Spellbound by Pandora Pine (1)

 

 

 

 

 

SPELLBOUND

 

 

By

Pandora Pine

 

A cold case psychic spin off novella

 

 

 

Spellbound

Copyright © Pandora Pine 2018

All Rights Reserved

 

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

First Digital Edition: August 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PROLOGUE
Niall

It was surreal watching his mother’s silver coffin, topped with coral roses, disappear into the earth. Niall Gallagher had been asked several times, first by the priest, and then by various members of the cemetery grounds keeping crew if he’d like to leave. Each time he’d given the person asking a polite no, before turning his attention back to the gaping hole in the ground surrounded by bright green AstroTurf.

He’d never understood the need for the fake grass. Fake beauty, he supposed. It was one more thing bringing home the gravity of this day, of this place. As if spending the last week making the funeral arrangements and then sitting through the hour-long mass, in which the entire congregation openly wept, hadn’t been enough of an eye-opener to the seriousness of this situation.

No, Niall would stay until the bitter end with his mother. He owed her that, and so much more.

Betty Lou Gallagher had been there for him through everything life had thrown at the dynamic duo for the last twenty-eight years, until some son-of-a-bitch, who’d had one too many beers watching some game at a local bar, decided it was a good idea to drive home drunk. The man had run a red light and T-boned Betty Lou’s Honda Civic. She’d died in the ambulance en route to the hospital but hadn’t suffered. That’s what the ER doctor, who bore a striking resemblance to George Clooney, had told him later that awful night.

How his mother died was neither here nor there. All roads had led to Saint Mark’s Cemetery on the outskirts of Portland, Oregon.

When the small bulldozer smoothed out the dirt over Betty Lou’s final resting place and the AstroTurf was laid over the small mound, the groundskeepers nodded to Niall as they filed past him.

“May the peace of our Almighty God be with you, my son,” Father Walsh said from a few steps behind him.

“Thank you, Father,” Niall said, trying to keep yet another fresh round of tears from falling. He felt like he should be nothing but a bag of bones and desiccated skin by now with all the tears he’d cried over the last week.

The priest’s words were hollow, having no meaning to him. He knew his mother’s faith was a great comfort to her, but the Catholics had no place in their ranks for a man like him. Oh, sure, they said gays were welcome to worship with them now, but this new attitude didn’t erase the years where he’d been told he would burn in hell for his sin of biology. The old terror left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.” Father Walsh set a hand on his shoulder.

Niall nodded. It was all he could manage at the moment. The last few days had sapped him of his strength. All he wanted to do now was go back to his mother’s house and curl up in bed. He felt like he could sleep for a week. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. No sleep for the wicked, as it were. “If you’re going to the celebration of life at Greta Hines’ house, I’d love a ride.” Niall pasted a weak smile on his face. How anyone could celebrate at a time like this was beyond him, but Greta was his mother’s best friend. He had to at least put in an appearance.

“It would be my pleasure. Greta makes the best chicken salad finger sandwiches. My car is this way.” Father Walsh pointed to a powder blue Chevy parked under the shade of a nearby tree.

If finger sandwiches didn’t heal the giant, gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to beat, Niall didn’t know what would. 

***

“I don’t understand.” Niall’s mouth hung open like a fish out of water. “How much money did you say?” A week after Betty Lou’s funeral, Niall was sitting in a cushy leather chair in the equally cushy law offices of Porter and DiNardi, Attorneys at Law, located on the thirty-second floor of the Wells Fargo Center in downtown Portland, Oregon.

“Well, the house is assessed at nine hundred twelve thousand dollars, but usually real estate sells for higher than that. This is a seller’s market after all.” Bob DiNardi, his mother’s trusted lawyer, turned the folder around to show Niall. “These are comps of other similarly assessed houses in the area and these are the prices they sold for.” Bob used the point of his very expensive Cross pen to point out the seven figure selling prices.

Niall had to stop himself from whistling over the sheer absurdity of the numbers. One of the houses Bob was tapping his pen over had sold for one and a half million dollars. That was a lot of cheese, as his mother would say. How ironic was it that he was sitting here in her lawyer’s office discussing her assets, using her turn of phrase and feeling like a giant rat for mentally planning out how exactly he would spend all of that cheese.

Niall was Betty Lou’s only child. His father had been a sperm donor. Some random man who had the exact looks and SAT scores his mother had been convinced would, along with her own genetic material, create the perfect child. He’d done his business to some raunchy porno in a cushy exam room and left his lab jar with a nurse, who cut him a check for his time and dexterity.

He’d always admired his mother’s moxie for starting a family on her own terms. Not a day had passed in his twenty-eight years that his mother didn’t remind him how perfect he was. How very much wanted and loved Niall was. Well, until the morning after the accident…

All there was that morning was Betty Lou’s black cat, Midnight, sitting on his chest, staring down at him with a disapproving look in his green eyes. The cat needed to be fed. Midnight would mourn in his own way later, Niall found. The cat sat in Betty Lou’s favorite knitting chair and howled inconsolably. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the brokenhearted animal.

“Mr. Gallagher?” Bob DiNardi asked for what sounded like the second or third time.

“I’m sorry. My mother…” Niall trailed off. He found over the last two weeks since Betty Lou passed that the mere mention of his mother was enough to get people to back off and give him some space.

The look in the attorney’s eyes was sympathetic yet practiced. This was his bread and butter after all. “Your mother made sure you were well provided for, Niall,” Bob said, genuinely. “Betty Lou was a planner. The first time I met her was before you were conceived. She wanted to make sure all of her ducks were in a row so that no one could take you from her when you finally arrived.”

Niall was stunned. He’d never heard this story before. “What do you mean? So no one could take me from her?” There had never been any other family involved in their lives. He’d asked a few times about Betty Lou’s people and she’d always been vague, never giving any details, mentioning once or twice about her family being “back east.”

The older man relaxed back into his chair. “I had a feeling Betty Lou might keep this part of her life from you. She wasn’t a west coast girl. She was from an old New England family, born and bred in Salem, Massachusetts.”

Shaking his head, Niall sat forward in his chair, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Salem, as in the Salem Witch Trials?”

“The very same. Your mother’s family was overbearing and had her path in life all planned out for her. They had their own business, a hotel chain, or something in the hospitality industry that she had no interest in becoming a part of, so when she turned eighteen, she headed west to make her own life here in Portland.”

“Why didn’t she ever tell me that?” Niall asked more to himself than to the attorney. “It was so brave of her.” He couldn’t help wondering if that kind of courage flowed through his own veins. The tidbit that Betty Lou’s family, his family, was in the hospitality industry was another bizarre cog in the story that was unfolding. Why hadn’t his mother ever mentioned this to him when he was majoring in hospitality at Oregon State?

“Indeed, it was. She settled herself into the Boho art community here with a small trust fund left to her by a grandfather, sold her first painting, and never looked back.”

Settling himself backward into the buttery leather of the chair, Niall looked out the window of the high-rise building. Downtown Portland spread out in front of him. He wasn’t a city boy by any stretch, only coming into town for the occasional business transaction or night out at the opera or the symphony. Those nights had been few and far between since Renaldo dumped him for some lacrosse player a few months ago. He didn’t have the muscle tone to keep up with Renaldo’s appetites, whatever the hell that meant…

His degree in restaurant and hotel management was withering on the vine. Yes, he was the manager of the local Olive Garden franchise but wishing guests a “buona notte” after they ate “Sketti and meatballs” was starting to wear him to the bone. What if…?

“So, we agree to put your mother’s home on the market for a price comparable to this one?” Bob DiNardi was back to tapping his pen on the similar piece of real estate that had sold for 1.5 million dollars.

The incessant tapping of the pen was like the second hand of a watch reminding Niall of his life tick-ticking away. “Yes! Sell the house! Get in touch with Christie’s or Sotheby’s and gauge their interest in auctioning off the paintings in my mother’s personal collection. After that, we’ll have an estate sale for whatever’s left.”

“Niall,” Bob’s eyes narrowed on his client, “are you sure? It’s only been a week since…”

Niall had never been more sure of anything in his life. “Yes, I’m positive. With my mother gone, there’s nothing left for me here in Oregon. Sell it all.”

Bob nodded, scratching notes for himself on the yellow legal pad to his right. “What will you do? Where will you go?” There was fatherly concern in the old lawyer’s voice.

It was a crazy idea, but one that Niall felt was the best move for him. The right direction for his life to go at this moment in time was east. He was going to follow his mother’s roots. With Betty Lou gone, it was time for him to step out of the nest and fly on his own.

He’d always wanted to open his own bed and breakfast and New England was famous for their hospitality. Salem seemed like the kind of town he could lose himself in. The kind of place where he could start over and find out what made him tick. Maybe he’d do a bit of research on the east coast Gallaghers.

It turned out there was a bit of the Gallagher courage inside him after all. Niall was packing up and moving to Massachusetts.

 

 

 

1
Niall

Three months later…

The old Victorian house looked like something out of a Norman Bates’ wet dream. Niall just hoped there wasn’t the skeleton of someone’s mother in a back-bedroom closet and a resident lunatic to go along with it. Although, this was Salem, Massachusetts, the Witch City, that kind of thing would bring out the tourists here, rather than scare them away.

“Well, Midnight, what do you think?” He held up the cat carrier to show the animal its future digs. Crickets. Oh, well, at least the black cat had stopped yowling for Betty Lou. That was something. To be honest, he’d also stopped doing the same thing. Mostly.

Grief was a funny thing. One minute you were laughing over a ridiculous Tyrannosaurus rex flash-mob video on YouTube and the next minute you were crying, as if the pain were brand new, because you couldn’t share the video with your mother. It still amazed him that it was possible to forget, even for a few minutes, that Betty Lou was dead.

A lot had changed over the last three months. The house in Oregon where he’d spent the best years of his life had sold for more money than the asking price. Not only had Sotheby’s been interested in auctioning off Betty Lou’s private collection of artwork, they were also interested in her jewelry and some of her clothes as well. Niall had been embarrassed by the amount of money the auction had brought in when all was said and done.

There had been a few personal pieces of his mother’s art that he’d kept for himself. Two of his favorites were a painting Betty Lou had made of the two of them together to commemorate his coming out and a portrait of Midnight, which for some reason he couldn’t seem to part with. Something told him to hold on to the painting of the cat sitting on the fence of the Portland house howling at the full moon. He’d held on to the stubborn cat for the same reason. This odd feeling of intuition he just couldn’t shake.

Here they stood on the sidewalk in front of 1331 Witch Hill Road, staring up at the house he’d bought outright after seeing the listing on Zillow. The hotel management degree that had been withering on the vine while he greeted diners at the Olive Garden was about to be put to the test.

The Norman Bates house, as he’d been calling it in his head for the last two weeks, was going to be turned into Salem’s newest bed and breakfast. All it needed was a name and a general contractor. Piece of cake, right?

Maybe not. He had a list in the back pocket of his jeans of local general contractors that was as long as his arm. How the hell was he going to interview all of these men and then choose one? The right one?

Midnight yowled from his cat carrier, adding his opinion to the situation.

“Must love cats?” Niall muttered under his breath. He was sure in a town like this it wouldn’t be the strangest request a contractor ever got.

Pushing at the wrought iron gate, Niall winced at the screech it made in protest. He set the cat carrier down on the overgrown path to add WD-40 to the ever-growing list of things he needed to buy. He didn’t recall the walkway looking this bad in the pictures he’d seen online. This whole thing was going to need to be ripped up and re-laid. Or whatever the hell the term was for pouring concrete.

Looking around at the front yard, he could see it was in rough shape. There were brown patches where bare ground and rocks poked through and other places where the weeds were three feet high at least. Niall shivered at the thought of what could possibly be living out there. Wolves? Coyotes? Rabid foxes? Rats? Bats?

Bats lived in belfries, didn’t they? He looked up to the fourth floor of the house. Not an architecture expert by any stretch, he couldn’t help wondering if that cupola-looking thing was in fact a belfry. Pulling his phone back out, he typed in a quick note to call an exterminator and a landscaper. Not that he really had much of anything to “scape” at the moment, but it would be the beauty and charm of this place that would attract guests. It was never too early to start thinking about guests.

Approaching the front steps, Niall couldn’t help but notice they weren’t really in very good shape either. Grabbing his phone, he pulled up the Zillow listing and flipped to the picture of the front of the house. Holding it up, he looked back and forth between the actual stairs and the photograph of them. The difference was night and day. The picture had to be five years old at least. Maybe ten years old. What the actual fuck?

