Swallow the Moon Read online

  "Help me," Jake begged as he and Cora faded away. "Help me!"

  June sat up, once more in her bed. The wind had died, the house was quiet. The dogs were sprawled in warm lumps under the comforter. She rolled over, listening to Rags snore. June heaved a sigh trying to shake off the uncomfortable state of arousal and fear. Those hot kisses had left her aching for more – so her mystery lover was Jake, the DEA agent.

  How had he been ensnared by Cora? Her power over him appeared to be complete.

  What a mess. June chewed her thumbnail in frustration. Cora didn't act like a normal spirit – she meddled in the affairs of the living for a purpose of her own. The motorcycle was the center of it. Both spirits had owned it – Eric was tangled up in Cora's web, too.

  If only Eric would get rid of the bike. June doubted that he could sell it, even if he wanted to. Cora's spell was strong enough to keep two willful men enmeshed.

  Where was Eric tonight? Should she call him, tell him about the threatening phone call? Warn him that she was in trouble? She glanced at the clock – two o'clock was no time to make a phone call. It would have to wait.

  Was there anything that June could do? She would have to learn more about Cora and the bike that carried her spirit like a curse. With a shudder, June snuggled under the covers. The last thing she wanted to do was get more involved with this.

  She wished she'd never met Eric. Why couldn't he have been flung into someone else's yard?

  ~^~

  October 7th

  June skipped lunch to work at her computer. She was alone in the office for at least an hour. She opened the browser, typed in "Cora Cobra" just to see what would show up. She had a dozen hits. Cora had a MySpace page, a fan page; there were a lot of photos. June clicked around, finding three club links – one in Cleveland, one in Columbus and another in Erie.

  Most tempting was the You-Tube video.

  June bit her lip. She didn't dare – really.

  The office was deserted. Her fingers hovered over the mouse.

  Maybe she could watch just a minute.

  She clicked the link.

  A thin keyboard riff accompanied the opening credits. The haunting riff was blasted away by a repetitive bass run, men cheered. June hit mute.

  A leather-clad Cora drove her motorcycle onto a foggy stage. Her snake was wrapped around her waist and over her shoulder like a second head. She performed part of her dance on the bike, with the snake. Then she peeled the snake off, letting it slide through her hands and out of sight behind the bike. She writhed on her motorcycle – slowly shedding the jacket, the chaps, revealing a black corset and leather shorts.

  The video stopped abruptly, the scene overshadowed with the words: "Do you want to see more?" Cora's booking number was underneath.

  June quickly closed the browser and cleared the files. There was something wild and untamed about Cora that made June's life look stupid and futile by comparison. She was jealous – all that sex appeal, all those men screaming for Cora; while June huddled in an office – a dowdy little coward, too shy to live that life. June took a deep breath, finding her center and shaking off the feelings. She did not want to be Cora!

  Nothing could entice her into stripping for a room full of cheering men!

  The office door down the hall slammed shut. She didn't have time to feel sorry for herself. She had quarterly reports to finish. As long as she kept busy and stayed away from Tiffany and her cronies, she would be okay for one more day. But she didn't know how long she could go on like this.

  That night when she got home, June downloaded the video to her home computer and played it several times. Watching Cora dance, June felt envious; her life was pale and boring. Her job sucked, her boss was a thief, the office manager a sleazy tramp. She was reduced to selling junk on e-Bay to pay her heating bill. This was no way to live.

  June covered her face, depression washed over her in waves. Cora had it all, beauty and fame, an exciting life as an exotic dancer. I have a dead-end job I can't quit, a house that needs work and an empty bed, June thought.

  She went to her cold, empty bedroom cuddling Rags like a teddy bear. She was in that hazy state of half sleep where the body didn't respond, but the brain was still switched on when there was a creaking noise in the hallway.

  One of the candles on her dresser came fitfully alight. His shadowed figure wavered with the guttering of the candle, more clear than she'd ever seen him. He wore jeans and a leather jacket, his hair was long and fine, his beard and mustache close trimmed.

