Blood Music (Bewitching Bedlam Book 1) Read online

  Bubba hiccupped and gave me the stink-eye, but I also knew that I had hit on a sweet spot. He was always complaining about how small the condo was. Now, there was no way he could object. He let out a low rumble, then hacked up a little hairball into the corner of the carrier. Curling up, he closed his eyes.

  “Yeah, like all men, you refuse to admit when you’re beaten.” I dashed up the stairs just as a bolt of lightning flashed through the air and the clouds opened up. Quickly fitting the key in the lock, I opened the door and ducked inside just ahead of the thunder and rain.

  The mansion had intrigued me from the start. Even though it had sat empty for so long, it still felt alive. I glanced around and flipped the switch to the right of the door. As the hall flooded with light, I thought I heard a welcoming “Ahhh…” as though the house had suddenly woken up and went, “Wow, I have company!”

  I moved into the living room. The place was clean, at least. I had hired a housekeeping service to come in and spend a full day polishing the place from top to bottom. It had required two teams to manage it, but they had dusted and polished and washed down the counters and walls and rubbed away the years of grime and age that had accumulated.

  My furniture was waiting, though as I looked around I realized none of it was in place. I had specified to the movers on how to arrange it, so it looked like I’d need to call the company and demand a partial refund. In fact, the room looked downright haphazard, with furniture and boxes shoved willy-nilly into it.

  “Wonderful,” I muttered aloud. “That’s going to be a job.”

  I dropped my purse on the sofa along with my tote bag and set the cat carrier down. First things first. I needed to set up Bubba’s litter box and get his food and water ready. I had decided to lock him in the pantry for the day, then take him up to my room for the night. Bubba might be a cjinn, but he had enough feline instinct to get himself in trouble. I didn’t want him getting lost in the cavernous house before I had a chance to make certain there was nothing that would hurt him.

  “Right. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

  Bubba let out a little purp that could have been anything from “Right on” to “I’m hungry.”

  I headed out to the car and carried in the new litter box and food, then made a second trip for the cat litter. Two twenty-five pound bags of the stuff later, I was already worn out. After I dragged everything into the kitchen, I sat down and heaved a sigh of relief. I had managed this much. I could get through the rest of the day. Sandy was due at around six with takeout and to help me with more of the unpacking.

  Once I set Bubba up in the pantry, I tackled the furniture, rearranging it until my back felt like it was going to break. A brief rest and two bottles of water later, I began to unpack the kitchen.

  By four-fifteen, it was dark out. I was putting away the last of the pans when I happened to glance at the door leading to the basement.

  It was open.

  What the hell? I hadn’t gone down there yet, let alone leave the door ajar. When I first entered the kitchen, I distinctly remembered it had been closed. So what was going on? Was there somebody in the house with me? Had some transient gotten in?

  The only weapon I had at hand was my magic, but I didn’t want to bet on it right now. It took time and energy to prep most spells, and I was already worn out from the day’s organizing. I grabbed a cleaver from my knife block. Making certain the pantry door was firmly closed—the last thing I wanted was for Bubba to get loose, though he could probably fend for himself better than I could—I edged over to the basement door.

  I pushed it open, wincing as the hinges let out a grating creak. Wonderful. I’d probably have to oil every door in the house. A glance down into the basement told me it was dark down there, all right. Dark as night. Dark as jet. Wondering if I should get a flashlight or risk turning on the light, I finally opted for the latter. Sure, it would give fair warning to anybody who might be hiding down there, but it would also provide me with a better view of what I was facing.

  As light flooded the stairs, I grimaced. The entire stairwell was covered with spiderwebs. The cleaning crew had neglected my instructions on cleaning from top to bottom, apparently. Another phone call on my growing list.

  Back to the spiderwebs. I had no beef with spiders, as long as they understood my terms. Namely, they keep to the corners or stay outside and I wouldn’t smash them flat. But I hadn’t had time to bargain with the eight-legged bozos here yet.

