Witching Hours

Praise for the writing of Sheri Gilmore The Preacher’s Daughters: Eye for an Eye Sheri Gilmore has written a story gu...

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Praise for the writing of Sheri Gilmore

The Preacher’s Daughters: Eye for an Eye

Sheri Gilmore has written a story guaranteed to keep you reading nonstop until the very last sentence. This book has everything you could wish for in a paranormal romance: kinky sex, magic, suspense and non-stop action. -- Anita, Fallen Angel Reviews Sheri Gilmore has another winner with Eye for an Eye. The Preacher’s Daughters series will be one to watch. -- Patrice Story, Just Erotic Romance Reviews I highly recommend The Preacher's Daughters: Eye for an Eye to anyone who likes stories full of love and magic. I cannot wait for the next book in the series. -- Susan White, Coffee Time Romance

Eye for an Eye is the perfect thing to read this time of the year. I hope to read more stories about Gina's sisters and Quin's hot friend Romeo. -- Barb Hicks, The Best Reviews If you are looking for a spicy adventure, loaded with an erotic playing field worthy of a screaming orgasm, then this baby will fill that slot! -- Janalee, Love Romances

The Preacher's Daughters: Eye for an Eye is now available from Loose Id.

THE PREACHER’S DAUGHTERS: WITCHING HOURS

Sheri Gilmore

www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

***** This book contains substantial explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (voyeurism).

The Preacher’s Daughters: Witching Hours Sheri Gilmore This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © April 2006 by Sheri Gilmore All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-258-5 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Maryam Salim Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

www.loose-id.com

Prologue

Salem, Massachusetts, 1692

“Lay thy hands upon me, Lydia.” “I dare not. I-I do not know how to do what ye ask.” “Hast thou no knowledge of thy husband’s person?” It was beyond comprehension that she might still be a virgin. But, thinking of the man that was her husband, Connor could understand if that was the case. Reverend Sewell was a cold, hard man. Connor could not fathom the likes as him with a warm, beautiful woman as Lydia. “I assure thee that I do. I have been a married woman for over a year.” He grinned at the reproach he heard in her voice. If he could get her to relax, he knew she would be a hellcat in his bed. “Then why dost thou blushest and tremblest like a virgin when I touch thee like this?” Moving slowly, he reached for the collar of her dress, unfastening the hooks one by one. The little hitch in her breath told him of her anxiety, but excitement. One thing he knew was women. But he had never known a woman like Lydia Sewell. She had intrigued

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him the second he had watched her step from the mercantile in Salem Harbour, so innocent but full of life with her sparkling eyes and open, friendly smile. She amongst all the others had never tried her womanly wiles on him behind the back of her husband. “Or, like this?” With both hands he pulled the stiff, scratchy material down over her shoulders to reveal the smooth skin of her chest. Angling his head, he inhaled the warm scent of her skin evaporating into the cool, damp air of the cabin. When he pressed his lips to the hollow of her neck she stiffened. “Thou art not my husband.” “Nay.” With a firm, quick movement, he pushed the dress to her waist, trapping her arms at her sides. “I am not.” He moved behind her. Trailing his fingers upwards over her skin, he cupped her breasts. “I am but a man, who would dare be thy lover,” he whispered into her ear at the same instant he tweaked her nipples with his forefingers and thumbs. “Thou knowest what I need from ye this night.” A low moan rose from her throat, as her head fell against his shoulder. “I-I cannot do this thing that thou askest of me, Connor. The Reverend Sewell hath gone to the town meeting regarding the demise of the ones accused of witchcraft. He will be but a few hours.” “Yea, sweet Lydie. Thy husband is a fool to wasteth such glorious womanhood as thine. I wouldst help thee relax. I know thou desirest me.” “Yea, but ’tis evil of me to feel this way for one who is not my husband.” Connor stilled, unable to prevent the jealousy that rose in his heart at the thought of another man touching the woman in his arms. “Doth he toucheth thee as do I?” Many women came to him from the village, but none affected him the way the preacher’s wife had done.

The Preacher’s Daughters: Witching Hours

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He squeezed her small, firm breasts in the palms of his hands. A perfect fit. She was made for him. And ... he would have her. He pinched her nipples harder, knowing the shaft of pain and pleasure he would place upon her body. “Doth he?” “Nay.” Her head dropped in apparent shame. “He doth not touch me or kiss me as dost thou.” She turned within the circle of his arms, placing her hands upon his chest. The green of her eyes sparkled with fear in the firelight. “We cannot do this. He would have us pressed beneath stones. Thou hast witnessed what they do to the ones accused of witchery. Surely, this wouldst be worse!” Connor threaded a hand through her chestnut hair, liking the silky weight as it fell around her shoulders. “They be not witches. The magistrate is a fool, listening to the lies of young, spiteful girls.” “How dost thou knowest they not be witches?” He hesitated, not sure if he should tell her the truth. Lydia was already nervous of him. In the end, she must know and accept what he was. “Because I am one.” Her tiny fists clenched in the material of his shirt. “I am frightened, Connor.” She laid her head upon his chest. Connor closed his eyes against the surge of protectiveness he experienced for this woman. “I will protect thee, Lydie. When I have saved enough coin for us to journey south to warmer, more accepting climes, we will go together. Thou wilt not live in fear any longer.” She gazed up into his face. “I would like that.” His hands tightened around her upper arms. “But this night, let me love thee as a man should love a beautiful woman.” Again she trembled, but Connor persisted. He had been secretly courting the preacher’s wife for a month. She was his.

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He set her away from him. “Stay.” With an eye on her trembling form, he moved to the mantel. He reached up for the wooden, black box on the end, watching as she pulled her gown up over her nakedness. Her innate shyness pleased him, but he knew she needed something to help her overcome the prudery ingrained into her psyche since childhood. She was a woman -- his woman -- and he would know her without the barriers of society between them. He returned to her, holding a glass vial. It sparkled with the colors of the rainbow in the firelight. Inside could be seen a brown liquid. “What is it?” she asked with narrowed eyes. “Something to help thee relax.” She bolted, but he caught her to him with one arm around her waist. She struggled, but was not strong enough to break his hold. “I would not drink the devil’s brew.” “Lydie, Lydie, quiet.” He shook her once, hard, then turned her to face him. “’Tis but an ointment of herbs, nothing more. It reacteth with your body’s natural heat to soothe and calm.” He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. “Trust me.” Huge green eyes blinked, and her breasts heaved from her attempted escape. She glanced at the vial and nodded slowly, glancing back to him. Quickly, in case she grew nervous again, he opened the vial and placed the rim beneath each of her ears along her neck, her temples, and finally her wrists, allowing the contents to flow out onto her skin. Recapping the vial, he placed it upon the table without releasing his hold on her. He knew the concoction would absorb faster if he massaged the oil into her skin. His thumbs rubbed circles over the inside of her wrists. Sliding his hands up her bare arms, he buried his fingers into the thickness of her hair, kneading the area beneath her ears and at her temples.


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Eyes fluttered and her head slumped forward, as a contented sigh escaped her sweet lips. Slowly, her muscles relaxed, as his fingers kneaded the tension from her body. Her breathing became slower and more rhythmic, as her fast pants of anxiety turned to deeper, more steadied breaths. “How dost thou feel?” he asked, touching her lips with his in a brief kiss. She tasted slightly of the mint tea he had prepared for her when she had first arrived. “Hot.” She tugged at her dress, breaking several hooks loose. He laughed. “’Tis the ointment at work.” Pushing her dress from her shoulders once more, he hardened at the thought of what they were about to do. “Let me see thee.” She didn’t fight him as before. Her smile was not of the shy, reserved preacher’s wife he was accustomed to, but of a coy, seductive woman. She shook her head, allowing her hair to fall over her shoulders away from her chest. Her breasts jiggled, the nipples drawn tight from the cold winter air. The dress slipped over her hips, landing on the hard, earth-packed floor of the cabin. Connor held her hands, as she stepped out of the plain, ugly dress. He pulled her to him, kissing her lips, cheeks, and neck with a need so strong, he thought he would suffocate. “Thy perfection taketh my breath. Only silk and satin shouldst touch thy skin, not sackcloth and wool.” A low, throaty laugh emitted from her, like the purr of a satisfied cat. “I love thy mouth on my skin.” She sighed, letting her head fall back. Her hair spilled over her bare back. “Methinks I am a wicked woman.” Connor untied her woolen drawers, and they too, fell to the floor. His breath caught at the sight of the goddess before him. “Thou art beautiful.” Her eyelashes fluttered; her smile faltered. “I feel ...” She opened her eyes. “... as if I be flying.” She flung her arms out, giggling and taking a step away from him.

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Connor reached her before she fell. “Ah, Lydie, ’tis the herbs in the oil. Just let them flow through thee.” He eased her onto the blankets he had piled onto the floor by the hearth. Ripping at the clasps to his pants, he could hardly contain himself, as she watched him with that wanton smile on her face, hardened nipples piercing the cold air, and her legs splayed in invitation. “Connor, I need thee ... here.” Her hand moved from her breast to her womanhood. She rubbed herself with knowing fingers. His eyebrows rose, as did the heat around his collar. “What art thou about?” “I am but relieving mine ache.” His breath caught in his throat. “Dost ... thou relievest this ache often?” “Every night in the darkness, since I first saw thee.” Connor struggled to pull the shirt over his head, flinging it across the room where it landed in a heap in the corner. With a harsh sob he fell upon the seductress beneath him. His mouth crushed hers, and still she caressed herself -- faster and faster, matching the thrust of his tongue into her mouth. The muscles in her back tightened, and she arched. Her nipples stabbed into the skin of his chest, cold against his warmth. A tremor ran the length of her body. He knew she was on the verge of peaking. Jerking her hands above her head, he whispered in a harsh tone, “Not this moment.” A tortured cry escaped her mouth. She frowned, undulating her hips against his shaft. “Please!” Connor closed his eyes, gritting his teeth to stop the surge of white hot desire through his veins. “Please complete me, Connor.” He opened his eyes to her pleading voice.


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Tendrils of dampened hair clung to her face and neck. In the firelight, he could see that her pupils were dilated, covering the green of her irises.

Damnation, I have given her too much. “I cannot take thee like this, Lydia.” “What?” she screeched. Fury vibrated through her small frame. Her fingernails dug into his hands, as she bucked and twisted beneath him, like the wildcat that he had imagined. He pushed his weight into her further, trying not to let the feel of her writhing body arouse him more. “Shh. ’Twould not be right, love. I have given thee too much of the herb. I wish thee aware of what we do and who ’tis thou be with.” She stilled, staring up at him with narrowed eyes. “I am here with thee, Connor Osbourne. I would have thee share thy body with me, as thou promised.” “Thou wouldst hate me.” Her mouth gaped. “I cannot hate thee when I love thee.” Connor kissed her, taking every sweet caress of her tongue deep inside himself. When their lips broke apart, he smoothed the hair from her forehead. “I love thee, Lydie. Please believe me.” With a shift of his hips, he slid deep inside her body’s warmth. Both groaned and gasped. They were home. Somewhere outside, a branch scratched against the wood of the shutter. Lydia tensed; Connor soothed. “Shh. ’Tis the wind, nothing more.” The distraction forgotten, she relaxed into the thrust of his hips as they discovered the mystery of their newfound passion.

***** Hours later, they lay exhausted in each other’s arms. Fingers caressed her scalp, working through the tangled mass of her hair. The snag upon one knot caused her to wince.

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His hand stilled, as his voice trickled over her skin, still sensitized from the balm he had applied, seducing her again. “Had I but known that a woman as thee existed, surely I would have applied the oils before.” Her body stiffened. “Thou wish to bed another?” “Nay, love. Only thee. The extent of thy liberation in my bed hath taken me by surprise, ’tis all.” He watched a dull blush creep over her chest and up her neck into her cheeks. “It doth be that devil’s concoction thou mixed and applied to my skin. It burneth through my veins still.” She turned, kissing him as she boldly straddled his waist. “I would have thee bind me the way I hear that Rachal Middleton desireth.” “Aye, yon devil’s brew, for sure, to maketh thee so bold, woman.” Connor’s laugh died in his throat as his shaft slid into her eager body. “Rachal be a special woman.” Lydia’s breath caught. “Dost thou love her?” He clasped her hips with trembling hands. “Nay, Lydie. I love thee, but Rachal assists me in mine other pursuits.” “Thou will bind me?” She rolled her hips forward, applying pressure to his ballocks. Sweat trickled down the side of his face. “Aye, wench, I will give thee what thy wish, but not this night. ’Tis late and thou must return to thy husband’s bed.” “When?” Connor clenched his teeth on her persistence. “I will mix a less potent ointment for thee.” He kissed her forehead. “Then, ’twill be time to initiate thee in my darker needs.”

Several Days Later


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Limbs entwined in front of the hearth, they lay together. Connor pulled the blanket over their bodies. He had bound her with the smithie’s chains that he kept for special women. Women who liked him to love them rough. He’d had a moment’s hesitation using them on Lydia’s white skin, but she had begged him their last encounter, so he had complied. And ... she had responded wonderfully. Crying out when he paddled her; whimpering when he stopped; begging him to give her more. When he’d applied the balm to her skin, she had been a wild woman, bucking her hips back against his penetration, as her arms were stretched above her head, preventing her from escaping anything he chose to do to her. But, she had not protested. Lydia Sewell was the perfect woman for him. “My love, dost thou sleep?” Poor thing, she had worked hard to please him. She deserved to rest. Touching her cheek, he hesitated at the coolness of her skin. His heart clenched as he received no response. Her warm breath against his chest was not discernible. “Lydia? Wake!” His fear escalating, Connor grabbed her upper arms, shaking her, but her head fell limply to her shoulder. The door crashed open, hitting the wall. The rush of cold air sent a spray of embers from the fireplace into the room. Connor pulled Lydia closer, protecting her from the sparks with his own nude body. A dark shadow penetrated the recesses of the room, as the Reverend Sewell, Lydia’s husband, entered Connor’s cabin. His dark cloak swirled in an ominous cloud around his tall, thin form with the town magistrate close on his heels. The reverend’s cold, blue eyes surveyed his wife in Connor’s arms. Lips thinning and nostrils flaring, he shouted, “Thou son of Satan!” He retrieved the vial from the mantel and sniffed, recoiling with a curl to his lip. “’Tis a tincture of henbane.” He offered it to the magistrate. Turning to Connor, Reverend Sewell stabbed his finger at him. “Thou hast murdered my wife with thy vile potion!”

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“Nay!” Connor clutched the lifeless body to his chest. He had mixed the balm with less herbs this time; he was certain. But ... he stared down into Lydia’s pale face ... her lips were blue. His body sagged as he whispered, “I have killed her.” Two men behind the magistrate moved forward. Connor struggled, as they pulled him away from Lydia. Her beautiful nakedness lay bare for all the men’s vulgar stares. He scrambled, trying to cover her. “Do not look upon her, ye bastards.” The guards pulled him up sharp, shaking him hard. Reverend Sewell slapped his gloves into his palm. “Take the whoremonger away.” “We will prepare a trial.” The magistrate nodded. “’Tis not necessary. The witch hath confessed he killed her. We have the proof in the act of their adultery that he afflicted upon her with his craft.” “Thou lie; she loveth me!” Connor screamed over his shoulder, dragging his feet over the rough ground of the yard. Brambles and stones cut into his unprotected skin. The reverend’s fingers curled around the vial. “She was my wife. No self-respecting woman would allow thee to touch her ... to chain her and defile her ... without some form of witchery involved.” “She loveth me.” Connor stared at the preacher through his tears. His beautiful Lydie, gone, because of him. A noose, rough and biting, slipped over his head, cutting into his neck. He didn’t fight even when they tightened the knot, choking him. He could not live knowing that his desire had destroyed the one woman he had ever loved. The one woman he had desired and chased. “Hang yon witch.” Reverend Sewell rubbed his hands together. A gleam of what some would describe anticipation entered his eyes, as he stared upon his young wife’s lover. Behind them the house erupted in a blaze of flames. One guard ran forward, but was forced to turn away, as a fireball exploded into the night sky.


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“What of thy wife, sir?” “Let her burn in the fires of Hell where whores of Satan and heretical potions belong.” The guards hesitated but a second before returning to the oak tree and throwing a rope over the thickest limb. Hands tied behind his back, they pulled the rope tight until Connor’s feet lifted from the ground. A strangling gurgle rose from his throat, and he kicked his feet in an effort to breathe. “Ly-Lydia ...” The world turned black; the excruciating throb in his temple beat once ... twice ... thrice; the kicking stopped.

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Chapter One

“What profanity are you pasting on my windshield?” The waspish voice shrilled across the parking lot behind Scafidi’s Drug Store. Starr Chappel took a deep breath. Turning, she watched Maribeth Nichols, Miss Bay St.

Louis for four years straight, cross the street to the gold SUV. Shit. It would be her car. Think sales. Starr pasted a smile on her face. “Well, hey, Maribeth. I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you?” Starr nodded at the woman beside Maribeth. “Mrs. Nichols.” Maribeth’s mother raised her eyebrows, but didn’t respond. The flyer was snatched from beneath the wiper blade. With long red fingernails that looked recently painted to perfection, Maribeth shredded the advertisement without glancing at the words. Starr sighed. “We’re having a sale on the honeysuckle candles. Buy two; get the second one for half price.” She bit her lip to prevent what she really wanted to tell the bitch from escaping. If she wanted new customers, she would have to learn to curb her more liberal vocabulary.


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Bay St. Louis was an old society town. A lot of the citizens had maintained summer homes here for years, returning to New Orleans in the winter or even commuting daily to the city. “How dare you put this ... this ... filth on my vehicle.” “I assure you we only use the most natural ingredients in our products. Maybe --” Maribeth released a shrill scream, covering her ears. “I won’t listen to any of your incantations. We all know you practice witchcraft, Starr Chappel.” Starr’s anger rose to the boiling point. “Gee, it isn’t as if I’m soliciting sex from you, Maribeth. Just trying to sell a few herbs and candles to make an honest living.” Pink, fluorescent paper fluttered in Starr’s face before scattering to the ground. “Don’t you ever come near me or my mother again, you, you ...!” “Witch?” Starr offered, knowing and accepting what she was, even if the townsfolk couldn’t. “I never.” Mrs. Nichols put her nose into the air before turning away. Starr watched the two climb into their gas-guzzler. “I bet you haven’t, you old hag,” Starr mumbled, bending and picking up the remains of her flyer. While the Maribeths of the world might not mind littering the streets and polluting the air, she did. “You wouldn’t know good sex if it sat on your face, you old biddy.” She stood, stuffing the trash into the handmade, cloth satchel, carrying all the advertising flyers that she’d slung over her head and shoulder. Stepping back, she drew up short when she collided with a firm, warm body. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t --” A large, masculine hand reached around her, removing a flyer from between her fingers. “Hmm, honeysuckle candles. My favorite. Think I’ll check out what you have.”

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The man’s breath tickled the back of her neck as he spoke. His voice, a blend of deep, resonant tones and a slight southern accent, played along the nerves of her spine, like invisible fingertips trailing gently over her skin. Her nipples hardened in response. Closing her eyes for a brief second, she turned to face him, hoping he looked as good as he sounded. “Hi --” Sunlight blinded her. “Oh ...” Squinting, she angled her head to get a clearer view. A dark suit greeted her through blinking, watering eyes. She laughed and looked up again. Her smile wilted as fast as springtime flowers in the summer heat. Warm, brown eyes twinkled, as he smiled down at her. Sandy-colored hair ruffled in the slight breeze, giving him a mischievous little-boy look. One tanned hand rested on a lean hip, while the other still held her flyer. It was the devil in preacher’s clothing. Starr straightened. “I don’t think I have anything you’d be interested in, Reverend.” She plucked the flyer from his fingers and tucked it back into her satchel. “You never know what I might find. I’ll follow you back to your store and see. We can talk along the way.” Starr’s eyebrow rose. Any pretense of trying to be friendly vanished. “We don’t have anything to discuss either.” “Ms. Chappel --” “Yes, Reverend?” “Mason.” “Yes, Reverend Mason?” He laughed and the sound of his genuine humor held her spellbound. His head thrown back in abandonment in the sheer enjoyment of the moment caused her to pause and stare.