Was there a lemon law on houses like there was on cars? Maybe he should call the Massachusetts Attorney General’s office and ask.

“Caveat emptor,” a creaky voice said from behind him.

Niall spun around to see an old woman staring at him from the other side of the wrought iron fence. “Let the buyer beware.” Christ, that was all he needed, a lesson in commerce from a woman who looked ancient enough to fart dust and no longer leave fingerprints.

“I may be old, Niall, but I hear just fine and it’s vanilla, not dust.” The woman offered him a brief smile. “You will find the answers you seek in the forest.” She held up her withered arm and pointed toward the house.

“The forest?” Niall followed the direction she was pointing. There were a few trees past the back border of the property, but not enough to categorize it as a forest by any stretch of the imagination. “I don’t understand.”  When Niall turned back to the fence, the woman was gone.

Running past the cat carrier and a howling Midnight, Niall ran out onto the sidewalk. There was no trace of the woman. She must have been ninety if she was a day. There was no way she could have moved fast enough to get off the street in the time it took him to turn back around. “If she’d even been there at all,” Niall said out loud. Being a figment of his imagination would also explain how she’d read his mind.

It had been a long couple of days saying goodbye to Portland. Everyone he’d ever known and loved, everything that was familiar and comforting, were back in Oregon. Then there was the cross-country flight and dealing with Midnight and the bitchy flight attendant who was allergic to cats. Now, he was standing in front of the multi-million-dollar property he’d bought, sight-unseen, that was looking like a money pit, situated in Salem, Massachusetts on a street named Witch Hill Road. Was it any wonder he was hallucinating what looked like a real-life witch?

 

 

 

2
Tobin

There was another strange man in Tobin Woods’ bed. He could see a tuft of bleached blond hair sticking up over his navy-blue comforter. Unfortunately, between his pounding head and the frequency of this occurrence, blondie’s first name wasn’t immediately coming to him.

What was coming to him were memories of last night. Blondie was a champion bottom. Submissive and willing to be chained to his king-sized bed after only knowing him for an hour and one drink. Definitely not qualities he found every night at Spellbound, his favorite gay club in Salem.

Of course, the problem now was how to get the nameless man out of his bed. He had work to do. Or work to find to do. Or something. Shit, he really needed to get his life together.

A contented sigh came from the man, who started to roll toward Tobin. Motherfucker, his bedmate was one of those cuddly sons-o’-bitches. He should have known it. Hopping out of bed with a dexterity a man his size should not possess, Tobin snagged a pair of boxers from the floor and pulled them on just as last night’s conquest was leveling him with a pair of dark, but bloodshot, bedroom eyes.

“Hey, tiger, how about round two? I see you’re up for it!” The stranger licked his lips, his eyes glued to Tobin’s sizable morning wood outlined perfectly by his snug, blue boxer briefs.

Christ, Tobin just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. It seemed blondie was also in his same boat of being bad with names while hammered on Witches Brew, Spellbound’s signature cocktail. It had five different alcohols in it and tasted oddly like grape Kool-Aid. Three of them were usually enough to knock him on his ass. At last count, he’d had five last night when blondie had started rubbing against him like a hungry house cat.

Tobin was about to politely, or about as politely as he could with his massive hangover, refuse the man’s offer when the doorbell rang followed by a shout of “TOBIN?”

Saved by the bell… “Shit, that’s my husband. He’s back early from a business trip. You’d better get dressed and get the fuck out before he finds you here! If you think I’m big, you should see him.” Tobin held a hand up a foot above his own head before calling out, “Coming, snookums!” He turned back to the terrified looking man in his bed. “I’ll try to hold him back, but when he’s been away from me for a week like this, he’s kind of insatiable.” Tobin shrugged his massive shoulders and palmed his junk.  “Well, you know. Hurry!”

He walked to the dresser and pulled out a black tee-shirt, which fit snuggly over his 6’6” frame. He tried to hold back a giggle as last night’s main course scrambled for his clothes while Tobin headed for the bedroom door. “Patio door leads to Conant Street. It’s your best bet to avoid him…” He pointed, as if blondie couldn’t figure out the glass French doors led to freedom.

“You’re fucking crazy,” blondie panted, yanking on his snug hipster jeans.

“You have no idea. Can I see you again?” Tobin waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Fuck, no!” The man pushed through the French doors and sprinted toward safety.

“Another one bites the dust.” Tobin smacked his hands together as if brushing them off and headed out the bedroom door.

“Well, well, well! Look what the cat dragged in. You look like shit, brother!” a man with Tobin’s eyes grinned at him.

Ignoring his guest, Tobin went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Tropicana. Gripping it by the long neck, he unscrewed the cap and took a long pull. He burped loudly at the end.

“You’re all class, man. Who was the twink I saw sprinting past the kitchen window at light speed? Another one-night stand.” The man fisted his hands on his hips.

“Watch it, Tal,” Tobin half-growled. “It’s too early in the morning to deal with your shit.” By shit, Tobin meant yet another well-intentioned lecture courtesy of his younger brother, Talbot, who had his life perfectly put together.

“Too early? It’s nearly noon!” He slammed his well-manicured fist down on the table. “When the hell are you going to get it together, Tobin?”

It was a familiar topic of conversation. One Tobin was sick of having. “When you stop nagging me, Talbot!” he roared. “It’s my life, little brother. Let me lead it my way, for fuck’s sake.”

Talbot sat up a bit straighter in his seat. “I’m the only one who’s stood by your side through everything. Through coming out. Through not wanting to go to law school and joining the practice. Through Hal.”

Tobin’s hands balled into fists at the mere mention of Hal. No one mentioned Hal. Not even his brother. He turned a heated look to Talbot. His patience didn’t have a lot of give left before it snapped.

“Listen,” he reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, setting it down on the kitchen table. “Technically, I shouldn’t be giving you this information, but…” Tal shrugged. “I was the attorney of record when the papers on this property were passed. Some guy from Portland bought the old house on Witch Hill Road last week. Wants to turn it into a B&B or something. He’s gonna need a general contractor. You know the state of that property, Tobin. What he needs is a miracle worker, more like. There’s no one better at bringing old homes back from the dead than my big brother…” Talbot trailed off.

Tobin knew what Tal wasn’t saying. There was no one better at bringing old homes back from the dead than his big brother when said sibling wasn’t half-drunk or so hungover he was seeing two of everything. He was just angry enough to crumple the piece of paper and throw it back in his brother’s face, but something held him back from doing that.

“I see that look in your eyes, Tobin,” Talbot said gently.

“What look is that, Tal? Huh? That down and out look? The look that says I’m one step from the gutter and needing a hand out?” Tobin could feel his blood starting to boil and his gut churn with the leftover booze and something else he couldn’t quite put a finger on. At the moment, it felt a little bit like determination.

Talbot stood up and walked to his brother. Only a few inches shorter, but a hundred-pounds lighter in muscle mass, he stood toe-to-toe with him. “No, man. The look that says you’d kill to see that house shining like a new penny.” He clapped a hand on his brother’s beefy shoulder and walked toward the door. “No matter what you think of yourself, you’ve always been my hero, Tobin.” The front door shut on Talbot’s declaration.

Well, fuck! Those weren’t the words Tobin had been expecting to hear out of his brother’s mouth. Not at all. Tal was right about one thing though. He would kill to see the Witch Hill house restored to her former glory. There were a lot of hack GCs in town who’d probably gut her and tear out the original pieces of the house that made her an original, a diamond in the rough, just waiting to be polished.

As far as Tobin saw it he had two choices. He could grab the hair of the dog and kill this hangover, or he could grab a shower and haul ass to the house on Witch Hill Road. The right direction to go was clear in Tobin’s mind, even if everything else was a bit fuzzy.

 

 

3
Niall

There was no way he was going to be able to make a decision about a general contractor. It was impossible.

Niall had gone out to the local Target and bought a folding card table and chairs which he’d set up in the entryway of the Norman Bates house. Christ, he really needed a better name for the place than that. No one was going to want to stay at the Norman Bates Bed and Breakfast…shower optional.  Although, this was Salem, as he kept reminding himself. Those kinds of macabre things seemed to sell here.

So far today, he’d seen seven contractors. They’d all come loaded with binders full of pictures of their greatest hits and blueprints and plans for what they’d do with Norman’s house should they be lucky enough to win the bid. They’d all left him with neat folders that laid out the cost of materials, time, labor, and a final cost on the last page.

It would be easy just to pick one of the bids in the middle of the pack, but Betty Lou didn’t raise him to take the easy way out. She raised him to be meticulous. Methodical. And most of all, to go with his heart.

So far in his twenty-eight years on this planet, going with his heart had only been a recipe for disaster.

He couldn’t imagine his mother meant that he should go with the best-looking contractor in the bunch. If that were the yardstick by which he needed to measure the men he’d met today, he’d be in as much of a quandary now as he was with having to judge them on talent. Each of the men had been stacked and jacked. An occupational hazard, Niall guessed, when you hauled around heavy things and banged and screwed all day long.

Niall giggled. The sound echoed loudly in the empty house. That was creepy. There was a lot about this house that was creepy. He wasn’t going to think about those things now. He needed to get ready for his 1pm appointment. It was with some guy named Jack Clifford.

Jack had an impressive resume, not to mention an impressively sculpted body, which Niall had been perving on for the last fifteen minutes on Facebook. Jack liked to post pics of two things on his page, his houses and himself, shirtless. Niall wasn’t complaining. If given half a chance, he’d climb the man like Mount Hood and enjoy every second of his descent.

“Uh, hello?” a deep voice called out from the front porch.

Shit… Of course Jack had to show up while Niall was fantasizing about riding him like a pogo stick. “Hi, just a second.” He was going to need a minute to think about Mrs. Niedermeyer, his third-grade teacher. Thoughts of her always made his dick wilt like a popsicle in the desert.

“I’m here to see Neil about the remodel.” The sultry voice called back.

Fuck. My. Life… Of course when his ship comes in it has to be leaking. “Uh, that’s Niall.” His voice was all queen.

“Oh, sorry about that, I couldn’t read my brother’s handwriting,” the liquid-sex voice chuckled.

Of course the man chuckles. You’d chuckle too if your voice could melt panties via spontaneous combustion. Rolling his eyes, Niall grabbed his clipboard and stepped out on the porch. “Hi, I’m Niall Gallagher. It’s nice to meet you…” His next words died on his tongue.

The man standing in front of him touching one of the pillars holding up the front porch was not Jack Clifford. He was Zeus come to life. This man was some crazy version of Captain America and Aquaman combined. He had the height and muscle of Jason Mamoa with the sparkling blue eyes and blond hair of Chris Evans. Niall felt like he was frozen in place. How fucking embarrassing.

“Tobin Woods. It’s good to meet you. I don’t have an appointment.” Tobin’s blue eyes drew together in obvious concern. “Are you okay?”

Just paralyzed by your beauty… “Sure, fine!” Niall’s voice was so high-pitched that he was sure it was going to send the bats in his belfry flying for cover. He cleared his throat and tried to push back the raging blush he felt burning a path up his neck. “Woods? Why do I know that name?” His nearly scrambled brain fought his wildfire attraction to the contractor as it spun trying to figure out why that name was so damned familiar.

It was the gigantic contractor’s turn to flush pink. “My brother, Talbot, was the real estate attorney who worked on the sale of the house for you.”

“Oh, right. I was still on the west coast at the time, dealing with…” Niall’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. There was no need to tell a total stranger his sob story. Especially since said stranger was the stuff wet dreams were made of. Holy cannoli, Batman, he was going to be spanking to fantasies of this man for years to come. No pun intended.

“Niall?” Tobin asked, sounding more concerned.

“I bought this house with inheritance money my mother left when she died a few months ago.” Niall’s mouth hung open. Why the hell did he just say that? He’d just finished telling himself that Mr. Sex-on-legs didn’t need to know his life story and there he was spitting it out.

The look on the big man’s face softened. A smile quirked his lips. His left hand caressed the distressed pillar he was standing next to as if it were a lover’s skin. “This gorgeous girl has good bones. She’s old but has stood the test of time.” He crossed past Niall to inspect the other pillars down the line. “All of the wood out here on the wrap-around porch is original to the house. So many people would just gut this and start from scratch, but not me.”

