Delilah Devlin - Lost Souls

“She’s perfect,” Cait whispered.

With his stomach sinking to his toes, he watched as Cait pulled her phone surreptitiously from her pocket and held it to the side while she tapped the screen.

A telephone rang in the distance.

Mrs. E turned toward the distant sound. “Oh my. That might be another customer. If you would come with me…”

Cait’s expression fell. Disappointment shone in her puppy-like eyes. “Can we stay here while you answer your call?” she asked, the wheedling note reentering her voice. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful, the ambience I need to convince my fiancé that butterflies are just the thing we need to finish off our wedding plans.”

The woman’s gaze darted to her precious butterfly, her smile slipping. “Well, if you promise not to touch a thing. I won’t be a moment.”

Cait smiled, her gaze following the woman until she left through the plastic door. Then she whipped her head toward Sam. “Quick, your coffee cup.”

Sam shook his head. “Cait, why not ask her for one of the monarchs? She has hundreds.”

She pulled a mulish face. “Because this butterfly has to be special.”

“It has to be endangered?”

“It’s the most special one here.” She stomped her foot. “Now give me that cup.”

Still in bride mode. He thought maybe the wedding thing had gone a little too far because she was acting like a bridezilla. But he handed her the cup. She was the witch. She knew what kind of butterfly she needed to summon the spirit of Sylvia Reyes.

She popped the lid and stepped off the path next to the tree. Then she lifted the cup over the butterfly, still munching happily away. But the moment she dropped the cup, the butterfly fluttered off. “Shit. Help me, Sam. Don’t let that butterfly get away!”

Sam started to lift his hands to tell her she was on her own, but her eyebrows dropped and she gave him that hundred-yard bridezilla stare guaranteed to scare the piss out of any red-blooded man.

And oddly, that look produced a feeling inside him, one that curdled his insides and made him start to sweat. “Honey, what do you want me to do?” he found himself saying automatically.

Cait hopped back onto the path and passed him the cup and lid. “Catch it! We have to get him before she comes back.”

Sam tucked the lid into his pants pocket and then followed her wild gaze as she scanned the greenhouse. He spotted the green butterfly fluttering on the branch of the stunted tree. “There,” he said, pointing, and then he leapt forward, the Styrofoam cup raised. He slowed once he neared the bug.

“Don’t let him get away. And don’t hurt him.”

“Shush,” he whispered.

“Like he can hear you?” she snarled. “Do butterflies even have ears?”

“Why am I suddenly wishing I was green and had wings?” Sam muttered. He stared down at the butterfly as its wings fluttered twice and its skinny little legs repositioned until it stared directly back at Sam. His heartbeat slowed, his eyes strained, unblinking as he brought the cup nearer.

“She’s coming back,” Cait hissed.

“Lord, fuck a duck,” he muttered and clapped the cup over the branch, trapping the butterfly.

A door rattled in the distance. “Miss Migelo? Yoohoo, I’m back. Um, what are you doing?”

Sam cursed, scooped his hand under the cup and turned, sure he’d just gotten caught, but his gaze snagged on Cait, who was sitting, holding banana slices while half a dozen butterflies swarmed her fingers.

He clipped the lid in place and then hid the cup behind him as he stepped back onto the path. “Honey, we have to go. Aunt Celeste is expecting us for dinner.”

“Do we have to?” she whined, but then her eyes nearly crossed as a plain brown-and-black butterfly flitted to the top of her head.

“Will you be placing an order today?” Mrs. E asked, her voice sounding strained.

“We’ll get back to you,” Sam said. “But thanks so much for your time and for sharing this,” he said, spreading his hands, forgetting about the cup in his hand for a second and wondering if the woman could hear the soft thuds of the butterfly trying to escape its confines.

Sam reached down with his free hand and hauled Cait to her feet. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist to propel her toward the door.

“Just give me a ring,” Mrs. E called after them. “And you can order directly from the website.”

Outside and heading at a swift clip toward the gate, Sam didn’t dare glance back. “Seriously, Cait?” he huffed. “You had to steal her pride and joy?”

“It’s not like I’m going to pluck its wings,” she groused.

Relief had him slowing his steps. Good Lord. He’d been worrying about a bug?

“Trying to return it will be troublesome,” Cait said softly.

Sam gave her waist a squeeze. “I’ll have a uniform drop it by. Say it was found by a concerned citizen.”

Cait laughed and glanced up from beneath her lashes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so nervous. All that talk about weddings had you sweating.”

“I wasn’t nervous,” he said, his voice gruff. “Just in a hurry.”

“Sure you were.”

He helped her into the car, handing her the cup to hold while he backed out of the driveway. The trip to Celeste’s took a good thirty minutes due to drivers heading home from work.

The moment they pulled up, Celeste turned the CLOSED sign in the window. “I have da ingredients prepared. You have da butterfly?”

“The rarest I could find,” Cait said, holding up the cup. “Endangered, even.”

Celeste clucked her tongue. “Will make a powerful spell. Shall I steep da wings in boilin’ water?”

“No!” both he and Cait shouted. They shared a sheepish glance.

“Um, all I need are scales,” Cait said, reaching up to tug the rubber band from her hair. “Not so much he won’t be able to fly. He’s a living creature. Wouldn’t want to anger a goddess at this point.”

“Uh-huh,” Celeste said, eyeing them both. “It’s a bug. Not a metaphor for your love life.”

Sam’s jaw sagged.

“Who you t’ink gave her da idea to pretend ta be a bride? Not the first idea dat came to her mind. She wanted ta be a collector.”

Cait’s cheeks burned as she hugged the Styrofoam against her chest. “We’ll take everything home with us. I’ll mix it when the moon’s full. It’ll give the ink a little extra punch.”

Celeste eyed her doubtfully. “You don’ need help?”

“This one I can manage. It’s something I helped my mother make. I remember everything.”

Celeste gave her a grave nod. “Let me bottle up da steeped saffron. Be right back.”

Sam waited until Celeste disappeared and then grabbed her wrist to pull her close. “You were pretty convincing back there,” he drawled, looking down into her wide green eyes.

Cait sniffed. “I’ve watched Bridesmaids . I know the secret code.”

He gave an exaggerated shiver. “I’m glad you’re not really like that. Your act was kind of scary.”

Her soft grunt was pure Cait. “Scarier than me going ninja on a demon’s ass?”

“Uh, I get your point.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and then spread wide. Her fingers walked up the buttons of his shirt. “Do you know your voice was higher when you were calling me ‘honey’?”

“Felt like my balls were in a vise,” he growled. “But it was kind of fun. You can play a giddy bride to my whipped fiancé anytime,” he said, knowing he flirted with danger but unable to resist this playful side of Cait.

“You were pretty convincing yourself, Detective. Maybe you should consider undercover work.”

“Huh” came a soft huff beside them.

Sam raised his head to find Celeste standing there, her dark brows raised high. “Now I know why you’re bot’ so eager ta get home.”