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His eyes twinkled even more merrily when he stopped. The wide smile invited her to share in his happiness. No wonder the pews were packed every Sunday morning. “You are a treat, Ms. Chappel.” Starr snorted. “That’s not what they tell me.” Resuming her walk, she didn’t complain when he fell into step beside her. She glanced up at him several times. Finally, her curiosity got the best of her. “I’ve never seen a preacher let loose like that before.” “Really? No one ever laughs around you?” She felt rather than observed him angle his head toward her. The heat of a blush spread across her face. She could curse the goddess who created fair skin. “I mean my father ...” She hesitated, hating to have any memory of the man who had betrayed her mother. “... never ... laughed like that.” And, why she was telling this man, another so-called “man of God,” something so personal, she didn’t know. She never spoke of her father, except to her sisters, and only on rare, maudlin occasions. They each had their own ghosts to exorcise concerning their childhood and adolescent years. Reverend Mason nodded. “He was the church’s pastor about ten years ago?” “Yes.” Starr paused at the intersection, looking both ways before stepping into the street. Even in a small town like Bay St. Louis, traffic could get complicated during the height of the tourist season. “Your sister, Rebecca, tells me that there was some mystery revolving around your mother’s death before that --” “I would rather not discuss my mother’s murder with you, Reverend Mason.” A muscle tightened along her jaw, but she did her best to control the anger she experienced whenever someone mentioned her mother. She was dead. Gone. Nothing could bring her back. But, Starr knew that the killer was still free somewhere in Bay St. Louis. Who that person was she wasn’t certain, but one day, he would be revealed.

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“I’m sorry.” He placed a hand beneath her elbow, as they crossed the street. On the other side he removed it, but not before he gave her arm a slight squeeze. “And, my friends just call me Mason.” Starr stayed silent until they reached her shop. Unlocking the door, she glanced up at him. Brown eyes stared into hers. She fought against the warm sense of recognition she experienced whenever she saw him. “You can trust me, Starr.”

Trust me ... trust me ... trust me echoed through her mind, as if he had spoken those same words to her sometime before. She blinked, knowing it had never happened, but for some reason the need to have him wrap his arms around her and soothe her fears and anxieties overwhelmed her. She gave herself a mental shake. What she’d really like wrapped around them was a pair of bed sheets with her exploring all that glorious tanned skin. He always reminded her of a surfer, so toned and healthy-looking. Instead he was one of them, a preacher -- bad news. He was a weakness she knew she needed to fight against, but one she was slowly giving in to. With a loud creak, she pushed the door open, but he slid a hand above her, holding the wood and glass with a firm grip and preventing her entrance into the safety of the shop’s recesses. The tiny bell overhead tinkled, indicating someone’s entrance.

Bells keep evil spirits out, too. The words crossed her mind as the heat of Reverend Mason’s body penetrated her cotton blouse. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. “I don’t think I can be your friend.” “But, I am yours.” He was close enough again that his breath fanned her cheek. The sensation traveled down her neck into the vee of her blouse, warming and teasing her skin. Starr swallowed against the need rising from low within her abdomen into her stomach, like a swarm of butterflies.


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“I’d like to speak with you about joining my church. Why don’t we meet for dinner tonight after you close the shop?” Starr closed her eyes, breathing deeply to expel whatever power this man had over her. When she glanced back up, he was studying her closely. The look in his eyes was not that of a religious man, but that of a lustful, sinful man. The butterflies turned to stone, hitting hard in the depths of her stomach. Her resolve hardened. He was just like her father and every other preacher she’d ever come across, chasing everything in town that wore a skirt, while they preached abstinence and repentance from the pulpit on Sunday mornings. Hypocrites! Well, she refused to fall under the devil’s spell like her mother had. For years she had watched her mother pace the floor night after night, worrying about where their father had chosen to spend his evenings. Starr had listened to her cry herself to sleep, begging God to give her husband the strength to fight his temptations and come home to the one who truly loved him. Starr shook her head. “I don’t think so, Reverend.” She pushed on the door, but he held it tight, his knuckles white with the effort. “Many of us that lose our faith come to find it again after a few years away from the church.” Starr laughed. Not the joyous sound he had emitted, but a bitter, short sound. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a witch -- the whore of Satan. And, I think there could only be one reason you would want to see me.” With that she stepped under his arm, squeezing between the door and the jamb. As soon as she was inside, she snapped the door shut and turned the lock, not caring if she caught his fingers in the process. They stared at each other from opposite sides of the glass. A frown marred his beautiful face. His lips were drawn tight.

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Starr didn’t know if it was from anger or frustration, but finally decided it was both. When he turned to leave, she breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t ease the sense that she had had a similar conversation with him before with him pursuing and her fleeing. Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought. If they had met previously, she doubted she would have forgotten him. She peeked over her shoulder and watched him walk away. Broad shoulders and erect back, tapering to lean hips and long legs, he had a grace about him like that of a natural athlete. No, she would remember having met him even if she’d known him in a previous life. Reverend James Edwin Mason III left a lasting impression. If there was one thing she didn’t need right now with her hectic schedule, it was a preacher knocking on her bedroom door. The tourists loved her shop, but she would watch the locals step off the curb to avoid walking in the vicinity of Blue Moon Boutique & Gifts. In their petty minds it was bad enough that she was one of the Chappel sisters, daughters of Reverend Harold Chappel, preacher turned town womanizer -- the ultimate sinner in their eyes. But, no, she had also turned her back on their beliefs and cultural mores to follow her own path in society through the practice of witchcraft. That, they could never accept or forgive.


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Chapter Two

How one woman could be so infuriating, he’d never know. How on earth could he have used that line -- “I’d like to speak with you about joining my church”? He knew she was the last person to want to join First Protestant Church, but that had been the only excuse he could think of for inviting her out. Mason sat back in his chair, throwing an arm over his eyes, and groaned.

Starr Chappel with her red tresses and green eyes was a temptation for any man, preacher or otherwise. He couldn’t quit thinking of her. Any pretense of wanting to see her for anything else, except to make love to her was ludicrous. She’d seen through him immediately. Reverend James Edwin Mason III, Mason to his friends, sat forward and slammed his Bible shut with more force than was necessary. The sermon he’d been trying to write for the last hour evaded him. How could he admonish his parishioners on the wrath of God for their sins of fornication, when he wanted to do the very same thing with Starr Chappel? Maybe she had placed an enchantment spell on him. “Nonsense!” His latest attempt at a sermon crinkled and crackled within his fist. “I am a Christian preacher. We don’t believe in magick or spells.”

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Ever since he’d come to the small town of Bay St. Louis and met the Chappel sisters, his life had been topsy-turvy. Each sister had her own unique attraction -- Rebecca with her pretty gray-blue eyes and soft brown hair, like a serene pond on an early morning; Regina with her sparkling baby-blues, dimples and blonde curls; and Starr with her long, fiery locks and green eyes -- a witch in every sense of the word. A man could go blind just staring at their individual beauty. Of course, Regina was spoken for, or rather, had been, by the town’s most eligible bachelor. But, just last week she had run away from her own wedding to end up in the arms of some stranger in New Orleans -- a Voudon priest of all people. And, her ex-fiancé was missing. Rumors had it that Starr had cursed the poor man and caused him to run off halfcrazed. “Good riddance, if you ask me.” Mason slid another batch of paper into his laser jet printer. “The entire Comeaux family is mean and powerful.” He’d have to remember to talk to Rebecca about keeping an eye out for any strange people or mishaps in case the Comeaux matriarch decided to extract a little revenge for public humiliation to the family name. Isabel could be a bitch with a capital B. He’d heard some nasty rumors about that fine, upstanding pillar of the community. Rebecca, the oldest Chappel sister, was a member of Mason’s congregation. He enjoyed her company very much. She had a wicked sense of humor beneath her quiet exterior that she only allowed a few people to witness. A man could spend a lifetime exploring her depths. But ... It was the middle sister that kept Mason’s imagination raging long into the night and when he needed to be writing -- like now -- a sermon on the consequences of sin. His own to be exact. He knew better! He’d given up the wild life in pursuit of his faith. That wild life had consisted of meaningless sex, drinking, dancing, and drugs. He threw his pen onto the desk with a sigh. He wouldn’t go back to the way he had been before finding his faith. Starr was a temptation placed in his path to strengthen his


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spiritual growth -- a test. Linking his hands behind his head, he leaned back in his chair, staring upwards. The image of Starr Chappel reflected upon the ceiling. Mason grinned, remembering how she’d handled the two women that morning. Mrs. Nichols and her daughter, Maribeth, were a handful. He had to dodge continuous invitations from the elder Mrs. Nichols for Sunday dinners on the pretext that he was a bachelor and needed a good home-cooked meal. And, why, her Maribeth had won the county’s blue

ribbon several years running for her apple pies. And, didn’t you know she’d been Miss Bay St. Louis for four years straight? He didn’t want a woman like that. That’s why he wasn’t married yet, although the church board had indicated that he should consider the situation soon before they voted on extending his temporary position of interim-pastor in Bay St. Louis into a permanent position. The idea that following a religious path resembled running for political office had never crossed his mind when he’d made the decision to become a preacher. Now, he knew differently -- politics and religion ran hand in hand. To succeed in either you had to have the majority vote on your side. And, apparently, the majority wanted him married -- the sooner, the better. Mason flipped his desk calendar, cringing. The board voted in two weeks. It wasn’t that he was against marriage and having a family. The idea held high appeal to him. He was thirty-two, so the time was right. Candidates for a wife weren’t a problem either. He could have any of the “Maribeths” in his congregation any day of the week. He stared down at their smiling faces, sitting in the front row every Sunday morning, with their perfect hair, perfect teeth, and perfect size two figures. Mason sighed. Their type of perfection, always smiling and pretending to want to please, when behind your back they’d stab you in a heartbeat if they found something, or someone, better along the road, didn’t hold any appeal for him. He’d gone through that type

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of relationship in college. He was not naïve where women were concerned. They were more conniving and cunning than most men he knew. No, he wanted something different. Someone unique, who could think for herself, but not worry about whether her purse and shoes were the latest fashion, or if a strand of her hair was out of place. He wanted a real woman, who could be herself with no apologies to anyone for doing what she thought was right even if public opinion didn’t agree or approve. Mason glanced out the window in sudden realization. His stomach flip-flopped with a surge of nausea. “Damn.” He wanted Starr Chappel.

***** “What do you mean you can’t have the candles here for another two weeks?” The crease in her forehead deepened, but she couldn’t prevent it. She’d just passed out over a thousand flyers announcing a sale on candles. “Well, I sympathize that your pet chicken is sick, Hattie, but I really need those candles --” Hattie cut her off again. “I’m sorry. I understand.” Starr rubbed her forehead and neck, trying to keep the headache from turning into a full-blown migraine. This had to be the day from Hell. “Okay, Hattie, you take care.” Starr stabbed the “off” button on the phone. “Damnation, what am I going to do?” “About what? And, don’t curse.” Starr turned to her only customer, who happened to be her sister. “Hattie’s chicken and son are sick, so she says she can’t deliver on the order of candles that she promised me until next week.” “Her chicken? I can understand her child, but --” Starr waved her hand. “She’s a Voudon priestess; you don’t really want to know.”


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“Uh, no, you’re right.” Becky looked around the shop and shrugged. “I don’t see a problem. All of your shelves are stocked. Can’t you hold out?” Starr held up one of the flyers. “No. I just advertised a sale on my merchandise, beginning in two days. If it goes like past sales, my shelves will be empty within the first hour of opening that day.” She twisted her hair around the finger of one hand and bit the thumbnail of the other. “I’ll have to make them tonight.” “Don’t start mutilating your thumb and pulling your hair out. I’ll help you.” Starr stared at her hair, knotting around her hand. “I ... didn’t realize I was doing that.” Becky smiled. “You always do that whenever you’re upset over something. Ever since you were little.” “Hmph. I guess you would know, old wise one.” She laughed when her older sister’s hands went to her hips and a look of indignation crossed her face. “Hey, don’t get mad at me. You’re the one always acting like you are so much older than either Gina or me. I keep telling you to lighten up and live a little.” “One of us has to be the responsible one.” “Yeah? Why?” “Well, Gina’s off running around with Quin.” “They’re married and in love.” Becky snorted. “Not by conventional standards. Lust is more like it.” Starr frowned. “Hey, what’s wrong with you? Quin is crazy about Gina. I’ve never seen a couple so much in love as those two. Anyway, his sister is a licensed Voudon priestess, so they’re marriage is legal.” Becky shrugged. “You’re right. I guess I’m just a little jealous.” Starr watched her older sister move to the window and stare out at nothing in particular. This was not like Becky to be either jealous or negative. “Something you want to talk about?”

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Becky sighed. “It’s just ... I’m almost thirty, and I haven’t had a date in over five years. Not since --” “Adrian.” Starr completed the sentence, adding a vehement note of hatred for her sister’s ex-boyfriend, who was also their mother’s lover and presumed murderer. “You were too good for that scumbag, Beck. Believe me you are better off without him.” “You’re right, I know, but ... I just get lonely.” Becky turned to face Starr. “Don’t you?” This time Starr snorted, waving her hand around the shop. “Are you kidding? I’m too busy to be lonely. Besides, my two best friends in the world are my sisters.” Only friends. Starr quickly pushed that negative voice from her mind. It was a special thing to be that close to one’s siblings. She wouldn’t have made it through several crises in her life, if she had not had her sisters to talk to and support her in her darkest hours. Stepping beside Becky, Starr wrapped an arm around her sister’s waist and gave her a hug. “You’ll find someone one day, Beck.” “But, how do you know he’s the right one? How do you know he’s not lying to you like all the others?” Starr shook her head. “I’m not the one who can answer that, but I know that your ‘someone’ will be so special, you’ll think he was created just for you.” Becky smiled, laying her head on Starr’s shoulder. “Thanks.” They stood like that for a few seconds longer, then Becky said, “Okay, this isn’t getting those candles made.” Starr sighed. “Always the practical one, sis. I keep telling you to lighten up, live a little. Do something wild and spontaneous for once in you life!” “You’d be surprised at some of the outlandish things I’ve tried lately.” Becky frowned more to herself for a second, causing Starr to wonder just what her elder sister had been up to.


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Becky’s sudden laughter drew her away from the thought. “And see, I’m offering to make candles for your pagan supply store.” “So?” Starr’s fear that her sister had become so depressed that she’d stooped to picking up strange men at bars faded. “How can that be construed as ‘wild and spontaneous’?” “I’m the church’s pianist! If Mrs. Nichols sees me in here --” “I’ll put a hex on her scrawny ass if she so much as looks at you wrong for helping your own sister.” “Starr, your language!” “Give me a break. Besides, your pastor asked me to supper, so how bad could it be, you helping me?” “J-James asked you out?” Becky asked. Her face paled, and she twisted her fingers together. Starr hesitated, remembering how Gina had found the two of them sitting close on their sofa the past week in what their youngest sister described as “a cozy, little chat.” Christ, she hoped the two weren’t an item, since the good reverend had been giving her signals, as in “come on, baby, let’s go burn some sheets.” “Well ... yeah. He said he wanted to discuss my visiting the church.” “Oh.” Becky nodded, but didn’t meet Starr’s gaze. “But, you’re already a member.”

Great. “I told you I don’t belong to any church. Anyway, I informed him I was a heathen and didn’t think he should be seen with the likes of me.” “Starr, you didn’t!” The look of total mortification on her sister’s face caused Starr to burst out laughing. “Of course not.” “Oh, thank God.” Becky’s hands clutched her chest in relief.

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Starr tried to resist, but couldn’t. “I just told him I was Satan’s whore and didn’t think my Master would want to share with someone as pure as a preacher.” “Oh, dear Lord!” Starr’s laughter rang throughout the store. Neither woman noticed the door opening to admit a customer. “I’m glad to see that you two are happy.” “Whoa!” Starr swung around to face the voice behind them. “Mrs. Comeaux, you scared the shit out of me.” Isabel Comeaux gave a brief smile. “I am sorry, my dear.” “Mrs. Comeaux.” Becky’s face was flushed with what Starr knew was embarrassment. “Starr, I’ll talk to you later about those candles.” “Sure.” One day her sister would learn how to tell the rest of the world to “fuck off” and enjoy her life the way she wanted and not the way everyone else expected her to live and behave. That would be a momentous day. The bell over the door chimed as Becky headed out, and Starr wondered why she hadn’t heard it when Isabel had entered. Goosebumps rose over the flesh of her arms and raced down her spine. “So, is there anything in particular that you are looking for, Mrs. Comeaux?” “Besides my son?” Isabel smiled again, but this time there was more menace in her gesture. “No.” “I ... don’t understand.” “Your sister and her husband, and I use that term loosely, were the last ones to see Mark David alive.” Isabel moved closer, standing even with Starr. Almost the same height, Starr still had to look up at the town’s “society queen.” “That doesn’t mean that they know what has happened to him.”


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The bells on the door tinkled again, but Starr didn’t take her eyes off the woman in front of her. That would be a fatal mistake to ever underestimate a Comeaux. The entire family was known for its connections with the underworld along the coast from New Orleans to the tip of Florida. Isabel leaned closer, and Starr had to force herself not to move away from the darkness emanating from the other woman’s being. Isabel’s lips touched her ear. Starr’s body stiffened with instinctual fear. “I’m not through pursuing this, my dear. Regina may be celebrating her nuptials, but you and your sister are still here, and I have my eye on both of you.” Isabel stepped away, patting Starr’s cheek. Starr registered the presence of the other customer, but she didn’t recognize who the person was. The cold weight of Isabel’s words ricocheted through her system, like déjà vu. The door closed again. Silence abounded throughout the store. Starr stood rooted in place for several seconds. Someone touched her arm. Blinking, she turned toward the customer and found the concerned gaze of Reverend Mason. He looked like he was waiting for her to answer him. “I-I’m sorry.” Starr wrapped her arms around her body, shaking in response to the unexpected encounter with Isabel. “I asked if you were okay.” “I think so.” She rubbed her arms, trying to stimulate circulation. Her teeth chattered she was so cold. “What did she say to you?” Mason’s hands wrapped around her upper arms, causing a jolt of awareness through her body. Starr tried to pull away. She couldn’t handle another assault on her senses.

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His grip tightened. “Nothing. She didn’t say anything.” His lips thinned. “I don’t believe you, but I won’t argue the point since you are so shaken.” Starr straightened. “I am ...” A tremor hit so hard, she lost her breath. “... not.” Mason’s eyebrow rose. “Right.” He quickly scooped her up into his arms. “What are you doing?” Starr gripped his shoulders hard. The queasy feeling, like a roller coaster, rushed forward from her solar plexus. “You have to put me down.” “Why? So you can fall?” “No. I have never been picked up like this by a man.” The muscles in his forearms flexed through the material of her blouse and skirt. “I’m carrying you to the back where I assume you have a kitchen where I can make you some hot tea.” “I don’t --” She stopped mid-sentence as another tremor passed through her. Slowly, she nodded. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that the security of his arms was what she needed at the moment. It had been a long time since she had allowed a man the opportunity to comfort her. The back of the shop was dark and cool compared to the front with its bright shades of paint and wide, open display windows. He carried her through and down a row of boxes to a small room in the very back beside a back door without a window. Setting her down, gently, he moved away from her to flick the light on. Fluorescent lighting flooded the small space, making Starr squint against the glare. When she could see again, she watched Mason move about the kitchen, searching the drawers and cabinet for what he needed. “Aha, green tea and cheese crackers. A meal fit for a king.”


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“What about a queen?” Starr asked, trying to focus on his words and not the way the tight, worn jeans fit his ass perfectly. Her stomach growled, but she knew her hunger didn’t have anything to do with the crackers he offered. He turned, catching her drooling. Starr twisted the end of her hair with one hand. The other hand went to her mouth where she chewed her fingernail. His mouth quirked at one corner. “I would rather feed the queen a nice juicy steak with all the trimmings at a nice steakhouse I know over in Long Beach. Of course, if she prefers fingernails ...” Starr ignored his joke. He was way too personable for a preacher. Twice in one day Mason had destroyed her image of the cold, ruthless, humorless man that her father had always been at home. She’d have to dissuade him from this crusade of winning her over as a convert for his church. She knew just the thing that kept most of the local suitors at bay. “What if the queen doesn’t eat beef?” She watched his eyebrows draw together into a frown. “Fried chicken at Joycelyn’s?” He filled a kettle with water and placed it on the stove. “Nope.” “Joe’s oysters on the half-shell?” He pulled a mug from the cabinet. The bag of tea landed in the empty container with a dejected plop. “Not in this lifetime!” How could anyone eat a raw sea scavenger? Mason didn’t seem deterred by her negative answers. She watched him silently lay the crackers out in perfect alignment onto a china plate. Hmm. My mother would have been

impressed. “I know!” He snapped his fingers and smiled. “Fried seafood at Chappy’s?” Starr offered a half-hearted smile. “Sorry.” His smile slipped a notch. “Let me guess. You’re vegetarian.”