“Why?” Niall asked. He was completely spellbound by Tobin’s deep voice and the way he spoke about the house, as if he knew it personally, like it was an old friend.

Tobin strode back to Niall. “There is so much history here in Salem. In the land, here in this house. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m one of those people who believe we need to save as much of it as we can for future generations. Those who don’t know the past are doomed to repeat it and all that.”

Standing this close to the man, Niall could smell the fresh scent of his soap. Looking a bit closer, he could see the remains of a long and perhaps rough night. He couldn’t help wondering about the lucky woman who warmed his bed and sucked his dick. Shaking his head, Niall looked up at Tobin. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”

Instead of letting himself be led inside, Tobin stepped around Niall and opened the door for him. Interesting… The big man had manners. One more tidbit to add to his spank-bank for later.

“Wow!” The smile on Tobin’s face stretched from ear-to-ear. “You want to turn this place into a B&B, huh?”

“Yeah,” Niall grinned. “I have a degree in hotel management; thought it was time to dust it off and put it to good use.”

Tobin nodded as he set a hand on the newel post of the staircase. “This house is going to be an amazing place to stay.”

Midnight yowled from his cat carrier. Another country heard from. One more Gallagher man impressed with Tobin at first sight.

“Who’s this?” Tobin bent down to peer inside.

“That’s Midnight. He was my mother’s cat. I’m afraid to let him wander around in case he gets lost.”

“Hello, beautiful.” Tobin cooed.

Before Niall could stop him, Tobin was pulling the cat out of his carrier. Niall whispered a silent prayer. That cat hated everyone except his mother. Midnight only tolerated him because he fed the ungrateful bastard.

“Well, aren’t you precious. Yes, you are.” Tobin baby-talked to the cat who was purring. Fucking purring.

Not that Niall could blame him. If Tobin was stroking him like he was stroking the pussy, he’d be purring too.

“What are you going to call this place anyway?” Tobin asked. He had wandered toward the kitchen, Midnight still purring in his bulky arms.

“I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“What’s that, Midnight? You think your Daddy should call the house The Black Cat Inn.” Tobin turned and dropped Niall the sexiest damn wink he’d ever seen in his life.

Clutching his heart as it danced an Irish jig, he had an awful feeling that he was going to be seeing his mother again sooner than either of them anticipated. His mouth was too dry to reply to Tobin’s suggestion. Desire pooled low in his stomach as his cock came to attention. Thank Christ he was wearing dark jeans and a loose-fitting flannel shirt that would hide his attraction to the burly contractor. The last thing he needed was a punch to the jaw from He-Man. He’d be drinking his meals from a straw for the next eight months if that happened, but then again, the super-skinny hipster look was in right now…

“If you don’t like it, that’s cool,” Tobin said in a voice that very much said it wasn’t cool.

“No!” Niall half-shouted. “I was just saying it over in my mind. You know how a new thing takes a few minutes to get used to.”

Tobin nodded, but kept his eyes on the ceiling.

“Do you have a bid for me?” Niall asked carefully.

“Nope!” Tobin turned toward him and grinned. The smile lit up his entire face, making him even more gorgeous than when he was brooding over the house.

“Photos of other houses you’ve remodeled?”

“Nope!” Tobin’s grin grew larger, reminding Niall of the cat who ate the canary.

Niall felt his stomach doing backflips. “So, aside from nepotism, which I understand runs rampant in small towns like this, why should I choose you to do this work?”

Tobin took a step closer to him. Niall could feel the heat radiating off his massive chest. “No one will take better care of this house than I will.”

Niall found himself wishing, ridiculously, of course, that Tobin was saying those words about him and not this old pile of timbers and stone. He opened his mouth to tell the burly man he needed time to mull over his options when Jack Clifford strode through the front door.

“Here I am, Noel. When do I start?” His smile was full of sharp teeth and swagger.

Jack’s entire attitude put Niall off instantly. He looked up at Tobin Woods and remembered what the witch in his hallucination said to him yesterday, “The answer you seek is in the forest.” Well, technically, woods was a synonym for forest, wasn’t it?

He was here in his mother’s hometown of Salem, Massachusetts, starting over. Betty Lou had always told him to listen to his heart and what was a hallucination if not a physical manifestation of his heart’s desire. Niall took a deep breath. “You don’t, Mr. Clifford.” Barely registering the outraged gasp from Jack, Niall turned to Tobin who was still cradling his mother’s cat in his heavily muscled arms. “Welcome to The Black Cat Inn, Mr. Woods.”

 

 

4
Tobin

Hours later, Tobin still had that buzzy sitting-on-top-of-the-world feeling. He’d walked into the Witch Hill house completely unprepared, the booze he’d drunk last night still leaching out of his pores, without any proof that he could even hammer a nail, and he’d gotten the job.

Tobin had a feeling part of the reason for Niall’s snap decision was Jack Clifford showing up like God’s gift to men. He’d been there and done that. Twice.

Jack wasn’t all he was cracked up to be. He was fast on the trigger and hated reciprocation. If you didn’t come before him, you were shit out of luck, jacking yourself out in the open in Spellbound’s parking lot or in the front seat of your truck. He was, unfortunately, speaking from experience. Twice.

He’d seen the disgusted look on Niall’s face when Mr. Thirty Seconds had shown up. Tobin couldn’t help wondering if he’d been able to quickly peg Jack’s character on the spot or if his obviously flying rainbow flag was the reason for Niall’s sour look and Jack’s quick dismissal.

With a shake of his head, Tobin dismissed the idea that Niall was homophobic. He was a man starting over on the other side of the country because his mother died. That wasn’t the kind of thing straight sons did. It seemed to Tobin that Niall was trying to get as far away from the painful memories of losing his mother as possible.

Sitting in his ratty recliner, Tobin took stock of his life. He was thirty-two years old. The black sheep of the vaunted Woods family, he lived in a tiny bungalow he’d been fortunate enough to pick up for pennies during the housing crash of 2008. He’d intended to flip it, but like with everything else, lost the passion for it and just decided it would be easier to live in it instead of renting fleabag apartments he always seemed to be running the risk of getting evicted from.

It wasn’t that he was a bad man. It was more that he was irresponsible, paying bills late and just not caring what happened to him since his life went to shit after… Well, after everything went down with Hal.

The old fury burned low in his gut. It had been ten years. How much longer did he have to pay? How many years were left on his sentence? Who knew? It kind of reminded him of stoppage time during soccer matches. No one knew how much time was left on the clock, but when it ran out, the horn blew and the match was over. That’s what Tobin was waiting for, the sound of the blowing horn. It was ten years in coming.

Being cheated on was one thing. Everyone Tobin knew had an ex-lover cheat on them at one time or another in their life, but to come home and find the love of your life fucking your best friend from elementary school, that had been a double-whammy he’d never seen coming.

In that one day, he’d lost the two people who’d meant the most to him. Tobin hadn’t been able to get past the deception, so he just stopped trusting people. He figured one day the pain and mistrust would be gone, but so far, that hadn’t happened.

What if it were possible to blow the horn himself? Be like Fred Flintstone shouting, “Yabba Dabba Do,” when the 5pm whistle sounded and be done with the whole thing. What if he used the Witch Hill job as the starting block for finally turning his life around and getting himself on track?

How hard could it be?

Propelling himself out of his chair, he strode to the bedroom. His nose wrinkled instantly. The room stank of booze and old sex. Quickly stripping the bed, he threw the sheets into the washing machine, chucking two laundry pods into the drum and pressing the heavy-duty wash cycle. He wanted the sheets good and clean. Sanitized. Washed clean of his old sins.

Next, he went through his room with a trash bag, cleaning up the empty beer cans and fifth bottles of Jack Daniels that had somehow multiplied under his bed. How were there seven, no eight bottles here? The last one was stuck inside his slipper. The glass clinked together as he carried the bag back into the kitchen.

Opening the fridge, he saw a twelve pack of beer and three half-drunk bottles of whiskey. Into the bag the JD went. “Good riddance,” Tobin muttered. Too embarrassed to recycle, he chucked the bag into the regular trash. He’d donate money to save the whales or the squirrels or some shit. He didn’t need Stew Crane and the boys with the recycling plant knowing that he was keeping company with Jack Daniels, in addition to the lowest common denominators that he was bringing home from Spellbound.

Looking up at the full moon, he took a deep breath of the spring air. It was cool and crisp as it passed through his lungs. “Thank you,” he whispered to the night. Tobin had long ago given up believing in God, but he did believe in the power of the universe. It had given him a lucky break, along with Talbot in getting the Witch Hill house job, and he needed to speak his thanks aloud.

“You’re welcome,” Talbot’s voice came back through the dark.

“Jesus!” Tobin jumped and spun around toward the foot of his driveway. “Where the hell’d you come from?”

“Our mother. Thought you knew all about the birds and the bees, even though you’re a birds and birds kind of guy.”

“Funny, asshole. I mean where’s your car?” Tobin would have heard the horsepower of his brother’s Dodge Charger.

“I wasn’t sure how today went for you, so I parked down the street,” Tal sounded guilty. He looked guilty too when he stepped into the porch light.

“You came here to spy on me?” Tobin wanted to be angry, but in truth, he couldn’t be. Talbot had every right to worry about him. If future behavior was indicated by past behavior, Tal should have found him surrounded by the empties of an entire twelve-pack or not home at all, his truck parked in one of the VIP spots at Spellbound. Membership had its perks…

“You weren’t at the club, so I figured you must be home.” Talbot shrugged.

“Why don’t you come in and I’ll tell you about my day. You eat? I was gonna order a pizza.”

“Am I gonna need a drink to hear the story?” Tal asked with a grin spreading across his face.

“Nah,” Tobin shoved his brother. “I think we can have this talk over sodas.”

Ten minutes later after the pizza and hot wings were ordered, Tal and Tobin were settled in at the cleaned-off kitchen table. It was hard to believe that only eight hours ago, this was the site of Talbot’s Come to Jesus meeting.

“I take it you went out to the Witch Hill house?” Talbot touched a couple of spots on the table, looking surprised when his fingers didn’t stick to the surface.

Tobin raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. He deserved his brother’s skepticism. He’d been a bottom-feeder since things had gone down with Hal and everyone knew Rome wasn’t built in a day. Tobin wasn’t sure if all the new changes he wanted to make in his life would stick, for lack of a better word, so he couldn’t blame Tal for wondering the same thing. At least he wasn’t asking those questions out loud. Yet.  “Yeah. I met the guy who bought the house. He seems nice enough if you’re into that sort.” Tobin managed half a shrug.

Tal narrowed his eyes and started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Tobin could feel his cheeks starting to heat.

“What’s so funny? Like I’m blind?” He slapped a hand on the table. “I’ve known you my whole life. I know when my brother is ‘into that sort.’ Let me guess, he’s about 5’6”, slight, china doll build, green eyes, fierce spirit. Am I close?”

“No, you’re not close.” Tobin pouted. “You hit the friggen bullseye.” Tal was dead center.  He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, but Niall Gallagher was his exact type. If he weren’t trying to turn over a new leaf, he would have been banging his new boss up against the staircase newel post ten minutes after meeting him. If Niall was gay.

It was a pretty big if…

“Ha! I knew it!” Talbot looked excited enough to dance.

“Now hold on there, Million Dollar Matchmaker,” Tobin started, “Niall’s my boss. It’s not like that.”

Talbot stared open-mouthed at his brother. “You got abducted by the pod people from that movie we loved as kids, didn’t you?” His eyes widened as he reached out to pinch Tobin.

“Ouch, motherfucker! I’m no pod person! I just decided to make some changes.” This was real life not Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Shrugging, he got out of his seat, unable to take the intensity of Tal’s wide-eyed stare any longer. “Look, I’m thirty-two years old and have nothing to show for my life. No family of my own. No real friends. Maybe a few guys I can call to show up to work on this house. If I died tomorrow there would be one guy who’d show up at my funeral and even then, he’d bitch and moan about what a waste my life was.” Tobin turned to look out the kitchen window. He could feel a surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm him and he didn’t want Talbot to see that. He was laying enough of himself bare as it was.

A warm hand on his shoulder settled Tobin’s swirling emotions. “I knew that I wanted to follow in Dad’s footsteps from the time I was ten years old and he took me to court to see his closing arguments in the Vega case. I saw the way every eye in the room was riveted to him and then the way the jury returned the verdict in his favor based on the words he’d spoken. Then I met Thea my first day of Harvard Law and we’ve barely spoken a cross word to each other in the seven years since. Shit, man, what I’m trying to say and royally screwing up is that it takes some people longer to figure out the direction that makes sense in their lives. I found mine early on, yours is a little later in coming. I’ve never told anyone this before, but sometimes I lie in bed wondering when the crash is coming.”

