18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Callum

Sex with Michael was beyond anything I could have ever imagined in any of my wildest fantasies. It was hands down the best sex of my life. The man touched something deep inside me I hadn't even known existed.

I liked him. A lot. Probably way too much for the short time we had known each other.

It went beyond the great sex, had started well before that. Sure, I'd had a crush on Michael in school, but I hadn't known him. At all. I'd just been captivated by his good looks, his pretty blue eyes, and his gorgeous smile. His outward package had always made my stomach fill with butterflies.

And yes, those butterflies had swooped in again when he had blown into the shop–had it only been a week?–but this was so much more than fluttery feelings.

Hex jumped over Michael, landing with a soft thud and a put out meow between us, startling us both. Michael reached out a hand and stroked the clearly starving feline, offering him solace. "I know, your breakfast is late, isn't it?"

Hex purred and preened beneath his attention, arching his back and stretching, before flopping onto his back and silently demanding belly rubs.

The fact that Michael also liked my cat was another point in his favor.

"I'm surprised he left us alone this long," I stroked Hex's black fur, before rubbing under his chin. That gesture amped up his purring, the sound rumbling in the room.

"Well, someone was making a ton of scary noises," Michael's lips quirked in amusement, and I playfully swatted his arm.

"I was not!" Heat flushed my cheeks as I remembered some of the sounds that had come from me. Maybe I had. Okay, I undeniably had been making a ton of noise. I was loud in bed and not ashamed one iota about it.

Michael's brows rose to his hairline. "You so were! You are very vocal, Callum Turner! And quite bossy!"

Shrugging, I grinned. "Sorry not sorry. "

"Me either," he told me, still absently petting Hex. "I liked it." Leaning over the pesky feline that had determinedly planted himself between us, he whispered against my lips, "My bossy bottom."

"That is not going to be my new nickname," I told him smartly, scrunching up my nose. Rolling over, I reached for my glasses, groaning when I saw the time. "Ugh, we need to get up. I rescheduled Mrs. Hawthorne's reading for this morning. She'll be getting all kinds of antsy if she doesn't get her cards read soon. I swear that woman doesn't miss a week. Even though I constantly tell her that she doesn't need to have her cards read that often. The woman is eighty, what does she think is going to happen in her life that she needs to know about?"

"You're cute when you ramble," Michael rolled out of bed, making sure to wait while I followed on his side of the bed. "You should read my cards."

"What?" His statement caught me off guard. "Really? You want me to?"

He shrugged, grabbing my hand and tugging me across the hall into the bathroom. After he had brushed his teeth while I peed, he turned the shower on to heat up. "Why not?"

Grabbing my toothbrush and the toothpaste, I stared at him in the bathroom mirror's reflection. "It just didn't seem like your thing. "

His blue eyes watched me vigorously brushing my teeth for a few seconds before he responded. "I'm changing my mind on what I believe and don't believe. Let's just say I'm more open to a lot of things than I was. Besides, it will be fun."

Spitting the mouthful of froth into the sink, I frowned. "I guess."

Hex wandered into the bathroom, which was rapidly filling with steam, and voiced his opinion on still waiting for his delayed breakfast.

"Sorry, dude, your daddy and I need showers," Michael told him. "Then we'll all get breakfast."

Until this morning, each of us had politely waited while the other showered, with turned backs and downturned eyes. This morning I got to step into the tub next to Michael. It took us twice as long to shower, our soapy hands running over each other's bodies, and stealing kisses every few minutes. Mindful of the time, we both made an effort to keep it PG, or at least PG-13, washing each other but not letting our fingers linger too long on any spot.

I flicked the water from my eyes after rinsing the shampoo from my hair, to find a pair of green cat eyes staring at me. Hex had poked his head around the shower curtain and was watching us with narrowed eyes, silently judging. As if to say, this is what's holding up my breakfast?

Michael, noticing where my gaze was focused, turned his head to see the cat staring at us. "Creepy. "

Snorting, I turned off the water. "That's called judging. And probably plotting our demise for his late breakfast."

Once dressed, we made our way downstairs, dodging Hex with each step. The cat was determined to try to trip one, or both of us, winding his long body between our legs. When he would get a few steps ahead of us, he would stop and hurry back to make sure we were still following.

