Page 1 of Obsession

Chapter 1

Flipping over the closed sign of our metaphysical shop, Memphis Magic, I follow Grandma and her ornery cat upstairs to our apartment. “You’re going to Tunica for the weekend?” I double-check with Vivian Brooks, the world’s biggest busybody. Grandma’s a spry sixty-four-year-old with a naturally pretty face and salt-and-pepper hair she keeps pixie short. She’s wearing a gold Winner Winner Chicken Dinner T-shirt. I don’t need my gift of premonition to know her wearing this shirt means a gambling trip is in her near future, but I want to be one hundred percent sure a certain demon and I will have the apartment to ourselves.

“No, but don’t fret your pretty little head. I’m going to play poker at Brenda’s house tonight, so you and Damion are free to get down and dirty after your hot date,” she says, waggling her eyebrows.

“Please don’t say ‘down and dirty’ ever again.” I cringe. Grandma claims she was a voyeur in a past life. I claim that’s just an excuse to ignore healthy boundaries. Her last comment is case in point. Elvis hops up on the kitchen barstool, getting a front row seat. The black Bombay might be a sadist; I swear he delights in my discomfort.

“Need help in the kitchen before I go? How about a little love magic?” Grandma suggests.

“Nope. Not going to start my relationship with Damion by magically kidnapping him.” Although during the course of our, let’s call it a one-body relationship, I was kidnapped twice, but that’s neither here nor there. Glancing at our kitchen witch, a crone-looking poppet perched above our stove, I quietly tell her, “No love magic this evening, please.” But there will be contract magic—a date with a demon in exchange for him not stealing my soul. A win-win for me, if I do say so myself.

“Don’t be so dramatic. A magical nudge never hurt anyone,” Grandma informs me.

“You telling me not to be dramatic. Ha.”

Hugging her goodbye, I prepare tonight’s dinner and then get ready. Slipping on my new red wrap dress, I tie it at the side as I admire my look in the mirror. The neckline is a bit daring, but vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles, I told myself when I bought it. Tall wedge sandals show off my new pedicure of red polish, and of course I’m wearing my bloodstone bracelet.

As I head upstairs to our rooftop patio, Elvis is hot on my heels. “Sorry, but three’s a crowd,” I say, closing the door in his face. He responds by hissing at me.

I plug in the string of twinkle lights and place a candle in the center of the bistro table. Per my contractual obligations, I’ve cooked a steak, medium; I even used a meat thermometer to make sure I got the temperature just right. I’ve baked two russet potatoes and have portioned out butter and sour cream in small condiment bowls. I chose to go with a light salad with a lemon herb vinaigrette, the herbs I cut from Grandma’s garden. I did wind up using a little kitchen magic after all—tarragon for its calming properties, because for whatever reason I’m a little nervous about the date. Silly, I know, considering how intimately Damion and I already know each other. The French apple tart is cooling downstairs, and the vanilla ice cream is in the freezer.

I set the prepared plates down on the table as Damion Blackmon materializes. Even though I knew he would teleport, his arrival still startles me. We stand rooted in place, smiling at each other. Damion’s a beautiful creature, there’s no two ways about it. He’s six feet two, with blond curly hair, a chiseled jawline, sexy dimples, and the most unusual shade of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a black suit with a blood-red tie, reminding me that he’s a demon lawyer who steals souls. Why that doesn’t concern me like it should is anyone’s guess.

The trance is broken when he floats a bottle of red wine over to the table. “I didn’t know you could do Gabe’s little levitation trick.” Gabe Jennings is Damion’s best friend and law partner who worked on our case. Our case being that a certain Cambion possessed me and wouldn’t leave. A flame appears and dances in Damion’s right hand. He flicks his fingers in the direction of the table, and the candle sparks to life. “Or that fire trick,” I say with mouth agape.

“I can’t let all of my tricks out of the bag at one time.” Winking at me, he closes the gap between us, pulling my body tightly to his as he gently presses his lips to mine. A short and sweet kiss, but one that teases of the pleasure soon to come. “You look beautiful,” he says, pulling back and looking me over appreciatively from head to toe. His naughty smile reminds me of all the naughty things we did three days ago, and I try not to shiver. Okay, so I actually haven’t been able to stop thinking about all the naughty things we did three days ago. That was after we finally figured out the magical loophole and exorcised him.

“I had my marching orders.” I have every intention of answering tartly, but it comes out way too breathy. “But thank you. And you look great.”

“Of course I look great. When don’t I look great?”

“Ugh. Are all Cambions this vain?”

“I don’t know all Cambions, so I can’t answer that.”

“Hush, and let’s eat.”

Damion pulls out my chair for me, and he takes a seat across the table. The wine cork pops open, and the bottle floats over to my glass and pours itself. “Now you’re just showing off.” I take a sip of wine and try to discreetly admire him as he leans back in his chair and loosens his tie. The Cambion is sin on a stick, as Grandma likes to say.

“I didn’t have a chance to grab lunch today, so I’m starved. This is delicious,” he tells me between bites of steak.

I salt my baked potato and pass him the shaker. “How you’ve survived this long without me taking care of you is a mystery.” He smiles at me throwing his words back at him from when we were bound together. We play fuss back and forth and just enjoy being in each other’s company as we finish dinner.

“Be right back.” I walk downstairs and cut a small piece of the French apple tart and place a scoop of vanilla ice cream in the center. I grab two spoons and walk back upstairs.

I set the bowl in front of him with the flourish of my hand and start to walk back to my chair, but he surprises me by grabbing me and pulling me to his lap. “Let me have just a little taste,” he whispers in my ear, and I try not to tingle at his words. Smiling as I grab a spoon, I scoop up an equal portion of tart and ice cream, feeding him a bite.

“This fulfills my end of the bargain.” Before things progress any further this evening, I want that on the record. And yes, there is a record keeper named Metratron, and he keeps a jar on his desk full of creepy eyeballs, but I see I’m getting off track, pun intended.

“So fucking sexy when you talk contract with me.” His eyes glow like they’re backlit, and that delicious scent of his envelops me. Damion smells divine, but when he’s turning on the incubus charm, it’s really not fair. I will my thighs to stay still, because they desperately want to rub together.

Giving my head a little shake, I tell him, “Damion, you’re not going to take my soul. I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m not going to take your soul,” he reassures, running a phantom touch up and down my spine, and I try not to purr like a cat. Our contract appears, hovering in the air.

I, Aubry Brooks, being of legal age and sound mind, hereby enter into a binding contract with Damion Blackmon (“the Demon”), whereby Aubry Brooks agrees to go on a romantic date with the Demon within seven (7) days of the Demon being exorcised from Aubry Brooks in exchange for the Demon not stealing her soul. Said date shall be a dinner prepared by Aubry Brooks, which shall include the following: steak cooked medium, baked potato with butter and sour cream, salad is optional. Dessert shall include a French apple tart with vanilla ice cream. If Aubry Brooks does not prepare the aforementioned meal within seven (7) days of the Demon being exorcised, then Aubry Brooks will owe the Demon not only the aforementioned meal, but also a kiss, the kiss to be called due at the Demon’s choosing.

The words glow red, and then the scroll rolls itself up and disappears. “At least not today,” he says, nuzzling my neck.

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