Tobin turned to face his brother. “The crash? What the hell are you talking about?”

“When things went down with Hal, that was your crash. It sent your life into a tailspin. I never had that. What if my crash is yet to come since my life has been charmed so far?”

Tobin could see the fear in Talbot’s eyes. It would be a lie if he denied wondering where the fairness was that Tal seemed to catch all the breaks in life while he’d gotten all the rough patches. It made him feel like the scum of the earth now seeing the panic in his little brother’s eyes. Maybe he’d been given the harder road because he was the stronger of the two and the universe knew not only that he could handle the dark days, but he’d come out a better man on the other side.

“There is no crash coming for you, Tal, so stop telling yourself that. You focus on Thea and my baby niece that’s due any day now. It’s just new-dad-nerves talking.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” Tal said nervously. “Look, I know you’ve been struggling, Tobin, I just feel like this is the break you need. This house, hell, this guy, if the look in your eyes is any indication. I’ve never lost faith in you.” Talbot took a breath, looking like there was more he wanted to say when he was stopped by the ringing doorbell. “Hey, let me get the food. Then I want to hear all about the witch house.”

Tobin smiled at his brother. He could feel it stretch from ear to ear. “Deal. I have so many plans for that glorious old girl.” And the damn fine man who owned her, but he’d keep those to himself. For now.

 

 

 

5
Niall

His ass dragging, Niall sat half awake at a local coffee shop attached to a place called West Side Magick, drinking a cup of dark roast and eating a peach muffin. He was waiting for Tobin Woods to join him. He’d gotten there early and was content to watch the hustle and bustle of the place.

His thoughts were pinballing between the gorgeous contractor who, after he signed the contract, was going to be part of his life for better or worse, the newly named Black Cat Inn, his mother’s family here in Salem, and the bizarre energy he could somehow feel emanating from the psychic shop across the way from his table.

“Hey there, you’re new in town,” a curly-haired man said as he stopped by the table.

Niall felt his hackles rise, kind of like Midnight’s did when he met new people. Well, not Tobin Woods, but all other new people. He was being ridiculous. He moved to Salem for a new start. Wasn’t making friends the first step in that plan? Straightening his shoulders, he nodded. “I’m Niall Gallagher. Just bought the big house out on Witch Hill Road.”

The man’s dark eyes lit with delight. “Oh, we were wondering when the mystery buyer would put in an appearance. I’m Tennyson Grimm, one of the co-owners of the Magick shop.” Holding out his hand, Tennyson smiled at him.

Niall shook the man’s hand and felt more of that odd energy buzz through his body. He noticed Tennyson’s eyes go a bit fuzzy before they snapped back into focus. “Wow, that was a trip.” Tennyson released his hand and took the seat opposite Niall in the booth.

Niall shot him a curious look. “What was a trip?”

Tennyson grinned sheepishly at him. “I’m a psychic medium. In the couple of minutes we’ve been talking I’ve seen and heard some amazing things.” He reached out to set a hand on Niall’s.

Niall wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the man sitting in front of him. What he did know was that mediums could speak to dead people. He was about to ask Tennyson about his mother when Tobin Woods strode into the bakery looking good enough to eat.

The man was sex on legs, dressed in a tight pair of wranglers and a plaid shirt that was straining over his biceps. If he flexed, the shirt was going to rip like Bruce Banner’s when he got angry. Niall found himself wanting to make Tobin mad to see if the same thing would happen to his unfortunate plaid button-down.

“Hey there, Niall, Tennyson.” Tobin nodded to the psychic. “If I’m interrupting a private conversation I can order something to eat and be right back.” He hooked a thumb at the counter.

Niall felt his mouth go dry. The same thing happened to him yesterday. Christ, he really needed to find a way to pull himself together around that man, especially since they were going to be working together for months during the renovation.

“Why don’t you go ahead and order. We’re just finishing up here.” Tennyson smiled at Tobin.

“Sure thing!” Tobin winked at Niall and headed off for the counter.

Niall followed him with his eyes, unable to believe the easy grace with which the big man moved.

“Wishing you had a swing like that in your backyard?” The psychic laughed.

“Damn straight.” Sighing, Niall turned his attention back to Tennyson. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“Your mother is proud of you for following your heart by coming out here.” Tennyson stood and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He set a business card down on the table near Niall’s cup of coffee. “I’d love to spend more time with you when we can talk without being interrupted. Your mother has so much more to say and so does an anonymous someone else who’ll only say one word to me at the moment.”

“What’s the word?” Niall asked curiously.

“Forest.” Tennyson wore a puzzled smile.

“Ready to get to work?” Tobin asked. In his left hand was a cup of coffee and a bakery bag, while under his right arm was a white binder. 

Niall’s mouth hung open. Forest was the word the witch-hallucination spoke to him the other day. He wanted to ask Tennyson more about what he saw but couldn’t with Tobin standing there.

“I’ll let the two of you get down to the business of bringing that showpiece back from the dead. It was nice to meet you, Niall.” He offered him a warm smile. “Take good care of my new friend, Tobin.” Tennyson shot the contractor a stern look.

“Will do, Ten,” Tobin agreed easily, before setting his things down on the table and sitting in Tennyson’s spot.

“You know him?” Niall asked.

“Everyone knows Tennyson. I did a bit of work on the shop for him and his partners earlier this year. It’s how we met.” Tobin pulled out a muffin and ripped it in half. “Ten and his husband are local celebrities. They investigate crimes together. Solved a serial killer case last year.” Tobin bit into his muffin as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Niall shook his head stunned. “He’s a gay, crime fighting, psychic superhero?” He couldn’t have been more shocked if Tobin told him Tennyson was the Pope. “Shit, what does he do in his spare time, research a cure for cancer?”

Tobin laughed. “Ten’s husband, Ronan O’Mara, is a member of the Boston Police Department’s Cold Case Unit. He came to Salem last year looking for Tennyson’s help on a missing child case. Ten helped him solve it and he’s been consulting with the BPD ever since.”

“Wow, a psychic consulting with the Boston Police? That seems pretty far-fetched, don’t you think?” Niall laughed.

Tobin looked at Niall like he’d lost his mind. “In the last year, they’ve solved the missing child case, caught a serial killer, and saved an innocent man from serving a life sentence for a crime he was wrongly convicted of committing. There were more cases, but those were just the huge headline grabbers.” He took a long slug of his coffee, his shoulders instantly relaxing.

Making a mental note to do a bit of internet research on Tennyson Grimm and his crime fighting husband, Niall went back to his new favorite pastime, observing Tobin Woods. The man seemed to be one of those who couldn’t function properly without his morning coffee. What also caught his attention was that Tobin didn’t look or smell hungover this morning. His blue button-down was clean and pressed. The white binder was a good indication that the man was better prepared today to talk business than he was yesterday.

“I’ve got a bid for you and examples of my work.” Tobin pushed the binder toward him, as if he’d read Niall’s mind. “A great example though is the new section of West Side Magick.” Tobin pointed behind him.

Brushing the peach muffin crumbs off on his pants, Niall pulled the book toward him. He leafed through the bid, reading the types of materials Tobin wanted to use on the house, noting they were vastly different from what he’d read in the bids from the other contractors. Tobin had obviously meant what he’d said yesterday when he’d indicated that he wanted to maintain the integrity of the house. The bottom line cost was in line with middle of the pack as was the amount of time Tobin thought the entire project would take.

Niall took a deep breath as he paged through the photos and reviews from Tobin’s previous customers. The reviews were all five-starred. Of course they were. What right-minded contractor would include two-star reviews in a package to a customer? However, the work spoke for itself. Not cookie-cutter by any stretch of the imagination, the work was, in a word: breathtaking. If Niall hadn’t already decided to hire Tobin before, this package would have sealed the deal.

“Like what you see?” Tobin was smirking at him over the rim of his coffee cup.

Did he fucking ever. In more ways than one. That man was brimming with raw sex appeal. Niall wanted to lean over the table and lick that cocky grin off Tobin’s face. He would imagine doing that very thing later tonight when he was alone in his hotel bed with his lubed-up cock in hand. For now, though, he’d just cock an eyebrow and nod. “Sure do, He-Man. What’s our next step? Are we off to Lowes or something?”

“No, She-Ra,” Tobin deadpanned. “There’s nothing worse than having the wrong wood in your hand. Don’t you know that?” Tobin flashed a killer smile.

Yes, indeed he did! But now was neither the time nor the place for Niall to confess those sins to a complete stranger. He decided to take a different tact. “The wrong wood, Tobin?” He batted his eyelashes innocently. Yeah, the blushing virgin act suited this situation much better.

Tobin’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, making the tiny booth feel that much smaller. “I need to do a full inspection, check out every last nook and cranny. Then I need to pull permits so that the city is aware of all the hammering, banging, and screwing I plan to do with you.”

Niall couldn’t breathe. He knew there was plenty of air in the bakery, he just couldn’t force any into his lungs. If he didn’t do something about this soon, Tobin was going to end up having to give him mouth-to-mouth and not in the fun way that ended with them both naked and sweat-slicked. It would be the kind that ended in a call to 911 and with a concerned crowd of onlookers pointing iPhone cameras at his crumpled body. Not the best way to make an impression on the hulking contractor who was currently looking like he wanted to take a bite out of him. “Uh, banging and screwing?” Christ, did he have to key in on those words?

“Oh, yeah. I plan on doing plenty of both.” Dropping Niall a sexy wink, Tobin drained his coffee and stood up. “Let’s fly.”

Fly? Niall had a bit of a situation going on in his pants that was going to making standing up without making a scene or ending up with him on the sex offender registry difficult. Oh, well, back to thoughts of Mrs. Niedermeyer.

 

6
Tobin

What the ever-loving fuck was wrong with him? Flirting with his new boss like that over breakfast? Hell, Niall wasn’t even his boss yet. He hadn’t signed the contract that was at the back of his project binder. Tobin had been too busy talking about nooks and crannies and then about banging and screwing for him to have handed the man a goddamned pen so he could sign on the dotted line.

Jesus, fuck! What an asshole! Talbot would never let him live this down. He slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel of his truck just as Tobin pulled his little Ford behind him in front of the Witch Hill house.

He couldn’t help noticing how adorable Niall looked as he fussed with his hair in the rearview mirror. Tobin was able to forget his anxieties about the unsigned contract and flirting with his almost-boss as he watched Niall primp before hopping out of the car. The man was too damn cute for words. What the hell had he been thinking yesterday to even wonder if Niall was gay. Christ, if the man were any gayer he’d fart rainbows for fuck’s sake. 

Not exactly work appropriate thoughts toward the man who’d be signing his checks once he signed the contract. Clearing his throat, Tobin tried to get his head back in the game. From this moment forward, he was going to be all business. Even if Niall rode past him buck-ass naked on a shimmering rainbow-maned unicorn, he was going to be professional.

Grabbing his binder, he climbed out of the truck. “Christ on the fucking cross,” Tobin muttered. It wasn’t Niall on a shimmering unicorn, but the maddening man in question was bent at the waist tying his left shoe, putting his bubble butt on perfect display. Tobin’s right hand twitched with the nearly uncontrollable need to spank him.

“This isn’t Friday night at Spellbound, asshole,” Tobin muttered under his breath.

“Did you say something?” Niall asked, turning around quickly.

“Nope!” Tobin held the binder out in front of him like a shield. “Did you want to look over the bid again before you signed the contract?”

“Oh, sure!” Niall started patting himself down, obviously looking for a pen. “I was so distracted by what Tennyson was telling me in the bakery that I just wasn’t thinking.”

Ah… And here Tobin was thinking he was the reason Niall was distracted. Pull it together. He isn’t meant for you. Remember what you were just saying a minute ago about being professional?  “What did Tennyson say?”

“He had a message for me from my mother and something else to pass along…” Niall trailed off looking distracted.

“Here.” Tobin handed him the pen he always kept in his back pocket. He didn’t like the distress in Niall’s eyes and getting him to sign the contract was a good way to get his attention focused on something else.

Niall took the pen, all the while shooting the contractor a grateful look.

“Tennyson is famous for doing that to people,” Tobin said, rocking back on his heels.