  June, I heard you call me. The biker image faded until she was looking at a clean-shaven man in a DEA t-shirt.

  I don't have much time.

  He crossed the room to her bed, went down on one knee. There's so much…but it's too late for us. He pressed a rose into her hand before he leaned over to kiss her lips. The kiss was so tender it stabbed her heart with an ice-cold blade. I would do anything to be with you.

  I'm so sorry. If I had known, I'd have torn this town apart to find you. He faded slowly, a mournful shadow.

  The candle still guttered fitfully, but she was alone. She squeezed the rose until the thorns bit deep, releasing her from the spell. Her heart pounded, tears burned her eyes. She turned into the pillow and wept with all the despair of the damned. There was no doubt in her mind what he'd meant.

  Jake was her soul mate.

  ~^~

  Chapter Nine

  October 7th, Ashtabula Harbor

  Eric drove the last few miles up Rt. 11, stifling yawns and working hard to stay awake. He rubbed his burning eyes; the combination of energy drinks and coffee wasn't enough to keep him awake at this point. He'd spent the previous day chasing down a new wheel for the bike, then he'd driven all night to get back to the Harbor.

  About time you got back.

  Once he'd cleared Cleveland she'd returned, a possessive and psychotic presence that left him feeling jet-lagged. For a moment he wished with all his heart to find the motorcycle stolen. Let some other poor fool be hag-ridden.

  No chance of that, lover.

  Eric parked his Explorer in front of the Iroquois Club. He needed a shower and a couple hours of sleep. He grabbed his duffel bag from the back. Hopefully the bathroom would be empty.

  When he stepped out of his Explorer, the cold air hit him hard. His breath frosted. Eric looked around, inhaling the sharply scented wind. If snow had a smell, this was it. The clouds were low and heavy, looking like they would brush the treetops.

  That figured. It had been in the 50's when he left Lexington. This crazy place was not only 20 years behind the rest of the world; it was 30 degrees colder.

  He shouldered the duffel bag, checked that Cora was still in the garage, then walked into the Iroquois Club. The smell of cigarette smoke burned his nose as he walked up the stairs. Room Two was as he had left it, the helmet and leather pants on the bed. He quickly unpacked his kit, grabbed a towel and headed for the shower, locking the door behind him.

  An hour later, he was crashed out under his sleeping bag.

  ~^~

  June woke up with a pounding headache. Had she dreamed Jake's visit last night, or had it been real? She wanted to believe it was a trick of the mind, but there were two red roses in the glass on her nightstand.

  The bond between soul mates was supposed to be strong and immediate. She didn't know, she wasn't sure, and she should be. Jake was tragic, brooding, heroic and dead. Eric was funny, vibrantly alive, a great kisser and unemployed.

  Just her luck, she was caught between a dead man and a dead beat. The impulse to tear out her hair was strong. She got ready for work, still brooding on the subject.

  Her thoughts came back to the motorcycle and Cora Cobra. Who was she? What was her story? What was the secret behind the motorcycle, how had it become haunted? Was it a curse or something that Cora did to the bike? Who would know?

  ~^~

  Eric walked down Bridge Street, chilled as falling snow slipped down his collar. The kind
of thick snow flurry he had only seen in Cincinnati in the dead of winter was here in October. He wanted to ride his bike, but it was out of the question. Instead he would get a sandwich down the street.

  Something small and winged caught his eye. Eric paused in front of a window that said 'Iris In Winter' in green script. Inside, it looked like a tea shop decorated with white lattice-work, fairies and flowers. One of the figurines in the window was a slender, sassy, dark-haired fairy, with blue and green butterfly wings that reminded him of June. Eric grinned as he walked into the shop. It would make a perfect gift.

  "Hello." The woman, dressed in a green silk caftan, was somewhere over sixty, her hair colored red and cut in a long pixie style. Her nearly flawless peaches and cream skin set off wide blue eyes. Her forearms were covered with bracelets that chimed as she moved. She held out both of her small delicate hands to him; he took them automatically. "What brings you to see Iris today?"

