Witches Get Stitches by Juliette Cross

Chapter 6

~VIOLET~

The next morning,I shuffled into mine and Clara’s kitchenette in our loft above the carriage house and frowned at my French Press coffeepot. Well, I thought it was my French Press coffeepot. It had been yesterday. This morning, it was a purple nightmare.

“Clara,” I mumbled under my breath, trying to decide whether I was amused, irritated, or grateful.

If I could be all three at once, I suppose that’s how I was feeling while staring at the teapot cozy made of various shades of purple. This was Clara’s newest obsession. Knitting. One of the widows who was in her historical romance book club had brought her knitting to their group meeting a month ago. That was it. Clara was hooked. Ever since then, Clara had been on a mission to cover anything and everything with yarn.

Thankfully, she left the handle free. As I lifted the pot, I noted that she was really good. Not that I was an expert in knitting, but there were no gaping holes or lopsided lines. All tight stitching, nice and neat rows.

After setting up the coffee, I sat on the sofa in our little living space and waited for it to percolate. And sighed. Heavily.

I’d thought I’d be back to my carefree self by now. I wasn’t. If anything, I was more agitated by the other night’s brief but unsettling encounter with Nico. I wasn’t the jealous type, but clearly my green-eyed monster showed her ugly face when I’d seen his interest in Lindsey. I wasn’t the relationship type, but for a hot minute I was considering what that might look like with him. I was accustomed to moving through life with confidence and conviction. Today, I just felt...icky.

The sound of the coffee finishing its percolating pulled me off the couch. I poured myself a cup with the perfect amount of my almond milk creamer and savored the bliss of the first sip.

Ahh. This should bring me back to myself. I was simmering in the warm buzz of caffeine and coffee on the sofa when a shriek and a squawk and a bark startled me.

“Shit.” I spilled my perfect cup of coffee all over my boob.

I ran over and swung open the door to see Clara in her pink-and-white striped pajama shorts and tank-top chasing Isadora’s dog Archie, who was chasing my rooster Fred. Zombie Cat was perched on the top of Fred’s chicken coop watching the mayhem, his tail swaying leisurely.

“Not again!” I jogged down the steps in bare feet, the steps freaking cold with the lower temps this morning. “Corral him this way!”

Clara glanced at me then tried to get Archie running in my direction, but he was a crafty little thing. He stopped, his ears perking up, all while Fred puffed himself up, wings flapping, trying to look intimidating. If a dog could laugh, Archie was howling with laughter.

“Come here, you little fiend,” I muttered. He dodged away again, now playing chase with me. That’s it. I stopped dead center of the courtyard, about to use magic to lift his ass up and bring him to me. A spark of energy sizzled in my bones.

“Don’t you dare, Violet!” Clara shouted, knowing full well what I was about to do.

“I’m gonna do it.”

“No, you’re not!”

“It won’t hurt him.”

“It will. It’ll scare him.”

“We won’t catch his little ass if we don’t.”

“Archie!” Isadora in a short nightgown and long robe streaked toward us from across Devraj’s yard on the other side of the wrought iron gate. Her hair was sleep-mussed—or probably sex-mussed with those two—but she still looked like a fairy queen dashing across his yard. I should probably say Devraj and Isadora’s yard since she lived there more than at our house now.

“Your spawn of the devil is stressing out Fred,” I called over, shivering in the morning air.

As soon as Archie saw his Mama, the little fucker pranced away toward the fence happy as could be.

“How did he get over there?” Isadora called from across the fence.

Clara walked over while I scooped up Fred, removing his newest bowtie, which was dangling and askew. It was Star Wars themed with tiny X-wings. Evie had bought it for him.

“I just don’t understand,” Isadora was saying as I made my way over.

Clara lifted the little orange monster and handed him over the fence.

“Devraj has checked for holes and weak spots in the fence.” Iz looked exasperated.

“I don’t know either,” Clara commiserated while scratching the fluff-ball’s head.

Isadora looked genuinely stressed. “I’m so sorry, Violet. Is Fred okay?”

My boy’s beady eyes narrowed at his nemesis through the bars, a steady, deep clucking in his chest.

“He’s okay,” I assured her, not wanting to make her feel any worse. As I said it, another feather fell from his throat and drifted to the ground.

“Oh, no.” Holding Archie on the hip farthest from us, she reached through and placed her palm on Fred.

I kept him still, knowing she was sending him her healing magic. Instantly, his agitated clucking eased as a hum of energy washed over him and my arm.

“Dev said he’d set up a camera so we can figure it out. I swear, I think the dog might be magic.” Iz huffed out a laugh. “So sorry, Vi.”