"Yes, yes, we're coming," I admonished, stepping over him on the last step and shooing the cat in front of me. With Michael's luck right now, we didn't need him tripping over Hex, falling, and possibly getting injured. One hospital visit was quite enough.

Once I had the cat nibbling away on his wet food, I reached into the cabinet and pulled out my box of Franken Berry cereal. Pouring milk into my bowl, I questioned Michael's frowny face. "What's that face for?"

Digging into my strawberry cereal, I sighed in pleasure, leaning up against the kitchen counter.

"How can you eat that?" He poured himself a cup of coffee, inhaling the rich, dark roast as he sat down at the table. "It's like all sugar."

Nodding my agreement, I grinned around the mouthful of pink joy as I chewed. Swallowing, I sat down across from him. "'Tis the season. I look forward to this time of year all year long. It's only available in the fall. I eat three or four boxes once a year, and then I'm good until the next year." Waving my spoon at him, I smirked. "Don't be jealous of my awesome cereal."

He chuckled, sipping his coffee, which I knew from the past week was usually all he had for breakfast. He'd have some kind of healthy snack mid-morning, before lunch. "Jealous isn't the word I would use. Horrified. Yeah, that fits."

"Well, don't expect me to share," I informed him, "I don't even share with Daphne."

"Oh, baby, that sugar bomb is all yours."

My eyes widened at the endearment that had rolled smoothly off his tongue, and so did his, but neither of us commented on it. Truth be told, I kind of liked him calling me baby. Which was weird, because I had always cringed when I heard other people use it with their partners. But it left a warm feeling low in my belly in its wake, and I suddenly realized what the appeal was.

Michael's phone buzzed, his screen lighting up. Putting it to his ear after hitting accept, he said warmly, "Good morning, Mom."

Finishing my breakfast, I silently listened to his side of the conversation.

"Yes, I'm fine, I told you that…uh huh…yeah, he's right here…" Michael cupped his hand over the phone, saying lowly, "My mom says hi."

"Hi back," I rinsed my bowl, then stuck it in the dishwasher. Hex, having finished his breakfast and once again satisfied with his life, jumped up onto the empty chair next to Michael, licking his paw. No doubt the intelligent kitty was hanging on every word out of Michael's mouth.

"He says hi back, Mom…next week hopefully…I can take more time if I need it but I have cases to get back to…I know you think I work too hard, Mom…I promise I'll come visit more often…with Callum, yes…" He rolled his eyes at me and I grinned at him, then mouthed Your mom loves me , and made a heart with my hands over my chest. He rolled his eyes even harder and put his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was five minutes until ten, and I needed to open for the day. Making a gesture on my wrist like I was tapping my non-existent watch, I tilted my head in the general vicinity of the storefront.

"Mom, I need to go," Michael said, "Callum needs to open the store for the day and I need to check in with the office…I know I'm on leave, but I still…I know…" he let out a long suffering sigh, running a hand through his sandy hair. "I don't want to practice corporate law…I'll tell him…love you, too."

He ended the call with another frustrated sigh. "My mom said to tell you she's going to make an appointment online to get her cards read."

"Okay, I told her I'd be happy to do a reading for her. She can just come in anytime. "

Michael raised a brow at me. "You are not going to do it for free."

"I didn't say–" I started to protest, because that had been exactly what I was planning to do, but how had he known that?

"You so were, and I'm telling you no. This is your business, and everyone should pay. Even your boyfriend's mom."

Plenty of so-called friends had tried to take advantage on multiple occasions, thinking I should read their cards for free. Daphne had had more than one falling out with friends when they felt she should let them have candles, crystals, or whatever else was on our shelves, for free. I knew he was right, but this was his mom we were talking about. It seemed weird to take her money.

Leaning over him, I told him huskily, "Say that again."

"Say what? That you shouldn't be doing readings for free, not even for friends? I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. It's bad business."

Shaking my head, I grunted, "Nope, not that."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he smirked. "Boyfriend?"

"That's it, that's the sexy word." Pulling me down with a firm hand on the back of my neck, he captured my lips in a possessive kiss .

A loud banging had us both groaning in low key sexual frustration, and we rested our foreheads against each other.