  A glance around the kitchen netted me a broom that had been left in one of the corners.

  Armed with the cleaver in one hand, the broom in the other, I began to edge down the stairs, one at a time. Each step I tested gently, praying it would hold. I had seen too many movies where the victim had broken through the steps only to get trapped by the monster in the basement. There was a makeshift railing, but to use it I’d need a third hand. Even if I had one, the railing didn’t look all that steady.

  Luck was with me, though. One step felt like it might give way, but the others held firm. As I slowly descended into the cavernous basement, I swept away the webs, cursing the cleaners under my breath.

  “Last time I use their services,” I muttered, trying to muster my courage as I stepped into the main chamber of the basement.

  It was filled with trunks and boxes overflowing with junk. Some of it looked to be decades old. Furniture had been shoved into the corners, lining the walls—old armoires and chairs and tables. Hmm, maybe I could make use of this somehow. An antique treasure trove might lead to a whole new source of income if I wanted to go the flea market or Hex-Sale route.

  A sudden noise to my right startled me and I whirled toward the back wall. From here I could see a door. A closet, maybe? Another room? Skirting a pile of boxes, I approached. I hadn’t bothered to ask about the basement. Bjorn had assured me there was no water damage or mold, and that had been enough for me. I had no clue there were two rooms down here. Maybe it was the furnace room. But I knew the furnace was in the far corner of the main chamber, so that couldn’t be it.

  “Who’s there? Is anybody there?” Feeling ludicrous—if there was an intruder, he wasn’t going to come out and introduce himself—I laid the broom across a table and edged forward. Maybe I’d get lucky and find rats or a stray cat or something.

  No answer. Not that I’d expected one.

  One more step and I stood in front of the door. As I stared at the doorknob, I thought I saw it turn. I waited. Nothing. Certain my imagination was running away with me, I reached out and gave the knob a turn, then opened the door.

  Inside, I found a small alcove. And in the center of the alcove, propped on a couple of sawhorses, rested a coffin.

  Chapter 2

  CRAP. VISIONS OF The Walking Dead raced through my head. The last thing I needed was a zombie on my hands. Or…maybe the skeleton from some serial killer’s wet dream. I groaned, fishing against the wall for a light switch. As a dim light filled the alcove, I saw the room also held a coffee table with an armchair and a garment rack full of clothes. A small bookcase sat next to the armchair, and the table was covered with a jigsaw puzzle that was half-finished.

  What the hell? Was somebody living down here?

  Thoroughly confused, I lowered my cleaver, feeling like I’d just stepped into a David Lynch film. I glanced at the coffin, in no hurry to check it out. Maybe I’d luck out and it would be empty. Maybe whoever my uninvited guest was had a fetish for sleeping in a coffin. Crossing the room to the jigsaw puzzle, I grew even more confused. A puzzle of three kittens playing? I eyed the armchair. No spiderwebs. No dust. In fact, there weren’t any webs or dust in the room. Everything was tidy and clean.

  I lowered myself to the chair and, setting the cleaver down, glanced at the titles. Philosophy, poetry, a half-dozen assorted books on baking, and about two dozen mysteries? There was also a book on winemaking that had a bookmark placed about a third of the way through it.

  Had I somehow inh
erited a house with an eccentric old lady who had decided to make my basement her home away from home, who liked wine, mysteries, cats, and sleeping in coffins?

  I glanced at my watch. Four-thirty. Sandy would be over soon, and—

  A creak interrupted my thoughts. I slowly set down the wine book and glanced back toward the coffin. The lid was beginning to open.

  Oh fuckity fuck fuck. Once again, thoughts of zombies and serial killers raced through my mind. I prayed for zombies. Zombies, I could take care of. Serial killers? Not so easy. And the only other creatures who hung around coffins—well, I really didn’t want to think about the fangtabulous set.

  I skirted the coffin, my back to the wall. Never turn your back on a coffin lid that’s starting to open. Especially when you don’t know who…or what…is inside. Maybe I could get away from the basement while I was still alive. Maybe I could get out of the basement before the lid—

  Whoosh. The lid flew open with a crash.