“Again?” came the deep voice behind Isadora.

Devraj stalked across the yard in loose joggers and nothing else, his long black hair in a messy bun. Not that I had ever wondered, but this was visual proof why Isadora spent so much alone time at his house. The man—or rather, vampire—looked like a walking sex god.

He stopped midway to us, propped a hand low on one hip, and surveyed the yard, checking the fencing for holes where Archie may have escaped.

“No idea either,” I said when he made his way over to us and scratched Archie’s head even as he scowled at him. “How the hell are you doing it?” Then to me, “Sorry, Vi. I’m going to buy the cameras today.”

“All good.” My gaze strayed from the large mandala tattoo that fully covered one shoulder to the smaller mandala with shades of green and blue just below on the side of his ribcage, the one I’d given him about a month ago.

“So what’s the word?” I nodded toward the tattoo I’d given him. “Anything new to report?”

His expression morphed into utter joy. The man was beautiful on any occasion, but that smile made him lethal to all of womanhood.

“It’s unbelievable. It’d been a month since I fed when you gave me that tattoo. We’re going on two months, and I haven’t had any cravings at all.”

His dark gaze slid to Isadora, then his hand disappeared behind her back where he was obviously caressing her. “Well, I still have cravings. Just not for blood.”

“Aww! Y’all are so cute,” cooed Clara, practically beaming heart-eyes at them.

Isadora turned the brightest shade of pink, but while they were getting all gushy and red-faced, I was marveling at the fact that my spelled tattoo was legit working on him.

To be honest, I’d tried twice before, simply spelling the outline of the new mandala I tattooed to his ribcage, but it didn’t work. I enchanted the blue ink and shaded in the mandala with my second incantation, but it still hadn’t worked. Apparently, third time’s a charm.

Devraj happened to be a vegetarian, which totally sucked for a vampire—no pun intended—who had to drink blood in order to stay alive. He was also a three-hundred-year-old, powerful as fuck vampire, so he’d gone over a month without feeding before.

Most vamps couldn’t go near as long. He’d told me that after two months, he’d be pretty ravenous. Except now he wasn’t. Because of my charmed tattoo.

I wanted to jump up and down and do cartwheels, but since that was more Clara’s style, I just beamed excitedly, letting out a relieved laugh.

“I can’t believe it.” I caught Clara’s eye. “It’s working!”

“Of course, it is. You’re a brilliant, gifted witch.”

“You know,” said Isadora, cutting in warmly, “this type of magic has the ability to heal, Vi. You could do so much good with this.”

A new kind of thrill ran through me, my thoughts instantly jumping back to Nico and his werewolf problem. Actually, all the werewolves’ problem with control.

“Again, sorry about this little guy,” said Devraj. “I’m headed to the store now.” He leaned over, brushing Izzy’s hair aside, and planted a kiss high on her jaw. “Be back soon.”

She gave him those lovey eyes and nodded before turning a concerned frown at Fred.

“Stop worrying. It’s okay.” I glanced back at the chicken coop, thinking of ways to fortify his pen. “I just hate to close him up in his pen. He’s gotten used to having full reign of our courtyard.”

“And trust me,” added Clara, “he thinks this whole yard is his territory.”

Fred clucked louder at that as if to agree.

“I just feel awful,” Isadora added. Archie tried to lick her face, wagging his stubby tail and proud as he could be of himself.

“I think I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Let me check on something, and I’ll get back to you.”

Then I headed back in, dropping Fred by his coop on the way back to the carriage house. I dressed quickly, having a heavy debate with myself on whether or not this was a good idea, I picked up my phone and texted Nico.

Me: Are you home?

Nico: Yes.

Me: I’m coming over.

A brief pause then...

Nico: Come on.

I almost forewarned him with what I wanted but thought better of it. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, I always said. Actually, that advice came from our grandmother, Maybelle. She was always a rule-bender. I was fairly positive I carried more of her genes than my mother’s.

After a quick shower, I dressed fast and twisted my damp hair on top of my head. After grabbing a new black and white polka dotted bowtie from my panty drawer and one of Clara’s reusable grocery bags out of the kitchen, I headed downstairs. I put a small sack of feed inside my bag and swung it over my shoulder.

“Come on, boy.” I put Fred’s new bowtie on, which had him puffing up arrogantly, looking more like himself. Then I carried him out the gate and headed toward Magazine Street.

It was a pretty big hike since Nico’s place and our shop was a couple blocks toward City Park, but I needed the exercise.