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She nodded. What was left of his smile died a rapid death, to be replaced by a sulky pout. He looked like the little boy down the street when he’d lost his puppy. Starr felt a moment of sympathy. He had genuinely tried to find somewhere he could take her for supper. She twisted her hair faster, clearing her throat. “I like Pia’s Tea Room.” Mason’s face lit up, then collapsed. “Where the hel-- eck is that?” Starr laughed, not commenting on the slipup with his language. Seemed the preacherman was a little more human than she had thought. “It’s over in Gulfport, but their French onion soup and onion rings are to die for.” The smile returned full-force. “Onions on the first date. My kinda girl.”


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Chapter Three

He knew he’d made a mistake the second he’d said it. Starr’s expression turned distant and frosty again, but she still accompanied him out to eat. The ride to Gulfport was completed in silence, except for a few brief instructions on where he needed to turn to arrive at their destination. Pulling into the gravel parking lot was his second indication that this was not a tourist spot. The first being the long, winding dirt road into the middle of nowhere. When he stepped out of the car, the sound of crickets, bullfrogs, and night birds filled the air along with the pungent odor of swamp water.

Bzzz ... Swat! He pulled his hand down to find the largest mosquito he’d ever seen squashed in his hand. “Great.” Mumbling and searching his pockets for a handkerchief, he walked to the other side of the car to open Starr’s door only to find her already standing outside waiting for him. He frowned, not bothering to hide his irritation. “I would have gotten the door for you.” She raised her eyebrow. “I’m capable of opening my own door, thank you.”

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Mason opened his mouth to protest. The words but that’s the man’s job stuck in his throat. Their evening had started off rocky, and he knew instinctively that Starr Chappel would jump at an opportunity not to see him again. He smiled, purposely neglecting to offer her his arm. Two steps ahead of her, he turned and said, “You coming?” The surprise on her face forced him to turn away to hide his amusement. This was an independent woman, who was used to southern men trying to treat her like she was helpless. Those poor idiots had gotten nowhere with this woman. She was a queen and demanded respect, not coddling. All Mason had to do was treat her like his equal. Simple. He reached for the door automatically and collided with her hand. “Oh, sorry.” She kept her hand in place. “Sorry.” Mason withdrew his hand, quickly. He stopped. They both stared at each other for a second, bursting into laughter. “You’re not used to this are you?” she asked. “Not really.” He pulled his collar away from his throat, suddenly feeling the heat of his embarrassment crawling up his neck. “My mom popped us in the head so often as boys whenever we didn’t open a door for a lady that it’s ingrained into our psyches forever I’m afraid.” Starr nodded. “Well, since you think I’m a lady, I won’t mind if you open the door for me.” He frowned, opening the door. “Why wouldn’t I think you were a lady?” She shrugged, walking ahead of him. The warm scent of her hair wafted behind her, catching his libido’s attention. Without warning, he grew hard. Shifting his stance, he moved behind her so the other guests wouldn’t see his predicament. He gritted his teeth in concentration, trying to think of something besides the woman walking in front of him. With every step her scent zinged through his system.


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She didn’t notice his discomfort. “Oh, I don’t know.” They had entered the main dining area. Every head in the room turned toward them, examining them from head to toe, then dismissing them just as quickly. “Probably because there aren’t too many places I frequent down here that people don’t assume I am some sort of wicked hag, or that I am a prostitute.” She took a step to follow the waiter, but Mason caught her arm, pulling her up short. “Prostitute?” His voice was low, but he couldn’t quite control the note of anger within the simple question. The surge of irritation he experienced that anyone would think or say something like that to this woman took him by surprise. “It doesn’t matter.” She glanced at his hand on her arm with a flash of temper in her green eyes. Mason removed his hand, reluctantly. Her skin through her blouse was soft and feminine. The erection that had receded for the most part with his anger, resurfaced stronger and harder than before. A shaft of pain radiated from his groin into his thighs. He swallowed hard. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.” He gave her a weak smile. “I’m fine. It just upsets me that you would let someone treat you like that.” “Let them?” She slid into the booth they were shown to. “I don’t let them do anything. They just do it.” When she glanced up at him, Mason saw that she was honestly puzzled at his statement. He sat, taking her hands in his. The expression of curiosity and puzzlement turned to panic. He tightened his hold. “I have been in Bay St. Louis for six months, Starr. Out of all the people I have met in town and in my congregation, you and your sisters are the most genuine, friendly, and honest. It is an injustice that anyone would think or say something like that about you.”

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She opened her mouth, but closed it without saying anything. With flushed cheeks she pulled her hands free of his grasp and picked up her menu. Mason did the same, giving her some space to absorb the words he’d given her. “If you allow people to treat you the way you said they have, then they will continue to do so. I for one wouldn’t tolerate it. If I hear one person, no matter who, saying anything derogatory toward you and your sisters, I expect you to stand up for yourself.” “That’s not very turn the other cheek-ish.” “Not all of us believe we should let people be bullies.” She studied him for a second with a considering look. “Thank you.” Her quiet words caught him by surprise. He had not expected her gratitude, only her indignation that he would demand her self-defense. “We’ve been the town outcasts ever since our mother’s death and ...” She twisted the edge of her napkins with her forefinger and thumb. “... our father’s infidelities were exposed.” Mason nodded. Rebecca had never elaborated about her father’s indiscretions, but several of his female members had taken it upon themselves to inform him of Rebecca’s “sordid past.” Sounded more like the sins of the parents were being taken out on the children whether they deserved it or not. “Would you like to talk about it?” Starr shrugged. A pensive look had crossed her features, and her gaze had a far-off look, like she was remembering something painful. “Not much to tell, really.” Their orders of French-onion soup and onion rings arrived. He was happy to see her dig into her meal. A woman unafraid of gaining weight. Not that that was a problem. He angled his head, letting his gaze travel the line of her throat over the full curves of her breasts. She was curvaceous and sexy -- everything a woman should be instead of these walking sticks he was accustomed to seeing.


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His gaze flickered to her hair. The bronze-red demanded attention, but the long style of soft waves soothed any attack the color exuded. Everything about her made a man want to touch and caress, running his hands through the vibrant hair and over and around her luscious body. “Our father, Harold Chappel, moved us here when we were young. It was a small town where everyone knew everybody else. Still is. He was pastor of the Protestant church, so we were expected to be the model family -- my mother, sisters, and me.” “Must have been hard.” He thought of his wild, reckless youth in comparison. He had been free to do anything he had wanted. Thinking of the trouble he’d gotten into, he wished he’d had some of that discipline. The grass was always greener ... Starr pulled a piece off the loaf of French bread, silently offering it to him. Mason shook his head, enjoying the fact that she’d offered him food with her bare hand. Surely, a sign she was learning to trust him. He watched her pop the morsel into her mouth. Her hands caught his attention. Unadorned, they were small, capable hands with short, clean nails. Hands that showed their owner worked for a living. A tiny scar lay on the outside at the juncture of her thumb and wrist, taunting him with its jagged presence. “It wasn’t fun.” She laughed. “It was hardest on me. I was the ultimate tomboy, wearing jeans, running barefoot, swinging through trees. I hated Sundays, or any other time that we had to spend at church dressed and on display for all the biddies to come by and inspect us.” Her words brought him back with a start, as he realized while he’d been ogling her, she was almost through with her meal. He thought about the older ladies in his congregation. A wave of sympathy crashed down upon him for the woman across from him. When those women got together to gossip, no one was safe from their barbed remarks. “I understand.” “Do you?” she asked, sitting back and crossing her legs.

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“Of course. I have had to endure several afternoon teas with the ladies of that congregation. They are very ... thorough ... in their assessments.” Starr threw her head back and laughed, long and loud. Pleasure coursed through his veins at the sight and sound of her abandoned enjoyment. Everything about her radiated exuberance for life -- her laugh, her looks, her appetite.

Her appetite. That brought a whole new tide of mental pictures, including what Starr Chappel would look like naked in his bed after a long night of carnal activity. And, Mason had no doubt that when this lady made love, it was with everything she had -- all or nothing. He groaned; his cock tightened. Mason reached for his water glass with effort. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this out of control with a bout of desire. Beauty surrounded him daily, but he never had this much trouble. “Wow, you need to eat. I think your sugar must be low.” Mason frowned. “What?” “Your hand is shaking.” Starr’s bright-eyed gaze, dancing with mischief registered through the haze of sexual desire. “You are a witch.” Her laughter rang out again. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Starr was enjoying this way too much, she knew. But, the faint flush across the preacher-man’s cheeks made it all worthwhile. Those hungry-wolf looks that had devoured her while she ate hadn’t been missed either. The man wanted in her bed, no matter what gibberish he spouted about how wrong people were for misjudging her. A silent sigh escaped her. Too bad he wasn’t a normal man. She would have invited him home for the night. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed some really hot sex with a man who could make her squirm in her seat.


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Crossing her legs, discreetly beneath the table, she pressed her thighs together, enjoying the flood of moisture at the thought of riding James Edwin Mason III all night long on her red, silk sheets beneath her bed canopy hung with her collection of stars and moons. When she turned the lights off and her swirling black light on, the room was transformed into a fantasyland. “Do you like fantasies?” He choked, spewing coffee onto the tablecloth. Starr smiled. “You are too cute.” “And, you are a tease, Ms. Chappel.” He dabbed at the stains with his napkin. “You are deliberately baiting me.” She let her eyes widen in what she knew was her “innocent-look” -- perfected through the years to the point that only people who knew her well knew she was up to no good when she used it. “Whatever could you mean?” The features that had so far been sympathetic, laughing, or thoughtful grew hard, forcing Starr to reevaluate her companion. There might be more to this man than she’d thought. She’d watched her father play the game for years with his female entourage. Harold Chappel had been capable of holding an entire table of the Ladies’ Auxiliary in thrall at the same time. They all knew he was sleeping with everyone there, but they hadn’t seemed to mind. He had a way of making each woman feel special and unique, except for his daughters and wife. Starr jumped, as Mason leaned forward across the table. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Don’t play with fire if you don’t want to get burned.” Her temper spiked. “I thought pastors didn’t worry about passion.” “You forget,” he pushed his chair back, throwing his napkin onto the table, “I’m still a man beneath the black suit and white collar. Just because I follow a religious path doesn’t mean I don’t experience the same emotions and desires as any other person. If anything ...”

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He bent until his nose touched hers. “... my desires are even stronger, because I deny them most of the time.” The whisper of his breath tinged with the rich aroma of coffee teased her lips and nose, forcing her to fight the urge to lick him. Her lips parted, but he moved away from her with a knowing smile on his face. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute.” She sat back into the booth, hard. Air rushed from her lungs, as she watched him stride to the men’s room. Her heart thudded at what felt to be ninety miles an hour. Picking up her napkin, Starr fanned her heated face. She, who had learned and played the seductress game a thousand times, had just been bested by a pro. Her father would have been proud -- of Mason! The ache between her legs spread into her abdomen. She wanted him, dammit. Not like Maribeth Nichols did, as a husband. Starr wanted him for a lover. Watching him return a few minutes later, her fanning slowed. She knew he was interested, but something told her Reverend Mason would not like to be played for a fool. He was strong-willed, unlike her father, who had had a weakness for every female within a foot. “Are you ready?” he asked, not taking his seat. Starr blinked, glancing down at her Mickey Mouse watch. “It’s only seven thirty.” Mason gave her a reserved smile. “I have an early meeting in the morning.” “Ah.” She nodded. He was placing her at a safe distance. The thought irritated her for some reason. She should be glad he’d changed his mind, but she wasn’t. After talking herself into seducing him and picturing what it would be like with him in her bed, she was beyond stimulated. She was downright “horny.” “I guess this means we aren’t going to have sex on the first date.” A muscle tightened along his jaw line, but he didn’t show any other surprise to her blatant statement. Starr rolled her gaze to the ceiling, scooting her chair back. “Fine. I’m ready to go home.”


They reached for the check at the same time. For once she didn’t argue about who would pay the bill. She withdrew her hand, smiling tightly at the man across the table. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner.”

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Chapter Four

“Like father, like daughter, I see.” A lone figure stood beneath the large oak tree in the adjacent yard hidden within the velvet cloak of darkness, watching the car pull away from the house. Tires crunched across the shell driveway. Steady breaths resumed, as the shadow watched Starr Chappel storm up the front steps of the house she shared with her two sisters. Correction, one sister. The youngest sister had run off with her Creole lover. That left two to keep tabs on. Shouldn’t be too hard. Both had roots here in the community, Starr with her shop and Becky with her secretarial work at the church. The upper lip curled at the thought of either of the sisters claiming Reverend Mason’s time. Unworthy peasants, especially the middle one. A cloud of smoke lingered in the still night air before the unfinished cigarette landed on the ground -- crushed by a merciless heel. “The sins of the father fall to the children to be repaid in full.” A mirthless laugh issued forth into the darkness. “With pleasure.”

***** Starr pushed the front door open, stepping into an unlighted room. She stopped.


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“Becky?” Squinting into the dark, Starr could barely make out the outline of her older sister sitting on the floor with a lit candle, an old book, and a bell in front of her. “What are you doing?” The book snapped shut. The candle’s dim light extinguished. “Uh ... nothing. Just reading some ... poetry.” “In the frickin’ dark?” Starr put her hands on her hips. “Looks like you’re casting a spell to me.” “I am not!” Becky rose to her full height. “You know I don’t believe in that stuff.” “Um hmm.” Starr walked around her sister, heading for the kitchen. Throwing her purse on the counter, she slipped her shoes from her feet and rotated her shoulders. “I tell you, this has been a freaky day.” “How so?” Becky asked behind her, carrying the paraphernalia that looked suspiciously like the items Starr used in her more adventuresome magickal rites. Starr bit back her observations. Becky was going through something, and if she wanted to explore it with magick, Starr was the last person to condemn her. But ... “You know, if someone is interested in performing magick, but doesn’t have the background, there are some really simple spells that can be done without learning Hebrew or Enochian.” “E-what?” Starr smiled. “Enochian. Enoch traveled to the seven levels of heaven with the archangel Michael.” “You’re kidding.” The color in Becky’s face paled. “No, I’m not.” Starr shook her head. “Here, read this, and maybe you’ll get a better feel for what a magician does.” She reached behind Becky to a built-in bookcase, pulling a black leather-bound book forward. “I thought you didn’t fool with black magick.”

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Starr snorted. “Technically, Wiccans don’t.” She placed the book in Becky’s hands. “But, I dabble in other stuff occasionally just to see what might happen.” “Starr, that’s dangerous!” “So’s life.” Turning on her heel, she made her way into the kitchen. Behind her she heard Becky walk down the hallway into her bedroom. “If you don’t explore the things that interest you or arouse curiosity, how can you explain living?” Becky walked around the corner. “I just don’t understand why you need to explore witchcraft and black magick!” Starr sighed, pulling her double-boiler from beneath the oven. Sharing a house with her two sisters was great. Most of the time. Of course, since Gina had moved to New Orleans with Quin, things were going to be considerably less crowded. She glanced over her shoulder at Becky, standing with one hand on her hip and a frown on her face. Maybe. At the moment it was pretty damned suffocating. “Sis, let’s just drop the subject, okay? You believe in your god, and I believe in mine. Let’s agree to disagree and get these candles made before the sale tomorrow.” Turning to face her sister, Starr clanged the aluminum pot onto the stove. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.” Becky’s concerned expression softened. “No, I haven’t. I’d be very glad to help you.” Starr hugged Becky. “Thanks. I need all the help I can get.” “What took you so long getting home? I thought we were going to start earlier.” Not sure how Becky would take the details of her supper with the reverend, Starr said quickly, “I had to stock some inventory that arrived late.” Becky nodded. “I don’t know how you do it, running a store. Mom would have been proud of you.” The sad smile her sister gave her caused a lump in Starr’s throat. Becky was the quiet, dependable sister. No one ever had to worry about whether Becky was getting into trouble.


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She had been the one their father had relied on to run the house when their mother had been killed. Not Starr. He had ordered her to pack up and move out if she refused to attend church. She had. Two days after they buried their mother she had packed her suitcase and moved into a hovel in the art district of town. “I miss her.” Starr hugged her sister. “I miss her, too.” “Do you think we’ll ever know what really happened?” “I’ve been making some inquiries, but it seems that Mother had been seeing Adrian for quite a while.” She stopped to make sure Becky was handling the news that her former boyfriend had also been dating their mother, secretly. Becky’s face tightened, but no other expression escaped. “I knew they were lovers. I just didn’t realize it had been going on for so long. Did ...” Becky hesitated, swallowing hard. “Did he start seeing her during the period we were dating?” Starr fought the urge to cry at what she knew Becky, no matter how much she loved their mother, surely felt as the ultimate betrayal. “Sweetie, don’t --” Becky pulled away, tears in her eyes, but not crying. “I want to know, Starr. Were they dating when I was seeing Adrian?” “No.” “Are you telling me the truth? Everyone thinks they have to protect me from the truth. I’m a big girl. I know I don’t ever do anything exciting like you or Gina, but I can take care of myself.” Starr shook her head. “I’m not lying to you. Everyone I spoke to said that Mom and Adrian didn’t start ... dating ... until after he broke it off with you.” Becky’s chin lifted. She sniffed. “Well, at least he had that much decency.” “From everything I can find out, he gave all appearances that he loved her, Beck.”

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Becky’s eyes widened, and her mouth gaped before she screamed, “That’s why he murdered her and killed himself. That makes perfect sense, Starr. Give it up. It wasn’t staged. My ex-boyfriend killed our mother -- his lover.” Becky’s voice cracked this time, and the wall holding her tears crumbled. “I-I’m sorry. I have to --” She stumbled from the kitchen, sobbing. Starr turned, throwing the ladle into the sink. “Fuck.” With both hands on the counter, she stared out the window into the darkness of the backyard and the woods beyond. A shadow skirted around the perimeter of the yard, disappearing into the dense overgrowth. She tensed. Not too long ago her other sister, Gina, and Gina’s husband had discovered the hard way that a Santerian group had been worshipping and making sacrifices deep within the trees. Checking the lock on the window, she moved to the back porch. The door creaked, as she opened it slowly. Without turning on the outside light, she slipped onto the porch and down the steps, stopping at the edge of the patio. Cocking her head to one side, then the other, she listened to the night sounds. The silence of nature greeted her with croaks, chirps, and the occasional hoot of an owl. Nothing human stirred in the surrounding night. With that thought goose bumps skittered up and down her arms and spine. “Stop it, silly.” Turning abruptly, she returned to the safety of the house. She had a long night of candle-making ahead of her. She didn’t need her imagination playing tricks on her with visions of ghosts and goblins. “They’re real enough without help.”

***** The shifting form retreated further into the trees. All around the night sounds enveloped and soothed the hatred boiling deep within. Overhead an owl swooped. Ducking and stumbling over a stump and falling into the side of a tree. Catching hold of the trunk, the figure breathed heavily, as thoughts swirled and merged in the recesses of


45

white and gray matter. Whore. She’s still alive, but I killed her! She hasn’t changed. She’ll

never change. I’ll always recognize her. She must die again before she corrupts another leader of God’s flock. Lydia must die.

***** “Hurry, Lydia,” Rachal said. “I know not this need for such haste.” “We wish not to miss him.” “Who, pray tell?” “Goodman Osborne.” “I know him not.” “Aye, thou hast seen him at the mercantile.” “Be he a new member of the church?” Rachal laughed so hard she held her side. “That one be old Mephistopheles himself. I doubt he knoweth what a hymnal be.” Breaking through the edge of the forest into a clearing, both women stopped in a heavy pant. Perspiration clung to the underside of her breasts. Lydia wiped her forehead, focusing on the scene before her. “’Tis heaven.” Flowers abounded -- honeysuckle, lavender, roses, as well as herbs and vegetables set in a garden to the side of the most picturesque cottage she had ever seen. Unlike the wooden frames in Salem township, this cabin was made of rough logs, notched to fit the log above and below perfectly. Between the walls was a layer of thick, dried mud to prevent the cold Massachusetts winds from cutting through the occupants in the dead of winter. “Nay.” The quiet words filtered down from above their heads. “I be gazing upon the two most beautiful flowers of all heaven.”

