Page 10 of Obsession

Grandma holds her hands over the herbs for an intention infusion, then gives them a chop. “Parsley for vitality. I’ll add extra; I’m worried that you and Damion need a magical bedroom pick-me-up. It’s gone radio silent in the boudoir.”

“We do not need a magical bedroom pick-me-up.” I groan as I take a rolling pin and crush a bag of crackers for the casserole topping. She was at hip-hop dance class the other morning when Damion came over after the dream I sent him, thank the Goddess.

“You’re going to Damion’s this weekend?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m adding extra, just in case.”

After dinner, I call it an early night. Alone in my bedroom, I flip through Mama’s book of shadows and stop on a strangulation spell. Gulping loudly, I read the disturbing spell that involves tying knots in a black rope and then tying the rope around the poppet’s neck. The poppet being your intended target.

“Universe, I said I wanted new magic in my life, but this isn’t what I had in mind.” Thunder booms and I jump about a mile high. “Are you trying to tell me this is a bad idea?” As if on cue, the electricity goes out. “Alright, I can take a hint.”

Chapter 5

I’m on a highway to hell. Not really, but I am being driven recklessly by a demon on a highway. We’re on our way to Damion’s house in Jackson for the weekend. “There was a reason Grandma told me some stones are better left unturned. Mama dabbled in the dark arts. I haven’t made it very far in her book of shadows, but from what I’ve seen, it’s some pretty dark stuff.”

“Dark isn’t necessarily ‘bad,’” Damion points out. “It’s just the opposite of light. One can argue both are necessary for the duality and order of the Universe.”

I think back to the strangulation spell as I involuntarily place my hand on my neck. “How can I look at a spell created by my mama to strangle an enemy and argue dark isn’t bad? The intent is to kill someone.”

“Ah, but you don’t know that for certain. Would you consider it ‘bad’ if she created that spell to use in self-defense, for example? Would it be ‘evil’ then? The problem with light versus dark is there’s no room for the in-between.”

“Maybe.” Or maybe a witch justifies going dark by creating just one teensy-tiny self-defense spell. “Have you heard back from Sonia about the Phenex bowl translation?” I ask as he aggressively passes a car going too slow for his liking. And by too slow, I mean the posted speed limit.

Damion lays on his horn, and I sink in my seat, ducking my head. “We’re likely to run into her this weekend, so we’ll just ask her then,” he says casually.

“Why would we run into Sonia this weekend?” I ask, confused.

“Because she just moved in next door.”

“What?” I practically shout. “And why has she moved next door?” Wait, I know the answer—she wants to worm her way back into his life.

“I own the house, and my tenant recently moved out. Sonia needs a short-term rental until she finds something in Oxford. She asked to use it for a couple of weeks,” he explains as if it’s the most logical thing in the world.

“And you said yes?” I practically hiss.

“What would you have me do? Mother told her it was available.” Oh, I bet Nora Blackmon did. “My hands were tied, and I couldn’t say no.”

“Bullshit! Of course you could have said no. You’re letting your mother and your ex-girlfriend manipulate you, and I’m supposed to be okay with it?”

“Aubry, please don’t insult my intelligence. So Mother thinks she’s done something clever. I’ll let her. As for Sonia, she knows we’re together, and now she owes me a favor. And you know I love being owed favors.”

We’re still arguing as we pull up to his house. I hop out of the car before it comes to a complete stop; I’m that pissed. Stomping up the stairs to the front door of his beautifully restored Craftsman house, I march over to the flowerpot where I know he hides his extra key. Still completely unsafe, but I don’t bother telling him that as I grab it and unlock the door, slamming it with more force than necessary.

Undeterred, Damion appears in front of me with glowing eyes. “If my eyes could glow, they would be too!” I growl, trying to brush past him. He grabs me, spinning me around. “Get your hands off me,” I snap.

He removes his hands from my shoulders, only to cup my center with his palm, rubbing his sigil with his thumb. Yes, I have Damion’s demonic name tattooed on my nether regions, and yes, it’s a long story. “Do I need to remind you who this belongs to?” He rubs his demonic name, and even through the jeans I’m wearing, the touch warms my skin. “Who does this belong to? Tell me,” he commands. That delicious scent of his fills the room and I feel myself becoming damp between my legs. Damion always smells divine—a woodsy smell mixed with another note I can’t quite place—but when he’s channeling his incubus side, it’s borderline intoxicating.

It takes all of my willpower, but I grab his wrist, removing his hand from my body. I’m turned on, but I’m not finished with this argument. “It may be your sigil, but it’s still on my body. Mine. And my jackass of a boyfriend doesn’t get out of this argument by touching it. And whether he’ll be touching it again this weekend remains to be seen!” Spitting the last words at him, I march to the bathroom, slamming the door so hard it almost flies off the hinges. It’s hard to make a dramatic exit when it’s not my house, but I gave it my best shot.

Turning the water on and stepping into the shower, I spot a new pink loofah hanging on a hook. When we were bound together, Damion boasted of his loofah skills, but I teased he was all talk because he didn’t have one in his shower. He rectified the oversight. Lathering it up, I try to simmer down. So what if Nora and Sonia plot and plan? It doesn’t have to affect my relationship with Damion. Unless I let it.

Exiting the shower, I open the cabinet to grab a towel for my hair when I spy a brand-new hair dryer in the box. I sigh. This Cambion is making it extremely difficult for me to stay mad at him. After drying my hair just enough so it doesn’t soak the back of his Ole Miss sweatshirt, I walk to the living room.

Damion’s sitting on the couch drinking an IPA. “Would you like a beer?”

“No, thank you.” I crawl into his lap, resting my forehead against his. He reaches over and sets his beer down on the end table and wraps his arms around me. We sit like this for a little while, not speaking, just sitting close.

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