Swallow the Moon Read online

  "Stay out of my house."

  June drank a cup of tea and fretted. The house needed to be smudged with cedar to get the last of that – stuff – out. For now she would content herself with burning incense. She lit a half-dozen sticks, putting one in every room – two in the kitchen. Even that didn't keep the hair from rising on the back of her neck.

  The motorcycle had to go.

  Vexed, June went up to the guestroom, but stopped dead at the door. Eric was flat on his back with one arm under his head, his bare chest exposed. She wondered what he looked like under the beard. He had a straight nose and high cheekbones, a generous mouth. He didn't smile often. But he could turn on the charm when he tried.

  There were bruises on his upper arms and a tracery of scars across his forearms. June dragged her eyes from all that bare skin. Her fingers itched to touch him, to trace the thick muscles of his arm to his chest and down – she flushed at the thought. His skin would be warm and smooth like satin. He would have that clean, warm, musky scent that sleeping men gave off, soap mixed with pheromones.

  Kiss him, something in her mind whispered. Touch him. Taste him.

  She was hypnotized by the set of his full mouth; the light sandy hair of his mustache barely covered his lips. His lips would be soft, until he was fully awake. He'd be surprised but he'd go with it. He would kiss her back, hard, the way she wanted to be kissed. The way she needed to be kissed.

  She was starving to be kissed.

  She was ravenously hungry, wanting Eric, wanting sex, wanting to appease this raging hunger that burned her body.

  All she had to do was walk in the room – and touch him.

  June licked her lips, took a step forward, imagining herself slithering over him, wrapping around him like a snake would wrap itself around some hapless prey, then squeeze the life from him. She crossed the threshold, intent on her prey.

  She would drink his kisses and steal his soul…

  What?

  Steal his soul?

  Disoriented, June bumped into the table by the door. The crystals on the tray rattled.

  "What?" Eric reached for something with an open hand. He scrubbed the other hand over his face, blinking his eyes to clear his vision.

  The pills, June thought, he was still out of it. More reason to act now, the hunger in her raged. Take him. Take him while he was unable to fight.

  Why? There was a war going on inside her, pressure threatening to tear her in two, both sides wanting Eric for equally selfish reasons.

  No way!

  Dizzy, June reached for something to steady herself. The table beside her moved, scraping loudly against the floor. Her hand closed around one of the crystals.

  Immediately the roaring in her ears stopped.

  "What the fuck?" Eric sat up.

  "I'm sorry." There was a moment of blessed relief as June squeezed the crystal in her hand. A deep breath cleared her head. "I didn't mean to disturb you." She turned to flee.

  "Wait." Eric swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Don't go."

  For the life of her, she couldn't take another step. June turned to look at him, then was unable to look away. He looked delicious, sleepy and vulnerable. His chest was bare and the sweats had slipped down his hips. He yawned and stretched, flexing the thick muscles of chest, arm and shoulder, slowly, like a male stripper, teasing her. He smiled like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  June's mouth watered even as she took two steps closer.

  The sleepy look in his eyes sharpened.

  Go to him. A seductive whisper, he would slake her hunger, willingly. Touch him.

  "I want to thank you for helping me." He held out his hand.

  His eyes said he would be very generous and – thorough – with his gratitude. June took his hand. He pulled her closer until she was right up against his knees. He ran his free hand up her arm to the back of her neck. He didn't need much pressure to draw her face to his, to bring their mouths within inches of touching.

  June put her hand on his shoulder. She traced his broad shoulders with her fingers, feeling the masculine bone structure, the satin of his skin. Their lips touched. It felt perfectly right and natural to kiss him, slowly, deeply and exquisitely.

  June's head said it was just a kiss, her pounding heart said she was in trouble, her body screamed for more. The stone in her hand blazed with sudden heat where it was pressed between their bodies. June recoiled from the pain, dropping the stone.

  "Fuck!" Eric flinched.

  The red and silver stone smoked on the throw rug, threatening to set her house on fire. June lunged for the stone, wadding it into the rug. She raced to the bathroom where she dumped the bundle in the sink and turned on the water.