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Rachal and Lydia turned their gazes to the top of the cottage. High above, on a level with the tallest tree branches, a man stood staring down at them, shirtless. Muscles rippled beneath a layer of sweat and dust. Long brown hair tied in a queue hung over his shoulder. His suspenders lay bunched around his waist. Lydia gasped, recognizing him to be a man she had secretly admired in the township of Salem for several months. Rachal giggled. “Connor Osbourne, thou heathen, where are thy clothes? Thou art frightening the reverend’s wife.” Rachal’s eyes cut to the side as she smiled and giggled at Lydia. Lydia studied the other woman, then returned her gaze to the boldness of Goodman Osbourne. A lopsided grin appeared on the rugged features above. “Thou did as I bade, Rachal. Good. I will reward thee well.” Rachal grinned, transforming the giggling girl into a woman with knowledge that Lydia at once craved. “This day?” Connor Osbourne threw his head back, laughing. “Wench.” He glanced at Lydia. “Yea, today would be a good day. What think ye, Goodie Sewell?” Lydia blinked, glancing away from the magnificence standing like one of the statues she had witnessed in London to her female companion. Their knowing exchanges between each other were beyond Lydia’s experience. It was obvious to her that the two knew each other. She frowned. “I know not what ye speakest, sir.” “Indeed?” Their gazes met again. “Do ye not listen to the town gossip?” Lydia dropped hers. “Nay, I do not.” “Maybe ’tis possible.” He stepped lower onto the thatch and motioned toward the creek behind her. “Pass me up some water, Goodie.”


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Without protest, Lydia searched out the bucket sitting beside the cottage door. Picking up the wooden container, she walked to the nearby creek. Behind her she could hear the friendly, flirting banter of Rachal and the man, who had haunted her dreams for the last week. Returning, she tied the corded rope around the handle, tugging it twice to signal the bucket was ready to be lifted. She allowed her gaze to follow the bucket up, higher to the point where Connor Osbourne stood. Muscles rippled in his arms, as he lifted the bucket onto the edge of the roof. Dipping the ladle into the water, Connor Osbourne drank like a man dying of thirst, full and long. Water trickled down his fingers, throat, chest, and abdomen, disappearing into the loosened material of his trousers. Lydia’s panting resumed. She tugged at the constriction from the collar of her dress. The heat and perspiration that had plagued her breasts assaulted her groin, causing the itchy undergarments she wore to increase their torture of her most sensitive skin. Lydia’s eyes widened and her mouth opened on a tiny squeak at the sight of dark hair arrowing from his navel into the depths of his trousers. How long she stood there mesmerized by his physique she could not say. A deep chuckle brought her back to reality. “Do ye see well what ye desire, Goodie?” he asked. Her cheeks heated at the unholy use of her surname. Shaken from her reverie, her gaze locked with his. The naked lust that emanated from his eyes surely would cause her to burst into flames hotter than the fires of Hell. “Yea, I fear that I do,” she whispered. Without losing her gaze, Connor Osbourne leapt from the roof, landing before her in a small cloud of dust that rose between them. Lydia coughed and waved her hands in front of her.

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The dust cleared leaving the man she desired standing before her in all his male magnificence. This close she could smell the sweat on his skin. She swayed; his hands grasped her forearms, pulling her into his embrace. “Be ye well, Goodie?” he asked with a concerned voice. She glanced up to gauge his sympathy, but found none. His expression told her that he knew of her desire for him. “Nay,” she answered in a choked voice. “May be that I can help ye.” His head lowered, as his lips parted, covering hers at the last second before his head blotted out the sun.

***** Gasping, Starr sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to her naked breasts. A wild, red riot of curls circled around her shoulders and face. Holding the sheet with one hand, she pushed a shaking hand through the tangled mass of hair. She glanced around, not recognizing her own bedroom at first. She blinked, frowning at the sun filtering through onto the carpeted floor. “Damn.” Lying back against the pillow, she stared at the ceiling. “That was so real.” Even if she didn’t know who the people were in her dream, she had the impression that she knew them all well. Slowly, the dream receded to the point she could only remember vague images. The smell of honeysuckle still lingered, causing her heart to skip a beat. A car horn honked a few houses down, snapping her out of whatever dream-state that had been lingering. The outline of her dresser and rocker took familiar form, as the haze evaporated into the ether of early morning.

Snort. “You idiot. The honeysuckle smell is from all the damn candles you made last night.” Punching the pillow, she flopped back down with a groan.


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Chapter Five

“Bad night?” Becky asked over the top of her newspaper. Starr stifled another yawn. Reaching for a bowl, she said, “You could say that. I keep having these weird Pilgrim dreams. Remember me telling you about them?” Becky hesitated, lowering the paper to the table. “I’ve been researching some things from that book you let me borrow. Maybe you’re remembering a past life.” Starr’s eyebrows rose. “I’m glad you’ve found a new hobby, sis, but not all pagans believe in reincarnation.” “Do you?” Starr thought about it for a second. “I have never not believed it, but I don’t think I have ever put much consideration into the idea.” She shrugged. “I mean, what good would it do to know I lived several thousand years ago?” Becky sat straighter. “From what I’m reading, everyone that you know now or come into contact with are persons with whom you’ve had some type of relationship in the past.

And, if you are sexually attracted to someone now, then you had a sexual relationship with them before.”

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The image of the man on the roof rose in Starr’s mind at Becky’s words. Heat pooled between her legs, as she remembered how he had smelled. She closed her eyes, savoring that moment of her dream. “Starr!” Starr jumped, splashing hot coffee onto her hand. “Ouch! What?” “I’m sorry, but I’ve been speaking to you for over a minute and you were just sitting there with your eyes closed and a silly grin on your face.” Wiping the liquid off the tabletop, Starr frowned. “Was I?” Becky’s gaze narrowed. “Did something happen between you and Reverend Mason last night?” The heat Starr had experienced in her groin rushed to her cheeks. “No!” Becky crossed her arms over her chest. “You look a lot like you used to when Father caught you red-handed doing something you knew you weren’t supposed to be doing.” “I swear nothing happened between me and the preacher.” Unfortunately. Starr bit her lip to keep the thought from escaping into the conversation. Even if she were attracted to him, she wouldn’t hurt her sister by flaunting the information under her nose. Becky’s expression told Starr that her older sister didn’t believe her. Becky opened her mouth to say something, but the phone rang.

Thank goodness. “Can you get that?” Starr asked with a nod toward her cereal. Becky’s lips thinned, but she got up and answered the phone. “Hello?” She covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Gina.” Starr breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want the reverend calling here in case Becky was around and noticed. “Tell her hi for me.” “Yeah? Really?” Becky asked, frowning as she walked into the living room.


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Starr heard the television. Becky flipped the channels, stopping on the local news and weather. “At this time weather officials are advising persons along the Texas and Louisiana Gulf Coast to start making preparations ...” Hmm, sounded like they were going to be in for a few days of wet. She sighed. There

go my sales. Her cell phone rang. She groaned, but answered it. “Hello?” In the background she could hear Becky talking to Gina. Pressing the phone closer to her ear, she put her finger in the other. “Hello?” “You wanna know about your mom and her boyfriend?” The voice was rough, but clear. “Who is this?” “Be at the Fire Dog in an hour.” “Who --?” The line went dead. Starr pulled the phone from her ear with a frown. Checking caller-ID, she got nothing on the incoming call screen. “Crap.” Becky came around the corner, smiling. “Gina and Quin will be home in a few days.” Starr perked up. “Really? Great. I can’t wait to see how a couple of weeks of marriage have changed the wild and gorgeous Mr. Tertulliano.” Becky’s smile wavered. “He’s your brother-in-law.” Starr rolled her gaze to the ceiling. “He’s still a good-looking man.” Picking up her bowl, she headed for the sink. “Cripes, Becky, go get laid, so you’ll lighten up.” She immediately regretted the words. Turning to apologize, she caught the stunned look on her sister’s face before Becky bolted to her room, slamming the door behind her.

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“Way to go, Starr, you bitch,” Starr said. Whack! She slammed the towel onto the countertop. “Why can’t you keep you mouth shut?” She walked down the hallway to her sister’s door. She stood there for several seconds, trying to think of the right words to apologize. “It’s okay, Starr. I know you didn’t mean it.” Becky’s quiet voice called through the closed door. Starr leaned her head against the door, hugging herself. “How did you know I was here?” Becky sniffed, then laughed. “I can see your shadow beneath the door.” Starr thumped her forehead silently against the wood, hating the tears she heard in Becky’s voice. “I am sorry.” “I know.” Becky’s laugh was stronger. Starr smiled. “How’s that? That I’m sorry I was a bitch, or yeah, I’m a sorry excuse for a sister?” “Both!” Becky called. Starr laughed at that. “Gee, thanks, sis.” “You deserve it.” “You gonna be okay?” “Yeah, go do whatever you have to do. I’ll be fine.” “What are you going to do today?” A few seconds passed before Becky answered. “I think I’ll hang around here and read for a bit.” “Okay,” Starr said. “I’ve got to run over and see someone, but I’ll be back later.” “Sure. Be careful; have fun.” Becky’s voice faded away from the door.


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“Careful” was the key word, Starr thought, walking away. She didn’t know who would be waiting for her at the Fire Dog Saloon, a trendy restaurant by the railroad tracks in town. The voice hadn’t been familiar. Starr twisted her hair around her finger. She had never believed the police’s final verdict of murder-suicide after they had found Adrian Tullos’ dead body lying over their mother’s with a bullet in both their heads and the gun in his hand. The chance of information that could lead to her mother’s real killer outweighed any possible risk this stranger could pose. They’d be in a public place, and Starr had no intention of going anywhere with anyone she didn’t know or trust. What about Reverend Mason? The pull on her hair increased to the point of pain. She gasped, releasing the strand. Did she trust Mason? A photograph of her father and mother hung on the wall in the hallway. Starr stared at it, wondering how two people so miserable in their marriage could sit together, smiling into a camera as if they were in love. She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can trust him.” The wave of sadness that engulfed her faded with a grin. She didn’t have to trust him like a wife to have sex with him. With a little skip she headed for the shower. The quicker she got this meeting over, the sooner she could finish at work and possibly catch the preacher at his office, working on his sermon for tomorrow morning.

***** At ten o’clock in the morning, the Fire Dog Saloon was as deserted as a church on Monday morning. The wooden and glass doors were propped open to allow the morning breeze to filter the stale odor of beer and cigarettes leftover from the previous night. Within the dim interior, chairs rested on top of the various tables situated throughout the restaurant like skeleton cypress limbs in a murky swamp. Behind the bar, a waitress, silent and sullen, stacked glasses.

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Starr stood within the frame of the entrance allowing her pupils to adjust from the glare outside. Gradually, she was able to make out minute details of one of Bay St. Louis’s most trendy night spots. In a corner booth sat a lone figure. A clothed arm peeked from the angle Starr had ... masculine ... and a partial profile. Cigarette smoke formed a low-lying cloud that swirled in tendrils into the air above the booth. A lamp, extending from the ceiling on a chain, illuminated the table beneath. She eased forward, cautiously, casting glances around the vacant room. Drawing level with the table, she studied the man waiting for her. Mid-sixties, white hair -- there was nothing outstanding to see, except a long, puckered scar down the side of his left cheek. He looked familiar. Long, arthritic fingers hooked the cigarette between the fore and middle fingers, pulling it loose from thin, harsh lips and yellowed teeth. He angled his head to blow the second-hand smoke away from her face.

That’s nice of him. Starr choked back a laugh at the thought. “You the one who called?” He made a sucking sound between his lips, tongue, and teeth. Taking a swig of his beer, he motioned her to sit in the booth opposite him. With a deep breath, Starr slid into the seat, tucking her long skirt beneath her bare legs. Something told her not to rush this guy. He’d give her answers in his own sweet time. “Wanna drink?” He held up his beer and motioned at the bar with his head. “Uh, no, it’s a little early for me.” Her stomach roiled at the thought of alcohol before lunch. The man shrugged, taking another long draught. When he drained the bottle dry, he set it down with a thunk. “Let’s get to business, shall we?” “Business? I thought you said you had some information about my mother and her boyfriend.”


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“I do.” He fished around his shirt pockets and pulled out a piece of paper, which he flicked over to her. It hit the polished surface and slid to the edge, resting half on and half off the table. “But --” His hand clapped down over her hand. “-- I want to know what’s in this for me.” The dried sandpaper feel of his skin worked its way over the skin of her hand and up her arm. Starr managed not to snatch her hand away in revulsion. The guy obviously thought that whatever he had was of some value. “I’m not sure what you want. I don’t have any money.” That was an understatement. Her shop barely brought in enough to pay the mortgage and utility bills on her store. She gripped the table hard and swallowed the taste of bile at the idea of him demanding sex in payment for -“I saw your flyer on those honeysuckle candles you sell.” His gaze narrowed. “My galfriend really likes them. How about a free supply whenever I need ’em, and I’ll tell you what you wanna know?” Starr sagged against the edge of the table, as relief flooded her mind. “S-Sure thing.” The old guy’s features beamed with a broad smile. Starr blinked at the transformation. Instead of dark and sinister, he appeared jovial and kind of cute in a crusty sort of way -- like an old sailor. He slapped his palm on the table. “Now we’re talking.” He leaned forward. “I gotta tell you I was right disappointed in your mom when I first saw her going out with that young fella. Now, don’t get me wrong. I think everyone’s entitled to a little happiness, especially considering how your dad, the reverend, was carrying on with that woman, but Adrian Tullos wasn’t the most up and up kinda guy. Not to mention the fact that he had dated your sister for over a year.”

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Starr blinked and nodded, trying to keep up with the man’s diatribe. Finally, he paused, taking a tug on his cigarette. She snatched the opportunity to speak. “How do you know all this? Who are you?” He stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “I’m Finnegan, the church caretaker. Or, used to be.” He held up his gnarled hands. “I can’t do too much with these anymore.” Recognition surfaced. Starr nodded. “Yeah, I remember you. We were scared to death of you.” She stopped, afraid she’d hurt the guy’s feelings for her thoughtless words. Gee, Starr,

that’s two today. Way to win those Brownie points. “Ah, that’s all right. I wasn’t real fond of kids back then. I made myself appear mean so you girls wouldn’t be following me around, pestering me all the time.” He scratched his chin. “Seems to me that it didn’t work on your younger sister -- she was always under my feet.” Starr laughed, placing her hand over his. “Thank you. What else can you tell me if you can remember anything important, like another person who would be jealous of my mom and her lover?” Finnegan shook his head. “Nah, nobody I can think of, except your dad.” Starr snorted, sitting back hard against the booth. “Right. Like what he was doing justified him demanding fidelity from my mother?” For the first time, she noticed that several other people had wandered into the Fire Dog. She shrugged. It was a popular spot for the locals, as well as the tourists, with great food, great beer, and -- the jukebox whined to a start, belting out a loud barrage of Stevie Ray Vaughan -- great music. “Well, the one he was with at that time was even lower than your mother’s choice in my book.” “Why are you telling me all this now? Why didn’t you come forward when the murder occurred?”


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“I did. Cops told me to keep my nose outta it. I did.” Starr sat forward. “Who was she?” Finnegan glanced around, nervously. “I really don’t wanna say in public.” His gaze stared straight into her eyes, then shifted to the paper she held in her hand. Her frown lifted into dawning understanding. “I see.” Finnegan blew a stream of smoke into the thickening air, letting loose a hearty laugh. “You will.”

***** Closing the door of the shop, Starr leaned against the frame for a second, breathing hard. Shifting sideways, she peeked through the shade covering the door window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person who had been following her. No one was there. The street lay empty with the early hour of the afternoon. “Damn! I know someone was watching me.” The hair on the back of her neck had risen the second she exited the Red Dog and headed for her shop. The sensation had persisted until she reached the safe-haven of the store. With a snort of frustration, she pushed away from the door. Her fingers curled around the note that Finnegan had slipped her. Hastily, making sure the door was locked, she tore open the note, revealing the one name she would never have suspected in a million years. “Jesus.” She sank to the floor; the paper floated to the ground. In a whirlwind of memories, she was transported back to one stormy night in her parent’s house sixteen years before.

Thunder reverberated through the walls and floor of the old house. Lightning slashed wicked wounds upon the walls and ceiling.

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Starr huddled deeper within the thin safety of her blanket struggling to contain the terrified need to scream her fear into the electrifying darkness of her room. KaBoom! ”Ahh ... Mom!” She jumped from the bed and ran into the blackened hallway, surrendering one flimsy sanctuary for another. The onslaught of thunder and lightning continued, buffeting the house, like ancient gods battling for the right of supremacy over the human race. Squinting against the blinding flashes and the suffocating darkness of night, she inched her way down the hall with her back pressed against the wall. She’d never liked the dark, but had always been able to manage her fear, except in the midst of storms. When the winds picked up, Starr sought the comfort of her mother, who always knew what to do in the height of such ferocity. KaBoom ... KaBoom! Starr covered her ears, cowering in a shaking bundle of nerves. Her nightgown pulled over her knees and feet. If she covered every speck of skin maybe “it” wouldn’t see her, wouldn’t want to drag her into the closet where she’d be forced to face all her nightmares at once. “Got to get to M-Mom ... Got to get to Mom.” With each mantra she crawled closer to her parents’ room. Just outside the closed door to their room, Starr heard a thumping noise. It had a rhythm that at once was soothing, but enticing. It called to her. “Open the door. See what’s on the other side ...” Thump, thump, thump. “... Open the door. See what’s on the other side ...” Thump, thump, thump. Pushing the door with one hand, Starr stayed down on all fours, fascinated in her fear of what she would find. The door didn’t squeak, but slowly opened to reveal the giant outline of her parents’ four-poster bed, looming within the darkness of the room.


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Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed and in that instant she saw them entangled upon the mangled sheets. The man grunting and rutting on top of a woman. Both were naked, their bodies glistening in the flashes with sweat. The smell of their perspiration mingled with a sweet odor permeating the room. Like a slow-motion movie, Starr realized the couple was having sex. She stared, fascinated at the scene unfolding in front of her. The woman arched her back and hips into the man’s thrusts, crying out in ecstasy each time. “Mom?” The woman turned her head at the same time the man gave one final thrust, and they both cried out their release. Lightning flashed, and cold dark eyes stared down at Starr. “I’m not your mother, you little bitch.” “Go back to your bed, Starr. Your mother and sisters are in New Orleans.” Starr heard her father, but couldn’t take her eyes off the woman in her mother’s bed. She knew her. Turning around, still on her hands and knees, she crawled back through the door, closing it with one hand. When she made it back to her bed, she pulled the blanket around her, shaking with the shock of seeing her father with that woman. She knew her ...

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Chapter Six

“Isabel Comeaux. What an unexpected surprise to see you again so soon in my shop.” Starr didn’t disguise the acid in her words and tone. The bitch had been fucking her father all those years ago, forcing Starr’s mother to turn to another man for happiness and comfort. “Starr, my dear, do you have any more of the strawberry hand lotion?” Isabel asked. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she had to choke back the urge to strangle the matron of Bay St. Louis high society. Biting her lip, she replied, “No.” Isabel’s eyebrows rose at the curt tone of Starr’s answer. “Well.” Isabel placed a candle back onto the shelf, giving Starr a bright smile. “Someone had a late night last night and woke on the wrong side of the bed.” Starr’s nostrils flared, as she tried to suck air into her lungs. Her fists clenched at her sides. “You want to know about sleepless nights?” She stepped toward the older woman, slowly, stopping just out of arm’s reach. She wasn’t frightened of what Isabel could do to her. It was what she might do to her father’s lover that concerned Starr more. “My mother waited up endless nights for my father to come home where he belonged. Instead he was too busy fucking you to worry about the distress and pain he caused his own wife and daughters night after night. So, don’t talk to me about sleepless nights, Mrs. Comeaux.”


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Isabel’s gaze narrowed. The skin around her lips turned white with compression. Dark eyes darted back and forth around the shop, and she leaned closer, whispering, “I loved your father. I gave him the best years of my life, so don’t tell me how much your mother suffered. It didn’t take her long to find a lover of her own.” Suppressed rage boiled over the top of her restraint. Starr took a step toward Isabel at the same time the bell over the door chimed. She stopped, gripping the folds of her skirt to keep from attacking her father’s lover. Tremors wracked Starr’s body from her repressed anger and resentment. Without glancing to see who had entered, she said between clenched teeth, “Get out. You’re not welcome to shop here any longer.” Isabel snorted. “I will shop anywhere I choose, missy. You forget who runs this town.” “No, I haven’t forgotten anything. In fact I had a revelation this morning regarding a certain stormy night when I was fourteen.” “You didn’t see anything.” Isabel’s eyes widened, and her lips pulled back from her teeth like a rabid dog’s. Starr continued, enjoying Isabel’s discomfort. “Yes, I did. I saw a man and his whore.” In slow motion Starr watched Isabel’s hand swing toward her, but she couldn’t move. The slap rang throughout the shop. One of the two customers by the door gasped. With a quick jerk of her head, Isabel pushed her way through the two and made her escape. Starr’s heart skipped a beat, as she recognized one of her customers. Reverend Mason studied her with a narrowed gaze for several seconds before shifting his attention from her to Isabel. Starr took a steadying gulp of air and forced a smile for her other customer. “What can I help you with today, Mrs. Duteil?” Out of the corner of her eye she watched Mason’s jaw clench, but he put his hands behind his back and perused the shelves against the back wall.

