Witch & Curse Read Free Page A

branch and rock to find her wrist, encircle it, enclose it.
    Someone—or something—whispered low and deep and seductively,
“I claim thee, Isabeau Cahors, by night and Barley Moon. Thou art mine.”
    And from the darkness above the circle a massive falcon dove straight for Pandion, its talons and beak flashing and savage. . . .
    â€œNo!” Holly cried into the darkness.
    A bird’s wings flapped, then were still.
    She was shivering with cold; and she was alive.
    A brilliant yellow light struck her full force in the face. Holly whimpered as the light moved, bobbing up and down, then lowered as the figure holding it squatted and peered at her.
    It was a heavyset woman dressed like a forest ranger. She said, “It’s okay, honey, we’re here now.” Over her shoulder, she yelled, “Found a survivor!”
    A ragged cheer rose up, and Holly burst into frightened, desperate tears.
    Seattle, Washington, Lammas
    Kari Hardwicke had wrapped herself in a simple, cream-colored robe of lightweight gauze that was totally see-through and that clung everywhere. In her slashed blond hair she had entwined a few wildflowers, and she had bronzed her cheeks and shoulders. Her feet were bare and she had dabbed patchouli oil in all the strategic places.
    Spellcasters loved patchouli oil.
    Now she curled herself around Jer Deveraux as he brooded silently before her fireplace. He had burst through her door with the storm, fierce and enraged, but he wouldn’t tell her what was wrong. He had accepted the glass of cab she offered him and drawn up her leather chair before her fireplace. He sipped, and he fell silent, his dark eyes practically igniting the logs in the fireplace.
    Hell hath no fury like Jeraud Deveraux when he’s in a temper
.
    That made her want him all the more. There was something about Jer she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t simply his air of command, as if he could make one do his slightest bidding merely by raising one eyebrow. Nor was it his sharp wit, or his drive; the pull he had on almost everyone who knew him; the way he fascinated people, both men and women, who would fall todiscussing him once he had left a room.
    It was all that combined with his astonishing looks. His brown-black eyes were set deep into his face beneath dark brown eyebrows. His features were sharply defined, his cheekbones high above hollows shaded by the soft light in the room. Unlike his father and his brother, he was clean shaven; his jaw was sharp and angular, and his lips looked soft. He worked out, and it showed in his broad shoulders, covered for the moment by a black sweater. Like his family members, he wore black nearly all the time, adding to his allure of danger and sensuality.
    But it’s even more that that
, Kari thought now.
He’s . . . how does the old song go?
    A magic man
.
    Heavy rain rattled the dormer window of her funky student apartment; the storm matched his mood, but she was determined to shake him out of it. It was Lammastide, the witches’ harvest night, and she knew he would leave in a while to go perform some kind of ritual with Eli, his brother, and Michael, his father. They were “observant,” as he liked to phrase it… and she wanted him to take her with him tonight. She wanted to know what they did in secret. Their rites, their spells . . . all of it.
    The Deveraux men are warlocks
, she thought.
    But use that word in front of Jer, and he would deny it.
    In the early days of their relationship—a year ago, now, how it had flown!—he had been eager to bring her into the fold. Back then, she was his teaching assistant, and he, a newbie undergrad; after the first time they’d gone to bed together, he had told her he would share his “mysteries” with her. He had hinted about an ancient family Book of Spells.
    She was thrilled. She was getting her PhD in folklore, a path she had chosen so that she could investigate magic and