Chapter Three

The Magic Cauldron Club

French Quarter, October 29th

Lisette allowed her eyes a moment to adjust to the flashing lights and her senses to the loud pounding bass of the music. She slipped passed the clamoring crowds, sending them happy thoughts so no one would resent her pushing to the front. She suspected Marisa had ulterior motives about meeting here to discuss the coven’s masquerade party at Michael’s tomorrow night. Even after telling her the whole story, right down to her secret past, Lisette’s best friend continued to push Michael at her. Thinking about him was painful enough. Seeing him would be like opening a wound for the salt.

But she couldn’t avoid him forever, not if she needed to join the local coven. The snippy witch playing receptionist at coven headquarters told her all applicants required the leader’s approval. And to Lisette’s disgust, guess who that was?

Right! Michael Veret.

After all that time and his cat and mouse interest, she hadn’t even suspected he was a warlock.

The lights flashed and an image of Michael naked in front of an altar blinded her. As quickly as it appeared, the image vanished and a hand touched her arm.

“Babe, what’s up?” The bouncer’s stark white smile glowed against his deep bronzed skin as he eyed her up and down. His silky voice relaxed her in ways few things did.

“Nothing, Desmond. Just meeting Marisa.” Her friend’s choice of meeting places never changed. A party animal to the core, Marisa liked the paranormal clubs, her music loud, her clubs crowded, and her choices of men plentiful. “You see her?”

“I see all.” Desmond laughed like a bass drum.

She bet he did.

“Marisa headed to the back lookin’ real good.” His eyes, brightened and he winked, giving her a lopsided grin. “But you, woman. You’re lookin’ like fire on an Arctic night—purely wicked.”

“Ha-ha.” She placed a hand on the mountain of a man’s forearm and grinned up at him. “Your lines are getting much more creative, but even you have to admit they’re still not on par with Shakespeare.”

Desmond chuckled—a low deep rumbling sound coming from his enormous chest. “I may not be on par with Will with words, but I’ve been told, I’m one hell of a Burns in bed.

“Clever, very clever.” She didn’t hold back the laugh. He never stopped trying to seduce her, and as charming as he was, they both knew she wasn’t interested. There was but one man for her. Her soul mate. “I’ll keep that in mind if I should be in need of your services.”

“The world doesn’t need another Shakespeare, dahlin’. Less of my poetic soul and more of my seductive prowess is what this world needs.”

His flirting tickled her until his voodoo eyes turned serious. He glanced around the bar and loosened his shoulders. The huge muscles bunched when he waved a few people by.

“Tell me the truth. Why are you here? Are you lookin’ for anythin’ or anyone in particular?”

“Just Marisa. Why?” Her gaze shot up to his and stared into his handsome, expressionless face as his eyes stared, unfocused, into the crowd. She wondered what he saw.

Lisette trusted the man’s instincts. There were times he knew things before anyone else. Tearing her gaze from his, Lisette sent her senses out like feelers. She drilled through the masses searching. For what? She didn’t know. But a power called to her.

“Desmond, should I be looking for someone in particular?”

His expression tightened, as if he struggled with a memory, and then his face relaxed. His one eyebrow lifted like the answer was obvious, and he gave her a lopsided grin. “How about me?”

“I would if I could. I’m sure there’s not another man who can hold a candle to you.” She touched his arm and squeezed. The muscle didn’t budge. Wow. He felt like an artist had cast him from steel. “I’m meant for someone even if I haven’t met him yet.”

“Go on...” He nodded and pulled the rope farther aside for her. “I get the same vibe.”

With a sexy slide and quick squint to adjust to the lights and the sounds, she skirted around Desmond. Once inside the club, enhancing a bored pause with a slight cock of her hip, allowed Lisette time to scope out the room in detail.

The bouncer understood she was here for the power. She’d use her attributes to her best advantage, and she guessed the same about him. The power in the air tonight carried a warning, and it called to both of them.

She couldn’t get a bearing on where it originated. She searched the crowd. Unable to confirm the source, she shrugged it off.

Never mind. Next week would be soon enough to start the search for her soul mate.

The power teased. He is here.

Who came to mind when she felt the power caress her skin like down feathers floating in the air? Her soul mate or Michael?