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Mrs. Duteil moved forward, her hands outstretched to enfold Starr in a hug. “No, no, sweetheart. I need to help you.” She smoothed Starr’s hair from her forehead. “Isabel Comeaux is nothing but a bi--” “Ahem.” Mason cleared his throat, but Starr could see that he was trying to hold back a laugh and wasn’t criticizing Mrs. Duteil’s uncustomary language. “Excuse me, Reverend, but she is!” Mrs. Duteil stroked Starr’s head firmer, pulling her hair in the process. Starr flinched and grimaced in silence. The little lady was trying to offer maternal comfort. Something that Starr hadn’t enjoyed in several years. She sighed, pretending that the hands that stroked her hair belonged to her mother, loving and gentle. The smell of fresh-baked cookies assailed the air around her, and she breathed in deeply. The sudden rush of loss took Starr by surprise. With a strangled cry she pushed away from Mrs. Duteil and rushed into the back of the store. Behind her she heard Mason mumble something. A few seconds later the bell above the door jingled. Had they both left her to be alone with her memories? Starr curled her knees beneath her on the worn sofa in the lounge and rested her chin on her knees. Her mother had been murdered so many years ago, but it still seemed like yesterday whenever she thought of it. Could Isabel possibly be her mother’s killer? “Penny for your thoughts.” The deep male voice penetrated the swirling montage of killers and thunderstorms. He sat beside her on the sofa. The cushions sank with his weight, forcing her body to lean into his. The clean smell of male and the warmth that emanated from him soothed the loss and emptiness inside her. “Would you just hold me for a second?” She bit her lip after she asked, not sure he would touch her in such an intimate way after she had tried to seduce him the other night. To her surprise he consented, enfolding her with his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. The kiss he planted on her temple had her pulse accelerating into high gear.


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“I think you’re in shock. You’re trembling all over.” She closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m just cold.” His other arm came around her other side, pulling her closer. Her breasts pressed into his chest. In this position if she raised her face, his lips would be just above hers. The steady beat of his heart penetrated her blouse, forcing her to acknowledge her need. She lifted her chin and found him waiting for her. “You don’t have to be tough all the time, Starr.” His words whispered warm across her lips. “It’s okay to lean on others every now and then to relieve the stresses in our lives.” A deep, delicious curl of desire swirled from her clit up through her abdomen into her stomach where it fluttered like a million butterflies, beating their wings to escape. Starr knew the only way to release their magick was through orgasm. “Will you relieve my stress?” she asked, staring at his mouth.

Mason’s heart lurched. Realizing what Starr offered would have been a fantasy come true in his previous life. Now ... He swallowed against the lump that had formed in his throat, choking on the raw need eating through his resolve. He knew her father’s history in the church. The board had made sure he knew every sordid detail to ensure that he wouldn’t commit the same offenses that the previous pastor had. That was one of the reasons they were pushing him to find a wife and “settle down.” “Starr ... I can’t have sex with you.” A flash like irritation sparked in her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. “Will you kiss me?” Mason wanted to. God he wanted to. Maybe just one little chaste kiss to let her know he could be her friend and still desire her without having sex with her. He lowered his head, allowing his lips to brush hers lightly, but he had underestimated the audacity of this particular redhead. Starr’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as her mouth opened against his. The touch of her tongue tracing the edges of his lips forced a groan from deep within his

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chest as his desire rose like a raging fire, consuming in its trail every resolve to keep their relationship platonic. He pulled her against him tight, angling his head to take control of their kiss. Sliding his hand beneath her hair, he entangled his fingers in the thick mass and massaged the base of her skull. She moaned against his mouth; his cock throbbed. His grip tightened in her hair, pulling her head back and exposing the smooth length of her neck for his exploration. Nibbling with his teeth he worked his way from beneath her ear to the hollow between her neck and collarbone. “Like that?” Her moan turned into panting gasps. “Oh, yeah.” She tasted so good, like a rich hot fudge sundae with whipped cream and cinnamon. His lips grazed across the top of her breasts. When he reached the valley between, Mason hesitated, his breathing ragged. He glanced up, catching the searing passion of her gaze. Her long red tresses splayed down his arm and the back of the sofa. Green eyes sparkled with invitation and desire. Red lips, wet and swollen from their kisses, parted as her breathing steadied. “Ah, Starr, you look like some pagan goddess lying there like that.” Her smile curved into a wicked grin. “I am a daughter of the Goddess. When I invoke Her, I am Her.” Her hand traced beneath his shirt collar. “Shall I show you what pleasures and powers She can bestow to the man She chooses to celebrate the Great Rite with?” Mason’s glance fell to her cleavage. Her temptation was hard to ignore, especially when she pushed her breasts up with her hands. “Starr, you don’t have to do this.” He shifted away from her, sitting on the edge of the sofa with elbows on his knees. She sat up. “I want to do this.” Her hands curled from beneath his arms to his shoulders.


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Mason could feel her hardened nipples piercing through the fabric of his dress shirt into his back. He closed his eyes and swallowed. Lord, give me strength. He stood, breaking her hold. “Don’t tell me you practice celibacy.” She stared up at him from her kneeling position on the sofa. He heard the disbelief in her voice. Damn, her father did a number on her. “I don’t practice celibacy, but I don’t indulge in casual sex anymore, either. I have to be in a relationship if I have sex with someone.” “That was still considered a sin the last time I set foot into a church. It’s called fornication.” Mason nodded. “To some it is still a sin.” Like the church board, maybe? “I happen to think that if you care for someone and you are both committed to a relationship, then it shouldn’t be wrong.” Starr snorted, sitting back with a hand along the back of the couch. The angle of her position pulled her blouse open to expose the swell of her breast. “A liberated preacher. What a surprise.” His cock noticed the blouse with a painful twinge, but he ignored his needs in lieu of her cynicism. “We aren’t all like your father, Starr.” The cynical sneer faded into a blank expression where no emotion filtered out or in. Out of the blue, she asked, “Would you like a massage?” Mason frowned. “Starr, you’re not listening to me.” “I am. You said we can’t have sex because you have some up-tight ideas about relationships. Fine. I offered you a massage.” “Hoping I’ll loosen up?” he asked, knowing he’d regret giving in, but not able to resist the pleasure of having her hands on his body.

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“But of course, Reverend.” She laughed. “Really, though, I’m licensed in massage therapy.” “I didn’t know that.” He glanced around, not seeing any signs of massage tables. “Not here. I used to share a massage salon with another masseuse, but she moved to New Orleans for better wages. That’s when I opened this shop, but I am still licensed.” Mason studied her. The goddess of seduction was gone to be replaced by a confident, professional woman. “You’ve done very well for yourself.” She smiled. “You think so?” She cleared the wooden table, spreading a sheet and blanket over the top. Walking to the sofa, she pulled the pillow off and plopped it onto the table. “You should see my checking balance at month’s end.” Patting the table, she said, “Take off your shirt, so I can get to the trigger points.” “Trigger what?” He pulled his shirt from the waistband, hoping his hard-on wasn’t too noticeable in his black dress pants. The woman turned him on, he couldn’t deny it, but he knew it would take a lot of coaxing to get Starr Chappel to trust him. They needed to be friends before they became lovers. He just hoped he could persuade her before his two weeks were up with the board. Not that they would accept his choice, but Starr was the only candidate for the position. “Trigger points. They are the points on your body that are sensitive to touch, especially when your muscles are kinked up from some type of neuralgia, usually a pinched nerve.” Mason lay facedown upon the hard table and pillow. Turning his head to the side, he laughed. “You sound like a science teacher, or a doctor.” She leaned over him. Her hair glided up his bare back, causing him to jump. He pushed up from the table, but her hands, firm and sure, pushed him back down. “We aren’t through yet.”


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Mason lay back down, but couldn’t relax with her hands on his skin. “We haven’t even started,” he mumbled into the pillow. He thought he caught the sound of a giggle but wasn’t sure. “Just relax.” Her fingers glided over his skin, tightening and pinching at several scattered points on his body. “You’re as tense as a board. No wonder you’re so uptight.” He lifted his head, noticing she’d dimmed the lights. In the background he heard the soft tones of an old Irish ballad without the words. “I am not uptight.” She snorted somewhere behind him. A cabinet door creaked open, then shut. The shuffle of her sandals across the old wooden floor told him she was moving toward him again. “Well, you won’t be after this.” Her hand on his head pushed his face back into the pillow. “This recipe will ensure that your muscles with be relaxed and kink-free when I am through with you.”

That’s what I am afraid of. The touch of her fingers returned. This time the trail she left tingled and burned all the way down his spine. Mason grimaced and sucked air through his teeth. “What the heck is that?” Her laugh joined the fiery concoction on his skin to play along his nerve-endings. Her voice echoed, as if in a long tunnel. He lifted his head and found his vision blurry. Looking at Starr, he saw double. Her mouth moved, but whatever she was saying hadn’t reached his eardrums. He blinked, shaking his head. When he opened his eyes again, a kaleidoscope of color rushed at him from the print on her blouse. At the same instant her voice echoed with booming clarity within his mind. “Ahhh ...” Mason grabbed his temples, curling in upon himself. “What the hell ... have you ... done to me?” he gasped in between the pounding pressure of his heart, as it suddenly raced inside his chest.

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Starr’s concerned expression hovered above him. He watched her studying the bottle in her hand. When she spoke again, her words were clearer and more in sync with the motion of her lips. “I grabbed the wrong vial, Mason. I’m so sorry. You’ll adjust to the dosage soon, I promise. It’s just ...” She bit her lip with a worried expression on her face. “... there are going to be some side effects.” As soon as she spoke the heat that had crawled along his spine zeroed into his groin, forcing his cock to tighten and lengthen with a throbbing need. “Ah, Jesus!” Sweat poured down his face, but he forced himself up into a sitting position on the table. Wave after wave of sexual hunger crashed into his body, cresting at the tip of his penis, but never quite spanning the top of the flow. Tension built to the point of pain. He grabbed Starr’s upper arms. “W-What is this?” He managed to get the question out in between the fluctuations of need. The soft quality of her skin beneath his roughened fingers and palms sent tremors of need into his chest and gut. He gasped. “It’s a witch’s flying potion. We use it to help us see, but a side effect is heightened sexuality, lower inhibitions, and the sensation that you are flying through time and space.” And thirst. He’d never been so thirsty in his life. “Water.” He pushed her away, barely getting the word out of his parched throat. The room shifted around him and his body lifted off the table. “Starr, I’m levitating!” She was beside him in a flash with a glass of water. “It’s okay. I have you.” She slipped an arm around his waist, pushing the glass to his lips. “You’re not really floating. It just feels that way. Here, drink this. The fluids will help flush the poison from your system ...” He spluttered. Water splashed down his chest and her hand. “P-Poison? You said --” She nodded, impatiently. “I know what I said. The potion is made from henbane, which is a poisonous plant if taken in large quantities.” He stared at her in disbelief with his mouth open. “You poisoned me!”


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Abandoning her support of his weight, she said, “I didn’t do it on purpose. Really, Mason.” The flying sensation returned and he slipped forward over the edge of the table to the floor. Starr tried to catch him, but she wasn’t fast enough. They crashed together in a tangle of limbs with the sheet from the table wrapping around them like a cocoon. He laughed, allowing the drunkenness of the herb to take him. Closing his eyes, he rose above the table, levitating in the center of the room, looking down on his body and Starr. She was patting his cheek, calling his name. “Mason, you don’t know how to come back. Don’t leave!” How strange. He glanced at his hand, turning it to and fro. He was ethereal, free. He could go wherever he wished. From below, his form looked into the face of that most beautiful woman and said, “I want to fly.” Above, he spread his arms and turned to the sky, calling down to her with a promise he knew he would keep. “Then, I want to fuck.”

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Chapter Seven

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Starr pulled Mason up by his shoulders and shook him hard, but she knew it was too late. He’d gone, flying somewhere she didn’t know. Releasing him, he flopped to the floor. His head was saved by the pillow that had fallen off the table with him and the sheet. Snatching up the vial, she studied it closely, identifying her mistake. “Goddammit.” She’d picked up the vial that contained the strongest mixture of henbane in her stash of herbal ointments. Placing her fingers to his neck, she checked his pulse. Although erratic, it was strong. She sat back on her feet. The only thing to do now was to wait. She glanced at his flushed face, biting her lip. The perils of astral travel were great for a novice. If the ethereal self couldn’t distinguish between the real self, the person would be stranded in limbo -- an endless hell, or heaven, depending on the life-segment the aspirant had wished to explore. If she could get his body that was left here to respond to a moment of shock, she might be able to bring him back. Of course, the shock would have to be something so stunning his astral form would be forced back into his present body. He could still feel even though his mind whirled around on a drug-induced road-trip.


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She frowned, twirling the vial between her fingers and plotting how to bring Mason back to his body. The one sure event to guarantee success was sex. Her lips turned up into a smile and she unbuttoned her blouse. “I’ll enjoy this, but will he appreciate my efforts when he realizes what I’m doing?” Her smile vanished, but she didn’t halt her decision. Throwing the blouse onto the sofa, she worked on the front clasp of her bra. Next came her skirt and panties before she attempted removing his pants. They needed as much physical contact as possible. Skin to skin was the best solution. From the outline of his erection through the dark slacks, it was obvious the drug still had him in the grips of its allure. Besides lowered inhibitions and the mental appearance of flying, the herb heightened the natural sexual urges of the body. If said body happened to already possess an overactive sex drive the person went into a type of hyperdrive. She tugged on the zip several times before it gave, sending her falling back onto her ass. Pushing hair out of her face she sat forward and glanced at Mason’s crotch. “Whoa! We’re way past overdrive!” Touching his face, she whispered, “I know this isn’t what you wanted tonight, but it’s the only way to make sure you get back safely. I’m sorry.” Starr kissed his warm, dry lips, coaxing a response, any response, from him. For anyone walking in, Mason would appear comatose, but Starr knew he could still hear and feel on a subconscious level. The physical stimulation would bring him back to his body. She just didn’t know how much stimulation she would have to apply. “Come on, Mason.” His lips lay still and cold against hers. She sighed. “You’re going to be so pissed when you wake up, but we’re about to have sex, Reverend.” Climbing on top of him, she stretched her body the length of his. His cock pressed hard against her abdomen and the wiry hairs on his chest bit into her breasts. Her nipples drew

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tight at the friction. Starr angled her head into the hollow of Mason’s neck, breathing his unique smell into her lungs, deeply. Her eyes closed in appreciation of the clean, male scent. “Um, you are delicious.” She swiped her tongue along the throbbing artery in his neck. “If I were a vampire, I’d suck you dry.” His cock twitched between their bodies. Starr smiled. “I’ll suck you later.” Spreading her thighs, she rose above him on her knees, straddling his waist. Glancing down her body, she saw his cock extended at least three inches from beneath the curls of her pubis. Leaning forward and bracing her weight on her hands, she rocked her pelvis up and back, sliding the length of his erection. Her juices coated his sensitive skin. The excitement of actually touching him distracted her from her purpose. She lowered her mouth to a nipple peeking from beneath a soft mat of dark hair. The dusky nub pebbled as she laved her tongue back and forth. Pausing, she blew a gentle breath across his skin. Her juices flowed stronger as she watched, fascinated, as the nipple drew tight in response. Nibbling and suckling up his chest and neck, she moved along his jaw line, biting gently on the way to his mouth. His lips lay parted with his breaths coming in ever faster pants. Starr knew he was aroused. The cock between her legs was proof of that. Pushing up with one knee, she grasped his penis, throbbing with a life of its own. Anticipation was sweet as she guided her body onto his. She had to work the mushroomed head of the shaft back and forth until the folds of her vulva accepted his width. A gasp of surprise escaped at a sudden, burning “pop.” Starr blinked, trying to adjust to the foreign mass inside her body. She frowned. “Hmm, not unpleasant, but ... full.” The frown faded into a smile. She closed her eyes, rocking her hips up and back. “Umm, yeah.”


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Her head fell back and her hair cascaded down over her shoulders. The pressure built and Mason’s cock worked its way deeper and deeper into her cunt. Perspiration coated her skin. Reaching behind her, she placed one hand on his knee and held onto his wrist with the other as an anchor. With her feet she lifted her hips and body off his, but not enough to break their union. A ripple of pure lust rushed forward to gush from her pussy, allowing her to glide faster and harder along his cock. The sound of slapping flesh echoed around the room mingled with her groans and moans of ecstasy. Her momentum increased with the smell of their sex sizzling in the air like electricity. The muscles in Mason’s arm tightened beneath her grasp. Starr lowered her head and opened her eyes to find Mason’s intense stare focused on her face before it traveled over her breasts and to the juncture where their bodies met. His nostrils flared and his gaze returned to burn her to ash. Starr couldn’t stop. The need to fuck him was too strong. The chemistry between them had built to a point of combustion even while he had been unconscious. Please don’t be

angry with me. She pleaded with her eyes, unable to force the words from her lips. And, still her hips ground against his, but now he responded with like thrusts -- harder and deeper. The table scooted across the floor several inches with a screech. “M-Mason.” Starr’s voice came in gasps. He was unbelievable. The muscles tightened in her lower abdomen, informing her that orgasm was imminent. “Mason, I --” “Nay.” Mason sat forward, gripping her hair at the base of her neck. He pulled hard, forcing her head back and her body closer. “My name is Connor, witch. Now, be thee quiet and fuck me proper for this ritual of thine.”

***** The touch of cool, trembling lips beneath his and a warm trembling body between his hands forced his head up.

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The sun shone bright in a blue sky and the wind blew crisp and clean through tall pines. “What the --?” Mason glanced around him, then down. “Jesus!” A petite brunette woman stared up at him with dazed eyes. Her lips were parted and wet from his kisses. She swayed within his grasp, as her face paled then flushed. “C-Connor?” “Mason. My name is Mason. Who are you?” “I do not understand thee. Is not thy name Connor Osbourne?” “Sure ’tis his name, Mistress Sewell. Do not let yon scoundrel fool thee.” A woman called from within the cabin. Her chemise was opened to her waist and her feet were bare. Mason made sure the one who must be Mistress Sewell could stand before he released her. “Are you okay?” “Okay?” She frowned. “Dost thou meanst am I well?” “Yeah.” What is going on? She blushed a pretty pink, but responded. “Thou hast asked thy question once this day.” The blush heightened. “I have never been in more fine, but confused, spirits, Goodman Osbourne.”

Goodman Osbourne? Mason frowned, glancing around again. Gone were the familiar digs of Starr’s shop and back room. His body still tingled from the balm she’d applied to his skin with her erotic massage, though. His eyes closed, remembering the touch of her hands. His cock tightened. The two women giggled. The one half-dressed strutted toward him with an exaggerated sway to her hips. The other, whom he had kissed, stepped back, ducking her head with a shy gesture. He recognized the bold woman’s look from his days of prowling. “Okay, ladies, what’s the joke? Where am I?”


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The bold one stopped a foot in front of him. “Thy pranks be gone, Connor. Thou be in the same place that thou hast been all day. Thy cabin.” Mason pinched his arm, grimacing at the sharp pain that radiated up to his elbow. Hell,

I’m awake. The situation was too unbelievable. Whatever concoction Starr had mixed must be causing him to have hallucinations. “So I am. Where exactly might that be, pray tell?” Maybe if he tried to use their vernacular. If he could figure out where the hell he was. Judging from their dresses and the cabin, he was in colonial times. They laughed. “I did not know he harnessed such a wit, Rachal.” Mistress Sewell offered him a playful smile. “Thou art in Salem.” “Massachusetts?” His heart skipped a beat. Her smiled waned with the astonishment in his voice. “What year?” he asked. The one called Rachal frowned. “It be sixteen hundred ninety-two, as ye knowest.” The year of the Salem Witch Trials! Mason’s heart thudded hard. No wonder the women stared at him like he was mad. They probably thought he was a witch. He’d have to play along. It’s just a hallucination anyway, right? “Ah, ladies, where wert we?” “Wert?” Goodie Sewell frowned. “What manner of language dost thou speak?”

