The Yin to His Yang Page 4

  In his job as a code enforcement officer, he’d encountered loads of people who’d attempted to befriend him in hopes of convincing him to look the other way when he found violations at their property. Certainly, he barely knew her, but it seemed far-fetched that she’d be that deceptive.

  Namaste jumped up to the sofa and head-butted his arm. He petted the cat’s silky fur then waited to see if the allergy symptoms returned. They didn’t. After he finished the rest of the tea, he set the cup down and glanced at the table in the far corner that held all of those strange, witchy objects.

  He cleared his throat. “Did you and my aunt do any spells together?”

  Stevie dropped his gaze. “That’s not really the sort of thing I discuss outside of my inner circle.”

  Like a secret society. “I get it. So covens, or whatever you call them, are akin to AA meetings, huh?”

  Her brows angled downward toward her nose. “We keep each other’s confidences, but I’d hardly compare being a witch to having an addiction you need to recover from.”

  An image of his mother flashed in his mind. According to his father, his mom had had an addiction—to witchcraft, one he couldn’t abide. If it wasn’t an addiction, why would she have left them?

  Left her only child.

  “I think it’s a perfect comparison,” he said. “Just like addicts, witches apparently keep secrets, and by your own admission, manipulate people. Like turning someone into a toad.” He laughed at his own comment. He couldn’t help himself. There was so much about her that made him think about his mother, and it brought out the worst in him.

  Her nostrils flared. Gone was the serene expression that had been there only a few minutes earlier. “You’re twisting my words. I said that we manipulate energy, not people.”

  “Semantics.” He didn’t want to believe Stevie was a bad person, but his mother was, and she was also a witch. She’d abandoned him, and had then managed to get arrested and thrown in prison. All the pain of losing his mom—growing up without her, with his tyrant of a father instead—welled up inside him. She’d chosen witchcraft over her own son. Shards of pain stabbed at his temples.

  Stevie stood, eyes blazing, jaw tight. “Energy, not people. Those are two completely different things.” She swept a hand through the air, and a powerful breeze blew through the room. “Energy.”

  Whoa. He gasped at the display.

  Suddenly a funnel of dust and cat hair rose from the floor, surrounding him. His heart pounded. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The burning sensation returned to his eyes. His nose itched with the need to sneeze. And he did—again and again and again.

  This was crazy. How could she have done this? Could she really be magic?

  Chapter Three

  “What are you doing, child?”

  Stevie recoiled at her grandmother’s harsh tone. “It wasn’t me.”

  Her grandmother narrowed her eyes at her. “Who then?”

  “I have no idea.” Poor guy was sneezing his head off. She’d always subscribed to the witch’s credo of Harm Ye None. Well, except that once…

  She snapped her fingers and the allergen tornado immediately disappeared.

  Her grandma banged her cane on the floor as she made her way over. “That is not how I taught you to use your gifts, young lady.”

  “I told you, I didn’t do it.” At least, she didn’t think she had. That one time, three years ago, she’d been blinded by anger and fear, and had barely remembered using her magic, yet she had. Her grandmother had taught her how to defend herself against trouble, and somehow, in the heat of the moment, just that once, her magic had kicked in to protect her. It had happened almost automatically.

  Tommy’s angry face filled her windshield, his fist pummeling the car’s metal roof. “What are you gonna do, witch, turn me into a toad?” He held up her purse, which he’d snatched from her the moment she’d closed up the meditation studio for the night. Then he dumped the contents onto the ground—her cell, wallet, and everything else.

  Locked in her car, she gripped the steering wheel, helpless in the dark lot. Paralyzed by terror, she could barely see straight. If he managed to find her spare car key, she was toast. He’d already demonstrated that he had no qualms about hurting her, just as her mother’s boyfriend, Lamar had done when she’d been a child.

  Tommy stomped on her phone and sunglasses, laughing like a lunatic. His rage was an entity, a thing unto itself.