You might think that a woman carrying a bowtie-wearing rooster down the street might seem odd, but this was New Orleans. Much stranger sights have been seen, which was why I only received friendly smiles as I passed those sitting at the outdoor tables of The Ruby Slipper Café and Red Dog Diner. The smell of sausage, eggs, grits, and biscuits reminded me that I’d skipped breakfast. My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it. I’d grab something before I opened the shop.

By the time I reached the dead-end street that housed Nico’s place and Empress Ink, I was rethinking this plan. And wondering why my first thought was to go to him. What I should’ve done was call Aunt Beryl.

Since our parents were now enjoying retirement in the Swiss Alps, Aunt Beryl was our go-to person when we needed help with something. She also happened to be the Dr. Doolittle of witches. But no, I hadn’t even thought of her at all until I was on Nico’s doorstep.

I opened the tall wrought-iron gate that entered his private courtyard from the street and crossed the brick pavement courtyard that separated our shop from his private residence, while examining the large grassy area tucked away on the right.

A high brick wall completely enclosed this space for privacy, which also made me think Fred would be fine here. While he liked to prove he was head cock of his domain, he honestly was a total chicken when it came to venturing beyond his grounds. Also, he was kind of fat, if I were honest. He couldn’t fly very high, and I was pretty sure he’d look at that brick wall and think it wasn’t worth the effort.

The grassy area in the back looked sufficient for him to peck around in.

Oh! A pretty rock garden and a fountain. I paused at the sight of a sculpture. One obviously created by Nico’s cousin Mateo and Evie’s boyfriend who happened to be a metal sculpture artist. It was a naked fairy about three-feet high. She had one knee bent and was dipping a toe into the water fountain. Her hands were on her hips and her wings were dangling leisurely behind her, brushing her bare ass. She looked…sassy. Even from behind.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to Nico to commission a feisty fairy and to Mateo for having the talent to fill the order.

Walking toward the back door to his home, I admired the portico that jutted out over the first floor, Greek columns giving it some sophistication. There was a comfortable looking bench on the small porch. A side table held an empty beer bottle, and an old guitar leaned against the brick of the house.

“Okay. Now mind your manners,” I told Fred as I knocked on the door, my nerves jittery after our last encounter. Putting thoughts of his Lovers card and that hot look he gave me away, I plastered a friendly smile on my face.

Within ten seconds, Nico was opening the door, looking heavenly as always. His hair was freshly washed, still damp, the longer strands sticking to his neck. In jeans and a black T-shirt, no shoes. At the sight of his bare feet, a rush of heat flushed my cheeks. The vision of us on a sofa and me massaging his feet hit me like a sledgehammer.

That vision was wrong. Had to be. First of all, they were feet, for fuck’s sake!

Although to be honest, they were nice feet. Long and wide with a sparse dapple of hair, high arches and that second toe longer than the big toe, which I’d read meant you were a dominant. I knew this because I also had a second toe longer than the big toe.

And he smelled, damn, like citrus and man soap and, wait, I sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

“Bacon. Good morning to you, too.”

Clearing my throat, I glanced down at him. Fred was twisting his head about, obviously taking mental notes of his new realm. “Can I leave him right out here while we talk?”

And for the foreseeable future until we can contain the orange demon next door?

Nico frowned, but rather than protest, he stared over my shoulder into the yard. “He won’t fly over the wall?”

I scoffed and set Fred on the porch. “Nah. He’s way too lazy for that.”

“If you say so.” He opened the door to let me in.

As I passed by him, I had the strangest urge to drag my nose across his T-shirt on a deep inhale, maybe circle his nipples while I was at it. Thankfully, I rarely gave in to my stranger urges.

That’s a lie. I typically gave in to all of them. But this, whatever the hell it was with Nico, had me second-guessing myself and reining in those typical instincts that pushed me to do all manner of questionable things.

Nico closed the door and headed into the kitchen. I was surprised to find the indoor space entirely open. A large living room with fireplace overlooked the courtyard and garden. Right off the living space was a modern kitchen with gray stone counters and white cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and fitted with a small dining room table and tall black stools at a bar top.

“Wow. I didn’t expect this.” Most of these older homes were finished in a more classical style or still bore the old bones of when it was built with a touch of new paint here and light fixture there.

He was already at the stove, forking bacon out onto a napkin.

“Wish I could take credit, but it was newly remodeled when I bought the place.”

“Suits you, though.”

I glanced around. No, also a lie.

I categorically examined in hyper-speed every single thing I saw. A bookshelf with pictures, books, and what looked like journals that I wanted to study closer.

A soft gray throw on the sofa—my heart thudded—the same sofa from my vision of us snuggled together. I forced myself to move on.

