Chapter Five

“Good evening,” said the person who entered Fen’s shop, setting the fairy bell over the door to jingling merrily. Kara had just left, following a hard day’s work. The newest batches of ice cream were safe in the freezer, and Fen, still wearing her grubby apron, looked forward to retiring to her quarters in back and putting her feet up. Maybe getting her head straight.

“I’m sorry, we’re not open yet.” She turned with a smile that froze on her face as she stared into a pair of dark eyes that held a devilish light.

For an instant, she felt sure she’d manifested him. He’d been so constantly on her mind—impossible to banish, in fact—it didn’t seem all too surprising, finding him standing there.

Dismay rose in her breast, combined with another feeling she feared might be desire. The clashing emotions made her head go light.

“We aren’t open,” she repeated in a far cooler tone.

“I didn’t come to sample your ice cream, although”—he flicked a glance not at the menu board behind Fen, but up and down her body—“I’m sure everything here is quite delightful.”

Careful, Fen’s brain screamed. He’s come with sinister purposes, and he’s got his charm on.

Before she could speak, he said—just as if he’d once more read her mind, “I come in peace.” From behind his back, he produced a bottle of wine, which he placed on the counter in front of her. “I thought we might share a drink, and a little conversation.”

Fen looked at the bottle. Czechoslovakian Clove Wine. How could he possibly know that was her favorite? Shock and suspicion made her glare at him through narrowed eyes. “Where did you get that? They don’t sell it here at Rockpool Wine and Liquors.”

He gave a graceful shrug. “Maybe I drove to Boston.”

“You never did!”

“Or to Salem. They sell it there, in my old neighborhood.”

“Do they?”

“Or maybe…” Once again he waved his fingers. “I produced it by magic.”

“But how did you know—” Fen broke off because, gazing into those dark eyes, she could readily believe he’d employed magic. Indeed, she had to steel herself to meet that gaze head on. It contained far too many things. A glimmer of enchantment, yes. That nearly irresistible hint of deviltry. The power to influence her? Suddenly she didn’t want to find out.

He wagged the bottle at her. “I was hoping this might prove irresistible to you.”

“Well, it isn’t,” Fen declared, denying all internal evidence. “So you might as well just leave.”

Ignoring that piece of advice, he leaned on his side of the counter. “I heard a rumor you’re planning to open for business ahead of your Grand Opening on Sunday.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Whispers, around town.”

Whispers? No one knew she’d been contemplating jumping the Grand Opening, except her and Kara. Kara hadn’t said anything, had she?

“My assistant talked me out of it.”

“Good. It’s poor marketing.”

“Good for you, you mean. Right now, you’ve got the whole market.”

“Such as it is. You know, and I know, things won’t get busy till school lets out next week.”

“Your shop looked pretty busy when I was there.”

“It’s been brisk,” he admitted. “Not like I hope it will be. I’ve been interviewing for extra help.”

“So if everything’s running smoothly at Wicked Good, why are you here in my shop, pestering me, when all I want to do is lock the door and go put my feet up?”

“I think you should go put them up.” He wagged the bottle again. “We’ll share a drink and see if we can slam a lid on the hostility.”

Fen wanted that drink. In all honesty, a drink wasn’t all she wanted, and that scared her a little.

“Look.” She spread her hands, palms down, on the counter. “I’m not afraid of competition. But it has to be fair. So long as you’re stealing my creations, there’s going to be hostility, understand? And while there’s hostility, I’m not about to sit sipping wine with you—or anything else.”

One of his eyebrows quirked. The light in his eyes flared. “I didn’t suggest anything else, but—what do you have in mind?”

He leaned in, eyes locked on hers as if he sought to capture her thoughts. A quiver made its way down Fen’s body and took up residence in a location that had seen far too little action, for far too long.

Against her will, her gaze moved to his lips and she watched as he said, “Tell me. I really want to know.”

She snorted inelegantly even as she wondered how those curiously mobile lips would taste. How they’d feel pressed against her overheated flesh. “In your dreams.”

“Quite possibly.”

What did that mean? Fen’s gaze flew to his once again. Any number of sinful things might swim in their dark depths. She drew a breath and said, “You’ve already admitted you can’t prove those flavors were yours.”

He shook his head sorrowfully. “No, I can’t.”

“While I have a notebook going back ten years, filled with my ideas.”

He made an expansive gesture. “Show it to me.”

“Yeah, right—and let you catch a look at what else is in there.”

“Look, Miss Fenady, it’s only days to your Grand Opening. Things are about to get hectic for both of us. Do you really want to go into the season waging war?”

“No.”

“Then let’s have a drink and see if we can come to some kind of agreement.”

“About—”

“About our flavors, and how to go forward in light of this phenomenon.”

“What makes you call it that?”

“I didn’t steal your ideas, and you swear you didn’t steal mine. Obviously, there’s some other force at work.”