“Doing what?” Niall asked when he was finished signing and dating the document.

“Ambushing people. He doesn’t mean to.” Tobin shrugged. Pride surged through him as he added his own signature beneath Niall’s on the contract. He still couldn’t believe he was going to be renovating the Witch Hill house.

“It was more of a shock than an ambush.” That shock was still written across Niall’s face.

“I guess there’s no other way to tell you he’s got a message from your deceased mother other than to just come right out and tell you. If you knew on your own, you’d be psychic too.” Tobin smiled, hoping that would ease Niall’s distress.

Niall nodded. “She said she was proud of me for having the courage to do this.” He looked shocked that he was telling Tobin.

“Coming out here from Oregon and buying the Witch Hill house? Pretty damn courageous if you ask me.” Tobin had never done anything half as brave in his life as what Niall was doing now.

Niall blushed at Tobin’s excitability. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am. You left everything you knew behind on the west coast to start a new life in a place you’d never visited before. That’s pretty damn brave.”

Niall wore a look as if Tobin’s words warmed his heart.

As Tobin had watched Niall sign the contract, he couldn’t help but feel this was a big moment in his life. He was almost whimsical enough to think this was the much-needed turning point he so desperately needed.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Niall peered up at Tobin with a nervous look on his face. “Why is it called the Witch Hill house?”

Tobin’s previous exuberance turned somber. Reverent. “Do you know the story of the Witch Trials?”

“Only the basics, that it was all caused by mass hysteria and jealousy. A lot of innocent people died for no reason.” Niall’s nervous look turned sad.

Tobin nodded. “See the park at the end of the street?” Tobin pointed behind Niall’s back.

Craning his neck to see around Tobin, Niall nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s Gallows Park. It was named because this is allegedly the hill where the witches were hanged.”

“Witch Hill…” Niall whispered. He made the sign of the cross, looking to Tobin like he was out of practice with the gesture.

“Like I told you yesterday, there’s a lot of history here.”

“And if we don’t understand it, we’re doomed to repeat it.” Niall started rubbing his arms, as if trying to warm himself.

“Exactly.” Tobin practically itched to wrap his arm around Niall and warm him up. It was almost instinctual, like taking his next breath.

What the hell was wrong with him? Tobin wasn’t the warm and cuddly sort. Yes, he was trying to turn over a new leaf, but after the way Hal had shredded his heart, he wasn’t keen to listen to the urgings of his defrosting organ either.

Straightening his spine, he moved a tiny bit away from his new employer so he wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch him. “When you have a free moment, go to Amazon and look up a book called Nobody’s Witch, by Callum Churchill. He’s a local Salem author and direct descendant of one of the witches put to death in 1692, Agatha Churchill. It’s a fascinating read.”

Niall nodded and turned his attention back to the house. “Now that we’re here, where do we start?”

“Seems overwhelming, doesn’t it?” Tobin looked up at the house with a sense of wonder in his eyes.

“It does,” Niall agreed.

“Well, thankfully you’ve got me.” Tobin’s heart warmed as the words left his mouth. Almost as if the words had a double meaning. 

 

 

7
Niall

The action at the fledgling Black Cat Inn happened at a fast and furious pace over the course of the next week. After Tobin did his full inspection of the old Victorian house, he’d spent the rest of the day at Salem City Hall pulling permits and arranging for the city building inspector to visit the property. After that, it was all systems go, with Tobin’s team of builders descending upon the property.

Niall had never seen such a handsome group of men in his life, tall and stacked in all of the right places. They’d spent the entire first week of the build working on safety concerns dealing with the house itself. During that time, Niall hadn’t really seen much of the big man himself. They’d been in touch via text message once or twice a day, but there hadn’t been anything going on at the property that had required his approval or input, so he’d stayed away, not wanting to be underfoot.

To be honest, Niall hated not seeing Tobin after their relationship -friendship- he reminded himself, had gotten off to such a promising and flirty start. He shook his head. Friendships weren’t supposed to be flirty. Were they?

Anyway, at least he hadn’t spent all of his free time mooning over the hunky contractor. He’d spent the bulk of his time wisely, researching the Salem Witch Trials, Gallows Hill, and the Salem branch of the Gallagher family. He still wasn’t sure which set of information fascinated him more.

What he’d known about the Salem Witch Trials was just the tip of the iceberg. Niall had thought only twenty people had died as a result of the witch hunt, but what he hadn’t known was another two hundred people had been accused with one hundred fifty of them having been arrested.

He wished for the millionth time in the last three months that his mother was here for him to share all this news with, but she wasn’t. Niall was going to have to make new friends here in Salem and fast. Midnight didn’t have anything to contribute when he told the finicky feline about the Gallagher hotel empire here on the east coast, and what he’d learned about the hill upon which the Inn named for him sat.

His mother’s family rivaled only the Hiltons in the length and breadth of their legacy in the hospitality industry. He’d heard of the Gallagher hotels, hell, who hadn’t? Their catchy slogan, “Have a Gallagher Good Night,” was everywhere. Niall had never once thought he was related to those Gallaghers.

If you need a friend, there’s always Tobin, his mind suggested. Sighing, Niall parked his tiny Ford in front of the house on Witch Hill Road. He was supposed to meet the burly contractor here in about fifteen minutes. Tobin was going to show him all of the work that had gone on over the last week and then they were going to map out what was to come, how he wanted the guest rooms set up and the plumbing installed. The real meat of the work, as Tobin had called it.

Getting out of the car, Niall couldn’t see any fundamental differences in the house. It looked exactly the same way it had the last time he’d seen it eight days ago. The wrought iron gate creaked as he pushed it open, reminding him that he still hadn’t purchased that can of WD-40.

“It appears you’ve seen the forest for the trees,” a familiar voice said from behind him.

Niall turned to see the same old woman standing at the creaky gate. He smiled at her. “If by forest, you mean Tobin Woods, then yes, I have.”

She nodded, quietly observing Niall, as if taking the time to choose her words carefully. “You’ve taken the time to learn of this place. Of us.” Abigail appeared to be as solid as Niall was, if he approached her, Niall felt sure he could shake her hand.

Knowing this wasn’t a hallucination, but a visitation, Niall took a deep breath. “Yes. This is my home now and I wanted to know as much about it as I could.” During his free time this week, he’d also done some reading on Tennyson Grimm and the psychic world. The old woman had to be a spirit, rather than a hallucination or a figment of his imagination.

“There is great tragedy here. There was loss of life and suffering so great it made others plead for death.” The woman held her head high.

Niall could somehow feel all of those things bombarding his emotions. Tears pricked the back of his eyes. He wanted to hit his knees and weep for those who died upon this hill and for those whose lives changed forever as a result of those dark days in 1692. “Tell me how I can help. I came here for a fresh start after a loss in my own life. How can I make things better for both of us?”

“Asking the question is a step in the right direction. I am Abigail.”

“Abigail Churchill? You’re Nobody’s Witch?” Niall had purchased the book but he hadn’t had a chance to read it yet.

The old woman smiled and gave him a brief nod. “Perhaps we shall speak again when you’ve found time for me instead of daydreaming of Tobin Woods.”

Niall felt a blush race up his neck. Not only had he been daydreaming about Tobin, he’d also been spending a lot of quality alone time with his dick in his hand, obscenely moaning Tobin’s name at the critical moment. “I’ll start reading tonight. Cross my heart.” Niall did just that.

“Perhaps things would have been different had a man like Tobin Woods been present at my trial…” Abigail trailed off, her rheumy blue eyes losing focus.

Not knowing what to say. Niall stayed quiet, keeping his eyes on the spirit. He wished he could comfort her or give her some measure of peace.

“Your presence comforts me.” Abigail raised an eyebrow. “Have a care. There are others who will not be so welcoming.” With that, she was gone.

“Abigail, wait!” Niall ran back toward the gate, but the spirit had vanished into thin air. What the hell did she mean, others who would not be so welcoming? Shivering, the answer came to him. Nineteen accused witches were hanged near the very spot he was standing. Surely not all of them would be happy to see him renovating this property and planning to have a houseful of rotating guests.

Turning back to look at the house, a chill descended around Niall’s entire body. It reminded him of walking into a room where the air conditioning had been turned on at full blast. His hands instantly came up to rub warmth back into his arms, but they froze part way up. Niall found he couldn’t move at all. He couldn’t turn and run, couldn’t draw breath into his lungs.

The only thing still working was his brain. He could feel panic starting to set in. From the right periphery of his vision he could see movement. A line of ten hooded figures was walking from the back of the property, from Gallows Hill, toward him.

Niall could feel his vision starting to grey out at the edges and tried again, in vain, to draw a breath. He knew he wasn’t going to be conscious much longer. Hell, he might not live much longer if whomever was slowly suffocating him didn’t allow him to breathe again once this macabre parade ended.

As if the spirits could hear him, they stopped as one in front of the Witch Hill house. Raising their manacled hands, they pushed back their hoods.

What Niall saw made him want to scream like a teenager in a slasher film. Each of the women’s necks were bent at grotesque angles, obviously from the knot of the noose doing its sinister job. Some of the women’s faces were half-rotted off, others were tinted green like the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz. His heart broke for these spirits, but there was no way to tell them he was a friend, not a foe, not another man who would hurt them and make them pay for the simple fact they were born women.

“GO NOW!” Ten voices screeched in his head.

The last thing Niall heard before the darkness claimed him was the clanking of the manacles as the women walked back toward Gallows Hill.

 

 

8
Tobin

Fuckity, fuck, fuck! Tobin was running late. It wasn’t like New Tobin to run late. Old Tobin ran late all the time. His mother was used to him running on what she called, “Tobin-time” and had her own countermeasure for dealing with him. If she needed him to appear at a function at 2pm, she simply told him to arrive at 1pm. It had worked like a dream until Tobin realized her game and started showing up late to spite her.

God, he was a grade-A motherfucker. Today, he actually had a legitimate excuse for being late. His sister-in-law, Thea, had been rushed to the hospital in labor, or in what she thought was labor, but had turned out to be Braxton Hicks contractions. False labor, in other words. He’d been trying to text Niall for the last twenty minutes, but he wasn’t texting him back.

It served him right for letting Old Tobin creep back in. He’d been on a ten-day run of having his shit together and now things were crashing down all around him, just like they did with Hal…

“Shut the fuck up, asswipe,” Tobin muttered to the empty cab of his truck. What was going on today had nothing to do with Hal. It could just be that Niall was already out at the house and the cell signal was being glitchy again. There had been a few times last week when he’d tried to get a text out to one of his guys and he’d had no signal at all.

The mini cell blackouts had been odd since the closest AT&T cell tower was a mile away in Marblehead. He’d never encountered a dead zone in Salem in the ten years he’d been on his cell plan, but it was Salem, sometimes bizarre things happened in his hometown. He’d learned to roll with them over the years.

Pulling onto Witch Hill Road, he could see Niall’s blue Ford Festiva parked in front of the house. Maybe he was just experiencing a loss of cell service and that’s why he wasn’t answering Tobin’s messages. A feeling of unease twisting his gut told him that wasn’t the reason at all.

Throwing the truck into park behind Niall’s car, Tobin was out the door and running toward the wrought iron fence. He could still hear the faint dinging of the truck door which he hadn’t bother to shut behind him. What he saw nearly took his breath away. Niall was lying in a crumpled heap on the broken concrete walkway leading to the front steps of the house.

“NIALL!” Tobin bellowed, sliding to the ground beside him. Gently rolling the much smaller man over, he noticed the still bleeding gash on the right side of his head and accompanying purplish bruise that was still coming up. Thank Christ… Fresh blood and bruising meant Niall was still alive.

Needing to feel his life force for himself, Tobin rested the first two fingers of his right hand against the side of Niall’s neck. He could feel the steady beat of his heart. A surge of gratefulness welled up inside of him. It took every ounce of self-control for Tobin not to start crying here on the path. “Niall, sweetheart, can you hear me? It’s Tobin. If you can hear me, open those beautiful eyes.”

Nothing happened. Niall didn’t move a muscle, didn’t moan, didn’t flutter his eyelashes, like in those shit movies Thea loved to watch on the Hallmark Channel. Fine, Tobin liked to watch them too. A little. When no one knew he was paying attention to the plot.

Shaking his head, Tobin turned his attention back to Niall. What the hell should he do? Should he call 911? Should he scoop up the unconscious man and drive him to North Shore Medical Center himself? Shit! Why wasn’t he better in a crisis? Maybe because he usually was the crisis.