I’d learned visions were only possible futures. Different decisions had different outcomes. So I wasn’t going to ogle that couch and dream of snuggling with the werewolf. Especially when my original reading of us together haunted me daily.

Moving on, there was a coffee table with an open notebook and pen set aside. I could just make out on the page that there was writing and scratched-out words. Another freaking guitar on a stand in the corner. Several guitar picks in an ashtray on another end table with a pretty silver lamp. And yet another guitar, but this one mounted on the wall carefully in a place of honor.

“Is that one special?”

Nico glanced up from where he was whisking eggs in a bowl. “My Dad gave that one to me for my twelfth birthday.” He kept his eyes on the bowl as he poured in a little milk then kept whisking. “It’s a Gibson Les Paul once owned by BB King.”

“Whoa. That must’ve cost a pretty penny.” I sat on a stool at the bar.

He nodded distractedly. “I started playing when I was about nine. Dad knew that music was my thing.” His voice slowed and softened with affection when he spoke about his dad, then he glanced up. “You want an omelet?”

“Love one.” I beamed, which got me a smile. “And by thing, you mean your insane talent at music.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah. That.”

I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. We’d always steered away from too many personal things, but I needed to know. “What happened to your dad?” I stood and walked around the counter to wash my hands.

“He died when I was thirteen. That’s when I went to live with Mateo, my uncle, and my grandfather.”

I rinsed the soap from my hands and dried them on a towel, leaning back against his sink. “Sorry, Nico.”

“It’s okay.” He gave me a smile that was small but genuine. No pain there. Or, at least, none too deep. “It was a long time ago. He’d lived a nice, long life for a werewolf. His heart just gave out.”

“Really? How old was he?”

“Seven hundred and two.”

“What?!” Most werewolves were lucky to live to five hundred. “Shit on a cracker, how old are you?”

“Only a hundred and three, Violet.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Old fucking man. Why didn’t I know this about you?”

“You never asked.” He poured some of the egg mixture into his hot pan, and then dropped mushrooms, cheese, crumbled bacon, and purple onions on top.

“How do you know I like all that?”

He looked at me like I was dense and rolled his eyes. “You order a double bacon cheeseburger, add mushrooms, from Red Dog Diner every Friday.”

Oh, yeah. I did.

“So what’s going on with Fred?” He folded the omelet then slid it onto a plate. He handed me the plate and tapped my hip, nudging me toward the dining table. “Go sit.”

I did. “Mmm. There is nothing that smells better than bacon and melted cheese.”

His gaze slid to me. Hot gold rolled through his eyes before he focused back on the skillet where he was making his own omelet.

“I figured you liked savory for breakfast.”

“I like anything for breakfast. Love sweet, too. Chocolate chip pancakes is a particular favorite.”

“I’ll remember that.” He watched me take my first bite. “Tell me about Fred.” There was a tad of a growl in his voice now, and I wasn’t quite sure why he was getting wolfie at the moment. Not because I’d brought Fred, I hoped.

“So you see, Devraj got this dog—”

“Archie, yes, I know.”

“How did you know?”

“Devraj and I see each other every week at Sunday dinner. Or didn’t you notice?”

True. Jules had started a tradition of hosting Sunday dinner at the restaurant for us and the Cauldron family, if they weren’t gathering with their own families. And now that included significant others like Mateo and Devraj. Nico had been invited one Sunday by Evie as an extension of Mateo’s family, so he was kind of a permanent fixture there, too.

“Violet,” he said my name with force and emphasis.

I startled, sitting up straight, my heart pumping just a wee bit faster at the aggressive mention of my name. I knew in that very second that he would be super dominant in bed.

Stop it!I’d already nearly sniffed his nipples and was now conjuring images of him on top of me, saying my name with that deep, husky voice of his, talking dirty and making sexy demands.

He sat with his plate on my left at the head of the table and gave me an expectant look.

“Okay.” I took a sip of juice he’d set on the table for me. “Archie keeps mysteriously escaping their yard into ours and chasing Fred and making him lose his fucking feathers. I don’t want to close him in the pen with his chicken coop because he’ll get depressed, and Fred is a very old rooster. He’s delicate, even with Isadora’s healing sessions, so I was hoping you might possibly allow him, because you love and adore me so much, to stay here in your courtyard while we figure out how the hell that Tasmanian devil is getting out of the yard.” I put my hands together in begging style and did just that, “Pleaaase, Nico. Just for a few days. They’re getting cameras and crap to catch Archie in the act, then we can solve the problem. And I’ll bring him right back home.”

For a minute, he simply stared at me, soaking in every part of my face, roving with painstaking slowness.

Shit!He was going to say no.

“Of course, he can stay.”

“Really?” I may have squealed.