"Mrs. Hawthorne," I sighed, already missing the warmth of his kiss and his lips on mine.

"That's one hell of a knock for an octogenarian," Michael observed.

"You have no idea." Pushing away from him, I waited while he refilled his coffee. The banging came once more, followed by a sharp, "Callum Turner, do not make me tattle to Abigail on you! Don't think I haven't noticed how often that sign has been turned to Closed while she's been away."

Shaking my head at her all too real threat to blab to Gran just how many days I hadn't opened the shop, I asked Michael, "Ready?"

"Pfft, I face down criminals every day. One little old lady is nothing."

"Oh, I bet that devil card is for my neighbor Mr. Tribedeau," Mrs. Hawthorne's blunt fingernail tapped the devil card I had uncovered sharply. "That man is the devil if I've ever met him. Won't trim that tree of his and the limb hangs over my yard, dropping leaves like singles at a strip club."

Michael's snort laugh turned into a muffled half cough when Mrs. Hawthorne's piercing brown eyes landed on him.

Patiently, I reminded her, "Now you know good and well that card doesn't represent the actual devil."

"Well, you know good and well it doesn't represent anything good," she retorted right back, causing me to shake my head at her.

"And you know good and well it's aimed at you and not an outside force. "

Tarot wasn't just about what cards were turned over. There were a lot of other factors that came into play when reading someone's cards, such as the placement of the cards and even which way they were turned up. The woman had been getting her cards read longer than I had been alive, and probably knew each card's meaning better than I did.

"Someone woke up and chose difficulty this morning," I snarked, scanning over the rest of the cards. "Moving on."

"Just tell me if I'm going to win the pie baking contest at the Halloween Fair this year," she said, a tad impatiently. Her eyes kept straying to Michael with obvious interest.

He was seated next to me, in the little corner section of the store that I had for private readings and had been busily tapping on his phone. However, Mrs. Hawthorne's crackly voice had brought his nose up from his screen, and he was now staring at the cards laid out on the table with obvious interest.

Pursing my lips at her, I pushed my glasses up my nose. "You know that's not how this works."

She gave a harumph, her stooped shoulders shaking with the effort. "Your grandmother gave better readings."

Michael sat up straight, his mouth opening, and I just knew he was gearing up to defend me. The thought had a thrill racing through me at his eagerness to come to my rescue, but I held up my hand to stop him. This was a little dance Mrs. Hawthorne and I did weekly .

"Then why are you coming here every week, wasting your money on me?" I sat back and held her gaze, my arms crossed over my chest. "I'm sure I can talk Gran into doing readings just for you."

Gran had stopped doing readings years ago, when it became apparent that I was much better at deciphering the cards. While she could do basic readings and tell people what the cards meant, I could sense the cards. It was hard to explain, but it was like I could feel the cards and what they meant for the individual I was reading for. Small vibrations rolled off the cards and flowed their energy into my fingertips. Sometimes I even got brief flashes of the person's life.

When my first handful of customers–under Gran's watchful eyes–had all returned to rave about how my card readings had all been spot on for something happening in their lives, Gran had taken notice. Mrs. Hawthorne was one of Gran's oldest friends, so she knew better than anyone about my card reading skills. The woman just liked to give me grief every time she came in.

"Bah," Mrs. Hawthorne waved her age spotted, wrinkled hand, "you're way better looking than Abigail. And I like you don't take any of my bullshit. You dish it right back out to me. Keeps me young," she tapped a card on the table, "wheel of fortune. It's about my pie, isn't it."

I knew why she came most weeks. She was a lonely old lady, who had no family left, and the weekly outing to have her cards read was her social time. Afterwards, she usually took tea with my gran in the kitchen, and the two old friends would chat for hours. Honestly, I enjoyed our interactions more than I let on.

Relaxing, I unfolded my arms. Closing my eyes, I held my hands over the card, feeling the strings of energy in the air wrap around me. A flash of a blue ribbon, and the scent of pumpkins and tantalizing Fall spices filled my nostrils. Blinking my eyes open, I smiled at her. "I see good fortune in your future."

She cackled, clapping her hands and telling Michael with a wink, "That's witch speak for me taking home another blue ribbon."