Uh oh. “Thou dost owe me for delivering Goodie Sewell to thee.” Rachal moved closer. “Delivering? To me?” He glanced to Goodie Sewell. Her chestnut hair shone in the bright sunshine like a new penny. “Why did ... didst I ... desire her ... delivery?” He hoped this wasn’t some sort of slavery he had never studied about the inhabitants of Salem. Rachal gave a huffing snort, advancing on him with a purposeful gleam in her eye. “Connor Osbourne, thou knowest thou hast lusted after the reverend’s wife for several weeks now. I delivered her to thee for thy pleasure, as thou requested.” Her hands, cool and rough,

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eased up the front of his chest to his shoulders. To his surprise, he realized he didn’t have a shirt. Before he could step away, her lips claimed his in a sizzling kiss that he felt down to his toes. The herbs in his system had weakened his resistance, and Mason had trouble controlling his response to this beautiful, lustful woman. Prying her fingers from around his neck, he panted hard, as he pushed her away. “I am sorry, truly. But, I am a preacher, and I just can’t --” The buxom blonde doubled over with laughter. “Thou a preacher?” She slapped her thigh, looking over her shoulder at the shy, beautiful girl behind her. “Dost thou believe thine ears?” Goodie Sewell stepped forward. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were pulled into a straight, thin line. Within a couple of inches of him, she stopped. “I cannot comprehend thy cruelty, Goodman Osbourne. ’Tis well that thou enjoyest laughter, but for a witch to befoul a man of God is reprehensible. Thou wilt not make a mockery of me again.” She turned quickly. Her skirts flounced in the air behind her like layers of billowing clouds. Rachal stood beside him, watching Goodie Sewell march down the path leading into the forest. “Thou hast lost thy chance with her this day, Connor.” “I am not Connor. My name is Mason.” Rachal turned to him quickly with narrowed eyes. Her chemise fluttered open, revealing her bare breast, but she didn’t try to cover herself. “Thou lookest like Connor Osbourne. Be thee a spirit?” Mason sighed. “Look, my friend put this oil on me that burned my skin. Now I am here. Don’t ask me to explain it, because I don’t know how it works.” “She be a witch?” Rachal asked with her head cocked to the side in a contemplative posture.


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Mason hesitated, not sure he should tell someone in 1692 Salem that he was here due to a witch’s brew, but there was something about Rachal that made him want to confide in her. Something about her eyes. She reminds me of Rebecca Chappel. “Yes.” He decided to trust Rachal. The considering expression turned to one of comprehension. She nodded. “Aye. I should have recognized the change in thee when thou wast kissing Lydia. Connor and thou hast changed positions.” Mason glanced toward the woods. “That’s her name?” Rachal’s lip quirked at the side. “Aye. How the likes of her canst attract two powerful men is beyond my comprehension.” “What do you mean?”

Snort. “Don’t be telling me that thou dost not find the preacher’s wife desirable. I see what I see.” She tapped her temple with her forefinger. “You’re a witch?” he asked. “Yea, but more important, I know men.” She smiled with a knowing gleam in her eye. Mason laughed. “How ironic.” Rachal’s eyebrow rose in question. “That I be a whore as well as a witch?” “No! That isn’t what I was laughing about.” Although the thought that Becky Chappel could have been a prostitute in a past life was beyond his imagination. The woman he knew her as could be a virgin. She never dated and had never been married. Mason shrugged. “I am a preacher where I come from; she’s a preacher’s wife. The one who sent me on this ... trip ... is a witch --” Rachal gasped, her eyes widening. “Connor Osbourne.”

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“What about him?” The hair on Mason’s arms and neck stood on end in anticipation of what Rachal was about to say. Tunnel-vision zoomed onto her face, and she appeared to him from far away, as her answer echoed down to him with a rushing crash. “He be a witch.” Mason’s gut twisted in an excruciating knot, and his knees buckled at the realization that this wasn’t a hallucination. Wherever he was and whatever he was experiencing was real ... not a dream. These people were connected in some way to him and Starr. He reached out to Rachal, as his pain intensified and her image faded.


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Chapter Eight

He was falling. Fast. A multitude of sounds, lights, and sensations swirled around and through his mind. The air around him whipped and lashed at his skin, like the angry winds of a hurricane or tornado. Voices vibrated above and below, but he couldn’t discern their origin or meaning, except one was feminine; the other was male. His skin burned, forcing every nerve in his body to an ultra-sensitive state of awareness. Pain wracked his every muscle and viscera he possessed, but coalesced in his groin, specifically his cock. The farther he fell, the tighter the vice. “Ahhhh ...!” Mason’s scream at first silent, but accumulating strength, rent the air around him. The fall ended with an excruciating crash onto the floor of the backroom in Starr Chappel’s shop. He lay panting, covered in sweat from head to toe. His heartbeat thudded hard against his ribs and through his cock. Swallowing the minute amount of saliva he could produce, he focused his vision on the weight across his abdomen and chest. The surprise at finding Starr naked and shivering against him stole any coherent speech he might possess. She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. With a ragged breath, she asked, “Connor?”

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Mason’s heart stopped. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back to the pillow beneath. The sour taste of bile rose in his throat, but he swallowed it with a gulp. “No.” Starr’s body stiffened on top of him. Her vaginal muscles gripped his cock for a second, then released. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Mason groaned, knowing full well what had transpired while he’d been “flying.” He took a deep, steadying breath and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Starr laid her head on his shoulder, her fiery locks cascading over his skin, wrapping them both in a blanket of silk. Mason lifted his hand to touch her, but didn’t. The sudden urge to escape was too heavy a need that he couldn’t fight. “I have to go.” Her head lifted, and he felt her probing gaze, demanding to know what he was thinking. “Mason --” His hands grasped her shoulders and he pushed her, none too gently, off his body -- off his cock. A muscle along his jaw tightened, but he contained his anger. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted to participate in this little experiment, Starr.” Her anger was quick and palpable. “I seem to remember you agreeing to the offer of a massage, Reverend.” He looked at her, releasing the anger and betrayal he had tried to contain. “You knew what could happen with that oil, but you continued without telling me the risks involved.” Her expression alternated between anger and regret. Her hands twisted together in front of her breasts, which lay concealed by her hair. Mason refused to glance lower to the thatch of red curls he knew lay between her legs. A thatch that his cock had been buried in minutes earlier. Wrong! Connor Osbourne’s cock had been buried. Mason’s anger increased. He stepped toward Starr, but didn’t dare touch her. He didn’t know if he’d strangle her, or drag her back to the floor and continue where she and Connor left off.


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Leaning as close as he dared, he said through clenched teeth, “You got what you wanted tonight. I hope the fucking was worth it.” Her lips trembled, but she didn’t speak or meet his gaze. She stared at a spot over his shoulder. The only sign of agitation was the lifting of her chest with her rapid breathing. Mason grabbed his pants and shirt, shrugging into them, as quickly as he could. He didn’t want to think about what had happened. “It wasn’t natural.” He stopped and glared at her. She met his gaze. Sadness replaced the anger. “I’m sorry, Mason. It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to use that particular oil.” He shook his head and continued zipping his pants. She took a step toward him, but he held up his hand. Mason headed for the door, and she followed, stopping at the dividing curtain between the two sections of the store. Mason turned at the entrance with his hand on the knob. He faced her, seeing she had wrapped the cloth divider around her nakedness. A nakedness another man had known and enjoyed through his body. The nausea rose again along with his anger. “It wasn’t right!”

***** Shadows shifted with the force of the wind through the old oak trees that lined Beach Boulevard. One shadow broke free to follow the progress of the town’s preacher from the store owned by the town’s witch. From the condition of the preacher’s clothes, it was easy to tell what had transpired within the confines of the pagan establishment. “You are lining your own coffin and don’t even realize how you are handing me justification to kill you, my dearest Starr.”

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The shadow merged with the mass darkness, as the preacher was stopped by a group of gentlemen in front of First Protestant Church. One voice rose in anger. “We know you’ve been with her, Reverend. We followed you earlier to ask if you had considered our request.” “I don’t think it’s anyone’s business --” The reverend tried to step around them, but one man grabbed his arm, halting his progress and words. The figure gripped the tree tighter and whispered, “Take your hands off him. He is not the one to blame for the witch’s spell.” The men didn’t hear, but continued their reprimand of Reverend Mason. “That’s where you’re wrong, sir. This church is our business, and if you are going to be our leader in the fight against sin, there are rules this board has put into place that you must follow.” “We need your decision,” said another board member. “On what?” the preacher asked. His voice was low and angry. The figure shifted from one tree to the next, edging closer to hear the conversation. “If you’ve decided on a wife.” Reverend Mason raked a hand through his hair. “That is not a decision that I can make lightly, gentlemen.” “But it is one you will have to make in order to remain the pastor of our church.” “Why? Jesus wasn’t married.” One board member gasped and clutched at his neck, as if hunting for his cross. Another shook his head. “A single preacher looks bad -- like we condone loose morals.” “That’s ridiculous.” The preacher shrugged his arm free of the other man’s hold. “If you were married, Pastor, you wouldn’t be tempted by such a sexual predator as Ms. Chappel.”


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The figure watched the preacher’s reaction to the attack on Starr. Ignore them. Don’t

respond. Show you are stronger than other men who would give their eye-teeth to have the witch in their bed. It is she who is wrong. Not you. “I think you owe Ms. Chappel an apology for that remark, Deacon Jones.”

No! Do not defend her. She’s the whore of Satan. “She’s a witch. She admits it,” Deacon Jones said. Reverend Mason turned and faced his accusers. “She’s a woman who is brave enough to stand up for what she believes and not cave to the pressure of what society dictates is correct and proper. The last time I looked, I believe our constitution did allow for freedom of religion in every state of this country.” “Well, I never!” “I bet you haven’t.” The reverend’s voice held a note of laughter that the figure couldn’t understand. He was losing his church. The idiot! Fingernails gouged into the tree’s bark. She’ll pay for this corruption. James Edwin Mason pushed forward to the church doors. He stopped and looked back at the board members with a hand on the knob. “You will have my resignation in the morning.” One member, who had been silent, stepped forward. “Now, think about this. You are ruining your career over your lust for a pagan woman. Think of your faith, man!” “I am.” The knob turned with a squeak. “I believe that the god I worship said something about ‘casting no stones.’ Think about that, gentlemen.” With that, the reverend disappeared into the building, closing the door with a firm click. The board members stood there for a second, as if in shock, before disbanding. The figure sunk to the ground behind the tree, whispering, “No. No. Not another soul lost to the fires of Hell.”

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Grass ripped from the ground between clenched fingers. “She’ll pay with slow agony this time. I swear. His fall from grace will be avenged. There are so many more worthy women he could have chosen, my Lord. Forgive him. It’s not his fault. It’s hers.”

***** Starr moved around the break room, slowly, picking up the pillow and sheet. Her hand hesitated over the vial of henbane she’d dropped in her frenzy of sex with Mason.

Correction -- Connor. She sat on the sofa, staring at the opposite wall and trying to understand what had happened. She had performed astral travel numerous times and had never experienced anything like that. The man beneath her had been Mason, but not. She thought of his voice and the words he’s used, as he’d fucked her. That thought alone was enough to send a wave of desire crashing through her body to pool in the erogenous zone of her clit. Memories rose of the short time they had shared. Long, thick fingers pinching her nipples, followed by his tongue. All combined with his penetrating thrusts, taking her higher and higher. If they had been performing a ritual, the energy they had created would have blown the roof off the building. She clutched the pillow to her chest, digging her fingernails into the material the same way she’d scored his back. He had hissed, saying, “That is good, woman. I enjoy the pain thou inflictest, but thou better be prepared to accept mine in return.” Starr groaned, just as she had done then, accepting his cock deeper into her cunt. Never had any man taken her with such wild abandon and made her lose herself so completely. He could have demanded anything from her and she would have complied.


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She closed her eyes, allowing her shame to take hold. Not once had she thought of Mason, whose body they had used. Once he had said his name, Connor was the one who had possessed her body and mind. It was as if her body had known him forever. “I’m sorry, Mason.” “No, I’m sorry.” Starr whirled around to find Mason standing in the opening leading to the front of the shop. His shirt was untucked and his hair mussed from the wind she could hear howling outside. “I didn’t hear you come in.” “Yeah. You need to learn how to lock your doors. No telling what kind of strangers might consider that as an invitation.” “You mean Connor.” Mason released a deep sigh, but gave her a weary smile. “Amongst others.” “I want you to know that I have never had an encounter like that before tonight, Mason.” “What exactly was all this tonight?” he asked, waving his hand toward the table and sofa. “How did you send me where you did?” “I didn’t send you anywhere. It was all psychic projection ... on your part.” “What?” The disbelief in his voice was evident, but the betraying twitch of a muscle along his jaw really told her how tense he was over this subject. He was a Christian preacher trying to understand psychic phenomena that had taken place using herbs to facilitate travel to a different plane. “I can’t send you anywhere. Whatever happened was a combination of the herbs and your psychic makeup. I brought you back with the use of sex, not magick.” “He’s a witch.” “Who?” Starr asked. “Connor Osbourne.”

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“You know him?” Her eyes widened. “I -- we traded places. I went back to 1692 Salem, and he traveled here.” Mason stepped toward her with an stunned expression. “It had to be real, Starr. I was there. The cabin, the trees, birds ...” He spread his arms. “... the women --” “The women?” Starr clamped a hand over her mouth the second the question came out. Even she heard the jealousy and accusation in her voice, and she had no right. No right at all. She had fucked a complete stranger. She frowned. Connor hadn’t been a complete stranger. She knew him ... “He’s the man from my dreams.” “All right, I’m outta here on that one.” Mason turned around to leave, but Starr rushed forward, grabbing his arm. “No, wait. Listen to me. Please.” He stopped, but studied her with a look of irritation on his face. “I’m waiting.” Starr puffed up her cheeks, releasing her anxiety slowly. “I’ve been having these dreams lately about a man and a woman. Connor is the man.” Mason nodded with a frown creasing his forehead. “And, you think that’s why he came forth tonight? But, you just said I was the one who brought about the psychic shift. How would I know that you had ...?” His voice tapered off in confusion. “Becky has been reading up on some stuff about reincarnation.” “My Becky?” Mason asked. Starr hesitated, fighting another wave of jealousy. “No. My Becky.” A dull flush rose from beneath Mason’s collar. He offered her a grin. “Well, she is my secretary.” “Um. Anyway, she told me that the books say that the people you are involved with in your present life are people you have always been involved with in past generations in another form.” Starr cleared her throat, not sure she wanted to continue with the next part.


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One look at Mason’s intent gaze forced her to reveal the rest. “She also stated that if you are sexually attracted to someone in your present incarnation, then you had sexual contact with them in the past in some manner.” Mason’s eyebrows shot up and his grin widened. “Really?” Starr frowned, wondering what kind of women he had met on his little astral trip. I

refuse to ask. “You want to know, don’t you?” He took a step closer. Starr glanced toward the wall, so he couldn’t read her eyes. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” “Um hmm.” His forehead touched hers, bringing her focus back to him. His hands slid beneath the weight of her hair, massaging the base of her scalp. “Let me give you a massage.” “I don’t know. I am very attracted to you, Mason. I can’t guarantee that I won’t ask you to have sex with me. You might get upset if things get out of hand.” He kissed her lips with a light caress. “I won’t do anything I haven’t done already.” Starr gasped. “That wasn’t you.” “It was my body, and if I remember correctly, the early church believed in reincarnation, too. It was only later that it was banned from church doctrine. So, if that is the case and we were lovers in a previous life, Ms. Chappel, Connor Osbourne is me.”

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Chapter Nine

Starr bit her lip. “I don’t think this is a good idea. This isn’t my area of expertise. We could be messing with forces beyond our control. There’s a reason they tell us to leave the past well enough alone.” “Which is?” He nipped her lips with his teeth. Starr closed her eyes. The blood in her veins zinged like molten lava to her clit. “I can’t remember right now.” His chuckle vibrated through her chest. “I want to make love to you and explore this thing between us further.” “Why such a change of heart?” The fact he wasn’t asking her, but telling her his intentions, caused another rush of excitement to her groin. Her juices pooled between her legs where they mingled with the semen Connor had deposited earlier. Instead of horrifying her, the thought of her two lovers claiming her with their seed excited her beyond belief. She opened to Mason, inviting him in. “You’re the first woman in a long time that caused me to want to break a few rules.” He took her mouth with a hunger that at first frightened, then excited her.


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Try as she might not to, she compared Mason’s technique against Connor’s -- they were identical. Star pulled away and searched his face, looking for any trace that Connor Osbourne was present. All she saw was Mason, the man, not the preacher. Taking his hand, she stepped out of his embrace and led him to the sofa. “What, no table for your massage?” She smiled and shook her head. “I thought we’d be more comfortable on something soft if we were going to take our time.” “Too fast for you the last go round?” he asked with a laugh, but Starr could hear the sudden tension in his voice. Both hands on his face, she kissed him gently, sucking his bottom lip between hers and pulling ever so slightly. She knew he would experience a pulling sensation in his penis with every tug she gave to his lip. With her tongue, she traced the outer edge of his mouth, moving down his neck. Pushing the collar of his shirt open wider, she zeroed in on his nipples, like she’d done earlier when he had been unconscious. His fingers tightened within her hair, pushing her closer to his chest. “Oh, yeah, that is so good, babe.” The words he used were so foreign coming from his mouth. This was the Mason he had once been -- the Mason he had left behind in order to follow his faith. Could she really ask him to abandon his beliefs just to have sex with her? What would happen in a week, or two, when the novelty wore off and he discovered the lust wasn’t enough? Could he live with what he’d thrown aside for a few nights of passion? He pulled her hair harder with a groan. Starr let her doubts slide away. Neither of them had made the other promises. Whatever happened, happened. Starr circled a nipple with her tongue.

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Mason cupped the back of her head, holding her closer to his chest at the same time he sucked the air in hard through his teeth. Starr laughed, raising her head. “Like that?” He opened dazed eyes to stare at her. He swallowed hard twice before he answered. “Yeah, I like.” Shifting his weight, he turned onto his side to face her. Starr propped up on her elbow and traced the hollow between his collarbone and shoulder. His fingers slipped beneath her hair, massaging her neck. “Look at me.” Starr glanced from his chest to his eyes. A dark, intense light shone in his gaze, melting her with its heat. A dull flush spread across his cheeks and his lips were pale and drawn, like he held something within a tight control. “Go down on me. I need to feel your mouth on my cock.” The heat in her veins zeroed down into her clit. The pulse in her temples pounded like drums, causing a light-headed sensation to threaten her consciousness. “Are you sure?” He emitted a short, bark of a laugh. “Are you kidding? Of course, I’m sure. I’ve been dreaming of that mouth for months.” Her grin spread from ear to ear. “You don’t have to twist my arm.” He rolled onto his back, allowing her to prop over his chest. She started back at his nipples and worked her way down his torso, nibbling with her lips and teeth. She thrilled as she watched the muscles in his abdomen contract in reaction to her teasing. The sound of his breathing, ragged to the point of panting, created a steady throb in her clit. A new surge of her juices eased between her legs. By the time she reached his cock, her anticipation had increased to a point of pain. A faint acrid scent, very masculine, rose to tease her nostrils. She didn’t mind. The smell of a


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man’s sweat had always turned her on, if not too overpowering. This wasn’t -- it was all Mason. She slid her hand over his shaft, kneading gently with her fingers. As she reached the base and her hand encountered the bristle of pubic hair, she wrapped her lips around his cockhead, sliding and suckling as she worked her mouth over the thick root. Mason arched his neck, the muscles straining with his reaction. A flood of power, identical to what she had experienced with Connor, surrounded Starr, absorbing through her skin. She gasped, releasing Mason’s turgid flesh. Starr heard Mason groan. His hand groped her head, tangling his fingers into her hair. “Finish.” He applied pressure, forcing her mouth back to his dick. She lifted her head again. “Don’t you feel it?” “No, I don’t! That’s the problem.” Mason’s words came out in a growl, but Starr could hear his frustration mingled throughout. She laughed, but pushed forward with her question. “No, silly, the energy. Don’t you feel it?” His head dropped back in a defeated gesture. “No, I don’t. I’m not a witch.” Starr bit him on the fleshy part of his inner thigh. Mason jumped. His cock contracted, then lengthened. “You don’t have to be a witch to sense an increase in psychic energy.” He shook his head. “I was feeling you.” He lifted his head, staring at her with a raised eyebrow. “I want to continue feeling you, if you’ll quit talking.” “Mason, I could get offended by that tone.” “Starr, I am dying here. I had sex with you earlier and can’t remember it! Give me a break.”