  "What the hell was that?" Eric was beside her.

  "The stone," June swallowed. "Hematite is protection –" She poked through the sodden fabric until she found the stone. Shuddering, she rubbed her fingers over the heart-shaped stone, now icy cold.

  Hematite was protection from evil.

  "Are you okay?" Eric had his hands on her shoulders.

  June took a deep breath. The impulse that had driven her a moment before was gone. She was scared, cold and shivering, while he was warm and way too close. She shrugged off his hands. What to say? She gathered her courage, the wet rug and the stone.

  "I'm going to get to the bottom of this." She ducked around him, then started down the stairs. "I would never, ever act like that with a stranger."

  "Wait!" Eric came after her. "Where are you going?" He followed her to the garage.

  "There is something – wrong – with that motorcycle of yours." June's anger protected her from the cold. "That thing is dangerous, I can feel it. It's waiting to – to eat you." June flipped the wet rug over a clothesline, then strode to just a few feet from the bike. Again, she felt like she was being covered in cobwebs.

  "Whatever it was, it is no longer just a motorcycle."

  "Don't be silly. There is nothing wrong with Cora." Eric stepped between June and the bike. "A motorcycle is a machine. That's all." He briefly looked down at his hands, then brushed them against his thighs.

  Did he feel that sticky energy, too?

  "Why do you call it Cora?" June challenged him. "Who is Cora? Have you ever wondered?"

  "It's the name under the woman's picture." Agitated, Eric ran his fingers through his hair. He looked from her to the motorcycle. "Why does it matter?"

  "Something else is there." June pointed to the motorcycle. "I think there is a spirit attached to your bike." She centered herself, wanting to see the enemy. A cool wash of energy rose from just under her heart, buoyant, brilliant, like a fountain of white light. She visualized the pentagram hidden under the plastic matting, called a circle of white light, protection from the awful thing trying to take over her mind and her body.

  The cage sprang to being with an audible snap.

  Eric was on the wrong side of it.

  "Hey!" Hands pressed against the invisible shield, Eric tried to cross the barrier.

  A tall woman in a corset, leather shorts and boots became visible behind him. The woman tossed her head, distain in every line of her body.

  "You must be Cora." June tilted her head. Was there a second spirit behind her?

  "What the hell did you do?"

  June cut her eyes to Eric – what to tell him? Best to keep quiet, this was bad enough – why make it any worse? Eric was already freaking out.

  "I'm not sure what happened." True enough. Could she let him out while keeping Cora inside?

  "Let me out!"

  "Okay!" June closed her eyes, concentrating on the circle. She needed a door – right there. She moved her hands, shaping the doorway.

  "See if you can cross the circle now."

  With a grunt of pain, Eric lurched out of the cage of light. He went to his knees on the padded floor catching his weight on his hands. He stayed down, one arm clutching his stomach; his face was bloodless. "Oh god, that hurt.
"

  "I'm sorry," June got down on her knees beside him. "You got trapped inside the circle, with – with Cora's spirit."

  "This is crazy." Eric glared at her staggering to his feet. "I'm out of here." He stalked out of the garage.

  The door to the kitchen slammed; June's heart went out to him. He needed to see, to understand the danger he was in. A slight hiss made her look back at the motorcycle. Cora trailed her nails across the cage of light.

  Teeth flashed in a snarl – a threat?

  Since when did a spirit have the nerve to pull tricks like this? June tugged at the rubber matting. The puzzle-shaped pieces came free, exposing the floor painting underneath, a white pentagram on a green background and a blue ring on the edge. Cora and the second shadow retreated back to the motorcycle.

  The motorcycle sat in the center of the pentagram, a vile serpent contained in her sacred space. June felt them brooding in their confinement as she quickly took up her antheme.

  The kitchen door slammed again. June palmed her antheme as she heard Eric coming out of the house.

  Eric entered the garage with his leather chaps and boots on and his jacket slung over his shoulder. He took one look at the pentagram on her floor and his jaw dropped.

  "What kind of freak are you?"

  "I'm a Wiccan, not a freak," June snapped.