If he was here, what would she do? Avoid him?

Her heart flipped inside her chest.

Yes. Avoid him.

God knows, she’d pondered the problem long enough, last year. Hadn’t she broken it off with him to build up her resistance? A pain stabbed deep inside her head.

A fleeting memory of Michael handing her a bottle in a forest clearing popped into her mind.

She stilled. I did break it off with him, didn’t I?

Yes, sure you did.

She remembered...why couldn’t she remember the details of the break up? Why did she keep seeing his eyes staring at her with longing every time she closed her own?

All the resistance she built up over the summer waned thinking about him. Power she sensed coming from him, battled with another power, darker, trying to influence her.

Think about the soul mate.

Not now. Not ready for a soul mate, yet. Hell, she hadn’t even had time to shop for a costume or properly prepare for the Night of the Witch ceremony.

Exhaling sharply, she remembered her goals. One, find Marisa in this mess and two, get the hell out as soon as possible. She promised to meet her here. She hadn’t promised to stay.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to face Michael and grovel for his approval. She’d put her old animosity aside to join his coven. She couldn’t take the consequences of loving him if he refused to love her in return. It was better this way—final, impossible—she had a greater purpose. Staying alive.

Her eyes scoured the room, touring the social trap. A few frat guys, barely college age let alone old enough to drink, hung at the bar. Beer and alcohol, sweat and smoke lingered. The underlying scents in the air were camouflaged by breath mints, aftershave, and deodorant.

One muscled jock sidled up to her, slipped an arm around her waist, and put his mouth close to her ear.

“Wanna dance?”

“No, thank you.” She twisted away from him and suppressed the urge to make little sparks of fire dance up his arm.

Control helped dispel any threatening nervous power surges. “But she does.” Lisette sent an image of a young female to his mind and pointed to the other side of the room.

The frat boy looked confused then stammered out an “O-oh, thanks.” He searched the far corner and followed her subliminal suggestion.

Lisette grinned. Not bad for a beginner.

Now find the other half of your power.

No.

With painful deliberation, she worked her way to the back, weaving through an older set and a few business types, all forty-something, metro sexual guys with gel spiked hair to prove it. They lounged around the sparse tables scattered throughout the room congregating with others of their ilk. They were unsuccessfully hitting on the even fewer females who displayed disdain at their flaccid conversations.

Refocused on finding Marisa, Lisette released a resigned sigh. Several couples discreetly groped in the corners, while a few bolder bodies obliviously ground against each other on the dance floor, faking a rhythm to the music. Like a bargain hunter at a yard sale hoping to find the treasure in the junk, she browsed the crowd. Lisette searched the empty, animated, and desperate expressions on the faces of the club dwellers.

Then power too strong to ignore barraged her—the pull of a certain familiar male.

Michael?

It could be him.

An image popped into her head—a tantalizing vision of Michael, naked with a family crest tattooed on his lower back, him in front of an altar, chanting, calling on the Goddess, going into a trance, and turning into a panther.

Recently, disturbing, ridiculous memories began manifesting, and focusing on the broken images, gave her a headache. She shook off the image.

Probably a subconscious reaction to discovering Michael was a warlock. She was so done with his casual flirtations.

I don’t need him, just his approval.

The flutter in her stomach said otherwise. The odd sensation she experienced when he was around, teased at her and made her uneasy. But tonight, some other dark power intruded and successfully broke through her defensive shields.

Lisette gave in to the pain of fighting off the memory and dropped her mental block for a moment. Long enough for the quick image to flood her mind…along with panic.

A bear. Danger! Run! An ugly man’s face morphed into the bear, a man with gasoline and a match. His eyes met hers, and she held back the scream choking her as flames rose around her.

“No. You. Don’t.” Lisette fought back the fear and doubled her efforts, wrapping her power around her. She pushed away the dark vision.

Scanning the energy in the room and still not seeing Marisa, Lisette passed a tightly knit group blocking her way to the back.

BINGO.

Once she popped through, honing in on Marisa and a few fellow grad students was simple. In the far corner, with the first weeks of school behind them, the relaxed vibes emanating from the group was impossible to miss. The drinks flowed and the laughter carried above the music. Samhain, especially when it fell on Halloween weekend, was one of the town’s favorite holidays.

