will make you scream my name. Together, we will share pleasures so rich, so deep, neither of us will be whole without the other ever again.”
“Now,” she pleaded, and hated the whine in her own voice. But she ached for him. And he was already gone. Slipping from her dream as easily as he’d arrived.
Maggie knew the moment he left her, because she felt a chill and the light within her flickered briefly, then whiffed out. As if a candle had been snuffed. As if a freaking power plant had been hit by a rocket and been completely destroyed.
“Culhane?” Jolting upright in bed, Maggie pushed her hair out of her eyes and fought for breath. Whipping her head from side to side, she searched the shadows for any sign of Culhane. Had it really been a dream? Or had he actually been in the room, doing those things to her, and it had only been her own brain making her believe in the dream?
A dream. That was all it was. Which meant, she thought, that now her own body was torturing her.
“Just perfect,” she muttered, and flopped down again. Staring up at the moonlit ceiling, Maggie waited for dawn, sure she wouldn’t be sleeping any more that night.
Outside her window, Culhane watched her. And smiled.
Two days later, Maggie got home late. She’d done five windows, killed a demon who’d sneaked up on her when she was painting Tina’s Knit and Yarn Shop, and then had ended her day with a parking ticket. She was covered in streaks of brightly colored tempera paint, her back ached and she was so hungry she was willing to fight Sheba for a cupful of kibble.
That’s when her day went from bad to crappy in the blink of an eye.
“Finally!” Nora flung the door open, reached out to the front porch, grabbed Maggie’s arm and dragged her into the house. Nora let go just as quickly, looked down at the smudges of white paint on her own palm and said, “Jeez, do you not wash the paint off you when you finish a job?”
Since Maggie was covered in paint and Nora was boasting a tiny smear, she couldn’t work up an apology. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll never believe it,” Nora said. “I even called Madame Star to tell her and she was surprised. She hadn’t seen this coming at all .”
Since Madame Star was Nora’s favorite psychic and couldn’t “see” her own tush, Maggie wasn’t entirely surprised by this revelation.
“See what? What’re you talking about and can it wait until I’ve had a shower at least?” Maggie plucked a strand of hair from the side of her face and shifted her gaze to examine it. “I’ve got globs of green paint in my hair, thanks to that stupid demon scaring me, and the paint’s hardening as we speak.”
“No, this can’t wait.” Nora’s eyes were sparkling and a grin kept tugging at one corner of her mouth. “It’s too exciting. Now come on; he’s in the kitchen.”
“He? He who?”
But Maggie didn’t get an answer as Nora headed off at a trot, clearly expecting her sister to follow. Which, of course, Maggie did, albeit more slowly and cautiously. As she got closer to the kitchen, she heard voices rising and falling and then Eileen’s laughter. She could pick out her niece, and Bezel. But there was a new voice in the mix. Male. And despite the hopeful leap of her heart that it might be Culhane, she knew right away it wasn’t. This was a voice she didn’t recognize.
So Maggie braced herself, just in case a glamoured up demon had infiltrated the house.
Following Nora into the familiar room, ready for whatever the strange new life she was living might throw at her, Maggie’s gaze swept the scene in an instant. Eileen and then Nora, at the table, laughing as the golden chrysanthemums in the vase on the table swayed and dipped on their own, as if dancing to music only the blossoms could hear. Then there was Bezel, standing off to one side, his long, spidery fingers dug into Sheba’s fur, holding the golden retriever in place as the ancient, ugly pixie stared daggers
“Now,” she pleaded, and hated the whine in her own voice. But she ached for him. And he was already gone. Slipping from her dream as easily as he’d arrived.
Maggie knew the moment he left her, because she felt a chill and the light within her flickered briefly, then whiffed out. As if a candle had been snuffed. As if a freaking power plant had been hit by a rocket and been completely destroyed.
“Culhane?” Jolting upright in bed, Maggie pushed her hair out of her eyes and fought for breath. Whipping her head from side to side, she searched the shadows for any sign of Culhane. Had it really been a dream? Or had he actually been in the room, doing those things to her, and it had only been her own brain making her believe in the dream?
A dream. That was all it was. Which meant, she thought, that now her own body was torturing her.
“Just perfect,” she muttered, and flopped down again. Staring up at the moonlit ceiling, Maggie waited for dawn, sure she wouldn’t be sleeping any more that night.
Outside her window, Culhane watched her. And smiled.
Two days later, Maggie got home late. She’d done five windows, killed a demon who’d sneaked up on her when she was painting Tina’s Knit and Yarn Shop, and then had ended her day with a parking ticket. She was covered in streaks of brightly colored tempera paint, her back ached and she was so hungry she was willing to fight Sheba for a cupful of kibble.
That’s when her day went from bad to crappy in the blink of an eye.
“Finally!” Nora flung the door open, reached out to the front porch, grabbed Maggie’s arm and dragged her into the house. Nora let go just as quickly, looked down at the smudges of white paint on her own palm and said, “Jeez, do you not wash the paint off you when you finish a job?”
Since Maggie was covered in paint and Nora was boasting a tiny smear, she couldn’t work up an apology. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll never believe it,” Nora said. “I even called Madame Star to tell her and she was surprised. She hadn’t seen this coming at all .”
Since Madame Star was Nora’s favorite psychic and couldn’t “see” her own tush, Maggie wasn’t entirely surprised by this revelation.
“See what? What’re you talking about and can it wait until I’ve had a shower at least?” Maggie plucked a strand of hair from the side of her face and shifted her gaze to examine it. “I’ve got globs of green paint in my hair, thanks to that stupid demon scaring me, and the paint’s hardening as we speak.”
“No, this can’t wait.” Nora’s eyes were sparkling and a grin kept tugging at one corner of her mouth. “It’s too exciting. Now come on; he’s in the kitchen.”
“He? He who?”
But Maggie didn’t get an answer as Nora headed off at a trot, clearly expecting her sister to follow. Which, of course, Maggie did, albeit more slowly and cautiously. As she got closer to the kitchen, she heard voices rising and falling and then Eileen’s laughter. She could pick out her niece, and Bezel. But there was a new voice in the mix. Male. And despite the hopeful leap of her heart that it might be Culhane, she knew right away it wasn’t. This was a voice she didn’t recognize.
So Maggie braced herself, just in case a glamoured up demon had infiltrated the house.
Following Nora into the familiar room, ready for whatever the strange new life she was living might throw at her, Maggie’s gaze swept the scene in an instant. Eileen and then Nora, at the table, laughing as the golden chrysanthemums in the vase on the table swayed and dipped on their own, as if dancing to music only the blossoms could hear. Then there was Bezel, standing off to one side, his long, spidery fingers dug into Sheba’s fur, holding the golden retriever in place as the ancient, ugly pixie stared daggers
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