Page 17 of Obsession

After a fitful night’s sleep, I wake tired and grumpy. Last night’s dream was similar to my scurrying vision—I felt trapped in a small, dark space. Unsettling, to say the least.

Lighting bistort and Frankincense on a disk, I take a seat on my meditation pillow and watch the tendril of smoke dance in the air. I envision my third eye opening to receive clarity on what this dream means. Unfortunately, the Universe isn’t in a giving clarity kind of mood.

“Morning, sugar pie. I didn’t know you went out. Looks like you had a wild night. Are you having a secret affair? Is it with Chris?” Grandma asks hopefully when I join her in the kitchen.

“I didn’t go out. I didn’t have a wild night. I’m not having a secret affair with anyone. I just didn’t sleep well!” Storming back to my room and slamming the door, I soon realize in my need to make a dramatic exit, I forgot to pour myself a cup of coffee.

Not helping matters, I get a text from Damion reminding me about dinner with his mother. Ugh. So not in the mood for Nora Blackmon. When Damion possessed me, she just assumed I trapped him for my own wicked witch ways and has never given me another chance. Not to mention Nora wants to engineer Damion and Sonia’s reunion. To my credit, I haven’t asked Damion about his sexy she-demon neighbor. It’s extremely difficult being the bigger person.

A bachelorette party drops by the shop midday, wiping us out of Hell No Hangover. Making a note for Grandma to make a larger batch next time, I ask the group what they’ve done so far, and they tell me their itinerary. I suggest they check out the dive bar Ernestine and Hazel’s, a former brothel said to be haunted. I’ve personally never felt any ghost activity the times I’ve been there, but talking to spirits has never been my magical strong suit.

“Don’t let the prude plan your itinerary,” Grandma interrupts. “Take my word on this—you ladies need to hightail it over to Tunica. The Staten Island Studs are in town.” I don’t know. I don’t want to know.

Later that afternoon, the door chimes and I hustle to the front of the shop. “Welcome to Memphis Magic.” I quickly lose my smile when I see who has swaggered in. Chris Sullivan—all muscle and no smile, with an intensity coming off him that broadcasts, I’m a badass and I don’t suffer fools. I’m fairly certain he puts me in that latter category. Fine by me, because I don’t suffer broody angels.

“Aubry.” The way he says it, even my name annoys him. Chris is several inches taller than I am, with light brown hair and intense, whiskey-colored eyes. If I’m being honest, he’s sexy as hell, but I’m sure as hell not going to admit that to anyone. He’s wearing his signature nondescript gray suit that strains over his bulging muscles, so I assume he’s on the clock. He’s a Memphis PD detective, or at least he plays one on TV. I do find it funny he’s an angel cop posing as a human cop.

“Chris,” I return with the same put-out inflection.

“Chris, there you are. Hang tight for just a second,” Grandma says, sticking her head in from the back and then disappearing down the hall. She returns a moment later carrying a Tupperware container. “Here you go.” She hands him what looks to be cookies as I give her the stink eye.

“Thank you, Vivian. The first batch you baked me went missing.”

“Chocolate chip, and they were delicious,” I say sweetly. Yes, I ate his cookies, but that was because he was stonewalling me about Maddie’s investigation!

“Aubry, mind your manners. Chris, stop by any time and grab a cup of coffee, you hear?” She winks at him, walking out.

Grandma thinks she’s so clever staging this meeting. Fine by me, as I have questions for the good detective anyway. “What happened to Eiael?” I demand. Chris and I worked together to take down the angel who killed Maddie. Well, I say “worked together.” It was more Chris threatening me with jail time than anything. Whatever. I’m calling it a team win.

“Still my case, not our case.”

“Has anyone ever told you that for an angel, you have an attitude problem from hell?” I cross my arms and give him a look. “Don’t you think Maddie’s mamma has the right to know the truth?”

“You mean that an angel killed her daughter, that truth?”

Fine, so he does have a point. A point that I ignore as I press on. “Well, what about Eiael’s followers?”

“What about them?” he counters with crossed arms.

“What happened to them?” I try not to growl.

“Maybe you should ask your demon that question. Doesn’t he own their souls?” he says with contempt.

“First of all, how do you even know about ‘my demon?’” I didn’t think Chris knew about my little possession problem. “Second of all, he’s a Cambion, not a demon.” I’m not sure how that helps my case, but I press on. “And third, how do you know he owns their souls?” I didn’t think Chris was there for the whole soul-stealing portion of the evening. He doesn’t answer me—no surprise there. “Well, what about New Life Spiritual Center? I heard it got shut down.”

“By the feds for tax fraud and money laundering,” he confirms. “Your ex-boyfriend didn’t give the best tax advice.”

“For the last time, Brad was not my boyfriend,” I practically shout. Psycho Brad, previously known as milk toast Brad, is an energy vampire who kidnapped me and Charlotte. It turned out that Brad was also the high priest of Eiael’s little death cult. I look forward to the day when Damion calls Brad’s soul due. Granted, Damion was going to kill Brad, but I stopped him. Why did I do that again? I’ve asked myself that question several times now.

“If you say so,” he says, and it takes all my willpower not to grab an amethyst wand and hurl it like a javelin at his gorgeous head. How did angels get associated with peace and serenity, I want to know.

“What about the rest of the Center’s employees? The ones who weren’t involved with Eiael’s cult.”

“Not my concern.”

“What about—”

“Enough of the ‘what about’ game,” he barks.

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