Captivating Magic (The Thorne Witches #14)

Chapter 9

9

F uck.

Laszlo wished he could swear aloud, but he took his cue from Clutch and froze.

For now.

But if it came down to a bargain with Death for Ebba’s soul, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t have a choice. There was no way he’d let her go in the prime of her life. Not when none of this was her fault. He met Ebba’s terrified gaze and willed her to remain calm.

Death sauntered forward, capturing his attention and catching him off guard when her black cloak dissolved in a swirling mist. He’d never seen her in the flesh before, but he had a better idea of Clutch’s obsession with her.

The blonde was centerfold material in her red leather catsuit and gold, two-thousand-dollar Rene Caovilla heels. Her proportions were the perfect hourglass, and with every step, her hips tempted the Saints. Neither Clutch nor Lo were saints, so the struggle to not be hypnotized by her movement was real.

Ebba’s eyes narrowed as if she guessed his thoughts, or perhaps it was the sweat beading on his brow that concerned her. Either way, a smidgeon of her fear receded the longer she stared at him.

“You ogled Clutch. All’s fair in love and war, Sweet,” he murmured.

Death’s perfectly coiffed head whipped around to glare at Ebba.

“In the most respectful way possible,” she squeaked, edging closer to Lo and pointing at him. “We’re together.”

Clutch nearly busted a gut laughing. The three who didn’t find it as amusing all stared in shock as he doubled over.

“Start talking, lover, or the lost soul comes with me,” Death warned with her hands on shapely hips.

Sobering, Clutch strode to her and cupped her neck. “Don’t be jealous, girl. You know I don’t cheat.”

“There’s no cheating Death,” she reminded them all. Her comment served to drive home the seriousness of the situation. If they couldn’t talk their way out of this and didn’t find a way to help Ebba, Death would come for her.

Her icy blue eyes lit on Laszlo. “Speak.”

“Ebba was in a car accident some months ago. A Traveler bound her to this plane, hoping to save her. In doing so, it opened her body up, and a warlock hitchhiked a ride when he should’ve crossed over. We recently discovered this and now need to eject his sorry ass. We arrived here less than ten minutes ago, hoping Clutch had a spell we could use.”

She studied him through narrowed eyes, weighing the truth, then shifted her head to Ebba. “What’s your full name?”

“Ebba James.”

A scroll materialized in thin air, and the cylinders holding it worked in unison as the parchment unrolled and rolled faster than imaginable. It was impossible for them to read, but Death scanned every line until the magical scroll stopped moving. Light backlit the name etched into the paper, causing it to glow and pulse.

Ebba James.

The date was written in Roman numerals, making it difficult to decipher or calculate.

“You were supposed to die five months ago, Ebba James. I will take you now and be done with this mess.”

“No!” Lo stepped forward, blocking her from Death’s apathetic gaze. “Respectfully,” he added with a gulp, fighting against the threatening panic. Yes, he answered to Isis, but Death would always find a way. “This isn’t her fault, but Spencer can’t be left inside her body.”

“Who is this body-stealing Spencer?”

Ebba sidestepped Lo and approached the blonde. “His name is Spencer Barlowe. He’s an insurance broker from Greenville.”

Lo frowned. “Really? You went out with an insurance broker? Dude! No wonder you were bored.”

Both women scowled in his direction, and he mimed zipping his lip. Behind Death’s back, Clutch grinned like a damned fool, earning himself her elbow to his ribs.

“Behave, McClutchin,” she ordered.

“Your wish is my command, Queen.”

She rolled her eyes but warmed considerably after his endearment.

“You’re into necrophilia?” she asked Lo. When he sputtered his indignation, her brows arched, and her mouth curled in a mocking smile. “Surely you and Ms. James weren’t cheating on poor Spencer Barlowe while they were an item, yes?”

“Of course not!” he and Ebba denied in stereo.

“That means you—what’s the term, McClutchin—hooked up?” At his nod, she continued. “That means you hooked up after her demise, i.e., you are into the deceased.”

“We haven’t hooked up,” Lo ground out, sure his molars couldn’t take the pressure of his frustration much longer.

“Then you lied, Ms. James,” Death stated in a frigid tone, turning chilly eyes on Ebba. “You’re not ‘together’ as you claim.”

Looking terrified, Ebba cast him a beseeching look, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her.

“It’s okay, Sweet. It’ll be okay.”

“You can’t promise things of that nature, Laszlo Thorne,” Death countered. “Despite your gifts, you aren’t in charge of who stays and goes. I am.”

Easing closer to Ebba, he nodded. “Understood, but if you could find it in your heart to?—”

“You have forty-eight hours to deliver the runaway souls of Ebba James and Spencer Barlowe to me. Here at McClutchin’s dwelling. Don’t be late.” With a wave of her hand, she rolled the scroll, vanishing it in a poof of smoke. She sauntered toward Clutch’s bedroom. Stopping at the entrance, she cast a coquettish look toward his friend. “Are you coming, lover?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Clutch said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let me show them out, Queen, and I’ll attend to your every need.”