“Sure. But I’ll be gone a few days around the full moon. You’ll have to come and check on him.”

“Oh, I’ll be checking on him every day.” I shoveled more of his delicious food in my mouth. “You’re a nice guy, Nico.”

His brow pinched. “You say that like it shocks you.”

“Nah.” I smiled and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I just feel like I’ve been a total fuckface to you lately, so I guess I expected… I don’t know.”

“That’s what friends do. Help each other out, right?” His expression was even, blank, though a muscle jumped in his jaw. He was so strangely serene and yet tense at the same time this morning.

There’d been weird vibes between us for the past week, and I was well aware that a good part of that was my fault. The strangest was that moment after the reading when he handed me my phone. “Handed” being a loose term here because he’d all but captured my wrist and screamed with his eyes that I was the other one involved in his Lovers premonition.

And don’t think for a second that I hadn’t jumped to the same conclusion. We’d built a solid friendship over the past year. And even though I knew because of my readings of us that we’d only crash and burn, the fight to keep from tying him to a bed and having my wicked way with him was becoming increasingly difficult.

I’d managed to restrain my lusty thoughts and longings before we went into business together. But now that I was with him so often, he was all I could think about. And let’s not even get started on the wet dreams.

But then, there were moments like now when I wasn’t getting any sexy vibes. Only Nico vibes. Usually one and the same, but he was radiating more walled-off aggression from behind a calm veneer. It was almost creepy.

“Yes, definitely,” I finally answered him. “Friends.” I smiled then leaned over and punched him in the bicep. That tight, muscular bicep. “You’re the tits, Nico.” Then I dove back into my omelet.

“You’re so odd,” he said with more lightness than earlier. “If that’s a thank you then you’re welcome.”

“It is,” I said around a mouthful of deliciousness. “Tits are great, right? Possibly the greatest body part on man or woman. So if you’re THE tits, then you’re like the best of the best.”

He eyed me with those raised brows, and hell no, I didn’t miss the fleeting glimpse at my boobs before he muttered, “You’re the strangest girl I’ve ever known.”

“But also the coolest. And most badass. And amazing.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed with too little enthusiasm for my taste though his lips quirked with amusement.

He finished his omelet before me and took his plate to the sink. Then he returned and set a single key on the table next to me.

“What’s that?”

“A key to my place. You’ll need to store that bag of feed you left by the door in here.”

“How did you know—?”I shook my head. “Werewolf olfactory senses, I presume.” I took the key and looked at it. A single thread of magic zinged along my skin. Not sure why. It was just a plain, silver key, but my psychic abilities were stirring as I held it in my palm. “You knew what I wanted when I came in the door,” I accused.

“Pretty much.” He was leaning back against the counter, legs casually crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his fine chest.

“I could leave the feed in the shop and bring it over.”

“You may need something. Keep the key, Violet.”

It was a command that saturated my pores and lodged somewhere in the middle of my chest.

“Okay.” I licked my lips and put it in my back pocket as I stood, pretending I hadn’t just been punched with werewolf dominance that was now buzzing sweetly between my legs. I picked up my plate. “If you insist.”

He stepped forward and took the plate from my hand. “I do,” he said nice and low, his fingers grazing mine. A wave of tension rolled between us in those two seconds, his gaze hot and hard, then cool and distant in a flash.

“Guess I’ll see you in the shop.” I backed up a step.

“Sure thing.” He was at the sink, rinsing our plates.

“Thank you, Nico,” I said sincerely as I stopped at the door. “I really do appreciate it.”

He looked over his shoulder, soaking me in with a brief flicker of sharp green eyes. “Anytime.”

The word was soft and deep, but also hard and smooth. How? I have no fucking idea. It wasn’t the words that Nico said, but how he said them. How they sounded coming out of his mouth that made me weak-kneed.

I’d tried like hell to ignore my attraction for the man, but it was getting impossible to pretend I didn’t have a huge crush. Infatuation. Borderline fixation.

But let’s be real here. Any warm-blooded woman, or man for that matter, would be attracted to Nico. Take Lindsey, for instance. A flicker of a noticeably green flame burned at the center of my chest at the thought of her all googly-eyed, batting her lashes at him. Especially after he admitted he found her pretty. She was also really nice and a very talented artist, which I loathed to admit.

Wait! Was the Lovers card for Nico and Lindsey?!

I buried an overwhelmingly nauseous feeling behind a layer of fuck-it-all. Swallowing the painful thought of Nico and Lindsey together, I strode to the shop to submerge myself in work where I could try to ignore all of these unwanted feelings. That niggling voice told me I wasn’t going to be successful.