"I didn't say that," I warned her, with no heat in my voice.

I finished her reading and pocketed the hefty tip she always added onto my usual fee. I had given up a while ago insisting that she didn't need to tip me. Though it was always appreciated from the tourists, it just felt wrong taking it from someone that was a close friend of Gran's. The woman had shushed me with a frown, insisting I take the extra money, adding, "I don't have anyone to leave it to, so I might as well spend it all before I go. If I want to tip a handsome man a twenty, I damn well will."

Yeah, there was no arguing with her and I never won when I did it .

"Now, how long have you two been shacking up?" she inquired, not even a bit ashamed at the personal nature of her question. "Abigail didn't mention you were seeing anyone last time we spoke, Callum. And you snagged yourself an Endicott. Well done, you."

Michael couldn't keep the shock off his face, sputtering, "How do you know who I am?"

"We aren't shacking up." I scowled, entering her next appointment in our online calendar and writing her out a reminder card. She always insisted on the little card even though I knew her memory was still sharp as a tack.

"Because I've lived here my entire life, boy. I'm well aware of the Endicotts," she informed him haughtily. "not to be confused with John Endecott, one of the founding families. However, your mother's people date back as far as the Hawthornes in Salem." Giving me a sly look, she added, "As well as the Spencers, too."

Michael nodded, "My mom was a Williams before marrying my dad."

"She was," Mrs. Hawthorne nodded, "And Callum's grandmother, Abigail, was an Osborne, before she married a Spencer. Loads of history standing in this room."

"Well, we aren't shacking up, so no need to tattle to Gran when she gets home," I brought the conversation back around to her earlier question. "I'm just helping Michael out with a problem he's having. "

Her shrewd eyes traveled between the two of us, and I fought the urge to not squirm under her watchful look.

"Is it a vampire problem?" She pointed a finger at my neck, "Because someone has been sucking on your neck, Callum Turner."

She cackled at her own joke, and my hand flew up to my neck where my collar had shifted just enough that the hickey Michael had placed there earlier was just barely visible.

"Ah, to be young and in love again," she smiled wistfully, making her way slowly to the door with the help of her cane. Waggling her fingers in the air, she called, "Toodles boys. See you next week, Callum."

The bell over the door chimed as she exited, leaving us once again alone. Mondays were generally slower in the mornings, though October brought a flurry of tourists who would wander in and out throughout the day.

"She's…something," Michael observed, looking slightly shell-shocked by all that was Mrs. Hawthorne.

"She is," I couldn't keep the admiration for the older woman out of my voice. "I actually look forward to our weekly readings, though I never tell her that. I don't want it to go to her head."

He laughed, "Yeah, I get that. Was that true, what you told her about her pie?"

Sitting back down next to him at the small table, I nodded. "Yeah, probably. "

It was hard to explain to people, and my feelings or visions or whatever they were, combined with my card readings, didn't always come true. People had the ability to change their futures at any given time, without even knowing they were doing it. Mrs. Hawthorne might decide to change her recipe for whatever reason at the last minute, and that could change the outcome of what I saw.

"And you saw that in the cards?" He seemed genuinely curious, which wasn't usually how my dating life went. The few men I had dated had either been slightly weirded out by how my family made their living, or just a little too fascinated by it.

"Not exactly. So, I can read the cards, but honestly people can get a deck of tarot and a book and teach themselves how to read cards. Or even from the internet."

"But you are a witch, so does that help you see things that someone like me–a non-witchy type person–wouldn't see?"

"Non-witchy?" I teased.

He grinned, "Yeah, you know, us people who aren't witches."

"It probably does help, yeah. Born witches tend to be more intuitive of most things. I get…feelings from the cards, I guess you would say. It's like I can feel the energy from the cards. It wraps around me and…speaks to me? That's the best way I can describe it. And sometimes I will get flashes of things from a person's life. Little glimpses of what might be."

"Are you psychic?" Michael asked, and it was a valid question.

I shrugged. "I don't know what I am, honestly. I'm not psychic in the way most people think of psychics. The only time it happens is when I read the cards, and no one knows why. But the things I see don't always come to fruition. Humans change their destinies all the time, every single day, and don't even know it. Honestly, reading the cards is the only witchy," I used air quotes around the word, "thing I'm good at. You've seen my spell casting skills. Gran thinks it's because my dad was human and I'm a male. But really, no one knows why some witches have certain skills and some don't. We all have different strengths in our household."

