Michele Hauf - This Strange Witchery

And if a nudge from Amaranthe was required to push Melissande toward the dark in order to save her mother’s sanity, then so be it.

She glanced to the big-screen TV that hung on a black wall. She shook her head. She wasn’t much for mindless entertainment. And the books...

“The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.” She read one of the spines. “The man is uptight. But a cute uptight. And what a swing he’s got.”

Watching him wield the club against the harpie had almost distracted Melissande from the spell. Well, actually it had distracted her. Otherwise, the harpie would have been banished to Faery, and not...dead.

“She deserved it,” Melissande muttered. “Can’t have harpies flying about Paris all willy-nilly.”

Bouncing up to her feet, she ran her fingers along the wall opposite the bed, then opened a door, which she assumed was the closet. A press of the light switch at shoulder level flicked on an overhead row of fluorescent bulbs. She leaned in and peered down the long stretch of closet, which was a small room lined on both sides with immaculate shelves and clothing hung and spaced precisely. Everything was neat as a pin. And all in blacks, grays and whites.

A hint of cherries and tobacco tickled her nose. Mmm...he smelled so good.

Unable to resist the adventurous call to explore, she ventured inside.

Tor thanked the interviewer for his time and ensured him he was on call for an in-person follow-up.

“We’ll call you soon if interested, Monsieur Rindle.”

“You’ve got my number. Merci .”

Tor signed off from Skype and sat back, clasping his fingers behind his head. A smile was irrepressible. He’d aced it. He could win this job—if the in-person interview went well. Which it would. He was experienced in human relations, having worked spin for The Order of the Stake. The only difference was he’d be talking about human issues to humans. He could do that. He had no doubts about his qualifications, and had successfully bluffed his way through the real-world applications parts.

As was necessary to any sort of spin job, he knew how to take rotten lemons and make spectacular lemonade.

Closing the laptop, he hummed a few bars from “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” and performed a side-to-side then forward swanky dance step into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Perrier. He drank half and set it on the counter. The day had taken a turn. It hadn’t started out all that swell, with a tea hangover and the harpie attack. All because of the—

“The witch.” He’d forgotten about the witch in his bedroom.

Loosening his tie and humming his way down the hallway, Tor felt a new enthusiasm for this unexpected protection job. The witch needed his help. He was the man who could help her. It would be his last hurrah before entering the corporate realm of humans and all things mundane.

Opening the bedroom door, he stepped inside to find...no witch.

“Hmm...” To his left, the closet door was open. Had he forgotten to tell her not to touch anything? He never overlooked the details most important to him.

Tor stepped into the closet. “I’m finished—”

The witch, who stood at the end of the closet, turned abruptly, her smile exaggerated and her shoulders to her ears. She wore one of his vests over her red blouse. One of his black silk ties hung loosely about her neck. And in her hand was one of his fedora hats.

“Oops,” she managed.

Aghast, Tor took a moment to settle his sudden need to shout an oath. He put up a hand. “I don’t even want to know.” He truly did not.

He had to force himself to leave the closet, but—“Okay, wait.” Turning to face the witch, he planted his feet and crossed his arms. “I really do need to know.”

Melissande carefully placed his hat back on the shelf and made a point of aligning it as neatly as it had originally been placed.

“Why are you in here?” he persisted. “Wearing my things? Are you...mentally unbalanced?”

She gaped at him. “I got bored. I don’t do TV, and I wasn’t interested in your literary choices. And I figured if I worked some magic, it could get noisy. And you did reprimand me to be quiet.”

“I don’t reprimand—”

“Oh, it was definitely a reprimand.”

“So you decided to try on some of my things as a means to...?”

“I’m a curious person,” she defended herself. “And your clothes smell good. Cherry and tobacco. Like you, I presume. But I can’t imagine that you smoke. That’s not very attractive. Speaking of, you are much more attractive than I’d expected.”

“Than expected?” He had to ask. She had a way of teasing out his curiosity.

“Sure. I thought you’d have a gimp eye or, at the very least, a scar. You know, with the kind of work you do.”

He really did not know, and if he thought about it too hard, he might go down the path she followed. And that scared him more than a raging demon or a squawking harpie.

Melissande tugged the tie from her neck, and he rushed to grab it.

“I’ll take that.” He carefully folded it and placed it in the open tie drawer. A few adjustments to the other ties she’d obviously touched and moved out of order were necessary. “I’m sorry. The interview went long. The rest of the day I’m all yours. In fact, we need to sit down and discuss a game plan.”

“Good idea. But I’m hungry.”

“Of course you are, you harpie-banishing, vest-wearing witch. Let’s just get that vest off you...”

He helped her slip off the vest, and as he did so, Tor drew in the lush scent of her dark hair. Like lemons, but sweeter, almost candy. It was surprising how the scent attracted him. When she turned to give him an inquiring look, for a moment their faces were but inches apart. Exceedingly intimate. And...he had but to move his hand an inch to touch her hair...

“Right.” Tor backed away and hung the vest to distract his straying thoughts. Why was he so confused about whether to reprimand or kiss her? “I keep some prepared meals in the freezer. You might like the poached salmon mousse.”

“Sounds futuristically unappealing, but I’m in.” She marched out of the closet, leaving him in her lemon-scented wake.

She was a handful of kooky and strange, and she annoyed him in virtually every way. Trying on his clothes? He closed the tie drawer carefully. And yet he couldn’t think of a single reason to push her out the door and wash his hands of her crazy. So for now, he’d play along.

At the very least, she was entertaining.

“If that was a job interview,” Mel said while prodding at her microwaved dinner, “I’m guessing it’s not your usual protection and cleanup work?”

“It’s a one-eighty turn from what I usually do. A job in an accounting firm. Completely normal.” Tor had finished his meal and was cleaning the plastic bowl for the recycle bin beneath the counter he’d pointed out to her.

“Huh. But you do what you do so well. I don’t understand why you’d want another job.”

“I need normal. And let’s leave it at that. Deal?”

“If that’s the way you want to play it. Do I have to stay here while you’re protecting me?” The meal he’d taken from the freezer and reheated in the microwave was supposed to be some kind of wild-caught fish-mousse thingy with lemon sauce on green beans but—ugh. “Don’t you ever eat fresh food?”

“That’s fresh. The chef delivers it frozen. No time to cook, and I eat out a lot. Lots of fresh choices that way.”

“Depends on where you eat. I need to go home this evening and pack some stuff if you expect me to stay here. Not to mention bring along half my fridge. A witch can’t survive on tough beans and rubber fish.”