  What had she ever seen in him? He’d been a bad boy from the start, drinking heavily, never holding onto a job for more than a few months. She’d been so sure that her love could fix him—save him from himself. But that moment the month before, after she’d ended things with him when he’d broken two of her ribs, that had made it crystal clear that she’d made one of the biggest mistakes of her life by allowing him into it.

  So she’d used her magic, cast a binding spell on him that ended his tirade. Only she hadn’t stopped there. She’d wanted him to know fear—just like the fear that he’d instilled in her by stalking her for weeks. The second spell she’d cast made him think that he was surrounded by snakes and spiders. And she hadn’t removed it until she’d driven away from Charleston for an hour.

  This was hardly the same. Yet Stevie’s hands and face tingled as Griffin pulled tissue after tissue from the box on the coffee table.

  He didn’t deserve that. She wished the floor would open up so she could escape her own folly. Despite the fact that he had the power to kick her out of her beloved cottage, he seemed like a stand-up guy. He’d rescued her cat, after all. He was nothing like Tommy or Lamar. And she wasn’t the frightened girl who’d been backed into a corner with no other defense but to lash out with magic. Not anymore.

  “I-I’m sorry, Grandma. Maybe you’re right.” Griffin seemed to have a knack for breaking through the Zen aura she’d worked for so long to perfect. Apparently, it wasn’t so perfect after all.

  “Are you all right?” Stevie asked him.

  He blew his nose. “Still trying to process what the hell just happened.”

  “Probably the heat kicking on. It works a little too well.” Her grandma hobbled over to him and handed him a bottle of Nocturne Falls water.

  He waved away the offer. “I’m not thirsty, Mrs. Mercer, but I appreciate it.”

  “It’ll wash away your symptoms, son. Trust me.” Her grandmother slid a look at Stevie.

  “Yes, that’ll help,” Stevie added. The water from the falls made it hard for humans to detect supernaturals. Stevie even suspected that it helped them to forget the strange incidents they saw in the town. “You’re probably dehydrated. Drink the whole thing. You’ll be good as new.”

  Shifting his gaze back and forth between the women, he shrugged. “Can’t hurt.” He twisted off the cap and drank.

  Stevie drew a relieved breath. It was fine for him to know that she was a witch, as long as he thought that meant she merely cast spells or mixed up potions. The Zen face she wore for her students and everyone else wasn’t a façade. It was what she strove to be, and mastering her old fears and reactions was part of that goal. She’d have to redouble her efforts.

  Griffin rubbed a hand over his chin. “You were right. I’m feeling a lot better. I should let you ladies get on with your evening.”

  Stevie walked him out. The storm had all but stopped, save for an occasional distant flash of lightning. “Thanks for rescuing Namaste. I’m sure she’ll be your friend for life now.”

  He bent to pick up the remaining fragments of the planter. “Glad someone over here likes me.”

  Stevie huffed. “I like you, too. It’s just…” The fact that a man she’d only met today had already managed to get under her skin was more than a little disconcerting. She hugged her arms around her body.

  “I understand.”

  “Lucky for my cat, and for me that you’re fast. You got to her a lot quicker than I could have.”

  “I was
on the track team in school.” He parted the beaded curtain and descended the steps.

  She leaned against the railing. “So was I.”

  “I’m not surprised. I can spot a runner a mile away.” His gaze trailed over her body, sending the heat of awareness through her.

  Their eyes met and held. The air between them crackled with a sensual charge.

  Until he winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound…like a come on.”

  Ignoring the pleasant ache low in her abdomen, she reluctantly dragged her stare away. “Of course not. I didn’t take it like that.”

  “I…should go.”

  She nodded, eager to escape the fresh tension. “Have a good night.”

  “Night.” His gaze fell to her mouth before returning to her eyes. He held his ground as if he was waiting for something.

  Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it. So she closed herself inside to find a replacement container for her plant. As she searched through the utility closet, her grandmother entered the room. “That display of magic was very unlike you.”

