That had me frowning. Not because I needed to win over any woman for any reason, but because, well, I suppose I was accustomed to women being more receptive to me. At the risk of sounding vain, I never had to try too hard to charm the ladies.
“Look at you.” He shook his head, standing in front of the coffee table on my red and gold Persian rug. “All anxious and scowling over a witch who doesn’t like you.”
I couldn’t refrain the huff of laughter that barreled from my chest. “Are you seriously going to stand there and say that?” I arched a superior brow at him. Yes, superior. And he damn well knew why. “To me?”
His smile fell, his jaw tightened, then he glanced away, his suddenly fierce expression skating away from the windows to my three-foot statue of Shiva on his black lacquer stand in the corner.
“Ruben?” I coaxed softly.
He ignored me, his eyes trance-like, certainly chasing some memory he shouldn’t be.
“Ruben? Are you serious?”
Stiffening his shoulders, he returned his burning blue gaze to me, not saying a word. He didn’t have to. The pain was there, raw and too bright.
“Still?” I asked quietly.
He held me for three seconds longer before checking his watch again. “I’d better go.” He marched for the door, his shoes clopping on the hardwood floor. “Dinner at eight? Meet me at The Green Light.”
“I’ll be there,” I replied evenly, knowing he could hear me well enough all the way in the foyer.
The firm slam of the door told me he didn’t want to talk about his old ghosts that still haunted him. Regrets that apparently cut deep and were still bleeding. Profusely. I heaved out a sigh and shoved off the sofa.
Ah, Ruben.
When would he learn that he couldn’t keep running?
I pulled the Saran Wrap from the drawer beside the stove then covered my plate of penda.
I might not be able to help him with his problem witch, but I could at least make a friend of mine. No. I didn’t even want that. I just wanted her to let bygones be bygones. Surely, my skills in the kitchen would win her over.
There were other skills I could employ.
No! No. Not even remotely going there.
It’s never safe to live next door to your lovers. If they got too attached, it caused all sorts of problems. Though the thought had crossed my mind—say, first thing this morning after an erotic dream starring a golden-haired witch with taunting green eyes. But no. That was a terrible idea. Terrible. Wasn’t it?
Heaving out a breath, I nodded to myself, ready to put that woman out of my mind.
Just make amends and move on, Devraj.
Picking up the plate, I headed for the door. Deliver the penda, smile, apologize, and be gone. That’s all I needed to do, and all would be fine.
Chapter 3
~ISADORA~
After hanging the last bundle of lavender on the beam overhead, I brushed the excess pollen off my hands and counted.
“Seven lavender. Fourteen chamomile. And seven hyssop.”
That should do it for this month. I’d had to double my normal bundles of chamomile, which was used for protection. Clara said she couldn’t keep them in stock at the shop since the young women had started going missing a few weeks ago. My magic-infused bundles could certainly ward off a magical or psychic attack on someone’s home, but it would do nothing to protect girls from being kidnapped off the street.
Still, if it gave them peace of mind, I encouraged them to use the chamomile. I also encouraged them to buy a good guard dog and stay home at night behind bolted doors.
I grimaced. That reminded me of the scolding Jules had given me when she’d gotten home two nights ago. I’ll confess I really wasn’t thinking when I biked home that late. Everyone knew that women were disappearing from night clubs or bars. It wasn’t exactly safe to be out that late on my own. I wasn’t equipped with the kind of defensive magic my sisters were. My ability at telekinesis was negligible, making me the most vulnerable of my sisters when it came to physical threats.
“Vampires are opportunists,” she’d said with more than a little bite.
I knew that snap judgment stemmed from her not-so-secret strained relationship with a certain overlord vampire. There was history between Jules and Ruben. A history none of her sisters were privy too. Not the whole story anyway. And it was a topic of discussion that was never on the table. So I knew her comment about vampires was more about Ruben and less about Devraj.
Still, the whole bike incident had riddled me with anxiety. Clara had told me to rest and she’d take care of Mystic Maybelle’s and handle any inventory deliveries or issues on her own. When she’d told me we were already out of chamomile, I’d happily busied myself in the greenhouse all day. It was exactly what I’d needed to decompress.
Now that my ankle was fully healed, I walked around the wooden worktable littered with rope and twine clippings to see the other patient. My purple pansies.
“Now, look at you. You’ll be the prettiest girls in the yard.”