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“Okay, I’ll make sure you don’t forget this time.” Before he could respond, she licked his penis up one side and down the other. Reaching the top again, she opened her mouth wide and brought him in with a hard suction of her lips and tongue. Mason’s head crashed down hard onto the pillow and his fingers clenched in her hair, but he didn’t pull her off. After a few seconds the painful grip relaxed and he was massaging her scalp in rhythm with the stroke of her tongue over his flesh. First, up, then down. Suckle here, nibble there. Starr’s nipples pebbled, as she imagined the way she sucked him would feel on her breasts. “Umm ...” “Oh, yeah. Don’t stop, Starr. It feels so good. Please.” She didn’t have any intention of stopping. Increasing her rhythm and suction, she continued up to the point where his flesh hardened further, signaling his orgasm. Wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, she pumped him with quick, hard strokes -- all the while stroking her tongue beneath the ridge of his cockhead. His hips rocked, pushing his dick further into her mouth. Starr took him deeper, dragging her teeth up the length of the shaft with each retreat. “Starr!” His voice held a warning note, but she refused to release him. She latched onto his flesh more securely. “Starr, I can’t --” His hips thrust into her mouth with jerking spasms. His voice choked in a series of strangled sounds. Hot jizm shot to the back of her throat. Swallowing convulsively, Starr took it all, lapping the sides and head of his cock with an eager tongue. She closed her eyes at the rich, salty cream of his body. Nectar. His fingers gripped her hair hard, pulling her to a stop. Looking up at him, Starr saw him shake his head. She sat back onto her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He opened his eyes, staring at her with a look that froze her in position. Tears glittered in his eyes. His bottom lip trembled. He swallowed hard.


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A shaft of a premonition raced through Starr’s mind. She knew what he was about to say. Starr raised her hand to stop his words, but Mason ignored her gesture. “Marry me.” The moments of peace that had engulfed her after their passion, split into a schism within her mind before shattering like glass, slicing and cutting her tranquility into a million pieces. The blood in her veins froze, racing for vital organs in a flight for survival. She shook her head. “No. You don’t know what you’re saying.” Mason frowned, rising up on his elbows. “I’m telling you I love you and want to marry you.” “No!” Starr stood up. “We were just exploring the chemistry between us, nothing more.” Mason rose to his full height, not bothering to cover his nakedness. “You can’t tell me that you didn’t feel more than chemistry between us. What about the magick you spoke of?” Starr averted her gaze from temptation. She had to be strong and resist his body and his words that could lead her into making the wrong decisions, just like her mother had. “You pissed all over that notion when I suggested it earlier.” Mason rolled his gaze to the ceiling. “The timing was a little off if you will recall.” She could hear a trace of anger in his voice and knew that her hesitation was the cause, but her fear that he was trying to overwhelm her with his charms forced her to attack. “Just because you have some holier-than-thou notions about sex, doesn’t mean I do, Reverend.” “What?” The incredulous look on his face should have warned her she was heading in the wrong direction, but it didn’t. “I like sex. The more the better. There is no way I could tie myself to one man and ignore the twenty others knocking on the door.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t do this, Starr.”

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“Do what? I’m just trying to tell you the truth and save you from embarrassment and heartache.” “If you are trying to tell me you sleep around --” She snorted. “Sleep around?” Stepping next to him with their bodies grazing, Starr whispered in his ear, “I’m Satan’s whore, Mason. I don’t sleep with men. I fuck them.” A row of muscles along his jaw knotted, and he closed his eyes. Through what sounded like clenched teeth, he said, “You’re lying. You are so scared that whatever happened between your parents will happen to you if you let someone close to you.” He opened his eyes, turning to face her. “Is it worth the chance that you’ll throw away something that’s special and true?” His words, almost as softly spoken as hers, tickled her cheeks and lips. Starr pulled back, as if he’d slapped her. “How do you know what I’m afraid of? I can take care of myself, thank you.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself tight against the vague possibility that what he said might be true. “The door is that way. You need to leave.” Mason’s facial expression closed. Starr couldn’t read what he was thinking. He nodded without a word, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room. A second later Starr heard the front door bells jingle, violently.

Slam! Starr jumped at the loud noise and the vibration of the glass in the door and windows. Mason was gone.

***** Tires crunched over the gravel drive, leading to the abandoned house. No one had lived there since Reverend Chappel had died ten years before. Pulling up to the front, Starr sat with the car lights shining on the door and windows of where she’d grown up. The eerie


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shadows cast from the limbs overhead, whipping and snapping with the wind forced a shiver from her body. Gooseflesh skittered over her arms, legs, and spine. The hair at the nape of her neck tingled and itched. She placed one hand beneath her hair and rubbed absently, wondering why the hell she’d come here of all places. She sighed. “This is where it all happened. My life here shaped who I am, and if I don’t exorcise the demons from my past, I won’t ever be able to have a future.” She’d cried after Mason had gone. That was a novelty in itself. She couldn’t remember ever crying over any man, even her father. Deep down she knew Mason was special. She glanced at the old house, again. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the flashlight from the glove box and snapped the headlights off. Opening the door, she was surprised at the force of the wind, as it snatched the heavy door out of her hand, throwing the steel door wide with a creak and a moan of the metal hinges. Applying her weight to the outer side, Starr pushed the car door shut until she heard it click. If it started to rain, she didn’t want the interior getting soaked. Another shiver crept up her spine at the thought of being caught in a thunderstorm in the house alone without electricity. Old childhood fears surfaced, forcing her to run up the steps, shaking the flashlight. At the top she stopped and hit the flashlight with the palm of one hand. “Damn, I just put fresh batteries in this thing.” She must have picked up the one that had a short. She sighed, but knew she wouldn’t have time to get back home for another flashlight and leave before the weather hit. She’d caught snips of the weather report, as she’d left the shop about the tropical storm warnings in effect for the Gulf Coast. This time of year was common for storms, even hurricanes. Thankfully, they were expecting this monster to hit many miles west of the Mississippi coastline. The most they

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would get would be heavy rain and minimal flooding in the low-lying areas around the town. “Thank goodness.” She slapped the flashlight one more time and the glow of the faulty bulb shone bright in the darkness. Fumbling in her pocket she found the key to the house and unlocked the door. Starr couldn’t remember the last time anyone had entered the house. The knob clattered and squeaked from disuse, but turned with a little pressure. Swinging the door wide, she shone the beam of light into the foyer, flicking over the foot of the stairs, a narrow hallway to one side, and the openings to the dining room and the living room on either side of the foyer. White sheets covered the furniture in the living room, giving the impression of ghostly figures sitting beneath. Starr shuddered. “Crap. Wish I’d done a protection spell before I’d had the wild idea to come up here.” She hadn’t told anyone where she was. The only thought had been to get away to somewhere Mason couldn’t find her, so she could think. He’d told her he loved her for crying out loud. The flashlight’s beam skittered back and forth, as Starr made her way into the house. Not sure exactly what she was searching for, she decided to head upstairs to the bedrooms. Halfway up the rickety stairs the front door slammed shut. “Shit!” Starr missed her footing on one step, dropping the flashlight. It bumped and rolled down the stairs, hitting the foyer floor with a clatter. Batteries slid across the tile in several directions. The light vanished. She didn’t move. Darkness pressed in close around her. The sound of the wind howling, trees scraping and bending, and her heart’s thudding took on epic proportions within the confines of the stairwell. Perspiration plastered her blouse to her skin, and her breathing came in labored, painful gasps.


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Crash! Starr screamed. Something heavy had smashed through a window in the living room. Taking a deep breath, she pried her fingers from the banister and forced her feet to step toward the bottom of the stairs. Gingerly, she eased one foot forward and down, feeling for the back of the higher step against her heel, so she would know her foot was firmly where it needed to be. If she fell, no one would find her for days, months, or ... maybe even years. She shut her eyes for a second and swallowed her fear. “Come on Starr, one step at a time, girl.” After what seemed an eternity her foot touched the solidity of the foyer floor. Groping on her hands and knees, she searched the floor for the flashlight and batteries. Sweeping her hands from side to side, she worked her way across the foyer floor toward the living room where she’d heard the crash. “One more battery to go --” Her hand bumped something soft. She stopped. With tentative fingers she examined the object she’d found. Cloth upon cloth she made out a head, arms, and legs. An eyelet lace apron covered the skirt that covered the body. “My baby-doll!” She smiled in the darkness, her fears temporarily forgotten with finding her childhood friend. “Hey, Mattie, what are you doing down here in the dark?” “She just wanted to tell you goodbye, my dear.” Starr gasped at the feminine voice close behind her. She tried to turn, but something hard hit her in the head. The darkness invaded in silent victory.

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Chapter Ten

“Where the hell could she have gone?” Mason raked a hand through his hair. They had been up half the night waiting for Starr to return home. “I left the shop at around ten-thirty and she was fine.” Becky nodded. “I checked this morning; all the bolts were locked, and everything in the store looked in place. Nothing to indicate something may have happened ... Oh, Mason, do you think she’s okay?” Mason put an arm around the oldest Chappel sister, trying to offer comfort. He had a bad feeling, though, that something wasn’t right. Starr should have been home hours ago, even if she was upset over what had happened between them. “She was upset, Rebecca.” “Why? What happened?” Tear-stained cheeks greeted his gaze. Worry etched across Becky’s brow and within her deep-gray eyes -- the same color as the storm clouds that gathered outside. Mason cleared his throat. “I asked her to marry me.” “What?” Becky asked, pulling away from him with surprise in her voice and body language. “How --?” She shook her head.


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“I’m just as confused as you are, believe me.” Mason tried to smile, but couldn’t. “I know this is going to sound crazy, especially coming from me.” He stopped and drew a deep breath. “I know her from a different life, Becky, but I’ve always known her, cared for her. Just as I know you. She and I were lovers long ago, but somehow were separated.” He waved his hand in front of him. “I’m not sure how yet, but Starr and I experienced a past regression last night. The past came forward and I traveled back ... in time.” “Reincarnation.” Becky’s gaze widened. “It’s true. We are all reincarnations. Every person we have contact with in the present was someone we had a relationship with in the past. With each incarnation, we are someone different but the same soul.” “Part of me believes, but part refuses to accept this. It goes against what I’ve been taught.” Mason fought what he knew had to be true. He’d admitted as much last night before he’d made love to Starr. He dropped his head. If he admitted his belief in this theory, then he couldn’t continue as pastor of any church in his denomination. Reincarnation was not an acknowledged doctrine in his chosen faith. Many of the ideals he had believed in over the past six years were falsehoods. Where did that leave him?

Here, loving Starr. The answer when it came was crystal clear. “I have to find Starr, Becky.” He grasped Becky’s hands, holding tightly. “Think of anywhere she might have gone to escape. Somewhere she would feel safe and secure.” “Her bedroom.” “We looked. She’s not here.” Mason couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. Rebecca flashed him her own look of irritation. “Not here! At our old house where we grew up.” “You still own your parents’ house?” He was already grabbing his car keys as he asked the question. Becky followed, close on his heels. “Yes. We just didn’t know what to do with the place. Everyone around here says it’s haunted and wouldn’t think of buying it.”

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Mason reached his car, noting the increased ferocity of the winds. “You stay here in case she comes back while I’m gone. You have my cell phone number. Call me if she does.” Becky nodded, glancing up toward the sky and out to the horizon. The waves crested several feet higher than normal. “Hurry. The weather channel says the storm has turned more toward us. If it keeps on, it will be hurricane force soon, and we’ll need to make preparations to evacuate.” Mason only registered the data about the storm with half an ear. His priority was Starr. Something was wrong. He didn’t know how, but she was in danger. “You go ahead and start everything in motion. I’ll get her back here as soon as I can.” In the distance he heard the telephone ring. “Go answer that in case it’s Starr. I’m heading over to the old house. Call me if you hear anything. If she’s there, tell her I am on my way and not to leave.” Becky nodded, heading toward the house. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything here.”

***** Mason drove through the main part of town, searching the sidewalks just in case he spotted Starr. People everywhere were boarding up windows and doors in preparation for the storm that should have hit further west. Pulling to the curb in front of the church, he jumped out of the car. Mrs. Nichols scurried toward him. “Reverend Mason.” She waved her hand, standing on her tiptoes as she called his name. Mason groaned. He didn’t have time for her right now. Glancing at his watch, he smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Nichols. I would really like to chat, but I am late for an appointment. I just have to grab some papers before I go.” What he really had to grab was his gun. He hadn’t used it in years, but had kept it in a locked box just in case he ever needed it.


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“Well, I know you’ll have time for my Maribeth, Reverend. She’s just out of her mind with worry about the incoming storm. I know you could comfort her fears.” Mrs. Nichols motioned her daughter from the car parked on the side of the church. Maribeth beamed a smile of perfect teeth, flicking her bobbed hair behind her ear. Climbing out of the SUV, she called, “Reverend Mason, what a surprise.”

Yeah right. Mason opened his mouth to make another excuse, but stopped. In that instant his mind telescoped with flashes of multicolored lights back to Connor Osbourne’s cabin in 1692 Salem. Mason looked at his hands, realizing he was truly there, but Connor couldn’t see him. Around him the room held rough-hewn furniture of tables and chairs. Something close to a sofa was situated in front of the fire with a heavy blanket over it. The blanket moved, revealing a woman snuggled beneath. Mason moved closer, trying to see who she was, but Connor cut him off, as he stepped next to the couch and pulled the blanket away from the woman’s body. She giggled. The laugh, familiar and intimate, tickled down his spine. Mason stepped around the edge of the sofa and glanced down with a quick intake of breath. Rachal Middleton lay sprawled in wicked abandon on a red silk blanket. Her blonde hair flowed around her shoulders, and her white, creamy skin shone in the afterglow of sex with pinkened and swollen nipples. Her clit peaked from beneath blonde curls, glistening with the remnants of her lover’s attentions and cum. She smiled coyly up at Connor. “Dost thou like what thou seest, Goodman Osbourne?” “Yea, thou witch, I do indeed.” Mason watched, fascinated, as Connor leaned down with one knee on the edge of the sofa and kissed Rachal hard on the mouth. He slipped a hand between her legs and inserted a finger into her cunt.

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Rachal arched into him, pumping her hips against his hand. “Use thy potion on me, Connor. Make me fly tonight.” “Nay, ’tis for Lydia on the morrow’s eve. I promised to bind her as I do thee.” “Dost thou love her?” Rachal stilled, her eyes flashing anger. Connor hung his head with a sigh. “Yea, ’tis so.” “How canst thou be with me this night if ’tis the truth?” Connor’s head rose. He studied Rachal with a wicked grin. “How can I not wish to fuck thee, Rachal Middleton? Thou hast the sweetest ass in the town.” “But thou dost not love me.” “Nay.” Connor sighed, and he looked out the window to the darkening day. “I love Lydia Sewell, but I have needs and desires that she hath not learned to satisfy yet.”

You bastard. Mason clenched his fingers into a fist at his sides. “I brought her to thee. I would have my reward that thou promised.” Connor smiled down at Rachal’s temptation. “Yea. Thou didst bring her as I asked.” He reached upon the mantel, inside a wooden box and brought a vial out of its depths. Opening the vial, he moved to the end of the hearth where an iron pot stood, holding several iron fire tools and what looked like a broom handle. “May be a little will work on thee.” To Mason’s amazement, Connor took the handle, smoothing his hand over it several times, as if cleaning any dust and grit that might be present. With the vial opened, he coated the rounded end of the handle, which was about as long as a man’s cock, but thicker. “So, ’tis flying that thou crave this night, Goodie Middleton?” Connor moved closer to the sofa. “Aye, ’tis what I crave, Goodman Osbourne.”


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Connor laughed, grasping Rachal’s thighs and spreading her legs wider for his access. “Then, let not the witch be kept waiting.” With one quick thrust, Connor pushed the broom handle deep into Rachal’s body. She arched her body, digging her fingernails into Connor’s arms. “God, yes, that be good.” Hiss. “Deeper, Connor, deeper. I feel the potion taketh me.” Her body thrashed against the wooden dildo, and her eyes rolled back in their sockets. “W-What dost thou wish to know from the future, Goodman Osbourne?” “Who was yon witch that shared her body with mine two nights before?” Connor asked, leaning down and flicking his tongue across Rachal’s clit as he worked the handle in and out of her body. She gasped and rolled over onto her stomach, pushing up onto her knees. Her forearms rested over the end of the couch, her long blonde tresses flowing over her face and arms, as she pushed back against the instrument that took her higher into a trance-like state. Rachal flung her head back, glancing over her shoulder at Connor without halting her rhythm. “Thou knowest what I want.” It was a statement, but Connor must have understood, because he smiled, pushing the handle almost full into her body. With his thigh he held it in position while Mason watched him open the vial again. This time Connor Osbourne administered the potion to the end of his cock, working the concoction around the head with the end of the vial. Mason cringed, remembering the burning heat of the balm that Starr had applied to him. Connor merely closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure, his cock jerking several times to extend to its maximum length and width. Closing the vial, he placed one hand on Rachal’s naked hip. With his thigh still positioned and one hand occupied, he carelessly tossed the vial upon the mantel, not looking to see where it landed. With both hands free he guided his cock to Rachal’s ass.

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She wiggled her hips in what looked like eager anticipation. Mason’s own cock tightened with arousal at the sight of the two coupling right in front of him without knowing he was there. He watched with bated breath as Connor pushed forward, parting the folds of Rachal’s buttocks with his cock. She cried out, throwing her head back with a look of concentrated pain on her beautiful face, but after the initial piercing into her body, she rammed her hips against Connor’s penetration, screaming his name. Connor took the initiative, thrusting hard and fast. Rachal hung onto the sofa with both hands. Her body and head jerked backwards and forwards with Connor’s thrusts, but she took them all. The expression of pain turned into pleasure, exemplified with loud moans and groans of ecstasy. Mason walked to stand in front of her. Hunching down, he put himself level with her face, so he could watch her as she came. By now, his cock strained against his pants, demanding to be released and stroked to completion. At that second, time seemed to skip a beat. The sound in the room muted. Connor’s thrusts slowed to a stop, and he was frozen in position behind Rachal. “What the hell?” Mason glanced around the room. Even the flames in the fireplace were frozen. “What dost thou wish to know?” Rachal asked. Mason glanced back to find her staring at him with her stormy gray eyes. In that second he knew her. “Rebecca!” “Nay. Not in this lifetime. Only in the next.” “How --?” “Ask me what thou wilt before the sands of time run their course and I return to the powers of this man.” “He is me.”


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“Aye, ’tis true.” She smiled a wicked smile. “Wouldst thou likest me to relieve thy pain?” “My ... pain?” he asked, not understanding what she referred to. Her eyebrow rose and she glanced at his crotch. Heat exploded beneath his collar. “Rebecca!” “Nay. ’Tis Rachal, and I be the true whore of Satan.” “A witch? Not the woman I know you as.” “Thy Rebecca hath much to learn of her true self and powers. One will come to teach her all. Best be that she listen and learn from him. Her life may depend on what he canst teach her.” Mason swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. This was real. “What about Starr? Is she in danger?” “Aye, to be sure. She is Lydia.” “What?” Mason grabbed Rachal’s arm. A jolt, like electricity, shocked him, and he released her. “You have to tell --” He stopped in mid-sentence. Rachal’s eyes had rolled back into the sockets. The gray orbs were gone to be replaced by a solid white mass. Her mouth opened and the voice that emitted was deep and cavernous. Mason fell back onto his ass, scooting away with his feet kicking against the packed earthen floor. “Jesus!” “The one who kills poor Lydia dost profess to love the Lord, but ’tis not true. He lovest himself more than others do. Beware the man who wearest the cloth; he dost carry lies in his heart and vile poison in his veins. Over time dost he travel into his opposite’s body; but the soul ’tis the same -- mean, angry, and shallow.” Mason listened, horrified but entranced. He leaned forward ...

Snap! Time released the moment. The sounds of the room flooded around him, causing him to cover his ears. Connor’s grunts, Rachal’s groans, as they fucked each other.

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Mason huddled in the corner, trying to figure out how to get back to the present to help Starr. Listening to the couple, he laid his forehead on his arms and drifted off to sleep.