  Well, there went that plan, and my cleaver was still on the table. Not about to go back and get it, I dashed for the door, managing to crash against it, slamming it shut with me still inside the room.

  “Hell! Open, open, open!” Chanting the words like a mantra, I fumbled for the doorknob. I managed to crack open the door, but before I could get through, a hand came barreling over my shoulder from behind me to slam the door shut again.

  I paused. This was the part where a friend was supposed to yell “Boo” and I was supposed to light into them for playing a practical joke. But there was no laughter—no sound of breathing behind me.

  My heart racing, I continued to stare at the hand on the door, too petrified to turn around. It was a man’s hand, that much I could tell, though not at all rough or calloused. Whoever he was, he was wearing a large square ring—gold with a sun engraved on the flat surface, and what looked like a carnelian cabochon in the center. The hand was attached to an arm, and that arm looked to be covered with the sleeve from a leather jacket. In fact, the smell of leather and musk swept around me, making me weaker in the knees than I already was.

  Before I could say a word, the hand slinked back from the door and landed on my shoulder, fingers gripping me tight. Trying not to hyperventilate, I gathered my courage and slowly turned around.

  There, looming behind me, was a tall, brooding man. He was pale. Pale as the waxen moon, pale as snow, pale as death. His eyes were the color of coffee ringed with crimson, and his hair was raven black, wavy and hanging down to his shoulders. He was indeed wearing a leather jacket.

  He stared down at me, a slow smile sliding across his face, his lips open just enough for me to see a pair of glistening fangs. “Hello, beautiful. Tell me, what are you doing in my house?” His voice was smooth as honey.

  I backed up, pressed against the door. Vampires were top-of-the-food-chain, dark-knights-on-wild-stallions dangerous. And I was trapped in the basement with one.

  He leaned forward, nestling his nose next to my ear. He sniffed. “Mmm…what is that perfume you’re wearing? Sweet as night. Sweet as blood. Or is it just…your scent…?”

  I shivered, trying to look anywhere but in his eyes. But damn, he was handsome.

  And deadly, a little voice in the back of my mind whispered. Never forget the deadly. And you’re a witch—which makes it worse.

  I stared at his chest. I had to keep the fact that I was a witch hidden. Vampires couldn’t charm us with their gaze, so they tended to view us as threats. And to make it worse, our blood affected them like an aphrodisiac. If Mr. Dressed-in-Leather realized I was a witch, I might as well rip open a vein and offer to be his personal juice box so he could get his rocks off.

  “You smell…delicious.”

  Against my will, I darted a look at his face.

  He licked his lips, his tongue darting between his fangs. “What’s your name?”

  I stuttered, “M-Maddy.” And then, before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Are you going to kill me?”

  Stupid, stupid…don’t plant ideas in his head. My inner voice launched into a tirade. I tried to shut it up—I couldn’t think when my brain was beating up on me. And think was what I needed to do. But visions of my mother weeping over my lifeless, bloodless body knocked out both my inner critic and my inner guidance.

  The vampire slid both hands past me, leaning against the door as he caged me in. I was pinned between his arms as he pressed forward, pushing me fully against the door.

  I always imagined that a vampire would smell like death or decay, but he smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and dark amber musk. There was a familiar feeling to that scent, but I couldn’t quite place it. My pulse quickened and I felt something going on in my nether regions. He smelled too good, too tasty, too…fuckable. And it had been far too long since I’d had sex. This was so not a good thing.

  “Maddy, oh pretty Maddy. What should I do with you? I’m not sure. You’re trespassing on my territory. But I think there’s something special about you, something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?” He laughed softly, his tongue lightly tripping over his words. His voice sang over his words and I wanted to fall into the sound of it. I wanted to press my breasts against him and rub hard. Really, really hard.

