Julie Leto - Stripped

“Wasn’t cursing at you, Josie,” Lilith said, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity, “just at myself. I’ve got to bolt. Can I catch up with you later?”

Josie’s eyes widened. A practicing Wiccan, Josie wrote spells, worshipped the god and goddess and led rituals for her small coven. She brewed potions from time to time, but her main talent was in creating candles enhanced with essential oils.

She was an ordinary witch. A mundane. No active powers.

Like Lilith. Not before, but now.

Despite her lack of tangible powers, however, Josie always seemed to know when Lilith was up to something—particularly when she was marching straight into disaster.

“Where are you headed in such a hurry?” Josie asked, her tone omniscient.

“The police station.”

“Mac’s police station?”

“There are hundreds of police stations in the city. And yet I keep going back to the same one. Isn’t that a sign of insanity or something?”

“Possibly, since Mac is hot and you’re in love with him.”

Lilith’s jaw dropped open.

Josie tapped her under the chin with her finger. “Don’t gape. It’s unattractive.”

“I’m. Not. In. Love. With. Mac.”

Josie nodded condescendingly. “Then why are you going to the police station?”

Lilith growled as she stuffed her keys into her hip bag. In contrast to Josie’s purse, which was roughly the size of Lake Michigan, Lilith’s bag contained three items. Her keys, her favorite lip gloss and cash. She wondered how much longer she’d have any spending money now that she’d been stripped of her ability to do psychic readings. Too bad the cops didn’t pay her one red cent. Other than all the herbal tea she could drink and a sense of accomplishment, she didn’t get a damn thing from the department. Though without her powers she wasn’t sure she’d be any use at all.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Mac no. As much as she’d wanted to, as much as the logical part of her brain screamed at her to stay clear of her former lover, she couldn’t deny him.

He needed her.

And she needed him. Or at least, his case. If the Council wanted to witness her good and selfless heart, they could watch her now. So she wasn’t psychic at the moment. She’d find a way to help.

If nothing else, she could flaunt what she hoped Mac was seriously missing from his life—namely, her in his bed.

She’d chosen her outfit with extreme care. Tight jeans. See-through blouse. Skintight tank underneath. Killer spiked boots. Of course, she wouldn’t know if her primping truly enticed him since her powers were gone. Though, how hard could it be for a woman to figure out if a man wanted her? Even ordinary women knew.

Ordinary.

Lilith blanched, then vowed to never, ever be ordinary.

“Did you need something, Josie?”

Discussion of Mac visibly flew out of Josie’s brain. “I had a really odd dream last night.”

Dream interpretation had never been Lilith’s forte. She marched toward the elevator, trying to psych herself up for seeing Mac again. Smelling Mac again. Hopefully feeling Mac again, even if it was just a brush of hands or a shoulder bump.

“You know I can’t help you with that.”

Josie huffed. “Hello? Not everyone who hangs out with you wants something. I didn’t come to you as a psychic. I came to you as a friend.”

Lilith winced and turned slowly.

“Sorry. You know I suck at the whole interpersonal-relationship thing. I’m too self-absorbed.”

Josie took a step back. “You say that as if you think it’s a bad thing.”

“It is according to the majority of people in my life.”

Josie joined her friend across the hall and pushed the down button. “Well, yeah, but I’ve never heard you say so. Since when did you get self-awareness?”

“I’ve had a life-changing experience,” she muttered.

“Something bad?”

Nothing she could talk about. Well, she could tell Josie. There wasn’t actually a witch law that forbade her from revealing herself to a mundane. But centuries of history proved it wasn’t a good idea. Regular people tended not to believe in the paranormal. Dumping such a wild story on her pal would mean she’d risk losing the one and only person beyond her sister that she considered a close friend. Most Wiccans who, like Josie, studied the craft and worshipped the deities never realized that there was a level of witches that existed between the mundane and the divine. Witches with powers that, without utmost secrecy, could be exposed. Some witches possessed telekinesis or the ability to become invisible. Others were adept healers or, like Lilith, could read minds and see the future.

Past tense, she reminded herself.

Still, exposing the presence of such power could put a lot of people in danger—especially the person she told.

“Not all life-changing experiences have to be negative,” Lilith insisted, startled when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. She really was going to have to get used to operating without her sixth sense.

“That’s a mighty optimistic thing for you to say,” Josie replied, joining her on the lift.

Lilith punched the L button. “Are you implying that I’m a pessimist?”

Josie pursed her lips. “You’re certainly not an optimist. You kind of skirt the line.”

“Story of my life.”

“Is that why you’re going to see Mac? Some sort of danger thing?”

Lilith couldn’t argue that returning to the scene of the crime of her affair with Mac was likely not the smartest thing to do. But helping him find this drug shipment might boost her karma just enough to get the Council to reconsider their declaration and restore her powers. Besides, she intended to show Mac how she’d survived his callous rejection. She was still sexy. Still irresistible.

And he couldn’t have her.

“Let’s just call it extreme dating,” Lilith declared, “only without the date.”

“Sounds more like extreme teasing.”

“Works for me.”

They reached the lobby, but Josie didn’t exit after the doors sliced open. “Do you want to hear about my dream or not?”

“Got a hot date tonight?” Lilith asked.

“You know I don’t,” Josie snapped.

Actually, she didn’t know, but why quibble?

“Well, now you do. Have a date. With me. I’ll bring the tequila and you bring the dreams.”

“I don’t drink tequila,” Josie shouted as Lilith pushed her way out of the apartment building and into the sultry Chicago-in-August afternoon.

“Good! More for me.”

And she had a feeling that after this encounter she was going to need every last drop.

2

HE COULD FEEL HER EYES. As slowly and as nonchalantly as possible, Mac peeled his back off the one-way mirror, certain Lilith had arrived and was on the other side of the deceptive glass. Close. With her palm pressed against the barrier. Her warmth, her spiced perfume, permeated the window with no more effort than a wisp of smoke through a screen.

He’d made a colossal mistake in calling her.

But he couldn’t turn back now.

“Look, man, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pogo Goins insisted, his eyes redder and droopier than they had been four hours ago when he’d come in. Goins was coming down off his high, which to Mac was both good and bad. On one hand, a little clarity on his part might help him keep his facts straight. On the other, good old Pogo might soon be lucid enough to figure out they had no reason to hold him and he had no reason to answer their questions. “I just want my ride back, got it?”

The interrogation—now being run by Rick and his partner, Det. Barbara Walters, with Mac observing in the background—had been going on for nearly an hour. Why Pogo hadn’t called for his attorney yet, Mac couldn’t begin to guess. Likely because they hadn’t accused him of anything. In fact, they’d catered to the guy, bringing him all the cigarettes and doughnuts necessary to appease a serious hangover. They’d shot the shit since this morning, stringing him along with leads on his beloved stolen vehicle. But criminals came in two types: those smart enough to keep their traps shut until their lawyers showed up and those stupid enough to think they could deal with the cops without legal counsel. He could only hope that Pogo fell into the second group today.