  "I'm out of here." Eric advanced on her, threat in every line of his body. "I'm leaving and you are going to let me go, with my bike. Right now."

  "Sure. Okay, just open the door." Her eyes followed him as he strode over to the garage door. While Eric's back was turned, June banished the circle. The stones in her hands flared hot as the spirits circled her. The worst they could do was give her a bad case of chills.

  Was there anything she could say to Eric to mend this? From his body language, June figured that she wasn't going to see him again.

  Every movement stiff with outrage, Eric stalked to his motorcycle, pulling on his leather jacket. He didn't push his bike outside; he started it where it sat. With a final glare, he pulled on his helmet.

  He rode the motorcycle out of the pentagram, out of her garage – out of her life.

  June heaved a sigh as she watched him ride away.

  She closed the garage door. As soft as a breeze, she felt movement in her hair. Then there was the warm brush of a lover's lips against her throat.

  June wiped her neck, shuddering with the knowledge that Eric had taken only one spirit with him. The second one, a man, had stayed. She turned off all the lights, leaving the garage in darkness.

  She wanted her dogs and her nice quiet house.

  ~^~

  Chapter Six

  As Eric racked his bike through the gears, he gritted his teeth. He'd been tricked. He didn't know how, but whatever happened in the garage had nothing to do with magic. June wasn't a witch, she was a nutcase.

  He wouldn't believe the bullshit about his bike and spirits. There was no such thing as ghosts. They were the stuff of movies – utter nonsense.

  Yeah, he called his bike Cora. Guys name bikes, cars and body parts. It didn't mean anything.

  It didn't have anything to do with ghosts or witches or crazy shit. He glanced up at the cloudy sky. It was this town – everybody here was nuts – like some kind of horror flick.

  While he was off serving his country, his life was completely destroyed. Cora was all he had left. Everything else was gone or packed in a storage unit.

  A large dark SUV passed him, going the other way. Eric flinched and checked his rearview mirrors. The SUV kept going, but his train of thought shifted. He had a better idea of the county roads, thanks to the Ohio map. He wouldn't be trapped or lost so easily this time.

  Eric slowed for the stop sign – no cars – he blew through it. He found the Rt. 11 on ramp and turned north. He could take 11 to Lake Road, then west to Geneva where there was a Harley shop. Someone would help him find Van Man Go.

  The freeway was open, flat, inviting him to test the engine. Cora sang to him until he shifted into sixth, then her engine shrieked. He crouched behind the windshield and let her rip, 90 miles an hour – 100 – 105, Cora had plenty left to give. Flashing red lights ahead warned him the highway was ending. Just a mile up the road was a set of stop signs and a cross road. He coasted to a stop, then turned left.

  This part of the city looked flat broke. There were buildings with the tarpaper siding from the middle of the last century. The impression of age made him feel that he was moving back in time to the 1930's or 40's.

  He went over the hill and down into the Harbor. He saw marinas on his left, a huge ship offloaded on the right. He kept to the speed limit as he took the sharp turn, passed under the huge stone counter weight that hung over the road, like a giant hammer, onto the short span of bridge.

  The mile long strip of Bridge Street opened up in front of him. Lined with bars and little shops, studded with baskets of bright-colored flowers, the street fairly buzzed with people and cars. Moving slowly with the flow of traffic, Eric saw the simple white sign with black lettering.

  "Van Man Go – Custom Painting."

  Yes! Eric slowed the bike, turning left into the parking lot. He stopped just outside the bays. The wooden building was dark red with black trim. A big sheet-glass window was covered in a mural, a couple of motorcycles racing on a flaming track.

  Music blared from the open bay. There were auto parts scattered inside, paint splashed everywhere. A full dress Honda Goldwing sat center stage, female devils danced in the red flames on the fairing. The artwork was gorgeous, intricate and colorful – the bike was a show-stopper in the making.

  Eric killed the engine, pulled off his helmet.

  "What do you want?" a man demanded from the shadows.

  "I came to talk to Van Man Go about my bike." He straddled the bike with his helmet on his thighs, peering at the shadow that moved into the light.