Smiling brightly, I lifted the pot I’d put them in, letting them soak up nutrient-rich soil before I transplanted them to the bed in the courtyard. I had the perfect place in mind near Clara’s reading bench where it would get a great balance of sunlight and shade.
Taking a hand trowel with me, I carried the pansies out to the courtyard. Kneeling in my loose-fitting olive pants, I set to work, thankful the sun was out, warming my bare shoulders. Once I transplanted the pansies into their new home, I poured the excess soil from the pot around it and patted everything down. Standing, I wiped my dirty hands on the hem of my tank top, heaving a contented sigh at how perfect the pansies looked. Clara would love them right there, too.
Suddenly, Evie’s boisterous laughter echoed from inside the house.
I headed for the back kitchen door. Ever since Livvy and I had returned from visiting our parents in Switzerland before Christmas, Evie had been more than preoccupied with her new boyfriend. A werewolf! I’d thought she’d gone a little crazy while we were gone, but then I met Mateo and totally understood. He was, honestly, the nicest guy. Not too hard on the eyes either. And he worshipped my sister, so yes, I liked him.
Pulling open the kitchen door, the rumble of a deep, masculine voice caught my attention. Yep. Mateo must’ve come over with Evie. That was nothing new. They were glued at the hip most of the time.
“Then what did you tell her?” asked Evie.
But the voice who replied did not belong to Mateo. “I said, ‘Madame, I don’t care if you were once the lover to Vlad the Impaler or King Henry the Eighth. You’re still going to put your clothes back on and come with me for interrogation.’”
“Wow.” Livvy guffawed, her husky laughter carrying into the kitchen. “I can’t believe that. So what did she do?”
I rounded into the archway leading to the living room to see just what I knew I would. That freaking vampire, who I’d been happy to be rid of after that nightmare two nights ago, was cozied up on our couch, his arms spread wide on the sofa back, dressed in a casual black T-shirt and jeans. Both of which probably cost a couple hundred dollars each.
Anyone who drove exorbitant luxury cars like he did overspent on everything. I knew the type. Even stupid plain T-shirts that you could get at Target for $12. Yeah, so I might’ve looked up how much a Lamborghini Diablo cost. Trust me. You don’t want to know. It’s sinfully expensive. Do you have any idea how many homeless cats and dogs I could help with the cost of his stupid car?
Livvy perched on the edge of the lounge chair and Evie sat on his right, grinning at him with entirely too much joy. My happy mood of ten seconds ago evaporated like a whiff of smoke.
His mouth tipped at a cocky angle as his gaze slid to me standing in the doorway. “She did exactly as I told her. I didn’t even have to use glamour at all.”
I swallowed hard and wiped my dirty hands on my tank top hem again, aggravated that he was back. Why was he back? And why were my sisters so easily duped by his so-called charisma?
“Isadora!” Evie popped off the sofa and met me halfway, wrapping me in a swaying hug. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a week.”
“That’s because you haven’t.” I squeezed her back. “You’ve been preoccupied.”
She pulled away laughing. “Maybe,” she admitted, a flush of pink crawling up her neck. She wore a green T-shirt with Baby Yoda eating a frog. The caption read: Feed me and tell me I’m pretty. I was fairly sure Mateo did both on a regular basis.
“Where’s your man?” I asked, completely ignoring the one who stood from the sofa behind her. My pulse was racing for some stupid reason. I didn’t understand why he was back.
“He had a commission to deliver, and I’ve got a shift at the Cauldron tonight.” She glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall. “Oh, crap. I need to hurry.” She pecked me on the cheek and jogged toward the stairwell in the hall. “Nice meeting you, Devraj! Come by the Cauldron when you get the chance.”
“Thank you, Evie. I will.”
Livvy stood with a plate of something in her hand. Cookies? “Look what Devraj brought for us, Isadora.” Then she turned back to him. “I’m sorry. What are they called again?”
“Penda. Also called peda. It’s a milk-based confection. I hope you all like it.”
“They’re delicious,” said Livvy. “You really didn’t have to.”
His dark eyes swiveled back to me. Piercing. “Actually, I thought I did.”
Livvy carried the plate over to me. They were perfectly formed soft discs, like thick cookies, decoratively sprinkled with nuts, the smell of nutmeg making my mouth water. I loved anything made with nutmeg or cinnamon. I suddenly wondered if he’d somehow found out my secret love of the spice.
“He made them himself.” Livvy raised her black brows, stabbing me with her sapphire eyes as if she could prod me into being nice with her dagger stare. “Wasn’t that nice of him, Isadora?”