.” “Bloodthirsty,” I teased. “I like it.”

“So,” she finally said, “your wolf can shift without you really wanting him to?” I laughed. “Hell, yeah. He’s a fucking beast, Violet. If a werewolf gets angry too quickly, he can shift on a dime. Even when he doesn’t want to.”

“I remember once around the full moon last year you got upset about those guys outside the Cauldron, remember? You half-shifted right there on the street.”

The thought of her trying to draw my wolf out both terrified and aroused me beyond reason. “Hell, Violet. I wish you could come up with a spell to calm him down.” I was smiling at her when she jerked, her fingers clenching around my forearm. “Vi, you okay?”

I waved a hand in front of her, realizing immediately what was going on. She was having a vision. Something about this vulnerable state, that she was here but unaware of her surroundings, raised my hackles. Not liking her in any unsafe situation, an involuntary growl rumbled in my chest.

She’d told me she had visions sometimes and they came unbidden, but I’d never witnessed it. I didn’t like it. I wanted to haul her into my lap and guard the door at the same time.

I waited, watching her as patiently as possible, taking advantage only once to run the pad of my finger along her cheek as I tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. I took a moment to admire her sleek hair she was letting grow longer than usual. This was the first time I’d ever seen her natural color. Her hair was platinum blond down to just below her ears, then dyed pale purple to the tips. Yeah, I knew her real color would be the same as her twin sister, Clara, but for some reason it looked different on her. The blonde softened her hard edges.

“No need to apologize. Your visions are part of who you are.”

Then she blinked up at me with a look of complete elation. “Nico,” she whispered like she had a secret, “my vision was about you.” “Me?” My heart galloped three times faster. “Werewolves. What you said about coming up with a spell.”

“My magic and charmed tattoos. It’s experimental right now.” She frowned as she dressed my tattoo with the clear, waterproof tape to protect the new ink for a week. “I mean, I can’t promise anything, but I’ve had a little success so far.” The excitement in her voice mesmerized me. “And you think you can do what? Tattoo a spell for werewolves?” “Maybe.” She gazed at me hopefully. “I’d never really thought how bad it was for werewolves and the issue of control. But when you said that, I immediately fell into a vision.”

“What did you see?” “It sounds crazy.” She laughed. “But it was floating witch sign surrounding a full moon in the clouds. Sometimes, my visions are of actual events to come. Like premonitions. Sometimes they’re messages.” “Magic messages.” “Yeah.” She nodded, smiling.

The very idea that she might have the ability to help me control my wolf punched me with a lightning bolt of hope. Ty flashed to mind and what I’d done to him. If Violet was right and she could do this, I wouldn’t have to worry about losin...

“If you want to experiment on me, you’re more than welcome to.” I glanced down at my shirtless chest. “I still have ...

How fortunate that when Violet was actively seeking a place in our neighborhood to lease or buy for her new business, I happened to have one. I stepped in without giving it a second thought. I might’ve had an ulterior motive, but she wasn’t aware of that. For now, that’s how it had to remain.

“Give it a rest, Sean,” grumped Violet. “She’s got a girlfriend.”

She smiled. “Darling, though I am attracted to men, too, your grim mojo doesn’t work on me.” Grims were a secretive lot, but one thing everyone knew was that their aura called to a person’s darker urges and impulses. “Grims don’t appeal to my baser instincts. Not usually, anyway.” She mumbled the last under her breath. “Besides, you’re not quite a man just yet.”

“I could take my shirt off for you, Livvy,” offered Sean. “Don’t bother, darling. You just sit behind the counter and look pretty. And talk less. It’ll bring in more customers.” “You think I’m pretty?” “For fuck’s sake, Livvy,” said Violet, “stop teasing him.”

“What’s wrong? Is the tattoo hurting?” I sighed, pulling on the logo shirt. “Not the tattoo.” Sean’s infernal grin as Violet passed out the door caught me by surprise. “Got it bad, eh, wolfie?” “Shut it, Sean,” I growled, “before you never make it to manhood.”

A sudden spike in her pulse had my wolf fully awake and alert. Now, that was interesting. As if he wasn’t alert whenever she was around anyway.

“Only until our business takes off like a rocket and I buy you out.” “Who says I’d sell?” “I could make you.” “What? With witch magic? That’s illegal, Miss Savoie.” “Nah. I’d just get you drunk, then gamble you for it. I’m a shark at poker.” “Then I’m definitely not playing poker.” I smirked down at her. “I’d think of another game.”

Violet shook her head and posed, simmering her laughter. “There’s no way I’d bet in a limerick war with you.” “Because you’d lose.” I tugged on a lock of her light lavender hair. “So I guess we’re at a stalemate then.” “Yep. You’re stuck with me.”

“You can keep it,” Violet said with a smile. “You own the place. Or half own it, you know.” I cleared my throat. “I have to wash new shirts before I wear them,” I grumbled. “Oh, wow.” Violet beamed like she’d just garnered a state secret. “I had no idea you were a germaphobe.”

She was a young witch, a Conduit, like Violet’s sister Isadora. Her healing magic gave her the perfect temperament for soothing clients as she worked on them. Violet had told me she came highly recommended by Zaire who’d met her at a trade convention.

“His name is Sean, and he’s underage,” said Violet, offering her hand. “Hi, I’m Violet. We spoke on the phone.” “Lindsey Farmer.” She nodded and beamed a nervous smile. “So nice to meet you in person.” “And this is Nico Cruz. My partner.”

“According to you,” she continued kindly, “she was Zaire’s top recommendation, and you practically begged him to help persuade her to uproot her life in Texas to move here. And now you’re complaining about having to show her a little hospitality on her first night in New Orleans.”

“Hey,” I said suddenly, stopping at the entrance before we stepped inside. “Do you still feel like the tattoos are enhancing your Aura ability?” Her eyes twinkled. “Yes! I swear. The auras are more immediate and the emotions more intense. Even the other day, this sweet old lady came into the shop, looking depressed, said she was looking for a tea to help with stress. Her aura was this super sad gray. I hadn’t even touched her, just thought about zapping her with my happy spell, and it was like a ray of sunshine swept over her, transforming her mood and her aura. That’s never happened before.”

Feeling a bit happier, I sighed with relief. Especially after having that vision today when I tattooed Nico. It was like my magic was giving me the solution to the wolf problem with a vision of witch sign. I still needed to think on it, but my intuition told me this was good.

Clara had been letting me practice my tattoo charms on her using ultraviolet ink, which was invisible to the naked eye. She didn’t want to be covered in ink, but she’d wanted to help me, so the UV ink was our solution. And thank goodness because I’d had to practice a lot until finally reaching what I believe now was the right spell for an Aura witch.