  "I'm getting ready to close." Van Man Go was a thin pale man in a tattered, sleeveless, 'wife-beater' undershirt and paint spattered jeans. He was heavily pierced through the ears, the lips and the chin. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken and crafty. His skin hung on him like an outgrown suit.

  Fear ran freezing fingers down Eric's spine. It was the man from those freaky dreams. His mouth went dry, the hair on his arms stood up.

  His gut screamed 'Run!'

  Eric dug deep into himself for the attitude he'd used while serving two tours in 'Stan. Fear would not get Cora restored. He'd seen worse than this unnatural little weasel. He knew how much damage a man could do with bare hands. It wouldn't take much for him to snap the creep in half.

  "Huh. You got any money, boy? 'Cause time is money." Still standing in partial shadow, Van Man Go measured Eric with his eyes.

  "What do you think?" It was lame, but it was the best Eric could do. He swung off the motorcycle to face Van Man Go.

  Van dismissed him with a flick of an eyebrow. Instead he looked at the bike with a twisted smile.

  "So-oo Cora's back." Van cut his eyes to Eric. "I heard Jake missed a curve a couple months ago. Too bad."

  "Shit happens." Eric shrugged.

  "Bring her in." Van motioned Eric inside.

  Eric took a deep breath; he grabbed the handlebars of the bike and shoved. Cora didn't move.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Stuck in gear." Eric kicked the gear shift into neutral.

  "Never mind." Van stamped out of the bay.

  Eric half expected him to burst into flames like something out of a vampire flick.

  No such luck; Van didn't even flinch.

  "Some damn amateur screwed up my work." Van trailed his fingers over the paint. "Colors aren't right. What did he use for topcoat – nail polish?" His eye accused Eric of defiling the motorcycle.

  "I bought her like this." The bike shifted backwards, falling off the kickstand. Eric stepped forward to save it. The metal was ice cold. Eric repressed a shudder.

  "Some of these are fresh."

&nbs
p; "I got run off the road."

  "Hmm, that seems to be going around." Van contemplated Eric for a moment. "Come here, boy." He walked back into the shop, saying over his shoulder, "Don't worry, this is a freebie."

  It took an effort of will for Eric to cross that line from light to shadow. He blinked to adjust his sight, removed his dark glasses. He followed Van to the right, to a wall covered in a dizzying collage of drawings, photos, before and after pictures. Vans from the 70's, custom cars, motorcycles, tour buses with huge detailed murals. This was a lifetime of work, awards, trophies and bits of fender or gas tanks, every bit of it first rate. The music got louder as they walked closer to the wall. It was a vaguely familiar keyboard riff.

  "Awesome."

  "I'm no freaking amateur, boy." Van turned to him, pointed out the photos of a woman dressed in black corset and leather shorts. "That was Cora Cobra – one tall, sassy tramp. Take a good look."

  As Eric looked, the keyboard was joined by a bass back beat. The haunting sound threaded through his mind as he looked over the collage. The woman in her Goth makeup had an albino python wrapped around her like a scarf. There were professional pictures signed "Don't you want to see more? Cora Cobra." Some photos of her dancing with the snake reminded him of the bar scene in 'Dusk 'til Dawn.' She was so posed and life-like in the photos she almost seemed to sway.

  There were close-ups of the snake; detailed sketches of the scale patterns. Guitars picked up the beat, crossed it, fuzzed and whined, blared and screamed. There was a series of color photos of the bike when it was finished. Eric licked his lips as he looked at the photos of Cora on the bike. Her tousled black hair fell like a veil across smoky eyes of a glowing green. Her lips were colored a red so dark it was almost black. He listened to the music as it ran endlessly – staring at the full pout of Cora's mouth. He lusted for her – the woman and the machine that was all that was left of her.

  The guitar dropped out, the hypnotic bass run continued as the keyboard threaded over and around it. The music would have suited Cora to a tee – sultry and seductive. Enthralled, Eric fell under the spell of a drum solo and a half-remembered dream of Cora dancing naked at his feet.