A soft moan came from the sidewalk in front of him. “Niall? Oh, thank Jesus.” Tobin reached out to set a hand against the uninjured side of his face.

“Wow! No one ever told me that guardian angels are smoking hot!” Niall’s voice was thick and didn’t sound at all like himself.

“Do you know who I am?” Tobin asked carefully.

“My future husband?” Niall reached up toward him, but his hand only made it a few inches before flopping back to the ground.

“Do you know who you are?” Okay, this was bad. If Niall didn’t know the answer to this question then they were off to the ER for sure. Tobin wasn’t a doctor, but he sure as hell knew the symptoms of a concussion when he saw them.

“I’m the kid from One Direction. Niall Whore? Niall Horny? Niall Something-Or-Other. Wanna hear me sing, Hot Stuff?” Niall’s eyes slid shut.

“I sure do, so how about I take you somewhere to perform, okay?” Not waiting for an answer, Tobin gently lifted Niall into his arms and carried him toward the truck. Thank Christ he’d left the driver’s side door open and could just slide him into the cab.

Once he was sitting upright, he reached across Niall to grab his seatbelt.

“You’re gorgeous. Like Aqua-‘merica and Captain Man had a baby.” Niall was wearing a goofy grin. “If I didn’t see three of you Captain Aquaman, I’d kiss you.”

Tobin couldn’t help laughing. Niall thought he looked like Jason Mamoa and Chris Evans? Well, hell, there were worse people to look like. “Well, tell you what, I might just let you once we get your brains unscrambled.”

Niall shot him an incredulous look that quickly turned into a frown. “Witches,” he whispered before his head lolled over and he was out cold again.

“Witches?” Tobin said, his ass hitting the driver’s seat hard. What the hell happened to Niall out here today and what the hell did witches have to do with it?

 

 

9
Niall

It felt like the entire Oregon State Marching Band was playing and marching inside his skull. The last time he felt like this was during a wild and crazy night with Renaldo at a donkey show in Tijuana. “Renaldo?” Niall asked.

“No, it’s Tobin,” a gentle voice answered.

Niall felt someone squeeze his hand. Tobin. Tobin. “Tobin?” He cracked an eyeball open to see a gorgeous blond man peering at him with concern lighting the most amazing blue eyes he’d ever seen in his life. He took a breath and tried to focus again on the man staring at him. Slowly, the memory of who this man was swam back into focus. “Tobin!” he whispered.

“Oh, thank God.” A hand fluttered to Tobin’s heart. “The doctor said your memory might be slow to come back and to be patient with you, but Jesus Christ you scared the shit of me, Niall.”

“Doctor?” Niall looked around the room and quickly realized he had no idea where he was. Seeing medical equipment near him and an IV in his right hand with cords and tubing he figured out he was in a hospital. “What happened? Where are we?”

Tobin squeezed Niall’s hand. “I don’t know what happened to you.” Tears sparkled in his eyes. “I was supposed to meet you at the house to go over the guest room plans. Do you remember that?”

Niall did remember that. He nodded, sending a shockwave of pain through his head and neck and bolt of nausea through him. “Yes,” he whispered. Talking was better than trying to move, that was for sure.

“I was late. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. My sister-in-law thought she was in labor so I was here at North Shore Medical Center. I wanted to meet my niece, but it was false labor. I should have called or texted you to tell you that I was running late, but I was so caught up in my life…” A lone tear rolled down Tobin’s cheek. “When I got to the house you were lying face-down in a heap on the walkway. You were unconscious. When you woke up, you didn’t know who I was. I knew you had a concussion, so I brought you here to the ER. What happened to you today is my fault. You were hurt because I wasn’t where I said I would be when I said I would be there. I was Old Tobin when you needed me to be New Tobin.”

It was Niall’s turn to squeeze their joined hands. He had no idea what Tobin meant by old versus new Tobin. “You were there for me when it counted. That’s all that matters. Am I going to be okay? My head hurts like the Bruins used it for batting practice.”

Tobin snorted. “Aren’t you cute mixing up your sports metaphors.”

Niall shot him a confused look, leading Tobin to believe maybe Niall actually thought the Bruins played baseball rather than hockey, which of course made him even cuter than before. “The doctor said you have a concussion and you’re going to be fine, but that you were going to need to take it easy for a few days and you’ll need to come home with me. You need to be woken up every few hours to make sure you’re okay.”

“My doctor’s prescription was one of you every few hours?” Concussion or not, Niall had clearly been seeing the wrong doctors his entire life. This one, whoever he or she was, deserved a big, fat raise, not to mention his undying gratitude.

“I know, right!” Tobin waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Can you get them to write that down, just in case it’s the concussion talking or I’m hallucinating again.”

“Hallucinating again?” Tobin’s eyes narrowed on Niall.

While they’d been flirting, the memories about his two visits with Abigail had been slowly resurfacing. He was about to tell Tobin what happened when a doctor in a white lab coat walked in.

“Ah, Mr. Gallagher, awake at last, I see!” the man chirped in a chipper voice.

Niall pasted on a smile and got ready to talk to the doctor who was sending him home with Tobin. At least they’d have something to talk about tonight when they were curled up in bed together.

Wait! What? Curled up in bed? Managing a small smile, Niall supposed it would be the best place to make sure the concussion wasn’t causing any permanent brain damage. Well, not any more damage than was already done, which seemed to be considerable if he was thinking Tobin wanted to be curled up in bed with him.

 

 

10
Tobin

Having Niall Gallagher in his bed had been Tobin’s top spank fantasy for the last ten days, but he never imagined that fantasy would become a reality under circumstances like this. The fantasy man in question was tucked into his bed, resting against a mountain of pillows with a Grade 2 concussion and Midnight was perched on the end of the bed howling as if the cat were the one in pain.

After Niall had been released from the hospital, they’d made a quick stop at the Hawthorne Hotel where Niall had been staying. Tobin had quickly packed up all of his things and managed to get Midnight in his cat carrier. Niall had been hesitant to check out of the hotel, but Tobin wasn’t taking no for an answer. The ER doc had said they wanted him taking it easy for a week and that’s what Niall was going to do if Tobin had to chain the stubborn man to his bed.

Wrong time to be thinking about the chains, asshole, Tobin thought as his dick started firming up in his jeans. Thankfully, they were well hidden under the bed.

If the stubborn man wanted to move back in to the hotel after the week ended, well, then that was his business. Now that Tobin had a chance to see Niall resting in his bed, the idea of him heading back to the Hawthorne made his heart feel like it was being squeezed in a vice. Maybe he was really New Tobin after all, despite his protesting dick.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Tobin sat down on his own side of the bed. His gut clenched over the bruised side of Niall’s face.

“I’m exhausted.” He managed a weak smile. “Turns out slamming into the concrete face-first takes a lot out of you.”

“I wish there was more I could do.” Tobin reached out to take Niall’s hand. For some reason, Midnight stopped his screeching and came over to climb into Tobin’s lap. “I know you’re upset that Daddy’s hurt.” He rubbed his face against the cat’s soft fur.

“Sounds like he was missing you more than me,” Niall scoffed.

“Now that the gang’s all here, can you tell me what the hell happened today?” Tobin hadn’t meant to be so pushy in asking the question, but the sooner the truth was out, the sooner he could stop whatever happened from happening again.

Niall took a deep breath and straightened his spine as if to steel himself against the story he was about to tell. “What happened to me today, goes back to something that happened last week before we even met.”

Tobin narrowed his eyes. “I’m listening.” He couldn’t imagine what Niall could be talking about unless his injuries had something to do with another one of the contractors Niall had met before him. He felt his blood starting to boil in his veins. If Jack Clifford and his massive ego had anything to do with this, Tobin would kick his ass from here to New Hampshire.

“When I visited the house for the first time, I wasn’t there alone. I met this old woman. She told me I would find the answers I sought in the forest. When I turned to look for a forest and then turned back to her, she was gone. It wasn’t until after I met you later that day and had time to think about all that had happened that I figured out what she meant.”

“Okay, hold on here a second. You met what sounds like a ghost at the Witch Hill house and you’re just telling me about it now?” Tobin didn’t like the sound of this at all. There had been rumors about this sort of thing being the reason the last owners of that house abandoned it. Those same rumors were also the reason the Witch Hill house had been without a buyer in ten years.

“It wasn’t anything to be worried about. She was kind and had good advice for me.” Niall patted his hand.

“Good advice?” Tobin didn’t understand what Niall was saying.

“Tobin Woods,” Niall said, as if that explained everything. “Woods and forest are cinnamons. The spirit was talking about you.”

Tobin held back a bark of laughter. The concussion was scrambling Niall’s brain again. He meant synonym instead of cinnamon. “Okay, so that’s what happened the first time. What happened today?” Tobin didn’t want to pass judgement on anything Niall was saying until he heard the whole story. Was the ghost really telling Niall that he was what Niall was looking for?

“When I got to the house today, you weren’t there yet, so I got out of the car and walked up the front path. I was trying to see if I could notice any of the changes you and your men made to the foundation.”

Guilt gripped Tobin’s heart again. If he’d been there or had called Niall when he realized he wasn’t going to get to the house on time, maybe Niall would have stayed in the car where he would have been safe. “What happened next?”

“The spirit of the old woman showed up again. She sounded proud of me for finding you and for having taken the time to read up on the history of Gallows Hill and the witches who died there.”

Tobin’s heart started beating faster. “I didn’t know you’d done that.”

Niall offered him a shy smile. “I had so much to tell you today. While you were working on my house last week, I took your advice and learned about the history of my new hometown. I read about the witch trials and Gallows Hill. I read about the women and their families and the different theories about why people think this awful thing happened in the first place. I even bought Nobody’s Witch but hadn’t read it yet.”

“I’m impressed.” It seemed Niall had hit the ground running.

“She wasn’t, since Nobody’s Witch is about her…” Niall trailed off.

Tobin’s eyes widened. “You met Abigail Churchill? The spirit visiting you is hers?” He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Yes. She said she would be back to talk to me once I stopped daydreaming about-” Niall stopped short, his eyes bugging out. “She said she’d be back once I’d read the book.”

Now Tobin was curious. Just what was Niall daydreaming about that he didn’t want to share with him. Was it possible Niall was daydreaming about being with him? Shaking his head, Tobin refocused all of his attention back on Niall. “Is that all Abigail said to you?”

“No, the last thing she said was that all of the other spirits might not be as welcoming as she is and that I should take care of myself.”

“She was sure as shit right there. So, Abigail wasn’t what hurt you?”

“No. God, no. She tried to warn me.” Niall’s bright green eyes darkened. “Although I don’t know what could have been done to protect me against what happened next.”

Tobin felt his stomach toss. “Tell me.” He needed to know what had happened out there this afternoon.

“Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something coming toward me from around the side of the house. It was a line of hooded figures. I got cold all of a sudden, like walking into one of those deep-freeze storage units at McDonalds. I tried to warm myself up, but I was frozen. I couldn’t move, couldn’t run, couldn’t breathe.”

Spellbound by the tale Niall was telling, Tobin found he couldn’t move either. This story was terrifying.

“The line of people stopped in front of the house and turned to face me. As one, they pushed their hoods back with manacled hands and I could see their necks were all bent at twisted angles. I knew then that they were some of the alleged witches who’d been hanged on the hill.” Tears dripped from Niall’s eyes.

“The noose does that if it’s made right and the victim falls fast enough,” Tobin said. He didn’t know why he was suddenly turning amateur historian, filling in details his clearly shaken friend didn’t need to have at the moment.

“Their faces were rotted off, Tobin. Some of them looked green, like the Wicked Witch. I was suffocating. I knew I was either going to pass out or die if whoever was doing this didn’t release me. They all screamed, ‘GO NOW’ in my head and started walking back the way they came. I could hear their chains clanking as they walked. I just thought of it now, but their feet must have been manacled too. Reminded me of Jacob Marley in A Christmas Carol. I must have passed out and slammed face-first into the concrete walkway.”

Tobin had been thinking the same thing. Without his hands to brace against the impact of the fall, Niall had been helpless to protect himself. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to save you.” Anger churned in his gut once again at his own carelessness.

Niall reached out to cup the side of Tobin’s face. “There wasn’t anything you could have done. I was the one who got out of the car to take a look at the house. Even if you’d called to say you were running late, I still would have done that exact thing. You can’t blame yourself for this.” Niall’s thumb brushed across Tobin’s full bottom lip.

