Witching - Moved to Main Profile

Chapter One

A cold spray of water on Corman's face jerked his consciousness to the surface and away from a ghoulish dream of chasing a man wearing a short, Hugh Hefner-style silk robe through a mansion. He blinked in confusion. The data entering his sluggish brain did not compute. His legs churned, taking him across the manicured lawn of a moonlit golf course, sparkling with water from the sprinkler system. The moon hung full and brilliant above his head, and the wail of police sirens whined in the distance.

His wet socks squelched in his sandals, and his lungs burned. The longer he ran, the more his nightmare of the screaming man faded, and the details blurred. He normally woke up in bed and not on a golf course. Corman didn't even play golf. He shouldn't be here. Where was here? And why was he soaking wet? Inexplicably, he was not only running, he was also carrying two heavy, lidded, plastic paint buckets. Liquid sloshed inside the buckets with every step. He slowed to set them down.

"Keep running, Corman," a woman shouted, sprinting past him. Her leather outfit molded to her curves like a rubber iPhone case—the sight of her knocked what little air he had out of his chest. A silver dust floated from her hands, but he blinked and it was gone. "You belong to me until midnight, so until then, keep going!"

"Sorry, excuse me," he called, breathless. "Is there some kind of house-painting emergency? I'm more of a tech guy. I'm a coder not a coater."

"No problem. It was more of a decorating situation, which I took care of, thanks to you." The woman jogged backwards a moment, eyeing him until he picked up his pace, an unseen force pulling him toward her.

The force pulling him might have been the blood flowing out of his brain and into his nether regions, but whatever. He ran. Was it his imagination or were the sirens getting louder? Fear spiked his muscles. Plus, a bug must have stung his left butt-cheek, because it twinged uncomfortably.

They reached a thin strip of woods at the edge of the golf course, and he followed her into the deeper shadows under the trees.

"Do you feel that?" she asked, her mouth near his ear. "The power humming in your veins?"

He shivered. "Actually, my butt is tingling. Maybe the power went there?"

"Doubtful. But I wanted to say, you're the best minion I've had in the last two months."

"Thanks?"

"Too bad it can't last." She dragged her nails across his cheeks and a sliver of fear pricked his stomach. He was no expert, but in the darkness, she seemed like the sort of person who could whack a guy over the head and leave his body to be found in a water hazard a week later by an unsuspecting caddie retrieving balls.

"Can't it?" he asked. "We could discuss things."

"But I would hate to take advantage of you."

"I'd be okay with that, depending on what kind of advantage we're talking about."

She beckoned for him to keep walking, and he wasn't sure if he was frustrated or relieved.

He stepped from the trees and into a road-side ditch. His car was parked on the shoulder of the winding street, shrouded in shadows despite a nearby lamp. The woman touched his arm, and he leaned forward. It was as if his body was waiting for her orders.

She licked her lips. Her dark hair hung in a wild tumble to her elbows and her breasts heaved. Even if she whacked him over the head, he was smitten.

"Is this a moment we're sharing?" he asked. "Should I pucker? Or would you like my phone number?"

She didn't answer, and he wracked his brain. What would a trespassing, leather-clad, babe want from him?

She tilted her head, eyes boring into his. "This is where our paths part, sadly."