Ilona Andrews - Hex Appeal

“I’ll take the one that comes next in the series,” I said. “Just in case he sticks to the pattern.”

“Not by yourself, you’re not,” Prieto said.

“Andy could—”

He made a sharp movement and cut me off. “I want one of mine in on it,” he said. “I’ll find a volunteer. You want to bring Toland along, that’s on you, but I need somebody who isn’t on the side of the witches.”

That was insulting, but I understood his position, really. He didn’t trust witches in general, and if he sometimes, grudgingly accepted me, that was only a temporary thing.

“Fine,” I said. “You put whoever you want with us. But I’m definitely going.”

Prieto nodded, got out of the car, and began giving orders to break down his investigation.

Andy and I would find these people.

And when we did … hell would descend if Andy had anything to say about it.

I braced myself at the front door for the smell. On top of the trauma of the evening, I wasn’t sure that I could really face it, but I needed to see Andy. I needed to talk to him about all this, pour my heart out, tell him just how awful I felt. He was the only one I could tell.

I unlocked the door and came inside, locked it, and realized that I was holding my breath, dreading the moment … but I forced myself to relax.

And the smell that washed over me was nothing like what I’d been imagining. It was unbelievably sweet and clean and lovely, and I found myself closing my eyes in an explosion of sensual ecstasy. I moaned in utter satisfaction and sank bonelessly into the nearest chair as it rolled over me and through me, taking all of my day’s frustration and exhaustion along with it.

The ultimate aromatherapy.

“Wow,” I said dreamily.

“See?” Andy said. I opened my eyes—I hadn’t even realized that I’d closed them—and saw him standing in front of me, arms folded, smiling. “I promised it’d get better, didn’t I?”

“Wow.” It was all I could really manage. The only thing I could compare this feeling to was that of waking up safe in his arms in the hush of the early morning after a fantastic night of sex and sleep. “That is—wow.” I was a pretty fair potion maker, but this—this was a master class, and it was beyond amazing.

Andy helped me stand up, then he put his arms around me and kissed me, and for a man wearing a girly apron he kissed with a lot of authority and great skill. It took awhile before I was able to get my head together enough to murmur, “What is that stuff?”

“I damn sure hope you don’t mean what I just did with my lips because I thought I gave it a real good effort, and it was pretty clear—”

“The potion, Andy.”

“Little something I developed back in the day. I made it mostly for you,” he said, meeting my eyes and holding them. “Just wanted you to not feel so damn bad every day you come dragging home from that office place. It’s not right that you work so hard like that.”

“I know, I know, you can earn money, I’m sure it’s against your Old West code to have your girl out working for living. But I—we—need the paycheck. The resurrection business isn’t what it used to be. The last job I had barely covered a month’s mortgage after I paid for supplies.”

“Don’t you mock my code, ma’am, it was the way I was brought up. It rubs me raw not to take care of a good woman the way I should.” He hesitated, then said, “I’ve got something for you.”

“Something more than this? Because this is amazing. ” I inhaled that intoxicating aroma again. It was the human equivalent of catnip, that smell.

“I’ve been taking on some side jobs,” he said, and dug something out of his pocket. “Here.”

It was a roll of cash. A huge roll. I blinked, weighed it, and focused on the numbers that showed at the front.

That was a hundred-dollar bill. “Andy…” I took the rubber band off and fanned the cash out. It was all hundreds. At a quick estimate, I was holding at least five thousand dollars. “Oh my God. How—?”

“Told you. Side jobs.” He smiled and kissed my nose again. “Make you feel any better?”

“My God. That’s just—” I blew out a breath, searching for some word to describe how I felt, and failing miserably. “Amazing. Thank you.”

His dark eyes were intent on me, a little wary, but mostly pleased. “So I did all right?”

“You didn’t have to do this.” I put my hand gently against his face, and he kissed my palm without breaking eye contact. “We don’t know how much energy you can expend without hurting yourself. Doing anything magical without me … that’s dangerous, Andy.”

He shrugged. “Spent most of my life on the edge, sweetness. Ain’t like dangerous is new territory to me.”

That frightened me. I loved Andy, and I knew he loved me, but the little voice in my head kept insisting that I not get too comfy. All of this between us, it was so tenuous, so fragile, so essentially wrong according to the laws of magic. Everyone who was resurrected was eventually drawn back into the dark; he’d lasted so much longer than the others, but … I knew it would happen. And I dreaded it.

I’d have to let him go someday. I knew it.

“Hey,” Andy said, and tapped me on the nose again. “Stop woolgathering. What’s eating at you? I thought the money would make it better.”

“It does.” I took in another calming breath of potion and smiled at him. “You said the potion was mostly for me, and believe me, I appreciate it … who’s it for after me?”

He shrugged. “Folks,” he said. “I figure since they’re bound and determined to make me into some kind of hero, I might as well make a nickel from it. It’s a nice potion, real safe, too. Do some good, maybe. It wouldn’t hurt me none to make some more to help out with the accounts, either.”

More of his wounded pride, I realized. And the fact that just maybe, he was feeling a wee bit useless in this modern world of ours, where his skills weren’t so much in demand—although they almost certainly would be as soon as word got out about this singularly spectacular potion. Which led me to ask, “What’s it called?”

He grinned. “Holly’s Balm.”

That was such a delicious notion that for a moment I actually forgot what I had to talk to him about … but it came back, insidious and dark, and not even the beautiful gift he’d made for me could hold it back.

I took his hand, and said, “Sit down a minute.”

He did, never taking his gaze from mine, and said, “I should have asked you what Prieto called you out for. I’m guessing it ain’t even half as good as bad.”

“Awful,” I agreed. “Last year, there were a series of murders of young women, and it was … gruesome, Andy. Really nasty. I was asked to bring one back, but she—there was too much trauma.”

He didn’t say anything, but I saw the muscles tighten in his jaw. He knew what I meant. Bringing someone back meant breathing your own essence into them, mingling with them, becoming—at least for a time—part of them. The trauma hadn’t been only hers, of course. I’d been heavily medicated, after. That kind of crime took a special toll on a witch.

“I’m guessing that’s not the end of it,” he said, “bad as that is.”

“The crime scene I was called out to tonight … it was the same one.”

“Same killer?”

“Same victim,” I said. “Killed all over again. Resurrected. She was resurrected, Andy. Just so he could do it again to her.”

I’d never seen that look before, not on Andy–not on anyone, really. I didn’t even know what it meant, except that it shook him all the way to the bones.