Delilah Devlin - Lost Souls

On this day, I summoned my husband from the dead. This spell is one I read about in Morin’s Book, but some of the ingredients had to be substituted because they are no longer commonly found.

Steep three strands of saffron in boiling water and set the strands and water aside to cool.

Add a tablespoon of gum arabic for thickening.

Pour a jigger of alcohol into the mixture and stir…

Alcohol, hell.

Cait bit the side of her lip and eyed the bathroom door, heard the water still trickling down, and hurried to the broom closet. At the bottom, behind the mop pail, she pulled out a small bottle of Glenfiddich scotch. One Sam had never found when he’d cleaned out all the booze.

She rushed to the table and tipped the bottle, splashing good scotch into her mother’s conjuring chalice. Back to the closet, she quickly hid the bottle, stopped to light incense on the counter to mask the odor, and then added the other ingredients.

The smell that rose as she swirled her mother’s athamé nearly had Cait bending to put her nose against the rim to breathe it in. The scent was beyond enticing.

Delicious. Bracing. Pulling memories from the farthest corners of her mind of a time when her mother had sat quietly beside her father, watching the television, while he’d sipped from an old Waterford highball glass he’d inherited from his Irish mother.

Scotch had been her drink because it had been her father’s.

The bathroom door opened and closed. Cait braced herself, wondering whether he’d detect the smell, and then feeling guilty as hell for trying to conceal the alcohol.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she set aside the blade and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “Sam,” she called out.

He padded to the kitchen door, a towel around his lean hips. “Need something, Cait?”

His gaze resting on her was so calm, so steady, she couldn’t stand the suspense a moment longer.

“I have a bottle of scotch in the broom closet,” she blurted. “I needed a jigger for the spell.”

Sam’s expression remained unchanged. “Thanks for letting me know, sweetheart.” He turned and made his way back into the bedroom.

Her shoulders slumped. “That’s it?” she whispered to herself.

“I have to give trust to earn it, Cait,” he called from the other room.

She shook her head, oddly disappointed at the fact he seemed to be taking this all in stride. “You really are Superman if you heard that,” she muttered.

“Capes are for pansies.”

A gust of laughter surprised her. “Want to help me with the butterfly?”

“Sure. Let me get on some pants.”

“Don’t bother. Magic works best when you’re naked.”

“I’m not the one casting, Cait,” he said, wry humor roughening his voice.

“Oh, right.”

He appeared in the doorway again, sans towel. “But it would sure save time for when you finish.”

Cait grinned, surprised when his frame shimmered. She blinked and realized her eyes had filled. She swallowed hard against a dry throat.

“Dammit,” he said under his breath, then strode toward her, his arms opening.

She snuggled against his chest. “I’m sorry I hid it.”

“I know.” His hand cupped the back of her head. “But you told me. That’s something, Cait.”

She wrapped her arms around his back and rubbed her hands on his naked skin. “I love you. I’m trying.”

“I know.”

A kiss landed on her temple, and she turned her head toward his mouth, which gently pressed against hers. Arousal swirled in her belly, but she pushed it aside.

He growled. “Better get on with whatever it is you’re making.”

The reason for his surliness was trapped between their bodies, nudging at her belly. She smiled and leaned away. “Won’t take long. There’s a bell jar in the cabinet above the stove.”

“A bell jar?”

“A domed thingie with a handle on top. Need it for the butterfly.”

“That poor thing’s still in the cup?”

“He’ll be fine. The jar?”

With his cock fully erect and bobbing, he padded to the cupboard, which afforded her a very nice view of his back and bottom. Sam’s frame didn’t have an ounce of pudge. Everything was hard, ladders of muscles rippling between his shoulders and down his back as he reached for the jar. His ass made her sigh. Hard, round…

Hard, hard, hard kept repeating in her mind.

He turned and caught her ogling. A dark brow arched over wicked blue eyes. “Thought you were supposed to be naked.”

Well, that specification wasn’t written in her mama’s book, but Cait wasn’t above a little fibbing if it meant Sam would look at her the way she did at him. Her clothes melted away, and she kicked them to a corner. Laundry, she’d worry about later.

Naked as he, she held out her hands for the crystal, then nodded toward the cup. “Uncap the lid, but don’t let him out. Then hold it under the jar.”

She slid the jar across the tabletop, leaving a gap beneath where he held the cup, and slowly slid off the lid. The butterfly flew upward, and she slid the jar to close it against the wooden surface.

“What’s next?” Sam asked.

She quickly combined the saffron and the thickener with the alcohol, stirring with her fingers. The liquid turned a warm honey color.

Then she tilted the jar, slipped her hand beneath the edge, and held her fingers still.

The butterfly landed on a fingertip.

She smiled and glanced at Sam, who was smiling too, but whose furrowed brows indicated he didn’t understand the point of what she was doing.

She fluttered her fingers and the butterfly took flight, wings brushing against her wet fingers. Small specks of green dust were left behind. “That should do it,” she said, easing out her hand and lowering the rim to the table again.

Returning to the chalice, she stirred and stirred, imagining Sylvia Reyes as she’d looked, flicking back her hair and smacking her lips before entering the hotel. The horror in her face as she faded against the yellowed walls of the hallway.

When she finished, she poured the liquid into a vial.

“That’s it?” Sam asked, coming behind her and resting a hand on her shoulder. “No words?”

“The words are meant to be written at the time of summoning the spirit.”

“The butterfly?”

She produced a twig with blossoms she’d snapped off at the butterfly farm. “It’ll be fine until you hand it off to a uniform to deliver.”

“Then you’re done.”

She didn’t complete a nod before he swung her up into his arms and marched to the bedroom.

Laughing, she clung to his broad shoulders. “Did I ever tell you I love it when you go all caveman on me?”

His lips twisted into a smug smile. Then he tossed her onto the sheets.

“You’ve been a busy boy,” she murmured, noting he’d already pulled back the covers to the end of the bed. Two pillows were stacked in the center beside her hips. “Should I be worried?”

Sam shook his head, then leaned over her, grabbing her wrists and then wrapping her fingers around the wooden spokes of her Mission headboard.

His expression, so tight and dark, sent a thrill through her. She tightened her fingers and stretched out her body, ready to let him arrange her any way he wanted.

Sam knelt on the mattress and grabbed the pillows, sliding them closer to her hips.

Without a word, she lifted them, giving a little helpless moan as he quickly gripped her and centered her just so.

Then his hands glided over the tops of her thighs, stopping at her knees. He spread them and looked down, his smoldering gaze locking on her intimate flesh. His chest rose with a deep inhalation. His eyelids dipped before he speared her with a challenging glance.