  How was it that her grandma could still inspire the same sense of shame as she had since Stevie had been a little girl? Those stern eyes still held a unique power over her. “I’ve already apologized even though I’m not even sure it was me.” She grabbed a plastic container and a small bag of potting soil.

  Her grandmother didn’t budge.

  Stevie sighed. “Maybe Griffin managed to touch a nerve.”

  “If you ask me, he’s touched more than one.” She narrowed her eyes at Stevie.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Shutting the closet door, she tucked the items under her arm.

  “I think you’ve already started scoping out what his Achilles heel is, and now you want to save him from it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What Achilles heel?”

  Her grandmother shrugged. “Time will tell.”

  She was making no sense. “You want me to turn on the TV and find that dancing show you like?”

  “Not tonight. That show was a lot more fun when your grandfather was still alive. He and I used to wager on who’d win.”

  “You and your bets.”

  Her grandmother’s eyes glazed over. “When Grandpa and I were young, we’d make all sorts of bets with each other—like what team would win the world series, which elevator would arrive at our floor first, what people at nearby tables in restaurants were going to order.”

  “What would the winner get?” Stevie asked.

  “Depended on the wager.” Her cheeks turned rosy. “When we were younger, the prize was usually something…intimate.”

  Stevie cringed. She didn’t want to know.

  “But as we got older, well the prizes changed to a more practical nature. Most commonly, the loser had to empty the dishwasher.”

  Stevie had to laugh at that. “You miss Grandpa a lot, don’t you?”

  The rims of her grandmother’s eyes grew red. “He was the love of my life. Of course, I miss him. It’s lonely living alone. Too quiet. Too much time to reminisce.”

  Stevie clamped down on her sadness. “You’re always welcome to live here.”

  “I know, child. I appreciate the offer. But I should be around folks my own age.”

  “What about where your cousin Etta lives?”

  She sighed. “We’ll see. That reminds me—I promised to call Etta back. She invited me to come visit her while I’m here. Maybe I’ll like that assisted living place where she lives.” With that, she left the room.

  Perhaps a facility like that would be a good move for her Grandma. But what in the world had she meant about Stevie wanting to save Griffin? Why should Stevie care about helping the man who could cause her to lose her home?

  Her grandma was confused. Or just plain wrong. Stevie had no interest in Griffin. All she was concerned about was not losing her house. Period.

  Twice in her life, she’d been forced by other people to move from her home, and both instances had awful repercussions on those she loved dearly. She couldn’t handle being the cause of any more tragedies. Not ever again.

  First thing the next morning Griffin grabbed his copy of Stevie’s lease. He’d skimmed it over when he’d first gotten it, and he was pretty sure that the clause about the new owner’s right to terminate a renter’s lease was solid, but that was before he’d met the tenant. Before he’d realized what a nice woman she was. Settling into his aunt’s rocking chair, he pored over the document but found nothing that would help Stevie if a buyer wanted her out. No reason why he couldn’t give her a new lease, except that fact that doing so might compromise a potential sale. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  Hammering out front drew him to the porch. A couple guys were erecting a signpost in Stevie’s yard—or trying to. One of the workers kept attempting to push the post-hole digger into the ground to no avail.

  “Give it to me,” the other man said. Despite moving the tool to a different spot, the workman still couldn’t make a hole.

  Griffin watched them work for the next ten minutes before they finally gave up, picked up the For Sale sign, and drove off. Hopefully, Pandora would send out a more competent company when she heard that the men had failed.

  A little while later, after Griffin had packed a few boxes full of his great aunt’s books from the living room, someone rang the doorbell. He wondered if it might be Stevie, pr perhaps someone else there to erect the For Sale sign. But when he opened the door, his hopes were dashed.

  A balding middle-aged man with a hefty gut stood on the porch. “Oh, good. You’re here. Mind if I take a look around?”

  Griffin took in the man’s faded jeans, his t-shirt touting a mattress company, and five o’clock shadow. “Who are you?”

