Always Practice Safe Hex (Stay a Spell, #4)

by Juliette Cross

“Livvy, try something new. Someone new. You tend to go for the emo and interesting pacifists. Or the wild and unique extroverts.” She held out both hands like weights of a scale. “Either someone you can dominate,” she lifted one hand, “or a mirror image of yourself.” She gestured with the other., then toggled her hands up and down. “Neither are right for you.”

Clara’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Then she smiled. “I think you have your answer.” “From whom?” I played dumb. Then she laughed, her grave expression brightening with her usual mirth. She stepped closer and squeezed my cheeks like I was a child. “Mother Spirit knows best. You better listen to her.”

Clara had dealt me a heavy dose of truth. Maybe I did need to change my dating course. I hadn’t found Mr. or Ms. Right yet by following my instincts.

But was I truly following my instincts? Or simply who I thought I should be falling for? Clara said I needed someone I couldn’t dominate and who wasn’t a carbon copy of me, someone whose brain turned me on as much as his or her appearance. There was no denying that I was attracted to big brains.

The thought of being vulnerable with Gareth—because I’d always found sex to be the most intimate and open activities between two people—sent a cavalcade of warning flags flying.

He was a grim. An unknown. And his aura made me want to be very, very naughty. With him. My desire was so blood-burning, throat-choking intense that I feared what would be left after that kind of love affair was all over.

“Again, disagree.” I kept my hands in my pockets and held her gaze. “Pumped Full of Drugs by New Order was far superior. However, they would’ve been even greater if their original vocalist hadn’t killed himself when they were Joy Division. Ian Curtis was a genius.”

To have a proud, intelligent beauty like her submit to me would probably scramble my brains, not to mention other parts of my anatomy.

“That’s where the explanation of our cause will go. I figured you could write that,” he explained. “Since it’s your cause and you seem to have the background knowledge.”

I stiffened, remembering some of my own. One in particular.

Most grims were techies, but they didn’t have access to the data that I’d amassed in my tech bunker at home. I could manipulate the algorithms to spread our link everywhere across the SuperNet, making it visible in ninety percent of the population’s social media feeds.

“Not at all. Women should be on top just as much as men. I can certainly enjoy that fact.” Especially if she were on top of me. “As for penis envy, I don’t believe or advocate for that misogynistic, fucked-up Freudian bullshit.” I tilted my head, observing her powerful defiance. “However, I bet you would enjoy having a penis of your own.”

I blinked slowly, savoring her scent, then thanked my ancestors for giving me heightened senses.

Thank heaven grims didn’t have vampire or werewolf senses.

AHahahahha little does she know

I settled into my work, found the contact info I needed from Jules and located three supernatural adults—a witch, a warlock, and a werewolf—who’d gone through the human foster care program and agreed to phone interviews about their experiences. We needed these testimonials quickly so we could get the website up and start spreading the word for our first fundraiser next week—the Pin-up Photo Shoot.

I didn’t get any vibes from him that he was any different than other men who’d ogled my body in the workplace. Still, Gareth was so adamant about it, I wasn’t keen on running into him. Especially with Gareth next to me.

It wasn’t that they were paired with neglectful or abusive parents. It was that all three of them expressed heightened anxiety having to hide their supernatural abilities and not having anyone to talk to at a young age, or when their magic was amplifying during their teen years.

“Witch sign? Since when do grims tattoo themselves with witch sign?”

“It’s a powerful language.” He kept his hand still, allowing me to observe closely. “They carry strong magic.”

Frowning, because that didn’t explain why a grim would want witch sign on his body. It was odd. But Gareth was odd, so why not?

“A snake eating its tail?” “It’s the ouroboros. The ancient symbol of the cycle of life. Life, death, eternal renewal.” “I know the ouroboros sign.” I grinned. “In some religions, the snake is a phallic symbol. A fertility sign.”

“It’s also a symbol for the transmigration of the soul.” “Reincarnation?” “Metempsychosis. But essentially the same thing.”

His irises, warmer brown in this light, flushed black, lending an ethereal fathomless quality to them. For a second, I was caught by them, feeling as if I was slipping into an abyss.

As if he wondered if it was possible. In that single sentence, loneliness radiated from him. Quickly following, I sensed a brighter emotion in the grave set of his eyes and mouth. Hope. My breath faltered. His tattoos reflected quite the tortured soul, one who was seeking some sort of salvation. Or perhaps simply another life altogether. My stomach twisted into a knot.

After all, I knew about grim auras. They nurtured and breathed fire into desires that were already there. They didn’t create ones that weren’t already brewing underneath the surface.

He wore the kind of cold beauty that couldn’t be touched. Like nothing would shake the austere, haughty mask he wore so well.

And those eyes. I’d once called them soulless. In reality, they were dark, endless pools that sparked with inner fire. All of him along with his somber yet watchful demeanor gave the impression of a cold, distant but very alert predator.

