Hot Magic (5 page)

Harry’s lips weren’t awkward or hesitant. He kissed her like he knew her. Like he had kissed her a thousand times before and her mouth was a welcome home. Julie kissed him back, seduced by the sense of belonging. Her tongue whispered across the inside of his lower lip and then went back for a slower, longer taste. Something suspiciously like a purr vibrated from her throat. He was addictive. She was in trouble.

The purr, or maybe it was her tongue, had the same effect as a blowtorch on dry firewood. The kiss went up in flames.
 

She was suddenly arched over Harrison’s arm, her breasts pressed into his chest. His hand cradled the back of her head and his lips covered hers, hard and hot. Julie’s circulatory system went haywire. Blood rushed so quickly through her heart that it pounded like a jackhammer and yet that same blood pooled and settled with a slow heated pulse between her legs. She had no chance to respond to the kiss before he eased his mouth away and took an unsteady breath. He gently nipped at her lip and then soothed the small sting his tongue. When he did it again, she circled his neck with her arms and tugged. “Harder,” she commanded. “Kiss me harder.”

“Julie.” Harry’s arms tightened.

Her name, a rough murmur that was both a plea and a prayer, reached inside her like a fist and pulled out a hunger that she hadn’t known was there. She pushed closer, lost in the sensation, lost in him. Violins sounded in the air around them and fireworks filled the sky. Julie broke away and took a step back, breathing hard. Harrison’s chest rose and fell as furiously as hers. He tracked her movements, his eyes glowing like amber coals. Why had she ended the kiss? She took a step back toward him.

“Mom!” Tasha burst out onto the deck. “Did you see those fireworks? I haven’t seen anything that amazing since we went to Detroit for the Freedom Festival. It’s not even dark and you could see them light up the sky.”

Julie turned toward her daughter and shook her head to clear it. “You saw actual fireworks?”

“And heard violins.” Tash looked across the yard. “Is Dorie learning to play the violin again?”

Julie dropped down, directly on the deck, and buried her head in her lap.

“Yoga? Now?” Tash asked uncertainly.

Hiding her head in her lap did not block out her thoughts. With a sigh, Julie looked up at Harrison. The heat had banked and his eyes now held a hint of amusement. “Did you do that? The fireworks, the violins?” She braced herself for the answer.

He shook his head. “No.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. Her world still made sense.

His lips twisted slightly. “You did.”

“Y
ou’re a witch and you didn’t tell me.” Tasha paced around the kitchen, upset. “First Grandma tells us she’s gay, now you turn into a witch. You promised not to get weird on me, Mom.”

“I am not a witch.” Julie put the lasagna noodles in boiling water, wishing she had some wine to dull the energy fritzing through her.

“Harrison said you have powers.”

“Harrison is crazy,” Julie retorted.

“Harrison is hot. And he didn’t look crazy to me.” Tasha crossed her arms and her face turned stubborn. “Mom, I saw the fireworks and heard the violins.
I’m
not crazy.”

“I can’t explain that right now. I don’t understand it myself. I do know that if I were a Sun Dancer, or whatever Harry called me, I’d know it.” She slammed the cheese down and leaned back against the counter. Her skin felt tight, like it couldn’t contain all the energy whizzing through her veins. This was embarrassing. She really needed to get out more. Kissing a man shouldn’t mess with her this way. “I’m over forty. You don’t start discovering totally new things about yourself when you’re my age.”

“Grandma discovered she’s gay, and she’s a lot older than you.” Tasha pointed out with irritating logic.

Julie turned to get a cold glass of water from the sink. She was burning up. “Grandma doesn’t count. She’s in an orbit all by herself.” Julie put a hand against her forehead. “I think I’m catching the flu.” That was it. She was running a high temperature and this was all a fever hallucination.

“Mom?” Tasha had a funny note in her voice.

“Yes?” Maybe she should lay down with a cold compress or something.

