Jodi Redford - That Voodoo You Do

He opened his mouth and quickly snapped it shut again, his jaw working. Frustrated by his unwillingness to communicate, she started toward the porch steps. Griff caught her arm, stalling her retreat.

“I thought you’d be weirded out by it, Jemma. Especially after…well, you know.” The rawness of his voice matched the agony in his eyes.

“Why would I be weirded out?”

Peach chortled, drawing everyone’s attention. “Hello. He’s a cat. Sort of weird.”

A series of choking coughs seized Jemma. Once she got them under control, she stared at Griff. “A cat ?” Finally the light bulb clicked on in her brain. “Oh my God, you’re that kind of familiar. Like the talking cat on Sabrina, the Teenage Witch .”

“Actually, Salem the cat wasn’t a true familiar,” Peach piped up. “And he’s way funnier than our Griffin.”

Jemma swayed, the world tilting at a crazy angle around her. “I had sex with a cat.” Worse than that, it was the best sex of her life. I’m going to spend years in therapy for this.

Griff’s arms suddenly encircled her, pressing her against the solid, steadying presence of his chest. “Let’s get you inside so you can sit down.” Not giving her the opportunity to argue, he herded her inside the mansion. They crossed the marbled entry, and he led her into a small parlor outfitted with a high-backed ruby-red velvet sofa and matching wingchairs. He settled her in one of the chairs and hunkered in front of her, his worried gaze sweeping her face. “You’re right, I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

She rolled her lips tight, not quite ready to let him off the hook. “Is there anything else you’re not telling me? You’re not having a tawdry affair with your neighbor’s Persian, are you?”

He tunneled his fingers through his hair, leaving the strands in disarray. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew it’d be too much for you to take.”

“It wouldn’t be if I’d had some warning. Did you ever consider that, you blockhead?”

Griff hung his head, looking miserable.

Clarissa entered the room, bearing a glass of lemonade. She passed it to Jemma. “Here, you could probably use this.”

Grateful for anything that’d distract her from the fact that her life had turned several shades of crazy, Jemma sipped the tart beverage and watched while Clarissa gathered her hair into a ponytail. Clarissa caught her eye and smiled. “How about an official tour of the house before dinner?”

The mention of food made her queasy but she nodded anyway. She stood, the ice cubes in the glass clinking. For the next twenty minutes Clarissa played gracious hostess, taking her from room to room. But as beautiful as the décor was, Jemma couldn’t get over the feeling that she was trapped in a surreal nightmare that she had no prayer of waking from. Griff seemed well attuned to her uneasy thoughts because he stayed close to her side during the entire tour, his quiet strength a steady buffer against her escalating anxiety.

They ascended the grand staircase to the mansion’s second level and Clarissa halted, her hand curving around one of the pineapple-shaped newels topping the banister. Compassion softened her features. “I know you must be frightened coming here, but please know you’ll be protected from Nettie and her zombies. Beyond the safety your coven sisters provide, I also sent for an additional guard this morning. Logan should be arriving any second.”

Griff gave a strangled choke, his aura of soothing comfort dissolving in a flash. “You’re assigning Logan Scott to Jemma?” Incredulous fury sliced like a hot blade through his tone.

Clarissa’s eyes turned frosty. “Yes. Do you have a problem with it?”

“You know damn well that I do.”

“Tough shit.” Turning her back on Griff, Clarissa continued strolling down the hallway, her posture regal. “Come on, Jemma. I’ll show you to your room. Since Fiona, Jade and Constance are in New Orleans, you’ll be the only coven sister occupying this part of the mansion for the next week. You’ll have plenty of privacy.”

Unsure what to make of the pair’s odd exchange, Jemma hurried after Clarissa. She caught up with her outside one of the many bedrooms making up the east wing.

“This was Lillian’s bedroom. I figured it would be appropriate that you should have it.” Clarissa swung open the door and stepped inside.

Jemma followed after her and gasped at her first glimpse of the sumptuous room. The space made her bedroom back home look like a closet for a mouse. Pivoting, she gaped at the enormous armoire situated in front of the nearest toile-patterned wall. Shuffling another half turn, she noticed a huge canopy bed in the same matching cherry wood as the armoire. Panels of sapphire blue silk cascaded from the bed’s intricately carved posts and pooled onto the floor. An adjacent chaise lounge offered the perfect spot to curl up for a good read or nap.

“This room is a decorator’s wet dream.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Chuckling, Clarissa pointed to the armoire. “I made sure to stock it with hangers but if you need more just let me know.”

Jemma grimaced. “That won’t be necessary. What I’m wearing is all I have with me.” Despite Griff’s assurances that no dead relatives would be staked out at her house waiting to pounce, she’d opted not to risk any of her body parts for some fresh clothes.

“Not a problem. I’ll work on getting a new wardrobe put together for you,” Clarissa said, stepping toward the doorway.

Griffin blocked her path. “We need to talk.”

Clarissa’s gaze flicked in Jemma’s direction. “Later. Help her settle in.”

His jaw locked tight, Griffin stepped aside, allowing Clarissa to exit. Taking in his stiff posture and the way he was grinding his molars, Jemma deduced that he was still ticked about the upcoming arrival of Logan Scott. Crossing to the chaise, she slumped between a pair of plump pillows. “Who is Logan?”

Griff scowled. “Clarissa’s pet.”

Okay, either that was code for down-and-dirty-fuck-buddy or Logan Scott was another familiar. “Is he a cat too?”

A fresh set of thunderclouds darkened Griff’s face. “No. Wolf.” He spit the last word between his teeth like it was the filthiest of oaths.

She gaped at him. “As in were wolf?”

He gave a curt nod and her head spun. With everything thrown at her today, she probably shouldn’t be shocked to discover werewolves existed. Crap, at this rate she half-expected Frankenstein and Dracula to be joining them for tea and finger sandwiches.

“You don’t like Logan.” Which was odd. Griff got along with pretty much everyone.

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Why?”

“He’s an asshole.”

She rolled her eyes. “Can you be more specific?”

“He’s a huge asshole.”

Okay, clearly she wouldn’t get anything more definitive from him. “Is it normal for a werewolf to be a familiar? I thought they were all supposed to be like you—a cat.”

“Familiars can take any shape. Cats are the most popular, but occasionally you’ll get the odd wolf, bear, raven and such. Your former guardian, George McStravick, was a beaver.”

Griff’s casual announcement nearly made her fall off the chaise. “Mr. McStravick was my familiar? And a beaver ?” Come to think of it, she did recall him having some seriously bucked teeth. George had been her parent’s next-door neighbor, right up until he died of a heart attack ten—

She stared at Griff, the puzzle pieces starting to click together. “You were sent to me as his replacement.”

He nodded. “Normally a witch chooses her own familiar, but since you had no knowledge of the ritual, one needed to be assigned to you. So just like George was gifted to you from your mother’s best friend, I was gifted to you from Clarissa.”