Yet, I had seen vulnerability crack his cool veneer before. It was fleeting and gone, but I’d seen it.

“I’ll taste anything of yours that you’ll let me.” “What is this?” “What do you mean?” “This heavy flirting thing you’ve got going on.” “I apologize. I wasn’t aware that you weren’t aware of what flirting means.”

“Why are you constantly implying that you’d like to have sex with me? To distract me from the campaign?”

I was implying I’d like to have sex with you because I do in fact want to fuck you senseless. I’m glad to know that it was distracting though. Added bonus.”

“Methinks she doth protest too much.” A burning flare crawled up my neck. “That’s not how the quote goes. It’s ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’” Now he was full-on grinning like the devil himself. I wondered if they were related. “My way sounds better.”

“Also, loquacious?” I arched a brow. “Trying to impress me with your big vocabulary?” “Since you’re unwilling to check out my big cock, I thought it second best.”

“You blush easily, Lavinia.” His voice rolled like a silken caress, his gaze fixed on my neckline.

The fact was I did not blush easily. It was him. But I sure as hell wasn’t about to admit that he got to me more than any man or woman I’d ever had a crush on. Yes, I had a stupid ass infatuation with this annoying, fine as fuck, grim reaper.

“Because I was an orphan in the system, and I know what hell truly feels like.”

“My parents died in a car accident. The drunk driver who hit them also died. At the time, we were living on Long Island. My father worked for a tech company in the city. He was rarely around. My mother stayed at home. I remember her the most.” He took a minute to take a few more bites of his burger.

“How old were you?” I asked softly. “I was seven. It was the week of Christmas.” He ate a few fries. “Needless to say, I’ve never cared for the holiday much. Lost its magic for me that day.”

Goddess above. A supernatural child of seven, losing his parents and then hating Christmas for the rest of his life because it reminded him of their deaths.

across the table. “Losing my parents was tragic, yes, but being sent to those homes nearly drove me mad. I realize that there are plenty of kind, caring foster parents in the system. But for some unholy reason, I wasn’t sent to any of them.” He finished his burger, and we ate quietly before he went on. “I bounced around to a couple of homes. No one abused me or anything. None of the foster parents anyway.”

“When puberty hit, I was in the home of a rather neglectful family. They had several foster kids in and out of rotation in the home. They made sure we were fed and went to school, but there was no kindness or affection. Or very little that I remember. Of course, I was a withdrawn boy, still grieving my parents and feeling more than a little different from other human children in the home.”

Grims always kept their magical abilities to themselves. Everyone knew about their giftedness in using technology, but I’d come to realize there was a lot more to them after he’d accidentally telepathed the vision of us in his bedroom.

“He was a vampire. I was eleven, he was sixteen.” His voice had gone glacial, his eyes black ice. I shivered, knowing the cold fury vibrating off him was about Dennis. “He fed from you,” I guessed. Another stiff nod. “Frequently. Brutally. In the middle of the night when I was sound asleep. It’s rather horrifying to wake up in the dark with someone eighty pounds heavier and a hundred times stronger than you, holding you down and drinking your blood with vicious, agonizing bites.” He tapped his index finger on the table again, glancing around the room. “It’s also rather odd for an eleven-year-old to take to wearing turtlenecks year-round.”

I gulped hard at that thought. Brutalized for almost a year by this asshole of a vampire. And while Gareth remained calm in telling the tale, there seemed to be more details he was omitting. Either for my sake or for his own, not wanting to let horrors too dark or skeletons too old to fall out onto the table between us during a cordial Monday night dinner.

A cool finality in the way his words left his lips. I wanted to know what magic came to him to assist him. I also wasn’t sure I did want to know, because there was malice and vengeance in his voice.

“After that night, my Uncle Silas, Henry’s father, was contacted. Uncle Silas had been estranged from my father and wasn’t particularly concerned when Dad died, leaving behind an orphaned son.” “What changed his mind to take you in?” “I changed his mind,” he answered coolly without any explanation. I couldn’t help but ask, “How did you manage that?” “Uncle Silas is a collector of power. He realized my abilities were an asset.” He gave a small shrug, almost subconsciously it seemed. “After I’d”—he paused— “demonstrated my magical abilities, he took me in.”

There was definitely something he was omitting. Specifically what those magical abilities were. What was this grim truly capable of?

Money can’t right all the wrongs in the world. But awareness of injustice could pull on the heartstrings of many and launch a movement that money can’t buy.

I suddenly found myself realizing I’d rather he win this contest instead of me. My involvement in this was solely selfish. His was altruistic. Self-driven from his own experiences, yes, but still.

“You’re right,” I agreed. His eyes widened in surprise, which had me smiling again. “Hopefully, our campaign will ...