The scent of blood and tomatoes – and basil – mingled with the scent of vanilla and cinnamon that was purely Jules. It led towards the back of the house; not upstairs like he’d expected.
He moved quickly down the arched hallway, his feet padding softly on the polished floorboards. He followed the scent into the kitchen, circling around the large island bench and past the table, heading towards the laundry – and cursed when he tripped over something on the floor.
A handbag by the sound and feel of it. Strange. Jules had been brought up to always be neat and tidy so that the map of the house in Bastien’s head wasn’t disturbed by anything being out of place. The fact she’d just dropped her bag in the middle of the floor wasn’t good. Also, why would she need a handbag if she’d just come down to the kitchen from her room to get something to eat? Had she been out without telling him?
His worry spiked. He picked the bag up and put it on the table, his hand coming away wet. He lifted it to his nose – tomatoes, basil and a hint of blood. “What the hell?”
“Hello?” Jules’s voice wavered out of the laundry. “Is that you, Bastien?”
“Yes.” He was long past being surprised that she could sense him in the same way he sensed her – another difference with this incarnation. “What’s happened? What are you doing down here? You went to bed with a headache. I thought you were asleep.”
“I spilled something on myself.” Her voice was muffled then became clear. “I’m just putting it in the wash. You head up to bed. I can deal with this.”
He got to the door just as the washing machine started up.
“If you spilled something, why can I smell blood?” He stopped in the doorway, taken aback by her aura – it was unsettled, vibrating wildly, colours flashing randomly as if she’d been shocked. That only happened when she was exposed to magic. “Jules. What the fuck happened?”
“Shh,” she said, rushing towards him, her aura pulsing faster and incredibly bright – so bright he could see the entire outline of her body, including the wild mass of her curling auburn hair that swung down her back rather than being caught in the tight bun she usually favoured. “Stop shouting. I don’t want Violetta to wake up.”
“Your grandmama is out.”
“Bugger I really need her to—”
The way she stopped abruptly made his hackles rise further. “What happened?”
“I don’t want to say right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because …” She flapped her hands around, the movement clearly visible inside her aura. “Because …” He knew her well enough to know she was trying desperately to think of something to tell him that wouldn’t make him a) worried; b) get angry; or c) get her into trouble with her grandmama. Given she wanted to talk to Violetta, it was obviously either a or b. Probably both.
Sighing, he said, “Jules. You know I can see your aura, right?”
She slouched and made a squished sound of frustration. “Can explanations wait until after I’ve had a shower? I’m covered in pasta sauce—”
“And blood.”
“And blood,” she groaned. “You know, it’s not fair you still have the senses of a cat even when you’re in your human form.”
“It makes up for the blindness.”
She swore under her breath and touched his arm. “I’m sorry. That was mean of me. It’s just—”
“You’re in pain.”
“Yes. And I wish you hadn’t caught me like this.”
She gestured again and he thought at first she meant covered in pasta sauce and blood, but then realised she must be standing there in only her underwear because she’d put her clothes into the washing machine. Swallowing hard against the familiar but inconvenient desire that surged through him, he said roughly, “Right. Shower and change, then explanations.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Okay. But please, promise you won’t lecture me. I already know what I did was stupid.”
He snorted. “I’ll try.”
He followed her upstairs and sat on the edge of her bed as she disappeared into the ensuite with her pyjamas. He wished now he hadn’t insisted on moving his bed to the room next door years ago. He’d been happy to be there for her when she was young, but as she grew into adulthood, it was too hard. Courtesy of the curse, she just couldn’t see him as anything other than a friend, and it was a constant ache, especially at night when he lay awake keeping watch over her as she slept.
He’d asked Violetta to make up some lore about him that said he must sleep elsewhere when his witch reached a certain age, and thankfully, Jules had swallowed it. Even so, there were times that he did stay in here with her. Especially when the nightmares made her scream and cry. Nightmares she could never remember once she woke but that he knew were memories of the last few months of Lianna’s life and death. Those nights, when he came in to hold her and stay with her to help her fall back to sleep were both the best and worst nights of his life. So close, and yet so horribly far away from what he knew they could be.
Given all that, it was absurd that sitting here now while she showered felt too intimate.
He shifted to the floor.
After ten minutes, the bathroom door opened, a cloud of steamy air billowed out into the room – he could feel the humidity of it covering him. With it came the scent of vanilla and cinnamon – and a little citrus tonight. And underneath it all, the faint smell of blood. She’d obviously been exposed to magic. But how? The magic Tamuel had used would have been shielded by the layers of rock and soil between the house and the library, so that couldn’t be it. “How badly did the magic lash you? Do you need to be bandaged up?”
“No. The cuts aren’t bad.”
“Cuts?”
She sighed and sat on the bed beside him, crossing her legs to face him. “I wasn’t asleep in bed like you thought. I lied about the headache.”
“Why?”
“I had a date.”
“What?” The pain of that statement jagged through him, but he swallowed it down. “Who? Did you go to a magic club? Is that why you were bleeding? You know this is exactly why you can’t go out with anyone in our community—”
“Whoa – you promised no lectures.”
“Sorry – it’s just … I didn’t expect you to do something like this.”