Lisette flashed a little power, and Marisa glanced up. The grin on her friend’s lips looked forced. Curious she returned a cautious smile of her own just as Marisa’s eyes opened wide and shifted to her right. The server blocking Lisette’s view stepped away, and the man sitting next to Marisa came into view. He glanced up and Lisette’s world toppled.

Michael met her eye to eye, and her smile faltered. With a wide grin on his lips, his charismatic power held her in place. The leader of the Louisiana Acadian coven still played havoc with her emotions. More, since she knew what he was. As if conjured by magic, he could have been waiting for her in that very same spot since the night she’d told him “they” wouldn’t work.

Not like he’d cared. The fact that he’d been too damn accepting grated still.

His familiar silver-blue gaze caressed her, and the effect brought acid tears she refused to shed. The impact of seeing him hit her like a sledge hammer, wrenching her heart and shattering her soul, leaving her dumbfounded. All she could manage was a nod.

Marisa had managed to get them an invitation to the coven’s party—the perfect opportunity for Lisette to build contacts and participate in the Night of the Witch ceremony. Later, she planned to ask Michael to approve her membership. She needed the warlock’s approval to gain the coven’s trust, and she needed the coven’s protection. She just hadn’t expected to be so affected by his presence.

Damn! Not here. Not yet. Tomorrow would have been soon enough. But Michael wasn’t disappearing.

She stiffened her spine and recalled she had a soul mate to find.

Slowly, she took the last few steps and stopped in front of him, then broke eye contact and inhaled deeply. Examining everything about him, she remembered the way his muscular neck and shoulders filled out a t-shirt, how his dark shadow of a beard always needed a shave, and how his nearly black hair, perpetually in need of a trim, curled behind his ears.

She hadn’t forgotten a thing.

Why couldn’t he be the one? Then she gasped. What if the strange power she felt came from the one man she’d sworn off like a bad cold?

Lisette ignored his eyes and focused on the dark tailored shirt opened at the collar. Power whirled around him. His scent, the heat.

Staring at him made her lightheaded then a glint of metal caused a blinding reflection and forced her attention to his chest. That thick chest...

As magnificent as it was, looking wasn’t a hardship. Touching would have been even less of a chore, but she stiffened her resolve and fought the temptation.

Her head did that little swoosh thing again, so she focused on something else.

A thick silver chain with half of an intricately carved pendant hung against his skin. The lights repeatedly bounced off the metal creating a glare, so she couldn’t make out the details, but then her heart skipped several beats because something about the shape looked suspiciously familiar. And when she lifted her gaze, his attention had moved to her chest.

Lisette resisted the urge to clasp the pendant heating the skin between her breasts, and run. Half of the pentacle used to invoke the spirits of the animals represented the elemental powers. Air, water, earth, fire, spirit.

Her half hung around her neck—the other half around Michael Veret’s.

The room began to spin—slowly at first—but it was definitely turning. Did modern women swoon? All her historical research indicated there was a time when it was common, but she’d attributed that to corsets. This was a reaction to seeing the pendant…and what it meant.

Placing both hands to her face, she shook her head. She did have a soul mate, and he’d denied caring for her.

What a rotten joke fate had played on them. The man who didn’t want her was the warlock she was looking for, her destined soul mate, the power that could save her. And although he’d gained the leadership of the Louisiana group, without the other half of the pendant, he would never attain his full power.

What he didn’t know was she’d never submit to him, even if he was her other half—not if he didn’t love her. The prophecy would remain unfulfilled.

Dare she risk it? Could she sacrifice power for love? Maybe.

Michael didn’t take his eyes off the spot on her chest where her half of the pendant rested. She wouldn’t stop him from looking. His expression revealed his infatuation, but not surprise.

Funny how a man wants what he can’t have. This time he’d have to earn her love, and unless he truly desired her—the woman, not the witch with the power—she would deny him.

“Michael,” she said and extended her hand. She braced for the impending shock his touch would cause, enough to shatter her control, and more than anything, she dreaded the implication.

The bond

The Pentacle of Power.

The other half of the pendant...

He had it, and she needed it.