Page 62 of Obsession

“Boy, somebody needs to get laid.” I can’t argue with that. “Come on, dish. Is sexy Cambion as good as I think he is?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“I knew it,” he says dreamily. “How does tasty morsel compare?”

“How would I know?” I answer defensively.

“Just wondering what happened last night on your hot date.”

“Oh my Goddess, it wasn’t a date!” There’s no way in hell I’m telling him about the “incident” with Chris. I still haven’t come to terms with the fact that Chris kissed me. Although I’m not sure what’s more shocking—that he complimented me or that he kissed me. Also shocking is the fact that hard-ass Chris’s lips are as soft as pillowy clouds and he tastes heavenly sweet. I twirl my bloodstone bracelet in frustration. Chris and I have this weird sexual chemistry, and it pisses me off. Maybe I was too busy disliking him before to notice. Ah, the good old days.

It’s about a quarter after eight when Charlotte texts me the coast is clear. “Let’s go.”

We walk to Miss Mable’s Ghost Tours, and Azrael magically opens the locked door. “This way.” I lead him to the private apartment, where I figure she works her magic. He opens the locked door leading upstairs and we enter the apartment. Bettina’s cat is asleep on the couch, and I hold up my finger to my mouth to warn Azrael to be quiet.

We tiptoe our way through each room. Not finding anything yet, we come to a locked door at the end of the hallway. “This has to be it.”

“Open sesame,” Azrael whispers, waving his arms, and the door magically opens. I instinctively take a step back, as the negative energy blasts me in the face. Even if you’re not a witch, you can still feel when a place has a bad vibe. That’s because energy tends to hang around, and from the energy in this room, it’s clear Bettina has not given up the practice of dark magic.

Flipping on the light, I take in the creepy scene. She’s painted the walls black—how original—with menacing symbols I hope are drawn in red paint. I walk over to Bettina’s altar, which is covered by various skulls, demon figures, and other nefarious-looking items. “Here it is,” I say, carefully reaching for the mason jar so I don’t disturb anything else. I place the decoy jar in the exact position. “Let’s go.”

“Wait. My scythe is here. I can feel it.” Pacing around the room, Azrael stops by a black chaise lounge in the corner. He uses his power to scoot it across the room, then dropping to his hands and knees, he begins knocking on the floorboards with his fist. The last knock produces a hollow sound. “Ah, there you are.” He floats up three hardwood slats, and my eyes widen, beholding the weapon of death. It’s a wicked-looking scythe—the stick almost as long as I am tall, and a gold blade that looks like it could decapitate a person as easily as a butterknife cutting through warm butter.

“Why would Bettina have taken your scythe? And please don’t point that thing at me.” My phone vibrates in my pocket and I grab it, reading the text.

Charlotte: Bettina might be on her way! Get out!!!!

The text is a little too late, as the answer to my question comes from behind me. “Because that bitch Cora cursed me and I can’t break the spell!” Bettina hisses from the doorway, causing me to jump. “I wondered why a demon was on my ghost tour this evening.” Dang it, I completely forgot Bettina’s a demon-seer, and that Gabe’s Nephilim energy might tip her off.

“He’s not a demon, for your information,” I say smartly.

“Thought I’d better pop in for just a minute to make sure nothing was amiss. And you, naughty girl, didn’t warn me,” she chastises her cat, who just sauntered into the room. “I’ve sent ghosts after Cora. I’ve worked with demons. I’ve cast more spells than I can count, and yet nobody knows where the bitch is hiding,” she continues, like she is speaking to herself. “I needed the scythe to find her, but I couldn’t figure out how to work the blasted thing to open the portal.”

“Why did you cast a breakup spell on me and Damion? What did I do to you?” I demand.

“An eye for an eye. Cora destroyed my relationship, and now I’ve destroyed yours,” she says with a wicked smile. The cat suddenly charges me, jumps, and knocks the jar out of my hands.

“No!” I scream as the jar shatters on the hardwood floor. Bettina cackles maniacally.

“Could you be any more of a wicked witch stereotype? And the joke’s on you, by the way, because four thieves stinks to high heaven. Mixed with dog poop, you’ll never get that smell out of your house,” I inform her.

“Enough!” Azrael slams his scythe down on the floor. A white light appears and he now looks like the Angel of Death from my worst nightmares. He’s donned a white robe to cover his glowing white skin. It’s a stark contrast against his large, midnight-black feathery wings. He smiles, and I wish he hadn’t. I’ve already been having bad dreams. He speaks in a language I don’t understand, then he and Bettina vanish.

I look down at the broken spell jar. “Well, shit.” Literally and metaphysically. “Listen, cat, I don’t know if you’re here of your own free will or if she’s controlling you. Either way, your witch is a real piece of shit.”

Surprising me, the cat jumps in my arms. “I’ll take that as she’s controlling you. Is there an item that she uses to bind you to her? Can you point it out?” The cat jumps down and goes over to the window. Sure enough, there’s a cat statue on the windowsill. I grab it and stick it in my purse. “Anything else?” The cat jumps back into my arms, and I take that as a no.

“Okay, guess you’re coming with me. I’ll call you B.B.” I take a peek at the cat’s underside—not a king, but a queen. “Well, B.B. still has a nice ring to it. Maybe Elvis won’t mind you joining us. Just know he can be a bit temperamental, but most kings are.”

I walk with B.B. in my arms to the meet-up spot by the river. Pulling the cat statue out of my purse, I hold it in my right hand and chant:

Mighty Mississippi river,

This cat’s freedom you now deliver.

I hurl the statue into the river; it hisses and smokes violently upon impact.

“Yep, definitely dark magic. But you already knew that, huh?” I ask B.B., giving her a scratch.

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