An American Witch In Paris. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
his place in the eleventh arrondissement. He lived in a third-floor loft close to Père Lachaise cemetery, which boasted an excellent view of Sacré Coeur up on the hill.
He left the front door open behind him, not feeling the need to wait on the witch. She’d stand back just to piss him off, surely. He tossed his keys onto the gray granite kitchen counter and kicked off his shoes, then wandered through the living area. With a few words to the electronic house butler—“Stuart, modify for sun”—the electrochromic shades fixed between the double windowpanes that looked out over the city adjusted to a soft white that would allow in light but not the UV rays that gave him the most caution.
The layout of the loft was open—no walls, save the ones enclosing the bathroom. Strolling through the living room, around a corner and through the bedroom, he went into the bathroom but left the door open behind him. “Stuart, warm water.” Ethan splashed water on his face, then manually twisted off the faucet and took a few deep breaths.
He opened his palm. The cut CJ had given him had already healed. Sharing blood with the witch hadn’t been as horrible as he’d expected. Remnants of fear over the once-poisonous witch blood remained. He’d have to get over it. And fast. If the demon was a blood demon, surely much blood would be spilled in the coming days. The witch’s. And the demon’s. Ethan wasn’t willing to give any more than the few drops he’d provided today.
He liked blood. As sustenance. But he never drank witch’s blood, even since the Great Protection Spell had been broken. It couldn’t harm him now. And there were even some vampires who liked drinking from witches. If you added in sex and a specific spell for bloodsexmagic, the vampire could steal some of that witch’s magic for himself.
He had no desire to own magic. But to taste the witch’s blood? He couldn’t shake the scent of her blood as it had trickled into the air in the alley outside headquarters. It had roused him so much in that moment that he’d used violence and had shoved her roughly to hide his burgeoning desires. He hoped she wouldn’t bleed near him again.
That would prove a challenge.
“Honey, I’m home!”
He shook his head, but no reflection in the mirror showed his exasperation. CJ had warned she would be a struggle. But that was a challenge he welcomed. Now, to work with the witch.
Tuesday had shucked off her coat and now reclined on the leather sofa that sat against a rough brick wall. She’d kicked off her shoes and waggled her bare toes—the nails were painted bright blue—as she stretched out her arms and yawned. The black shirt had a button below her breasts and was open from there down, revealing abs. And much more skin than he wanted to notice right now.
“Tired?” he asked.
“Unlike vampires, we witches do need a little shut-eye now and then. And after all the torments I’ve endured?”
“Why don’t you take twenty minutes to rest? Stuart, close the shades completely.”
As the windows darkened, Tuesday sat up and glanced over a shoulder. “Who the hell is Stuart? A house brownie?”
Ethan chuckled. “A bit similar. That’s the name of the electronic house butler. This place is high-tech. If you need something, Stuart can usually get it.”
“Stuart, book me a flight back to Boston, STAT,” Tuesday said.
As the butler began to confirm, Ethan canceled that request. “And ignore all requests from any voice but my own,” he ordered.
“Of course,” Stuart replied.
“That’s creepy.” Tuesday lay back down and crossed her arms over her chest. “And so not fair.”
“While you rest I’m going to make a few calls. Plan our first move.”
“You don’t have a plan?”
“Of course I do,” he lied. Sitting before the kitchen counter with his back to her, he pushed aside her spangled coat. A pad of paper and a pen waited near the phone. He was all about the high-tech, but he’d never give up the landline. “You want a blanket or something?”
“Fuck you, Richard.” And she turned over on the sofa and snuggled up in a ball.
Again with the Richard? He thought about it a few seconds. Ah. Richard shortened was... All righty then. He shouldn’t expect her to think very highly of him after having one of his retrievers kidnap her and fly her across the ocean. And then forcibly bind her to him.
He may have to find a means to cozy up to her in order to get her to trust him or he’d never get anywhere with her. At the very least, he needed her to want to trust him.
Pulling out his cell phone, he scrolled through the contacts. He knew the person he had to speak to first to learn anything about any demon in Paris.
* * *
Edamite Thrash was a sort of demon overlord with a penchant for niceness. But Ethan didn’t tell anyone that, or Thrash would scratch you with the poison thorns that grew from his knuckles. The man was a corax demon, which meant he could shift into an unkindness of ravens and take to the skies. He also made it his job to oversee the demons of Paris, knowing who was where, and when and why. He kept a loose rein on his species, and enforced punishment only when one of them threatened to expose their kind with their foolish actions.
Ethan knew most of the major players in the paranormal realm who inhabited Paris. That was his job, to know whom he could trust and with whom he had best watch his back. Ed was trustworthy.
The dark feather tattoo on Ed’s neck always drew Ethan’s eye. He wore many sigils tattooed on his skin, and combined with his standard dark business suit and smartly parted and slicked black hair, he looked dangerous yet disturbingly GQ stylish.
He shook the man’s hand, noting he always wore black leather half gloves that exposed his fingers. He needed only cover the thorns on his knuckles to prevent an accident.
“Good to see you, man.” Ed nodded over Ethan’s shoulder. “Who is this pretty?”
Tuesday, who had followed Ethan into the building at a distance, was acting petulant, yet she strolled forward and offered her hand to shake. “Tuesday Knightsbridge.”
Ed clasped her hand. “The witch. I’ve heard about you.”
“You have? From who?”
“My girlfriend, Tamatha Bellerose.”
“Bellerose? Oh, yes, her mother is Petrina. I know that witch.” And the quickness with which Tuesday pulled her hand from the demon’s clasp clued Ethan she probably didn’t have a good relationship with the family. “Just in Paris for a visit,” she added. “Forced, as it is.”
Ed looked to Ethan for explanation.
“Tuesday is helping me to locate a demon. That’s why I wanted to check in with you. See if you’ve any information that may lead us to him.”
Ed leaned against the desk behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Which demon?”
“The Beautiful One,” Tuesday said before Ethan could say the name.
“Ah. Gazariel.” Ed winced and rubbed his jaw. “I do know he’s in town. But haven’t a clue where. He hasn’t been making much noise so he’s not on my give-a-fuck radar. Why is she helping? You only require a witch when you need to summon a demon from Beneath or Daemonia.”
“I’m bait,” Tuesday said, tossing out the words at the same time Ethan said, “She’s my lure for the demon.”
“You two don’t get along very well, do you?”
Ethan kept an eye on Tuesday as she walked about the demon’s office, looked over the marble conference table and then wandered to the wall where various artifacts were displayed on small individual shelves.
“We had to take her away from her home to get her to work with us,” Ethan