“Uh, Mom. You’re glowing.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but I know I look as yucky as I feel.”

“No, Mom. You’re
glowing
. You have a halo all around you.”

Julie ran into the small bathroom off the kitchen and stared into the mirror. A pulsing light surrounded her body. Her daughter crowded in behind her. Tash reached out a hand and passed it through the light.

She yanked her fingers back quickly. “It’s got an electrical charge.”

Julie closed her eyes. “I am sleeping. This is all a dream.”

“Mom, I know you sent Harrison home, but I think you better go talk to him.”

“No need.” Julie opened her eyes, surprised to see the glow building in intensity, just at the thought of him. “I’m sure I’ll wake up in a few minutes.”

Tasha backed away. “Okay. Listen. You go watch the noodles and I’ll just step outside for a breath of fresh air. I’ll be right back.” Tasha turned and raced through the kitchen. Julie stepped out of the bathroom and watched her practically leap over the deck as she headed toward Harrison’s house.
 

Tasha looked so athletic and beautiful. Her little girl was all grown up. Smiling, Julie stepped back into the bathroom. The white pedestal sink and bright yellow walls made her feel safe and happy. She’d bought white hand towels for the room when Tasha had left for college. Ha! And Jack thought she wasn’t a risk taker. She fussed with the towels and noticed her fingers left small, brown singe marks. Good thing this wasn’t real.
 

Getting into the spirit of things, she pointed her finger at the toilet. “Be clean!” She squinted at the porcelain. The toilet hadn’t been all that dirty to begin with and she couldn’t tell if was any cleaner. The bathroom mirror began fogging over and she walked into the kitchen to turn down the fire under the noodles. Her brain felt fried by the heat consuming her. Too much. Everything was too much. She wanted a normal, boring dream. The tears starting down her cheeks hissed and evaporated into puffs of steam.
 

“Mom. I need you.” She whispered into the empty air of the kitchen, hugging herself. She wasn’t at all surprised when her mother popped into the room.
 

Her mother, on the other hand, screamed.

H
arrison had just ended a phone call to his secretary when the banging on his door started. He stalked through the empty house to the door, not in the best of moods, and threw it open. Young Natasha’s fist landed square on his chest.

“Ow!” she yelped and sucked on her knuckles. “Are you wearing a cement vest or something?”

He would have felt flattered, but the minute he opened the door, he sensed the tsunami of power. He grabbed Natasha and pulled her close. Fear trickled into him for the first time since this whole fiasco began. In a heartbeat, they stood in Julie’s kitchen.

Natasha crumbled to the floor the moment his arms loosened. An older woman stood in the middle of the room, a startled screech echoing from her lungs. Julie smiled at him, glowing like a bloody angel. Only the immortals could contain that much power without bursting a blood vessel. Julie certainly couldn’t.

He scooped her up like a baby, the glow dampening slightly. What the hell was happening to her?

“Harry, this is my dream, and I want you to kiss me again.” Julie’s arms, hot as pokers, circled his neck. Her power pulled his head down. He met her lips, jolted again by the taste of her—sweet, salty, addicting. For a brief second, he lost himself in the absolute rightness of the hot press of her mouth. The fiery burn of her body against his. He lifted his head and met her dreamy eyes. He thought one word.
 

Bascule.

T
asha struggled to her feet, sucked air into her lungs, and watched her mother disappear from the kitchen with Harrison. She didn’t faint and she didn’t scream. She didn’t even have a panic attack. Instead, she stumbled to the closest chair and sat down. “I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?”

“I saw it.” Jean Dancer wore a particularly grim expression on her face.

Tasha rubbed her head. “Unfortunately, you’re in Chicago, so I’m hallucinating you, too.”

Jean reached over and pinched her arm, hard. “Hallucinations don’t pinch.”
 

“Ow!” Tasha had no idea if that was true, but she decided to go with it. “Is Mom all right?”