  "You're Iris?"

  "The one and only." She squeezed his hands lightly. "You're not from around here? Mister…?"

  "Call me Eric, please. I just got in today."

  "It's not often I see a man in black leather with the hands of a professional." She was looking into his face, not at his hands.

  "I'm a chemist by trade." Eric looked down at their joined hands. Her hands betrayed her age, while his were clean and well-kept.

  "But that's not all your hands tell me." She turned his hands over, running her thumb over the callus left by the motorcycle throttle. Her eyes flicked back to his face. "You've been far away and in great danger."

  "Sometimes I'm a soldier." Eric was amused by her flirty ways and her gypsy guesses.

  "Not married anymore." She remarked, then peered at his palms. "I see a woman in your future – hmm -- two women, a good woman and a bad one."

  "I should be so lucky."

  "Keep the good one." She gave a throaty giggle, her lashes flickering. "Good women are rare.

  "Blessed be." She moved so that his back was to the window. "I've never seen an aura like yours. There are shadows over your heart chakra and a black veil over the third eye."

  Old fraud, don't listen to her. Cora sent an electric chill up his spine.

  "I was looking at that figurine." Eric pulled his hands from hers to gesture at the figurine. She let him go with a little frown.

  "Something for your lady?" She picked up the figurine, handed it to him, then fluttered to a table where she poured two cups of tea.

  "Can I interest you in some tea?" Iris offered him a fragile green cup. "Be my guest."

  Tea? The old bag's trying to seduce you.

  After a second of hesitation, he couldn't find it in his heart to insult Iris. He sat, setting the figurine carefully on the table before he took the delicate teacup from her hand.

  "Sugar?" She indicated a delicate sugar bowl with cubes and tongs.

  "No, ma'am." The tea was hot, brisk with a licorice after taste. He stretched his neck and shoulders feeling the tension ease. He sipped again, reminded of June. That night, in spite of his injuries, he'd felt relaxed and comfortable with her.

  "Is the statue a make-up gift?"

  "A thank you gift. A woman helped me when I dumped my bike in front of her house. I was pretty beat up, she took me in." It was the edited version. "I owe her a great deal." The impact had left him dazed and helpless. Those men could have easily killed him. A week later, the memory still made the hair on his arms stand up. It was worse in a way, because the bruises were completely healed.

  Iris listened with her head cocked to one side and her eyes bright with interest.

  "She sounds like a special lady."

  "She is. I want to give her something – different."

  "I'm sure she'd love that statue." The look Iris gave him was playful. "I've got other gifts for women who like – other worldly things. Take a look around. I've got everything from crystals and oils to love potions."

  "I'll pass on the love potions."

  "Well, of course," Iris fluttered her lashes at him. "I don't think you need any help in that department."

  Eric laughed, blushing in spite of himself. He was used to flattering women; now the tables had been turned. Flirting with a woman older than his mother felt – weird didn't quite cover it – odd, disconcerting. He covered his discomfort by drinking more tea.

  "Tell me –" Iris began, then the door opened and two young women came in the shop bringing a blast of cold air and a soft dusting of snow.

  "Iris!"

  Their light voices and warm greetings gave Eric a moment to regroup. He should call June, not flirt with a woman twice his age. He finished his tea as the young women turned their attention from Iris to him.

  "Thanks for the tea," Eric said, standing up. "I'll stop in again."

  "You're always welcome." Iris flashed him a knowing smile before she fluttered to greet her guests.

  The two women smiled brightly at him, then giggled as he walked out the door. Eric pulled his cell phone from his pocket to call June. He paused for a moment, thinking he should go back for the figurine, but three pairs of eyes were watching him avidly. There was no way he wanted to get waylaid by three flirtatious females. A smart soldier knew when to retreat.

  He called June. She picked up on the third ring.

  "Hey, it's Eric."

  There was a beat.

  "Hi," her voice was warm and surprised. "How are you?"