“Something…satanic?”

“I’m a Wiccan. I don’t believe in the devil, and I suspect neither do you.”

“Agreed.” Unless the devil stood before her, in human form—slim, graceful, and darned near impossible to resist.

Just as the devil would be.

Fen blew out a breath. “All right. Let me lock up, and we’ll go out back to my apartment.”

****

Fen’s quarters, tacked on behind the shop, were cramped and barely adequate. But they kept her from paying a separate rent for living space and, she hoped, would make a difference in getting the business off the ground. So what if the tiny bedroom felt like a closet, the bathroom was in a former broom cupboard, and the kitchen area consisted of little more than a hotplate and two feet of counter space? She’d lived in worse places. And anyway, it was just temporary.

Sebastian Bane brought an energy in with him, though, that seemed to crowd the space. Fen felt it all too intensely and wondered immediately if admitting him here had been a mistake.

“Let me lose this apron. Grab a seat.”

She bustled off to the tiny bathroom, where she washed and changed her clothes, hoping the man couldn’t see through walls the way he seemed able to see inside her head. Before hurrying back out, she drew the elastic band off her ponytail, allowing her hair to fall to her shoulders.

He’d taken a seat on the sofa and had opened the wine. He turned when Fen appeared and froze an instant, his gaze on her hair before he said, “Glasses?”

“What? Oh, yes.” Fen fished two stem goblets from the cupboard and joined him at the sofa. To be fair, there wasn’t any other place to sit, the single additional chair being piled high with overflow from the shop.

Sebastian poured the wine. “This is cozy.”

“It will do me, for now.”

He nodded at her altar, which stood against the wall under the window that faced east. “Let’s get the obvious out of the way first. You’re Wiccan, as am I. As if that weren’t enough of a coincidence, we’ve both decided to open ice cream parlors the same summer, in the same out-of-the-way town.”

Fen took a sip of her wine and closed her eyes for an instant, in bliss. Rich and flavorful, with that wonderful hint of clove… “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Still another coincidence—nor do I. We’ll have to come up with another term for what’s going on.”

“Just what is going on, in your estimation?”

“I’d call it a parallel anomaly.”

“Would you?”

“Yes.” He waved a hand in another of those darned graceful gestures. “An unexpected machination of the Universe.”

“Bullshit.”

He laughed, producing one of the most seductive sounds Fen had ever heard. “I’ll admit, it’s not easy to accept.”

“Very difficult.”

“Yet such things do occur—especially to believers such as we.”

“Oh?” Fen took a gulp of wine.

“You know, and I know, if you concentrate on something long enough it’s bound to come to you. We’ve both been working hard, concentrating on building our businesses. What if our desires—I don’t know—collided?”

“Interesting theory. Shall I tell you what I think?”

“I wish you would.”

“I think you’re a practitioner of magic, yes, but perhaps you don’t always keep to the path of light. Perhaps you stray to the dark now and again and—using cards or a scrying mirror or, I don’t know, a damned Ouija board, have developed the ability to read my mind.”

“Also an interesting theory.” His eyebrow quirked again. It was the right one, and seemed uncannily mobile. “But you give me too much credit.”

“For—?”

“Audacity.” He added with precision, “Balls. There’s a price tag attached to straying, as you call it, to the dark side, and it’s one I’m not willing to pay. Especially for the sake of an ice cream shop.”

“Listen here. This ice cream shop you denigrate is my lifelong dream.” One that had kept her afloat during her worst moments.

“Then maybe it’s you, Miss Fenady, who have gone for a stroll on the dark side and stolen my ideas.”

“This is pointless.” Now Fenady waved a hand. “We’re never going to agree. I know what I did and didn’t do.”

“As do I.” Suddenly, steel appeared in his eyes. “I didn’t pilfer from you, Fenady. I wouldn’t.”

“Well, then. It seems we’re both the butt of a joke leveled on the part of the Universe.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “It’s the only explanation.”

He looked thoughtful, but said nothing.

“Look,” Fen told him impulsively. “This—it’s really important to me. Can’t you relocate your shop elsewhere? Salem, maybe. You’d be wildly popular in Salem.”

“I just came from there. And, I was.”

“Then for the love of the goddess, why didn’t you start Wicked Good there?”

“The atmosphere wasn’t right.” He proposed with a flash, “Why don’t you relocate?”

“I can’t. Every penny I possess is invested here, in this venture.” Plus additional money she didn’t actually possess.

“Me too. I’ve borrowed from my family, back in England, with the goal of paying them back in the first year. They didn’t want me to leave, but I felt—well, I felt drawn here. And damn it, I don’t want them telling me I’ve made a mistake.”

“I get that.”

“Miss Fenady, I want peace. And I propose we sit here drinking this wine until we find a way to achieve it.”