***** He awakened with a start. The room lay quiet and the embers were but a dim glow in the fireplace. The outline of two bodies lay entwined upon the sofa beneath the blanket. Silence abounded, but ... something wasn’t quite right. Mason listened harder, moving his gaze around the room, but not his head. Looking twice, he almost missed it, but ... There! In the shadows, close to the door stood a cloaked figure. He moved slowly and quietly across the floor. Only the faintest of whispers could be heard from the man’s cape, as he stepped to the mantel and reached for the vial on top. Mason frowned, watching, wondering what the guy was up to. The cloaked man shook something from a bag into the vial. Recapping the glass, he shook it and replaced it upon the mantel where Connor had thrown it. Slowly and quietly, the way he’d come, he left, easing across the room. The door opened with a mild groan, but the couple on the couch didn’t stir. As he left Mason thought he heard the stranger mutter, “Tomorrow night will be thy last, thou son of Satan, as will be my whoremongering wife’s.” The door closed, and the air around him shifted, sliding past him with multicolored lights at such a great speed, Mason thought he would vomit. He landed with a jolt, only to find he was standing in the exact spot and time that he had been before he left. He gasped, clutching his chest and glancing around him. “Reverend! What’s the matter?” Mrs. Nichols asked with a strange look on her face. He couldn’t be sure if it was worry or fear. Mason glanced from Mrs. Nichols to her daughter. “I’m sorry ladies, but I don’t have time to deal with you right now. Starr Chappel needs me.” He turned and walked, quickly, away from them.


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Mrs. Nichols’s breath hissed between her teeth. “That little ... witch,” Maribeth said. Mason stopped in his tracks. Anger boiled through his veins. He clenched his fists and turned around. With two strides he was even with Maribeth. “At least she’s not a bitch.” Mrs. Nichols clutched her chest with a gasp. Maribeth’s face turned red, and her mouth gawped like a goldfish. “After all the pies I’ve baked you! How dare you talk to me like that.” Mrs. Nichols stabbed a finger at him. “I’m calling the board and telling them you’ve been seeing that pagan hussy.” Mason smiled, knowing he was doing the right thing. “You do that, because I already quit.” He turned on his heel, lighter on his feet than he had been years. Once in his office he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and removed the metal gun box. With another key he unlocked it and pulled his .38 caliber revolver from its resting place. Checking the chambers, he loaded the gun, being careful to hold the weapon away from his body. He didn’t like guns, but if he had to protect Starr, he knew how to use it. No one would hurt her, if he could help it.

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Chapter Eleven

Flashes of light filtered through her eyelids. Starr frowned and groaned against the intrusion. Somebody had overcooked something. The odor of burned leather stung her nose and throat. She coughed. Forcing her eyes open, Starr’s vision focused on her rag doll, sitting on the floor facing her with a smile. She laughed. Mattie was always joking.

Crackle. Sizzle. The sounds popped around and behind her, as the burning smell increased. The sudden realization that the joke was on her. The house was on fire. She tried to sit up, but her hands wouldn’t cooperate. Someone had tied them behind her back. Shifting her weight, she tried to bring her legs around, but each attempt tugged her hands downward. “Shit!” They’d also bound her ankles, connecting them to her wrists with another rope. A shaft of pain raced from her shoulder into her back. Panic rose, but Starr swallowed hard to keep it at bay. Think, think! “Help!” she shouted, but knew no one could here her, except the person who had done this. The person she’d heard last night a second before they had hit her in the head. That voice! She knew it --


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A beam from upstairs groaned from the stress of the fire combined with the strong winds from the storm. The rain hadn’t started, so any hope that the flames would be extinguished by nature was nil. Think, Starr! Rocking her body from side to side, she was able to push up onto her knees. She tried to rise, but the weight of her upper body forced her to fall into the wall on the opposite side. “Damnation!” She pushed against the wall with her shoulder, ignoring the crackle of the fire as it drew closer. The heat of the flames warmed her skin, and she knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she would start to blister. “What a way to go.” A bout of coughing hit as soon as she reached a few feet above the floor. Glancing up, she could see roils of flame, ash, and smoke, like a fiery snake crawling across the ceiling. Panic was replaced by pure, unadulterated fear. She lurched away from the wall, trying to crawl on her knees. Again, she fell. “No!”

I am not going to die like this. Lying on her side, she searched the surrounding area of the foyer. Her gaze rested on the door. It wasn’t closed. A tiny crack between the door and the facing signaled her freedom. If only she could get there. Rolling to her back with her hand beneath her, she pushed as hard as possible with her feet and worked her shoulders. Her body scooted a couple inches closer toward the door. She took as deep a breath as she dared from the toxic air around her and pushed again. Closing her eyes at the horror surrounding her, Starr concentrated on working her way to the front door. Five feet loomed ahead of her like fifty, but she persisted. Sweat poured from her body from a combination of the fire’s increasing heat and the exertion it took to move her body within its bonds. She blinked her eyes to keep the ash and perspiration from blinding her. A foot from the door there was an ear-splitting groan and the stair banister fell, tumbling down to the foyer floor beside her. An ember landed on her arm. She screamed as

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the pain seared into her skin. Pushing as hard as she could, she moved away from the flaming debris. Almost there. Almost there. Her head thunked against the door. She stopped, panting and coughing from the noxious fumes gathering closer around her. Pivoting on her bottom, she placed her feet on the edge of the door, but her sandals were too slick on the bottom to maintain a grip. Afraid she would push her only chance of freedom closed, she turned to the other side and faced the flames. Closing her eyes against the merciless heat, she hooked the toes of her sandals into the tiny gap of the door and kicked with all her weight. The door swung open. “Yes!” The momentum of her motion hadn’t been strong enough. The door glided backwards. “No!” Just as the door would have slammed shut, she caught it with her feet, cringing as the heavy weight crushed against her ankles. “Jesus!” she screamed with the pain. Suddenly the weight of the door disappeared and the cool outside air rushed over her skin. Firm hands grasped her legs, waist, then shoulders. She was coughing so hard she couldn’t see who had her. She didn’t care, as long as they got her out of here. Whoever he was, he threw her over his shoulder, not wasting time in untying her hands or ankles. The sight of the porch and finally the gravel drive eased its way through the smoke-induced cough and muck in her eyes. “Christ, p-put ... me ... down.” The man eased her to the ground, where she fought a wracking cough. “For someone who doesn’t believe in Him, you sure do use His name a lot.” Mason! Starr glanced up, but the glare off the clouds and the daylight, forced her to squint, obscuring her view of the man she loved. Loved? She hesitated in her question between coughing and tears streaming down her face. “Hey, are you crying? It’s okay. If I hadn’t gotten you, you were almost there on your own.” He knelt beside her, cutting her binds and wiping her face. “You’re an amazing


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woman, Starr Chappel.” He pulled her into his embrace, rocking her to and fro and kissing her hair. “When I saw those flames shooting above the trees, I thought I had lost you again.” “A-Again?” Her voice croaked with the damage of the smoke. “You’re Lydia, my love from years past.” He smoothed his hands over either side of her head, cupping her face and kissing her lips. “I think you’ve inhaled too much of that smoke, Mason.” “No, you don’t understand. We are the reincarnations of Lydia and Connor from 1692 Salem. We were going to run away together, but your husband killed you and framed me.” “What?” She pulled away from him to study his face. “Have you been playing in the henbane?” His lips thinned. “Listen to me. You are still in danger. Lydia’s husband, the Reverend Sewell, killed you with a lethal dose of henbane. I saw him.” Mason waved his hand in the air. “Then Becky -- I mean Rachal -- told me in some kind of prophetic moment that the killer was coming after you.” A chill raced over Starr’s heated skin. She’d never considered reincarnation possible, but what Mason was saying held a ring of truth to it, combined with the strange dreams she had been having and what Becky had been reading. Swallowing against the raw pain in her throat, she asked, “What do we do now?” A siren sounded down the road, signaling the approach of the fire department. Behind them what was left of the Chappel residence crashed to the ground in a pile of flames. The horror of her past lay in ashes, or so she hoped. Whoever had hit her and tied her up was still out there. “It’s a woman.” “What?” Mason’s gaze widened and his face paled. “How do you know?” “She spoke to me in the darkness before she hit me. I think I recognized the voice, but I can’t place it yet.”

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Mason nodded. “Rachal told me that your husband would travel forward and be his

opposite. I didn’t understand what she meant until you just told me of the woman who hit you.” “Who the hell is Rachal?” she asked, coughing hard as the woman’s name came out. “She’s Becky.” He frowned. “But not.” A faint red tinged his cheeks. Starr sensed there was more to that story than Mason was telling. “So, she was the one in 1692 who warned you that I was in danger?” “Yes. She and Connor were ... lovers.” Starr stilled. “I thought you said that we were soulmates. How is it that you and Becky were lovers, if you love me?” She had always known that her sister was attracted to Mason. If they had been lovers in the past, then surely it was meant to be in the present. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Mason took her shoulders. “Connor Osbourne was not a nice man, Starr. He might have been good with women sexually, but he used them. He and Rachal were witches. Whatever they had going on didn’t have anything to do with love, just lust, plain and simple.” “Sometimes that’s enough.” Mason’s expression hardened. “Not for me. I do desire you, Starr; you know that. I haven’t had sex with anyone in quite a few years until you. You know why?” “Because of your religious beliefs.” He shook her. His irritation evident on his face. “Would you listen? I had sex with you because I love you. You! Not Becky, and certainly not any of the Maribeths with their ... with their ... “Fake boobs, fake hair, and fake teeth.” Mason laughed. “Exactly, although that is rather harsh.” Starr snorted, then coughed. “T-They deserve it.” She coughed harder.


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Mason pounded her back. “I love you.” She caught her breath and gazed up at him, searching his face for any sign of uncertainty. “What about your church? They won’t accept me, Mason. I’m not Christian, and I don’t plan on changing what I believe. Even for you.” “Do you love me?” She nodded. “Yes, I love you.” “Then fuck them. If they won’t accept you, they won’t have me.” Starr threw her arms around his neck, kissing him hard. He responded with the same enthusiasm, meshing his mouth and tongue with hers, as he drew her closer to his body. His hands circled her rib cage and his thumbs caressed the inside of her breasts. After a second he pulled away, leaning his forehead against hers and breathing hard. The sirens were closer, winding their way through the woods toward the house. “God, Starr, I thought I had lost you.” “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” She moved in to claim his mouth. “How very touching. You’ve done it again, my dear. Corrupted a man of God with your womanly charms. A sure sign of a true witch.” The voice from the dark dripped with acid and hatred. Starr and Mason turned in unison to the woman standing only a few yards away, holding a gun on them. Together they cried, “Mrs. Nichols!” Carolyn Nichols’s smile was cold and devoid of emotion. She pulled the hammer back with her thumb on the small pistol she held in her hand. “I do promise I know how to use this weapon. My late husband was in the military, and we always had guns around our house.” “He was a fireman, too,” Mason said, nodding toward the house behind Mrs. Nichols.

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“Yes, he was. I learned quite a lot from him over the years about arson, although he never taught me directly. I had to pretend to be the perfect southern belle with no brains of my own, thereby not capable of learning anything that a man could comprehend.” Starr’s heartbeat accelerated each time Carolyn Nichols waved the gun in her direction. “You could have left him.” Carolyn snorted with disgust. “Not in my era, my dear. The only consolation I ever had for being born a woman this time was meeting your dear daddy.” She smiled a purely feminine smile. “Oh, he had an appetite that made me glad to be reborn into this body. The only fault he had was his unquenchable desire for all women.” “You killed my mother.” Starr didn’t ask. The look of surprise on Carolyn’s face confused her. “Me? Never. I truly admired your momma. She knew of his philandering ways, but stood by him with a smile. At least until that young man of hers came along and started whispering in her ear. Then, she abandoned your daddy in a shameful way.” Starr’s anger overrode her fear. She stood up, ignoring Carolyn Nichols sudden alert stance. “How dare you condemn her for what my father forced her into doing.” Carolyn stepped forward, shoving the gun at Starr. “Sit down! How would you, a sinful creature, know anything of loyalty and fidelity? It is a woman’s duty to accept the yoke of burden placed on her shoulders by almighty God for her reprehensible sin in the Garden. She should stand by her husband through good times and bad.” Mason stood, slowly, holding his hand where Mrs. Nichols could see it. “If that husband is not worthy, though, the wife should not have to suffer.” The gun wobbled. Mrs. Nichols placed her other hand under her wrist. “Quiet! I will not listen to your poisoned tongue. She has turned your mind and heart against God to where you scorn pure and just women in your own congregation in favor of her.”


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“If you mean Maribeth, Mrs. Nichols, I don’t love her. You know that Starr is the only woman that I can truly love.” Mason took a step forward. Starr’s heart raced. Reaching out a hand, she tried to stay him, but he continued, “I love Starr like you loved her father, Carolyn. You know I can love no other.” A sob escaped the older woman. Her hands trembled so much she was unable to aim the gun at either Starr or Mason. Tears poured down her face, smearing the perfect makeup. Black streaks of mascara ran into the red smears of lipstick. Starr gasped at the picture of a maniac clown before her, waving a gun. “Mason.” She called him back to her, but he was too intent on reaching Carolyn Nichols. “You’re a preacher, too, Mrs. Nichols. Why do you want to hurt Starr?” The crying stopped along with the trembling. Carolyn Nichols’s gaze sharpened with Mason’s words. She jerked the gun up into position, aiming directly at Starr’s heart. “Yes, I was a preacher of God. I fell for the beauty of an angel’s face. Sweet Lydia. But, that angel wanted more from me than I was willing to give. Sex! That’s all she was interested in. She was Satan’s whore. When I recognized her years ago in the guise of a preacher’s daughter, I knew I’d have to kill her again one day. But, for the sake of her father, I waited until I had proof that she was no better than she had been.” “She’s not the same person, Carolyn. How can you condemn her for loving me when you loved her father?” Carolyn’s mouth worked open and shut, but no sound came out. Tears resumed and her mouth crumbled into a hideous contortion in her pain. Sobs wracked her body, and she fell to her knees. “I-I can’t!” Mason moved forward, as Carolyn brought the pistol to her head. Behind them on the drive the team of firemen arrived. The two upfront yelled in protest at the same time Mason screamed, “No!”

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The bullet fired; Starr jumped, startled by the gun burst. Carolyn Nichols fell over ... dead by her own hand.

***** They sat huddled together, silently, within the thin protection of a plastic tarp. Firemen worked feverishly to extinguish what was left of the blaze. The coroner wheeled Carolyn Nichols’s body away on a gurney. The wind howled, as the rain made its debut with the ever-strengthening storm. “You two okay?” a young fireman asked. They both nodded. Mason extended his hand to the man. “Thanks for your help.” “Hey, I only reported what I saw. The woman killed herself. It’s sad, but it happens.” He turned and walked away, leaving Starr and Mason staring after him. Mason glanced at the woman beside him, hoping she hadn’t changed her mind with all the tragedy that had gone on today. “Still love me?” She gave him a weak smile. “Yes.” “Will you marry me?” A blast of wind hit them, lifting the plastic from their shoulders and whipping it away into a nearby tree. Rain beat down upon them, drenching them to the skin. Starr jumped up with a squeal and ran around the side of the burned house. “What the hell?” Mason frowned, but followed. Behind them the young fireman yelled, “Y’all don’t stay out here too long. That hurricane is coming in. You need to make preparations.” Mason waved and kept running around the house. The hurricane has already arrived in

my life, and her name was Starr. “Starr! Where are you?” He heard her laugh, but the wind carried it up, and he couldn’t tell where the sound came from. “Starr!”


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Pushing through some bushes he spotted an old gardening shed. The tin door flapped open with each gust of wind. He stepped through into darkness, but found the interior warm and dry. Limbs and pine cones pelted the tin roof, but the noise wasn’t as deafening as outside. Mason slipped out of his jacket, shaking as much moisture as he could from the material. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Ms. Chappel, but we don’t have time for any games.” “Not even if I want to play with my broom?” Mason’s heart stopped for a second. His cock hardened at the remembered sight of Rachal and Connor fucking. There was no way Starr could know about that. “Only if you have some of your special herbs with you.” She stepped from out of the shadows, holding up a glass vial covered in dust. Mason wrinkled his nose. “That looks a little old.” She smiled a witch’s smile. “The longer it sits, the stronger the concoction.” Moving toward him, she shook the vial. “Sure you don’t want to play?” He reached up, loosening his tie with a cough. “Is it hot in here?” Her laugh filled the small space. Mason watched in fascination at the sight of her head thrown back, her mouth open, and her green eyes sparkling in total abandonment of the emotion. “Oh, it’s hotter than hell, Reverend, but I bet we can make it scorching if we tried.” Mason ripped the tie from around his neck and a few buttons in the process. “God, you are too much of a temptation for me to resist.” With his shirt open, he pulled on the leather belt around his waist. “Let’s do it.” She bit her lip and giggled. “Ooo, so romantic.” Mason stopped and narrowed his gaze on her. She circled around him, holding the vial beneath her chin with a teasing crook of her head. When she peeked at him with a sideward glance, he folded the belt and snapped it hard.

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She gasped and her eyes widened, but the smile on her face told him she was ready to play. “There’s a lot of Connor still in me, Starr.” “I hope so.” Her response was husky, and she sounded out of breath. “I don’t need henbane to help me respond to you Mason, but I’ll use it if you want me to.” He shook his head. “I want this to be just me and you.” Starr nodded, slipping her skirt down over her hips. “First, I want to wash all of this ash off of me and out of my hair.” The blouse flew onto the small heap of clothing already on the floor. She raised her arms, lifting her hair off her shoulders onto the top of her head. Mason traced every curve of her body with his gaze. He watched her twirl in a slow dance, first toward him then out the door, with a heavy ache between his thighs. Following, because he had no choice, he observed her lift her face to the clouds. Rain poured over her face and head to stream down her body. The wind buffeted her from all sides like the spray of a showerhead to cleanse her skin and hair. She raised her arms in celebration, laughing in the face of the storm’s power. Squealing like a child, she held her hand out to him. “Come on, it’s great!” Mason didn’t hesitate. Free of his obligations to the church he took her hand without regrets, pulling her into his naked embrace. Their bodies wet with the warm rain, they glided together in the dance of nature. He kissed her mouth, neck, and breasts. The salty taste of the rain on her hardened nipples teased his mouth. He released the tiny bud with a swirl of his tongue. She arched her back over his arm, giving him greater access to her neck. Sliding one hand up over her rib cage, he cupped one breast while he explored the throbbing vein in her neck with his lips and teeth, nipping and sucking as he explored the wonders of her anatomy. Starr moaned, pushing her body closer to his.


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Not satisfied with that response, Mason dropped his hand down between her legs, pushing a rain-slicked finger into her tight heat. One leg lifted, forcing her thigh up the outside of his. The heat of her core pulsed against his skin. Adding another finger to the first, Mason worked his hand in and out of her body, like a piston. Her breaths came in gasps against his mouth and a low groan erupted from her throat. Without thought of the storm raging around them, he lowered her to the grassy earth, following to lie atop her body. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, they stared into each other’s eyes. Words weren’t needed to express their love. He could see it written on her face. With one hand he smoothed the water and hair from her forehead before he leaned down to take her mouth. An inch from her lips, she said, “Thou art my husband, and I claim thee this day.” The intensity and sincerity of her words punched him in the gut, but he managed through trembling limbs and lips to reply with words he had never spoken, but knew by heart, “Thou art my wife, and I claim thee this day. I will love thee and protect thee for as long as thou shalt have me. This do I swear.” Her lips trembled, but with all the rainwater on her face, he couldn’t tell if she cried. Her smile was what he focused on when he joined their bodies. They both gasped at the sheer pleasure of being together, but Mason forced his mind to concentrate on completing the ceremony. For that was what it was. In the face of nature’s fury with the witness of the trees, rain, and wind they were pledging their love to each other forever. It was a magick he had never known in this lifetime, but one he recognized as the most pure in his soul. “We are one.” Starr clutched his shoulders, thrusting her hips up and bringing him deeper into her core.

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Sheri Gilmore

They gasped again, and she said, “We are one.” The wind howled and the rain intensified, but Mason thrust long, slow, and deep, extending their joy and pleasure until the very last second. Pressure built in his sac; pain and pleasure spiraled down his legs and up his back. Not once did he close his eyes as he loved Starr. She was his, and deep within he could hear Connor whisper, “Finally.” They orgasmed together, each screaming the other’s name into the wind, releasing the power and energy of their love into the howling vortex of the storm around them. Trees bent low, as if in a deferential bow to their defiance. Mason watched the expression on Starr’s face change from one of heightened ecstasy to a beautiful calm. He kissed her gently and watched her eyes open with a warm greeting in their depths. “I love you.” She smiled. “I love you, too.”

Sheri Gilmore When Sheri Gilmore isn’t creating romantic sexual fantasies for her readers, she’s a registered nurse, wife, and a mother of three. Her most favorite cities are New Orleans, San Francisco, and New York City, but she’s always wanted to visit San Antonio, Santa Fe, and Las Vegas. Visit Sheri on the Web at www.sherisecrets.com.

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