The simple touch set Tobin’s blood on fire. He wanted to pull Niall close and kiss the man until they were both panting and breathless. Leaning forward, he pressed a chaste kiss to Niall’s forehead. Even that platonic kiss sent his cock into overdrive. “Rest now and I’ll see you in a few hours.”

It took every ounce of willpower in his body to set Midnight back on the bed and walk out of the room. He could hear the cat howling for him as he shut the door.

 

 

11
Niall

The enormous bulge in Tobin’s jeans last night hadn’t escaped Niall’s attention. It had been all he’d been able to think about, when he’d been able to think about anything with his completely mixed up brain. This concussion was a real killer. 

There had been moments during the night when Tobin’s warm body had been lying next to his own, above, not beneath the sheets. There had been other times when Tobin had woken him up sitting on the side of the bed. Niall doubted either of them had gotten much sleep.

The worst part of the entire night was when nature called. Tobin had carried him like an infant to the bathroom and set him on the toilet. Somehow, Niall had managed to wiggle his briefs down and done what he’d been in the room to do, but there had been a few precarious moments along the way. Thankfully, the toilet was in a separate closet and he could steady himself against the close walls on either side of himself, otherwise he would have tumbled off and onto the floor. It had been embarrassing enough for Tobin to have found him lying face-first on the pathway to the house on Witch Hill Road. It would have been another matter entirely if he’d gone face-first, while bare-ass naked, into the plush throw rug placed in front of the toilet.

When Niall had woken up for good, there was bright sunlight pouring into the bedroom through the curtained French doors to his left. The light hurt his sensitive eyes. Closing them and rolling to his side, he couldn’t help noticing Tobin was gone. He could smell the man’s fresh scent on his pillow. It comforted Niall but didn’t soothe the pounding ache in his head or the persistent pressure in his bladder. If he didn’t move soon, he was going to have an accident in Tobin’s bed.

Sitting up, Niall felt nausea roll through him. He reached out to steady himself on the mattress. Once he felt like he wasn’t in immediate danger of blowing chunks, he swung his feet over the side of the bed, sighing when his toes touched the cold hardwood.

Now came the hard part. Bracing his arms against the bed, he pushed himself to his feet. He swayed for a second but managed to keep his balance. “Thank Christ,” he muttered, taking baby steps toward the door. Niall was ridiculously proud of himself when he reached the bedroom door. He was also completely exhausted.

When he managed to open the door, two things assaulted his senses at once, the heavenly smell of hickory-smoked bacon and the bluesy sound of Tobin singing along with a Sam Hunt song. If his bladder hadn’t reached critical mass, he would have stayed and listened to more of Tobin’s silky-smooth voice, but he didn’t want to end up embarrassing himself while fanboying.

Continuing on to the bathroom, Niall’s vision blurred and his pinkie toe caught on the bathroom door jamb, sending him knocking into the wooden frame. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Niall?” Tobin roared, racing to his side.

Niall was pressed against the door with his arms up looking like a man about to be frisked by the cops.

“What the hell are you doing? Are you okay? What were you thinking?” Tobin’s voice got louder with each question.

“Uh, man with a concussion, officer,” Niall said weakly. “Which question would you like me to answer first?”

“Never mind,” Tobin muttered, scooping Niall into his arms and depositing him on the toilet. He stood there watching Niall with an expectant look on his face.

“I’m not going to go in front of you.” Niall squinted in the bright light of the room.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Tobin twisted the blind closed over the frosted glass in the bathroom cubby and backed out the door, closing it partway behind him. “I’ll be in the hallway. Yell if you need anything.”

“Sure thing. Yelling is right at the top of my list of things to do today, along with not throwing up after having a cup of weak tea with lightly buttered toast.” Niall quickly did what he was there to do and shimmied back into his briefs before calling out to Tobin.

The big man was there in a heartbeat lifting him into his surprisingly gentle arms and carrying him back into the bedroom where the bed had been made and the pillows fluffed up. Midnight had staked his claim on Tobin’s pillow. Lucky bastard.  Christ, he really must be concussed if he was jealous of the cat.

Instead of setting Niall down on the mattress, Tobin sat on the edge of the bed with him still locked in his arms. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Like I got sacked by David Ortiz.” Niall nuzzled against the warm, sweet smelling skin of Tobin’s neck.

Tobin chuckled. “He plays baseball, you know, he doesn’t sack people.”

Niall’s head popped up from his most comfortable spot to shoot Tobin a dirty look. “In my fantasies he does. Have you seen the size of that man? I’m sure he’s proportional all over. Just like you.” Gasping, Niall tucked his head back down against Tobin’s shoulder. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Stupid concussion.”

“It took away your filter, huh? Not that you had much of one to begin with.”

Tobin may have had a small point. “Shut up, Muscles.”

“Sure thing, chicken wing.” Tobin chuckled when Niall gasped in outrage. “Seriously though, are you feeling any better?”

“My head still feels like the cast of Stomp is stomping on it. What about my face? When I was in the bathroom, I couldn’t bear to look.” Niall popped his head up again to look Tobin in the eye.

Raising his right hand, Tobin gently touched the uninjured side of Niall’s face, while his eyes roamed the right side. “I’m not gonna lie to you,” he began.

Niall’s head dipped. He felt the sting of humiliated tears burn the backs of his eyes. It was a stupid, stupid question to ask. He should have kept his fucking mouth shut.

“Hey,” Tobin whispered, tipping his chin up to meet his smiling blue eyes. “You didn’t let me finish the rest of my thought.”

“Fine,” Niall said, his voice all queen, “finish.”

“You’re still gorgeous and fiery and so very kissable,” Tobin whispered.

Niall was about to object and check Tobin for signs of a fever and then suggest he make an appointment with his eye doctor, when the big man’s thick lips brushed against his own. All he could do at that point was hold on tighter and pray this wasn’t a hallucination. “Tobin,” Niall whispered, kissing him back. All he’d wanted for the last two weeks was to taste this man and now it was happening. His head was pounding and he was seeing stars, but Tobin and his red-hot lips were real and nibbling on his own.

“You’re beautiful, Niall, just the way you are. Never forget that.” Tobin’s voice was husky and full of desire.

The last thought that went through Niall’s head before he dropped off to sleep was a quick wish that he would be able to remember this spellbinding moment when he woke up again. 

 

 

 

12
Tobin

In all of his thirty-two years on the planet, Tobin could say he’d never had a man fall asleep while in the middle of kissing him. Then again, this was his first time kissing a man with a concussion. It was a morning of firsts for him.

Once he’d gotten Niall settled back on the bed and covered him with a warm throw, he’d sent text messages to his crew letting them know they were getting an unexpected three-day weekend. His next move was to call Tennyson Grimm. He had no idea if the psychic made house calls, but he was going to pay whatever it cost to get the man out here to see Niall.

As it turned out, Ten did indeed make house calls and was free later this afternoon to come out and meet with them. Tobin didn’t know what else to do here. He knew Niall was determined not only to open The Black Cat Inn, but to live there and run it as well. He wasn’t letting the man step foot back on the property until he was sure that what happened yesterday couldn’t happen again.

Thankfully Niall was awake when Tennyson and his husband, Detective Ronan O’Mara arrived at 2pm sharp. “Tobin, it’s good to see you, man.” Ronan shook his hand after he escorted Tennyson through the door. “Hope you don’t mind that I came along. After Ten relayed the story of what happened to Niall…” The detective trailed off.

“Not a problem.” Tobin wasn’t going to say it out loud, but he felt better having Ronan here, even though the Boston cop was unarmed.

“How are you feeling, Niall?” Tennyson sat next to him on the couch, handing him a bag from West Side Magick.

“Like Tom Brady hit me in the face with a football.” Niall grinned at the psychic.

“Don’t you mean Greg Brady?” Ronan asked. “You know, ‘Oh! My nose!’”

“No, babe, he means, Tom. Definitely, Tom…” Tennyson shook his head as if trying to dislodge something he’d seen and wished he hadn’t. “Anyway,” Tennyson turned back to Niall. “I brought you some soothing chamomile tea and a healing crystal. Sleep with it under your pillow and you’ll feel better in no time.”

“Thank you,” Niall said.

“Tobin told me what happened out at the house. Sounds like you’ve had two different visitations.” Ten folded his hands in his lap.

“I was thinking the same thing. Before my little accident, I did some reading about spirits and psychics and…” Niall trailed off.

“And what?” Tobin asked. His first instinct was put himself between Tennyson and Niall, but the rational part of his brain knew Niall was perfectly safe.

“Abigail would never hurt me. She was the one who told me to find you, Tobin. It’s the other ones.” Niall shivered.

“I tend to agree with your assessment,” Tennyson replied. “I would like to go out to the house and meet Abigail myself if she’s willing to chat with me like she’s been willing to chat with you. It’s the other ones who worry me as well.” The look on the psychic’s face darkened.

“Can they hurt him again, Tennyson? The way Niall described it was like they Force choked him, like something out of Star Wars. Can they do that again? Something worse?” Tobin took a deep breath and tried to get his shaking hands back under control. He could feel the fear and panic rising up in his body. He didn’t want to ask the next question at all but knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight if he didn’t. “Can they kill him?”

“Take a breath, man.” Ronan set a hand on his shoulder. “That’s good,” he replied when Tobin obeyed. “Now do it again.”

A sympathetic, yet knowing look shone in Tennyson’s dark eyes. “Unfortunately, yes, Tobin. Spirits can harm the living, especially when they’ve banded together like these women have done. Until I’ve spoken to them though, I have no way of knowing their intentions. It could be what happened yesterday was just a scare tactic.”

“A scare tactic?” Tobin could feel the outrage building in his gut. “Niall could have died if they’d kept choking him like that. He could have bled to death or been eaten by wolves if I hadn’t found him when I did.”

“I don’t think we have wolves in Salem, Tobin.” Ronan squeezed his shoulder.

Tobin shot the detective an annoyed look before turning back to Tennyson. “How do we find out if what happened yesterday was a scare tactic? How do I keep Niall safe? It was my fault he was hurt out there yesterday and I’ll be damned if I fail him again.”

Tennyson exchanged a wordless look with his husband. Ronan sent back a saucy wink.

“What does that mean?” Tobin looked back and forth between the two of them. “That talking without saying words thing. What did you say without saying it?”

“Calm down, Tobin. Even I could see that they think the only way for you to protect me is for you to never leave my side. You can’t see that? Sheesh, and I’m the one with the scrambled brains. Maybe we should get you a cat scan when we go back to the…?” Niall looked confused. “To the…” He shook his head. “To that place with the scanning machine.” He folded his arms over his chest looking more angry than confused.

“The hospital?” Tobin suggested on a grin.

“Stop laughing at me, Muscles.” Niall cracked a smile.

“You’re too cute when you’re all confused.” Tobin grinned at Niall.

“Who are you again?” Niall asked, obviously teasing him.

“Funny!” I’m the man who isn’t leaving your side come hell or high water.

 

 

 

13
Niall

They nearly came to blows. Not the kind of blows Niall had wanted them to come to, but the kind that would have resulted in the other side of his face being as black and blue as the right half.

Niall had insisted on coming with Tobin to the Witch Hill house to meet Tennyson and his other psychic friends the next morning, while Tobin had been equally stubborn in his insistence that Niall stay home.

Not home exactly. Back at his house tucked into Tobin’s bed like a good little invalid. Niall had made it known under no uncertain terms that he was going to the house if he had to crawl on hands and knees to get there. Tobin must have seen the determined look in his eyes because he finally relented and agreed to take Niall with him.

Unfortunately, his victory had come at a steep cost. Tobin had come in every few hours to wake him up overnight, but he never once laid down with him or snuggled up next to him. Their kiss yesterday morning seemed to be long forgotten. Whether that was due to Niall’s pigheadedness or the fact that he had fallen asleep in the middle of it, he wasn’t quite sure. Now sure as hell wasn’t the time to ask. Tobin looked like a grizzly bear with a toothache and was acting just as grumpy.

He’d walked into the bedroom while Niall was dressing himself and after looking his half-naked body up and down, he growled savagely and stormed back out, slamming the door behind him. Niall had been having trouble pulling up his pants and the slamming door only served to shred his already tangled nerves even more.