“No. But if anyone can help her, the Balance can.” Her grandmother lowered herself into a chair slowly, as if every muscle pained her. She wore a flowery, flowing skirt and a peasant style blouse. Grandma changed styles on a daily basis. Sometimes she went for sleek and sophisticated, sometimes hip and fashionable. Today she’d been caught in a sixties time warp—a decade she’d no doubt owned.
 

“Who or what is the Balance? What’s wrong with Mom? How can people teleport through space?” The words tumbled over each other. Her mouth and tongue couldn’t move quickly enough to frame the questions in her head.
 

 
“Slowly.” Jean drew out the word.

Tash took a deep breath and put a brake on her racing thoughts. One question at a time. “How can Harrison zap in and out of places like a
Star Trek
character?”

“In
Star Trek
, you need a transporter device. Totally different thing,” Jean said absently.

“Grandma. Look at me. Tell me what you know about this.” The soft demand sat between them like a grenade.
 

Jean looked up. Lines creased her usually smooth skin. “I know I’ve been incredibly foolish. Something triggered a release of Julie’s power.”

 
“I don’t understand.”
 

Jean put her head on the table, the soft blonde curls she currently clutched in her hands a tribute to her hairdresser. “I don’t, either. This is impossible. Besides, she’s Sun Dancer and he’s Penumbrae.”

Harrison had called Mom a Sun Dancer, too. When Jean kept her head on the table, Tasha pulled out her phone and googled Sun Dancer. Mom was not a member of a Native American or First Nation tribe. She was also not a nudist or a boat. No help there.
 

“This is not the time to be chatting with friends.” Jean sat up. “Put your phone away, and tell me exactly what happened before your mother went nuclear.”
 

Tasha stuck her phone in her pocket and then repeated the story of the kiss, the violins and fireworks and her mom’s odd electrical glow.
 

Jean’s frown deepened. “Using power is a balancing act. There are three parts to it—absorbing energy from the environment, transforming that energy and releasing the power back into the environment. Your mother hasn’t been trained. If she begins absorbing energy without knowing how to release it....”

“Are you saying Mom might die?” Tasha put one hand against her chest, to physically hold in the hysteria she could feel pushing for release.

“No. No! The Balance has her. He’ll take care of her. He’ll help her.”
 

Her grandmother’s words didn’t sound as certain as Tasha needed them to sound. She stood up but there was nowhere to go. Nothing she could do. No way to help her mother.
 

Steam from the simmering lasagna noodles fogged the windows. She carried the heavy pot to the colander her mother had set in the sink, her heart twisting as she thought of her mom bustling around the kitchen. Her strong, dependable mom. Her steady rock.
 

She tipped the noodles and hot water into the colander and stood, taking the full force of hot steam that bathed her face. Hair that had escaped from her tight ponytail twisted into corkscrew curls. Hair color from her dad, hair curls from her mom. What else had her genes gifted her with?

She turned and braced both hands behind her on the counter. “Grandma, who are we?”

T
he man lounged in a camel-colored vinyl armchair, watching reruns of The Simpsons. One long, leather clad leg draped over the side of the chair, his foot ticked a lazy rhythm. Not a muscle in his lean body jerked when Julie and Harrison appeared in the hotel room with him.

Julie gasped at the lightning-quick change in venue and tightened her grip on Harry’s neck. He sucked in his breath, and she smelled burning hair. Now that was definitely bizarre. She’d never been able to smell in a dream before. She moved her arm and saw singed neck hairs on Harry. She turned her head and spit on her skin. The water danced like moisture on a hot griddle. Oh man. How would Freud interpret this?

She loosened her death grip on Harry and looked around, storing details for later therapy sessions. She appeared to be in a small, bland hotel room decorated in shades of pale beige. Okay, Freud would think she was boring. No surprise there. She turned her attention again to the room’s single occupant and stared in growing wonder at the man sitting in the armchair. Thank you, deep unconscious. “I’ve dreamed up a young Johnny Depp!”