Page 43 of Obsession

“Sure did. Azrael is now my official good luck charm.” Grandma’s gambling habit ought to keep the Angel of Death too busy to terrorize me, so at least there’s a silver lining.

Later that evening, I flip through Mama’s book of shadows, looking for what, I don’t know. I feel like I should be doing something with the whole coven situation, but I don't know what exactly. Spiritual mediumship and channeling isn’t my gift, but I did receive a message once before from Maddie via mirror gazing.

Waiting until twilight, the magical in-between of neither night nor day, I drag my large bathroom floor mirror to my bedroom and lean it against the wall. Pulling the blackout curtains closed, I place a rolled up towel under my door, and light a candle on the other side of the room.

Taking a seat on my yoga mat, I slow down my breathing while my eyes remain unfocused, gazing at the mirror. I don’t know how long I sit like this, but eventually I enter a trance. I see myself step into the mirror, and then it’s my recurring dream—the dream where I’m trapped in a dark, confined space. It’s the same muffled voice in the background, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from or from whom.

“Hello?” I call loudly. “Who are you?” I wait, but I still can’t see, nor can I make out the voice.

Becoming panicked, just like I do in my dream, I try to keep my head. Focusing on the feel of my bloodstone bracelet on my left wrist, I close my eyes and chant:

I leave this small tomb.

I’m safe in my room.

Chanting out loud, I repeat the words over and over, faster and faster, until my body is thrumming with energy.

My eyes snap open, and I find myself seated in my room on the floor. Chest heaving, I walk over and turn on the overhead light.

Written in script on the foggy mirror is Delilah.

Chapter 19

“Grandma, you know what happened the last time I tried to hold a séance,” I say, working on the Devil card of the tarot puzzle while sipping on grapefruit juice Aunt Callie left me in the fridge. She’s been ducking me ever since the whole Craig note incident.

“Sure do. You went and got yourself a hot demon boyfriend.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not what I mean. You’re the medium. Please help me contact Delilah.”

“Sugar pie, I think we should just let sleeping dogs lie right where they are.”

Elvis pops his head up from the couch. “Relax, it’s an expression,” I tell him.

Walking downstairs, we open the shop and I continue to make my case. “Tonight’s circle would be perfect timing.”

Grandma gives me a noncommittal grunt. Where’s a persuasive devil lawyer when I need one? Although I assume Damion’s hourly rate is outrageous. No way I could afford the devil, unless he’d be willing to take it out in trade. Just the thought gives me the tingles.

It’s nearly closing time when in swaggers Chris. He’s wearing a V-neck black T-shirt, black jeans, and steel-toed boots. Beginning to see a colorless theme with this guy. “Here to bring me good tidings?” I enjoy getting under this angel’s skin. Or trying to, anyway. “If you’re going to deliver a cheery message, I’d suggest adding a touch of color to your monochromatic wardrobe.”

“Do I look like a messenger angel?” he asks, nostrils flaring.

“One time you did carry a messenger bag. Do you ever get bored with the whole menacing look you’ve got going?” He’s giving me one of his more menacing looks right now, actually.

“You’ve had an angel in your shop.” His whiskey-colored eyes are homed in on me like a laser.

“Don’t angels try to remain incognito?” My guess is he’s picking up on Azrael’s energy, but Chris doesn’t need to know the Angel of Death’s lost his scythe.

“Don’t play games with me,” he growls, taking a step forward, and I will my feet not to take a step back. Chris is intimidating, and doesn’t that just piss me off.

“You do hate playing the ‘what about’ game.”

“Do you have a death wish?” By his tone, I'm not sure if it’s a question or a threat.

“Most definitely not.” I try not to shudder, thinking of Azrael’s little prank. “And while I love unannounced pop-ins and growling threats, is there a reason you stopped by?”

“I think you do have a death wish,” he says, barely above a whisper, causing a chill to run down my spine. He takes another step, and this time I do step back, bumping into the counter. I’ve never noticed this before, but Chris smells amazing—it’s a familiar scent, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Sweet yet masculine. Maybe I’ve never noticed because he’s never threatened me up close and personal before.

“I wish you’d stop trying to intimidate me,” I say with false bravado, my hands on my hips to keep them from shaking. Where’s the incantation bowl when I need it?

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