  Hell. While his gaze wouldn’t work on me, I suddenly realized I was responding to the preternatural charm some vampires had. It practically oozed out of their pores. No wonder they captured their victims so easily.

  I slid my hand along the door behind me, reaching behind me for the doorknob, but he saw and gave it a firm slap, moving so quickly I didn’t even see him move.

  “Naughty girl. You don’t like my company? I might just have to spank you.”

  I pulled my hand back, my fingers stinging from the slap. “You wish.”

  “You want me to wish?”

  Shuddering, not wanting to answer that—at least not truthfully—I realized that there was no way I could open the door, not with him holding it closed. He was far too strong. I’d have to use my wits to get out of the situation. Which meant channeling my fear and putting it to action.

  “My house,” I said, forcing as much strength into my voice as I could.

  That startled him. He stared down at me for a moment before saying, “What?”

  “This is my house. I bought the house and took possession this morning. So technically, you’re the trespasser.” Catching a deep breath, I stared straight at his chin. If he thought I was just some human challenging him, he might take pity on me and let me go. Vampires didn’t kill all their victims.

  “Well.” He cleared his throat. “Aren’t you the feisty one? Let me get a good look at your eyes, pretty girl.” He took hold of my chin and lifted it. I tried to close my eyes, but he was so close that I couldn’t manage it. I was too afraid he was going to sink his fangs in my neck at any moment and I wanted to be ready if he did.

  We stood there, poised like statues. One beat. Two… Three… Then, a look of bewilderment crossed his face and he shook his head, snarling for just a moment.

  “Oh goody. How lucky could I be? A witch bought my mansion.”

  There was nothing I could do to backtrack the situation, so I figured I’d better play the hand I’d been dealt. “Once again, my mansion. And you want to make something of it? This is Bedlam, for fuck’s sake. You know very well this is a magical town and that it was built by witches.” I cleared my throat, then nervously babbled on. “But hey, I’m not unreasonable. I’ll leave for tonight, and I won’t say a word. That will give you time to move your coffin and not worry that some of my friends might want to Buffy-Up on you. I’ll swear on my athame and my broom.”

  A witch’s oath on his or her sacred dagger and broom was binding. The offer seemed reasonable to me, but Mr. Vampire didn’t seem to think so. Narrowing his eyes, he leaned forward till his forehead was pressed against mine, holding me still. The chill from his body rippled through me like water from an icy lake and my nipples stiffened. />
  “You know how very much vampires like witches.” He was playing with me now. Cat and mouse, and I was definitely the mouse. He pulled me to him with one arm, holding me against his rock-hard chest. I tried not to squirm but, as terrified as I was, I felt myself responding to his presence. All I wanted to do was crawl all over him.

  “Mmm-hmm…” I wasn’t sure what to do next. I had a feeling my blood was on the line.

  But once again, he cocked his head and stared into my eyes. “There’s something about you…I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re so familiar…”

  As he spoke, once again, I caught his scent and the feeling of déjà vu hit hard. “I… I…”

  At that moment, the doorbell echoed from upstairs. I let out a sharp breath.

  “That will be my friends. They’re here to collect me for dinner—and not the kind you’re thinking about. If I don’t answer, they’ll come looking for me. And while you might be able to take me down, you won’t be able to stand against an entire party of witches and you know it.”

  He paused for a moment, a look of uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “My house,” he said. “Do you understand? My house.” He paused, then with a husky voice, added, “You tell no one about me, or I’ll make certain that it’s the last secret you ever breathe, do you understand?”

  I nodded, about to swallow my tongue. “Sure.” He was going to let me live—I could barely believe my luck. But my kneejerk need to have the last word kicked in. “But it’s my house. So buh-bye and have a good trip.”

  With a flare of his nostrils, he murmured, “Damn you,” and crushed my mouth with his, kissing me deep. His touch was icy, but his cold fire sparked against my growing desire. I melted into the kiss as it ricocheted through me, sparks on dry tinder. I moaned into his mouth and a flash of recognition shattered my thoughts. I wondered if he had felt it, too.