“What? Try to be happy? Try to find love?” She sighed, her aura sparking around her in agitation. “I’m lonely, Bastien. The only friends I have in my life are you and Grandmama and while I treasure both of you in my life, it’s …”
“Not enough.”
“Yes.”
Oh Gods. If she only knew he was her soulmate, the one who loved her best in the world and that she loved him; was meant for him. But he couldn’t tell her. Even thinking of it made pain stab through his head. He hid the pain and reached out for her hands, holding them gently in his even though touching her always brought with it an ache of loss – his loss, her loss – and a simmering anger he’d never been able to put aside.
Fuck Clodia and her curse. If he ever got his hands on her, he would do worse than kill her, he would ... He sighed internally. It was useless to rage about what he would do because he could do nothing – even if she wasn’t long dead, his powers were bound by the curse.
Hopefully, once Jules found the journal he and Tamuel had planted, and read what was inside, she’d remember what she needed to do to break this curse. But he couldn’t tell her any of it. All he could do was be here in whatever way she needed – and right now, she needed her friend. So, he swallowed the pain and asked, “Who is he?”
“Simon Smithson-West.”
“Smithson-West? The cleaning specialist family Violetta was going on about last week because their magic is waning?”
“Yes. His magic is particularly weak so I thought he would be safe.”
“Jules, you know better than that. No magic is safe.”
“What am I supposed to do? Go out with a human?”
“Of course not.” It was against their laws. Humans couldn’t be trusted with knowledge of their world – too many bad things had happened in the past when they became aware magical people and creatures lived among them. Not to mention the thought of her going out with anyone but him was a stab to his heart.
“So, I’m just … what? Meant to live alone forever?”
“Jules.” He pulled her forward and she tumbled against him, her arms going around him, holding tight. “I didn’t mean—”
Jules shook her head against his chest. “No. Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault I’m an abomination.”
He stiffened. “Abomination?” He pulled away, wishing to all the Gods he could see her face because her voice was expressionless. “Who told you that? Simon?”
“He was angry—”
“That doesn’t excuse him calling you that or using his magic on you.” Of course that’s what had happened – nothing else explained the blood and pasta sauce that had been all over her. “I’m going to kill him.”
“No.” She gripped his arms as if she really thought he was about to go and follow through on his words. “He’s not worth it. Besides, he got punished enough with the backlash. It ruined his entire dining room.” She snickered. “He’ll be using his powers to clean that room for the next few weeks.”
“Good.” It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. But there wasn’t really anything he could do. It wasn’t like he could realistically go around to the warlock’s house to teach him a lesson – he couldn’t go anywhere without a Stevens, tied to their bloodline like he was. And Jules would hardly drive him over there so he could castrate the bastard as he deserved. Abomination! He deserved more than castration, the donkey’s arse!
“Why did he use his powers on you?” It wasn’t something a powered person would usually do without permission – certainly not on someone from their community. The ramifications of doing so had caused blood feuds between families in the past, exposing them to humans – which was why it was pretty much outlawed to use magic on anyone without permission.
Jules sighed. “We were having dinner at his house – he cooked tomato and basil pasta. I dropped some on my cream dress and he offered to use his latest cleaning spell to fix the stain.”
“He did more than offer.”
“Yes, well, it’s apparently a specialty of his and he was pretty enthusiastic and wanted to help and let the spell go before I could stop him.” She screwed her mouth to the side again. “If you think about it, it was kind of gentlemanly.”
Bastien snorted. “Even if that were true, from the sounds of it, he wasn’t gentlemanly afterwards.”
“Well, it’s kind of understandable. The backlash that destroyed his dining room threw him across the room. He was hurt and upset, even more so when I blurted out my apologies and accidentally told him about my magical allergy. He … lost his shit.”
“Jules.” He wanted to pull her back into his arms but she sat stiffly, holding herself apart – holding herself together? He could see in her aura the hurt she felt. He sidled closer and began to rub her back as she always liked, but she winced and he quickly stopped. “Sorry.”
She grabbed his hand, pulled it back towards her. “No, don’t stop. That felt nice.”
“But you’re hurt.” It must have been bad for the backlash to have caused cuts on her back too.
“I’m fine. Just paper-cuts really. They’ll heal in a few days. Just hold me until I fall asleep. Please?”
He did just that, lying down so she could cuddle into his side, and stroked her hair. He hoped she’d fall asleep well before sunrise when he’d need to leave her before the change took him over. She must have been tired because her breathing slowed within minutes, the tension easing out of her body as she fell asleep.
Soon, he’d be able to do this every night. She’d find the journal tomorrow and read it and then she’d know she was cursed, would know he was tied up in that curse too, and she’d want to break it. And even though it was cutting it close, with only thirteen days until Valentine’s Eve, he knew she could do it. Not that there was any other choice – they couldn’t have given her more warning than this or the curse could try to stop them. It had proved to be just that insidious over the years.
Thirteen days until they were both free.
Thirteen days until he could tell her everything he’d held inside for too long and share with her what had been stolen from them almost two millennia ago. For too long, Valentine’s Day had signified a happy never after for them. But this year, he was certain it would be the first day of happy ever afters from here-on out.
It had to be.