  "Still sucking air," he grinned. "I'm back in town for a couple of days. Are you busy?"

  "I'm just leaving work."

  "Can we meet somewhere, have a drink or dinner?"

  "Where are you?"

  "Bridge Street."

  "You have a nose for trouble, don't you?" June laughed.

  "Me? Ah, come on, I'm not that bad."

  "Well, no. What on earth are you doing in the Harbor?"

  "Trying to get you to have dinner with me," Eric let his tone drop to coaxing. He was rewarded with a sound of pleased protest.

  "I've had a rough week. I'm not up for a night on the town."

  "How about I pick up a pizza and come out to your place?" He kept the coaxing tone.

  "Tonight?" She was weakening.

  "Why not?" He gave her his best 'come on.' "I really want to see you."

  "Oh - okay," she sounded a bit breathy. "I'm working on a project."

  "Are you ruining more soap?" Eric teased.

  "You guessed it," June laughed. "I've got a pound of beeswax, a gallon of goat's milk and set of new molds. I'm a dangerous woman."

  "Don't touch anything until I get there."

  "I promise."

  ~^~

  June was in the garage setting up her soap making supplies when the dogs barked a warning. An SUV pulled into the driveway, up to the house and stopped. Still a little nervous from the phone call, June went outside to see who it was. She hardly recognized Eric when he swung out, grinning at her. Just as she suspected, all cleaned up, he was a knockout.

  "Hey, girl." He scooped her up in an enthusiastic hug that made her giggle.

  "Wow, look at you!" She admired the hair cut and trim. "What's the occasion?"

  "I had a job interview." He gave her a kiss on the cheek before he let her go.

  "I guess it went well, huh?"

  "Oh yeah!" Eric ducked in his Explorer to get the pizza. He handed it over to her, then grabbed a couple bottles of soda. "It's a veterinary lab. I'd be running tests for several vets and a bunch of horse farms. Sounds interesting and the money would be good."

  "Good." June turned back to the door. "You want to eat now or later?"

  "Now." Eric followed her. "We can work and eat at the same time."

  "Is that safe?" June walked into the garage.

  "Of course." Eric raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't you trust me?"

  "Are you sure you want to trust me around caustic chemicals?" June snickered.

  "Good point," Eric said, setting the soda down. "Pizza and lye don't ta
ste good together."

  They ate and talked about all kinds of things. Eric briefly touched on his marriage to his high school sweetheart. June listened with sympathy. The things they didn't talk about were the most important things – his time at war and her magic. Watching Eric's eyes flick at the mats covering her pentagram without bringing up the subject vexed her.

  "Is there an elephant in the room?" she finally asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

  "What?"

  June looked in the direction of the pentagram. Eric followed her eyes, then looked at her with a faint flush. He turned back to melting the chemicals.

  "That's a hell of an elephant you got there."

  "Are we going to dance around it all night?" June leaned her back against the work table so she could look him in the face.

  "Do elephants dance?" There was a quirk to his lips that told her he was teasing.

  "Apparently this one does."

  "Okay, you got me." Eric set the metal spoon down with a clank, then faced her. "I don't have a clue about how to talk about it. It's not like I can say, 'Cast any good spells lately?' like it was – ah…"

  "Normal?" June raise an eyebrow at him.

  "Truce, okay?" Eric held his hands up palm out. "I said I was sorry about – er – that. I was scared shitless. I didn't have a clue."

  "And now?" Hope flared in her heart. Would he be able to understand and accept her?

  "I did some on-line research the other night. Wicca is a religion, not hocus-pocus or Harry Potter." He gave her a smile. "The whole 'turn the-prince-into-a-frog' cliché is bullshit."

  "Pretty much," June admitted. Maybe it was going to be all right.

  "Good, 'cause singing 'It Ain't Easy Being Green' is not my idea of fun." The wicked gleam in his eyes made her smile. When she smiled, he moved closer, pinning her against the worktable. As they moved together to kiss, cold wrapped around them both, squeezing their legs and slithering up their bodies.