“You’d better.”

Clutch sobered when she disappeared through the doorway. “Look, man. I won’t make any promises, but I can talk to her, maybe change her mind, okay?” After crossing to his spellbook, he opened it about a third of the way, then flipped a few pages to find what he was searching for. “Here it is. I think this one could work.” He tore the page from its binding and handed it to Lo along with a baseball-sized sphere and a clay figure without any discernible features.

“I know I said it wasn’t a matter of Voodoo dolls, but it’s all I’ve got in a pinch. Use the doll to draw out ol’ Spencer, then shove him into this holding globe. Hopefully, it will keep him, but don’t count on it. Death understands a captured spirit is as good as a free one.” He gave Ebba a regretful look. “I’m sorry, girl. You’d have given Lo a run for his money, alright.”

“You sound like it’s a done deal,” she croaked.

He shared a long look with Laszlo, and they both understood what he left unspoken. By the time either of them was called and Death showed her ravishing self, it was a done deal.

“She rarely changes her mind. But I’ll try,” Clutch said.

With a quick hug for Lo, he rushed away.

Silence hung in the air between Ebba and Laszlo after his departure.

“He looks like he can show her a good time. Maybe there’s a chance,” she said.

The desire to laugh battled with his urge to throw the mother of all tantrums. To keep both reactions at bay, Lo merely nodded.

“How do we get home?” she asked.

“We aren’t going straight back,” he said as an idea occurred to him. “We’re going to pay a Goddess a visit.”

“I don’t understand,” Ebba said for what seemed like the hundredth time after they arrived in the clearing by Thorne Manor.

“You will in due time, Sweet. Can you cut me a break here? My head feels like it’s about to explode.” The tension was killing him, and Lo didn’t want her to catch on to how worried he was about her future or lack thereof. Although he’d never met Death in person, he knew she didn’t play when it came to mortal souls. His only hope was Isis. Which was why he was waiting on sacred ground after texting Alastair to meet him here.

He glanced at his watch.

What the hell was taking him so long? His cousin was prompter than prompt. Al’s motto was along the lines of “Arrive early. If you’re on time, you’re late.”

“Why do you keep looking at your watch, Lo? I’m sure your hot cousin will be here any minute. We didn’t give him much by way of notice, you know.”

He stopped pacing to glare at her, seated on the altar and swinging her shapely, petite legs. “What the hell is with your infatuation with all the men you meet today?”

“I was seeing if you were paying attention.”

Her grin disarmed him, and Lo was enchanted by her arresting face. That damned smile was beginning to do strange things to his insides. It was more than his desire to spend endless steamy nights together. It had become a physical need to see her face light up when she looked at him.

He scowled harder when she sighed and launched herself off her stone perch. As she sauntered to him, she trailed her gaze over his visage, pausing on his lips before meeting his eyes.

“You have to face facts, Lo. I have.” Her mouth twisted into a sad half smile. “You might be unable to save me, and that’s okay.”

“No! I?—”

Pressing her finger to his lips, she shook her head. Her touch was more a slight vibration than physical restraint, but it was enough to quiet him.

“Just promise me you’ll get Spencer out of my body and send that fucker to hell, where he belongs.”

His eyes burned, and he had to blink to clear his vision. The gathering moisture on his lashes created a kaleidoscope of greenery. He wanted to tell her he would save her, promise her a long life, but the rules were different for her kind, and Castor had fucked them by binding her to this plane. She’d be lucky if the Powers That Be allowed her to reincarnate on the next go-around.

As if Ebba read his mind, she cocked her head and asked, “What did Death mean when she called Spencer and me ‘runaway souls,’ Lo?”

“They’re spirits who avoid moving on to the afterlife. They become outlaws of a sort.”

Her troubled expression conveyed what he was feeling.

“I’m going to do my best to help you, Ebba. Believe it.”

“But if you can’t, I need you to be at peace with it.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” he replied through a tight throat. His voice was gravelly, as if he’d repeatedly downed flaming Blue Blazer cocktails and burned the lining of his esophagus.

The urge to hold her overcame him. The frustration attached to that inability was making his skin feel too tight and driving him mad. Oddly, he suspected he needed the comfort more than her. Acceptance came freely to those closer to true death. Not the living.

“I’m not prepared to lose you just yet, Ebba James,” he said hoarsely.

Her smile was luminescent, and her soul glowed with her pleasure. The tug of her inner beauty was strong, as was his desire to bask in her warmth.

“You’re not losing anyone, son.”

He spun to acknowledge his solemn-faced cousin’s comment. “Death came for her, Al. I don’t know what to do.” Lifting his hands, he showed the page, the globe, and the voodoo doll. “Clutch only had these to offer, but I thought if we could call Isis and explain what Castor did…” The desperation in Laszlo’s voice was cringeworthy.

“She’s family to you and Liz, and that makes her an honorary Thorne. We’ll do what we can,” Alastair promised.