Jodi Redford - That Voodoo You Do

In less time than it took for her to fully pivot, the cemetery had returned to its former state of untouched creepiness. She spotted Griffin and the others rising from where the zombies had pinned them to the ground. Her throat thickened with tears. “Griff.” Though her voice came out the barest rasp, he spun in her direction. Cursing the battered and bruised muscles that slowed her progress, she limped forward. He broke into a run, easily sweeping her into his arms before she’d managed even three steps. His big hands cradled her head to his chest, his heart pounding beneath her cheek.

“I thought I’d lost you.” Emotion roughened Griff’s voice. He tipped her face up, and she saw the tears glimmering in his eyes.

She trailed her fingertips over his stubbled jaw. “Like you could get rid of me that easy.”

Leaking a ragged exhale, he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. She wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight. There were so many thoughts tumbling around in her mind, but she settled on the only one that mattered. “I love you, Griff.”

“I love you too, baby.”

They both seemed to stop breathing at exactly the same moment. Joy overflowing her heart, she looked up at Griff. Her smile faltered at his expression. Rather than the love and tenderness she’d expected, dark misery clouded his face.

She swallowed hard. “You don’t look very happy about it.”

He finally returned her smile, but it was filled with sadness. “I’ve waited my whole life to be able to speak those words.” His palm traced the curve of her cheek. “The fact that I can means that the contract has been dissolved.”

It took a moment to figure out what he was talking about. “Wait, does this mean—?” She broke off when a strange luminescence glinted across Griff’s skin.

He must have read her confusion because he brushed her hair aside and kissed her. Tenderness. Love. Now it was there. In Technicolor detail. So why the hell was she scared?

“I’ll love you, Jemma…” The odd distortion flickered across Griff again, and she reflexively clutched him tighter. Was it her imagination, or did he feel less…there? She jerked her attention upward in time to catch the resignation in his eyes.

“Always.” The word whispered from his mouth before he faded into the darkness.

Griff was gone. The crushing pain of it sat like a pyramid of bricks on her heart. Nightmares—sleeping and awake—tormented her. When the harsh rays of morning light came she crawled into the shower and curled against the tiled wall in a fetal position, the stinging spray pounding her unmercifully. The water didn’t fill the emptiness in her soul and the tears returned, intensifying the misery trapped inside her. She hugged her knees to her chest, a sob racking her body. A slow, welcome tide of rage began to drown the pain.

By the time the water grew cold and her skin clammy, a renewed sense of determination had steeled her spine. Dialing off the jets, she yanked a towel from the hook and ruthlessly scrubbed herself dry. She dressed in khaki pants and a blue cotton top, silently acknowledging how the color matched her mood. Slicking her hair into a wet ponytail, she went downstairs.

Everyone was congregated in the kitchen. She felt the weight of their sympathetic gazes but refused to hide the swollen redness of her eyes. It wasn’t her problem if they were uncomfortable with witnessing her agony. She took a deep breath and walked to the center island, stopping in front of Clarissa. “I want to meet with the guild. Can you make it happen?”

“It won’t do any—”

“Can you make it happen?” She bit the words through clenched teeth.

Clarissa remained silent for a long moment before nodding.

“Good. Tell them it’ll be today.”

“That isn’t much notice.”

Jemma squared her jaw. “I stopped a zombie apocalypse for those assholes. They can squeeze me in their damn schedule.”

“I’ll contact them right now.” Clarissa started to brush by Jemma but she hesitated. After an uncertain pause, her fingertips settled on Jemma’s forearm. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

She looked into Clarissa’s eyes and saw a reflection of her own heartache. Struggling to hold the surge of bleak emotions at bay, she broke away from the coven mistress and returned to the hallway. The walls felt too close, too confining, adding to the vise-like pressure within her chest. She blindly staggered outside to the front porch. Sunlight and fresh air greeted her, along with the jubilant chatter of birds in the distance. Life was all around her. A bold declaration that Death hadn’t won this round.

So why did she still feel dead inside? Her legs rubbery, she sat on the top step and peered sightlessly out at the driveway. Griff’s Pathfinder was parked beneath the shade of the large oak near the toolshed. The vehicle was covered in road dust. Probably a little residual zombie dust too. She’d have to wash it. Griff was always so particular about keeping the SUV spotless, even if he wasn’t so diligent when it came to housekeeping.

A fresh tear snuck past her lashes, and she swiped it away before dropping her hand to the edge of the step. Something wet and scratchy passed over her fingers and she jumped. She stared down into Floyd’s big, droopy eyes. The dog whined and licked her again before insinuating his nose beneath her hand.

“Looks like old Floyd there can’t handle seeing a pretty lady crying either.”

She gave in to the hound’s nudging and scratched behind his floppy ear. Grunting in contentment, Floyd hung his head over the step. She glanced over her shoulder at Logan. “Pretty? Me and Floyd probably look like twins right now with the amount of crying I’ve been doing the past ten hours.”

“It’s okay, sugar. You’re allowed to cry. Although Catman wouldn’t like seeing you in this state.”

She knuckled her nose. “I know. He always hated seeing me cry too. Probably because I always look all icky when I do.”

Logan chuckled. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the reason.” He joined her and Floyd on the step. The mutt took that as a sign that he needed another hand scratching him on the rump. Pretty soon the rhythmic thumping of his tail provided a backbeat to the chirping birds. Logan cleared his throat. “It’s not going to be easy convincing the guild to reverse Catman’s sentence. Just thought you should know that going in.”

She jutted her chin forward. “I’ll do whatever it takes to bring him back.”

Logan’s mouth slid into a grin. “Damn, kind of wish I could be a fly on the wall during this showdown.” He gave Floyd a final pat before hefting to his feet. “Why don’t you come inside? Gloria’s got a big spread planned for brunch.”

Floyd cocked his head up with an excited woof . Logan wagged a finger at the dog. “The invitation was for the lady.”

Jemma shook her head. “Thank you, but food and I aren’t exactly on good speaking terms right now.”

“Gloria’s going to be devastated. You know she still feels guilty about what happened, for fallin’ so easily under Nettie’s mind control. This is her way of trying to make up for it.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Almost from the time they’d gotten home last night, the cook had been trying to ply her with biscuits and cookies. A side of ham. Whatever happened to be close at hand. She sighed and sent Logan a resigned look. “I’ll be in shortly.”

Giving a nod of acknowledgment, he left her with Floyd. She ran her fingers through the scruff of fur along the dog’s neck, her attention returning to the Pathfinder across the way. “I’m bringing him back to me, Floyd. No matter what it takes.”