He leaned his chin on his hands, eyes bright with real interest. "Like?"

"Daphne can unravel spells, like I told you. Not all witches have the ability to do that. Sure, they can cast a spell, but Daphne can wave her hands over someone and pluck the essence of a spell away. For instance, if we wanted to stay bound together–not saying we do–she can see the two spells cast on you and only untie the one we would want gone. If that makes sense."

He nodded, "Yeah, it does. "

"She's also a great spell caster," I continued, "Gran's strengths are potions."

His brow furrowed, "There's a difference between a spell and a potion?"

Idly shuffling the deck, I placed them in front of him, indicating he should cut them. "Yeah. Spells, potions, hexes, curses. They aren't the same."

With ease, I laid the cards out in a Celtic cross formation, letting my eyes look over each card as I turned them over.

"And your mom?" Michael asked, his eyes watching the cards I laid out eagerly.

Glancing up from the cards, I smiled, "Mom is what is called a kitchen witch. She can cast spells and make potions, but she mainly does it in, well, the kitchen. Where Daphne can cast a spell just standing next to you, Mom uses herbs and recipes to concoct her spells and potions. Her power is from the actual cooking and baking and the emotions she puts into it. She's a fantastic cook and baker because of it."

"This is all…" he paused, searching for the word he wanted, "fascinating, actually. There's just so much more to it than I ever gave thought to. I guess I just thought all witches were the same, if they were real."

Turning my attention back to his cards, my brow knitted together as I studied them .

"There's that pesky devil card," Michael joked, though I could hear the concern in his tone. Most people acted the same way when I turned that card over, not understanding its true meaning.

"It actually means change, transformation, and even growth," I told him, more concerned with a few of the other cards I had turned over. The devil card was never anything to be all that worried over. That wasn't to say it couldn't represent something bad, but in most cases, it truly didn't. "Mrs. Hawthorne knows that. She just likes to blame it on her neighbor when it shows up in her readings. Frankly, I think the two of them are sweet on each other and don't want to admit it."

Michael pointed to the Fool's card. "What's that about?"

Giving him a sly look, I told him, "It means you are embracing fun and spontaneity, and a new romantic adventure is in your future."

His lips twitched with amusement, "Are you just making shit up now?"

Putting a hand to my heart, I gasped, "I would never! And no. The cards don't lie."

Leaning over, he gave me a tender kiss. "So far, I like what I'm hearing."

Blowing out a breath, I let my hands hover over the tarot, closing my eyes and blocking out the world around me .

Bright, blinding lights.

Pain.

Fear.

Blinking my eyes open, I found Michael's blue ones watching me intently.

"What did you see?" he whispered.

Shaking my head to clear it, I tried not to let what I was feeling show on my face. "I'm honestly not sure."

Pointing to the Five of Cups, I told him, "This indicates leaving someone behind. And this, the Eight of Swords, can mean helplessness and…in some cases, a fatality."

Michaels eyes were round in his face, which had paled. "Jesus, maybe don't tell people that. What does all this mean?"

Ignoring his question, I continued the reading. He was right though; had this reading been for anyone else, I wouldn't have added the last part about the card's meaning. I would temper exactly what I said and put the best positive spin on whatever the tarot revealed.

But this was Michael. The man who in a crazy short amount of time had come to mean so many things to me. Whatever his future held, I wanted to be a part of it, good or bad.

"The Knight of Swords can indicate violence and danger in the future, but this one," I tapped the High Priestess card that was facing up instead of down, "this is telling you to trust your institution and search your soul. The answers can be found there."

Michael looked uncomfortable and slightly worried, which was exactly how I was feeling. "Should we be worried? I mean, nothing bad has happened since I've been here, with you. Besides the whole mushroom-allergy-almost-dying thing."

"That was an accident," I scooped the cards up, because I didn't want them staring at me another second, "there was no malice in that."

"I do think it's even more imperative we try to find the person who cast the spell on you," I reiterated our plan to do just that. "I want to find out exactly what spell he used, and what his intention was."