  Amusement flashed on the man’s face. “My wife always tells me that I assume everyone knows who I am.” He offered his hand. “Bud Weller. I own Better Bedding Depot over in Helen. We advertise on TV all over the state.” He started humming an unfamiliar tune. “Better Bedding Depot. Make the most of bedtime.” He lifted a graying eyebrow. “Now do you know me?”

  Griffin shrugged. “Sorry, I’m not from here.”

  “Oh, that explains it.” He dug into his back pocket and handed Griffin a business card. “I’ve been looking in the area for two side-by-side houses. You see, the wife’s mother has been staying with us.” He rolled his eyes. “It was only supposed to be for a few weeks. That turned into four months and counting. I’m growing desperate. Would you mind if I looked inside?”

  “Pandora Williams is my real estate agent. You’ll have to make an appointment with her,” Griffin told him.

  The man rubbed his hands together. “If you don’t use an agent, you can pocket that five or six percent that you would’ve paid them.”

  That sounded on the unscrupulous side. According to the internet site, Griffin had checked out, trying to cut out the agent was a no-no. Besides, Pandora knew a lot more than he did about buying and selling, and he probably needed whatever advice and expertise she’d offer. “I don’t think so, sorry.” He backed away from the door and started to shut it.

  Weller held up his palms to stop him. “Wait, wait. Okay, you don’t want to cheat your agent, fine. Give me a chance to crunch the numbers and figure out what the houses are worth. I’ll make you a generous offer, I promise you. It’ll take me a few days to come up with a fair price. You won’t regret it.”

  The man was starting to sound like a used car salesman. A headache flared behind Griffin’s eyes.

  Weller dropped his shoulders and frowned. “Look, Mr.…”

  “Dunlap,” Griffin supplied.

  “Mr. Dunlap. My mother-in-law is driving me nuts, same goes for my wife. We can’t have her mom under the same roof. One of them will kill the other. And you know what they say. Happy wife, happy life. The opposite is true, too. Miserable wife, miserable life. This would solve all my p
roblems.”

  It would mean that Stevie would definitely have to move out. His chest constricted.

  “Think about it,” Weller said. “Let’s touch base in later in the week, okay?”

  On the up side, selling both properties at once would mean no waiting for the money. And that he’d definitely have the down payment he needed to buy the house in Brooklyn. He’d always dreamed of being a homeowner, but after his divorce, he’d all but given up. Until he’d gotten word about his aunt’s will. Days later, he’d practically stumbled upon his dream house in Brooklyn. It was as if it was meant to be.

  “What do you say?” Weller asked.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Something popped very close to them. Before Griffin could figure out where the noise had come from, a flash of black fell between the men.

  Weller jumped backward, but not fast enough to completely avoid being conked on the head by the horseshoe that had been hanging over the door. He yelped and rubbed the spot above his eye.

  Griffin gasped then looked up at the spot where the horseshoe had been. Why hadn’t he noticed that the nail was old and rusty? He should have caught that immediately. “God, I’m so sorry.” Crouching, he picked up the good luck charm that had apparently turned to bad, at least for Bud Weller. He gestured at the already-red bruise on the older man’s head. “Can I get you ice for that?”

  Weller glanced past Griffin, into the house. “Yeah, sure.”

  Rather than let the stranger inside, Griffin nodded. “Be right back.” He shut the door and went to the kitchen to make an ice pack. When he returned to the porch, he found the investor on the swing wearing a smile. Handing the man a bag filled with ice, a small water bottle, and two aspirin tablets, he drew a relieved breath that the accident hadn’t been worse.

  Weller held the pack to his head as he took the medicine. “Just another reason to unload the houses quickly. No telling what else will break, and land you in hot water, liability wise.”

  A protest was on the tip of Griffin’s tongue, but he thought better than to give it voice. Although he ought to cover himself. “I can take you to the nearest hospital, just in case you’ve got a concussion.”