Niall knew that by not helping him, Tobin was trying to prove his point that he wasn't in a condition to go anywhere, which only made Niall more determined to prove him wrong. Even if it did take another twenty minutes to finish getting dressed.

Now, they were driving across town toward the Witch Hill Road house. Dead silence reigned in the cab of the truck. It was so loud Niall’s ears were ringing with it. As they turned onto the road, Tobin started swearing under his breath.

“Could you be any less pleasant this fucking morning? If you could be angrier or bitchier I’d sure as hell appreciate it.” Niall sneered at the handsome bastard and turned to look out the window.

“Oh! Look who’s got their claws out, Miss Frisky,” Tobin bitched back.

“What the hell is your problem, Mr. Dick-up-his-ass?”

“My problem?” Tobin shouted. “You’re the one whose brain was leaking out his fucking ear on the sidewalk. The one who is supposed to be resting and I’m the one with the problem?”

“Oh.” Niall pulled his claws back a bit. What Tobin was shouting was making a bit of sense. Even if it was causing physical pain to listen to him rant.

“How the hell am I supposed to take care of you when you insist on being so goddamned stubborn?”

“I’m stubborn, am I?” The claws were back out again. “Where the hell did you sleep last night, Tobin, huh? It’s a one-bedroom house and I was alone all night. You sleep in that crusty recliner that looks like it was brand new when Jimmy fucking Carter was still in the White House?”

“You leave my recliner out of this!” Tobin snarled.

“Okay, Archie Bunker!” Niall looked back out the window.

“Why does it matter where I slept anyway? You just accused me of being bitchy and unpleasant.”

“You ever think I’m trying to take care of you?” Niall shot back. “Ridiculous muscle-bound…” Niall paused, looking unsure of what to say next.

“Asshole?” Tobin suggested.

“Yes!” Niall crowed. He shook his head, wanting desperately to dial this conversation down in volume if not in tenor. “Why are we yelling at each other?” Niall asked.

“Are you asking because you seriously can’t remember or because you think this fight is completely ridiculous?”

“Yes!” Niall shouted back, feeling more confused than ever. For the first time in two days, the confusion wasn’t from the knock to his skull.

Tobin snorted and started to laugh. It wasn’t long before Niall joined him.

Pulling the truck up to the curb of the house, Tobin turned to face Niall. “Listen, Miss Frisky.”

Niall raised a huffy eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut. “I’m worried about you. I want you to heal and be back to your usual self. Having to carry you around like a groom over the threshold is cute, but you’re a heavy bastard and I’m not twenty anymore.”

“Maybe if you hit the gym instead of a twelve-pack of Corona…” Niall trailed off.

“But who’s judging, right?” Tobin’s voice was tight. “I could have just left your bitchy ass at the Hawthorne for room service to take care of. You think they would have checked on you once an hour and made you tea and watched your chest to make sure you were breathing?”

Tobin was checking on him once an hour? No wonder he was acting like a queen bitch. The poor man hadn’t slept in nearly two nights. “Tobin, I…I had no idea you were doing that for me.”

“That’s right, you didn’t. I’ve been busting my ass to keep you safe and you’re defying me at every turn, putting yourself in danger. You ever stop to think I didn’t want you to come here today in case the witches try to hurt you again? What if I can’t stop them from hurting you? From killing you?” Tobin’s voice cracked. “Do you have any idea what it would do to me to have to stand there and watch you die?” A rogue tear dripped down his cheek. Tobin batted angrily at it and slammed out of the truck.

Niall hadn’t considered any of those things. It never crossed his mind that Tobin couldn’t save him if the witches tried to hurt him again. Yelping when the passenger door was yanked open, Niall overbalanced and tipped to the side. The seatbelt caught him an instant before Tobin’s arms came around him.

“Are you okay?” Concern rather than anger was back in his eyes.

Niall nodded. His heart was hammering so hard that he couldn’t speak. He took a deep breath and reached out for the maddening man staring at him. “You’re my hero. I never thought for a minute that you couldn’t keep me safe.” He ran his hands up Tobin’s arms. He could feel the strength and power in his muscles. “That’s why I never gave a second thought to coming out here with you, because you’re so big and strong. You’re everything, Tobin.”

His eyes widening, Tobin reached for the uninjured side of Niall’s face. Without hesitating, he kissed Niall, their lips sliding together on a moan.

If Niall had known calling Tobin his hero would provoke this response in the giant man kissing him, he would have done it the day they met. When Tobin’s tongue lashed against the closed seam of his lips, he dug his fingers into Tobin’s biceps and opened up to him.

Sweeping his tongue into Niall’s mouth, Tobin set his free hand against the slender column of Niall’s throat.

Niall whimpered at the possessiveness of the gesture. He fucking whimpered. Needing more of Tobin’s touch, he clutched him harder, pulling him closer.

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you two here to fuck or hunt the witches?” a sarcastic voice boomed from behind them. “’Cause if it’s fuck, I got no problem watching.”

“Shut up, asshole!” Ronan growled. “You’re standing on sacred ground. Have some fucking respect, would you?”

Tobin pulled back far enough from Niall to rest their foreheads together. “Well, this should be interesting.”

Niall didn’t know which thing Tobin meant, the aftermath of their volcanic kiss or meeting the disrespectful asshole with the mouth.

 

 

14
Tobin

Tobin had never wanted to punch a dick more in his entire life than he wanted to punch Jude Byrne. Yes, the man was gorgeous with his golden leonine eyes and his way of strutting around that made his ass look like it was carved out of marble, but beyond that, the bastard needed a good left hook to the nose.

Asking if anyone was at the Witch Hill house to “hunt witches” was not the best way to make friends or influence people here, living or dead, especially in light of what happened to Niall three days ago. If this smug son-of-a-bitch got Niall hurt again, Tobin wasn’t going to be responsible for what he did to that beautiful man’s face.

“Jude is sorry, Tobin. He has no filter and I’m sure he thought he was being funny. His only excuse is that he isn’t from Salem like we are.” Carson Craig was standing next to him, while his younger brother, Cole, was twenty feet away talking with Jude. Even though the brothers were ten years apart in age they looked nearly identical with their sandy blond hair and blue eyes.

Carson and Cole Craig were the co-owners of West Side Magick, the psychic shop where they, along with Tennyson Grimm worked. Tobin had gotten to know all three men and their spouses late last year when they were expanding the shop down on Conant Street. They’d taken over the old vacuum cleaner repair shop next door and had wanted Tobin to add private office space for psychic readings and consultations.

During his time working for the Craig brothers at the shop he’d never once met Jude Byrne. He would have remembered a man like that. Old Tobin would have quite enjoyed chaining him to his bed and fucking him into next week. Hell, he probably would have broken his “one night only” rule for the golden-eyed man. There was something almost magnetic about him that would have drawn Old Tobin in like a moth to a flame.

Thanks to his growing attraction to Niall, the only thing attracting Tobin to Jude at the moment was his growing desire to punch the annoying-as-fuck man in his face.

“I hear you, Carson, but have you seen Niall’s bruised face? I know the spirits here didn’t do that to him directly, but they’re responsible nonetheless. What if he’d been holding scissors in his hand or a knife when he’d fallen…” Christ, Tobin couldn’t bear to say the rest of his thought out loud.

“We’re going to see what kind of energy is here and see if anyone is willing to talk to us.” Carson set a reassuring hand on Tobin’s beefy shoulder.

“Who is this Jude guy anyway? I don’t remember him from when I was working on the Magick shop.”

Carson shook his head as if he couldn’t believe he was telling this story either. “He’s a private investigator from Arizona. He was working for Tank Hutchins on the case Ronan and Ten were investigating before Christmas last year.”

“Oh, the case where the guy claimed to have been wrongly convicted?” If Tobin remembered the story right, Tank had been convicted of killing Lorraine McAlpin, a Charlestown woman. He’d sent a letter to Ronan from his prison cell asking if he and Tennyson would help prove his innocence. Something about Hutchins having a twin brother tickled at his memory.

“Yeah, that’s the case,” Carson agreed. “Jude was laid up for a bit after it ended, which is why you didn’t meet him when you were working on the store.”

Tobin couldn’t help wondering just who was responsible for laying Jude up. If he were a betting man, his money would be on Ronan.

“Uh, Tobin?” Niall called from behind them. His voice sounded urgent and shaky.

Spinning around, Tobin saw the slight man standing near the wrought iron fence. Not wasting any time, he sprinted toward him. The fence had sharp spikes on the ends of each post that could impale or kill Niall if… “What is it? Is Abigail here? The others?” He was breathing so heavy Tobin doubted if he’d be able to hear Niall’s answer.

Reaching out, Tobin grabbed Niall, pulling the smaller man away from the gate’s lethal spikes and flush against his heaving chest.

“Wow, that was quite a response, Muscles.” Tobin could hear the smile in Niall’s voice. “Abigail is here. She’s saying that she’s sorry for what happened to me at the hands of the others and at the same time giving me shit for not reading the book yet.”

“The book?” Tobin sounded confused. “Oh, and hello, Miss Abigail. I’m Tobin. Thank you for looking out for my… Niall.”

“She’s talking about Nobody’s Witch. I promised her I’d read it later that last day we saw each other, but…” Niall shrugged.

“Abigail is also mighty impressed with your outright possession of Niall,” Carson added from behind them.

“Possession? What? No! I was, just…” Regardless of the words dripping from Tobin’s lips, his arms tightened around Niall. Knowing that Abigail was a friend, he wasn’t taking any chances with someone else being able to hurt Niall. He still wasn’t recovered from his last encounter with the witches. “I just want to keep him safe.”

“Her sisters don’t want you here,” Carson said.

“Me or Niall?” Tobin asked, his voice shaking.

“Any of us,” Tennyson chimed in, walking up to join the group. “None of the other women’s spirits are here now. Ronan, Jude, and I checked out the rest of the house.”

“Do you know why they don’t want us here, Tennyson?’ Niall asked, his voice sounding stronger. “I came to Salem to make a life for myself. To start my life over and I think I’ve finally found the right direction to go with this house, Tobin, and the new friends I’ve made. I’m not about to be driven off by angry spirits.”

“Sometimes the dead don’t give us a choice,” Cole Craig said.

“Is there a way we can speak with the witches? Tell them why I’m here and that I want to help them. Be their friend.” Niall asked carefully.

“Be our friend?” Voices screeched, shaking the limbs of nearby trees.

Tobin spun around with Niall in his arms to face the house. It looked somehow ominous in the morning light. As if it could devour him whole.

“It was men like you who arrested us! Imprisoned us! Defiled us! Murdered us!” the voices wailed.

Pushing at Tobin’s arms, Niall broke free, stepping confidently toward the front steps. “Those men judged you unfairly. Will you do the same to me?” he asked. “I came to this place to start my life over. I want this house to be a refuge. A place of peace. Join me. No harm will come to you here.” Niall held out his hand.

“Harm will come to you!” the voices bellowed.

Niall let out a strangled gasp, his hands clutched at his throat as his body levitated into the air.

“Jesus, no!” Tobin roared running toward Niall, grabbing him around the middle, using all of his strength to pull him away from the house and back toward the gate. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other psychics trying to move, but they appeared to be frozen, just the way Niall described being the other day. Why was it he was able to move when the others weren’t?

A feral roar sounded from behind him. It sounded like a wild animal. Jude Byrne raced past him in a blur of color.

“Niʼníłtłáád!” Jude roared.

Tobin felt the invisible pull holding Niall release at once. They both fell backward onto the grass. Seconds later, Tennyson and Ronan were hovering over them. “What the hell just happened?” Tobin asked, still trying to catch his breath.

“I don’t know.” Tennyson looked as stunned as he sounded.

“Fucking witches.” Jude was dusting off his hands as he joined them. “You okay, Niall?” The man wasn’t even breathing heavy.

Niall nodded, looking like he was still too out of breath to speak.

“How the hell did you do that, Jude?” Carson asked. “What language were you speaking?”

He shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents. You all don’t call me the Chris Hemsworth of West Side Magick for nothing.” Jude winked at Ronan.

“No one calls you that, asshole,” Ronan muttered.

“I’m a legend in my own mind then,” Jude conceded, walking away.

He was a legend of something. How the hell had the word Jude had spoken managed to repel the witches? Were they gone for good or just for now? Shaking his head, Tobin didn’t care at the moment. All he wanted to do was take Niall home. He’d had enough of this shit for one day. 

 

 

15
Niall

Hours later his throat still felt like he’d tried to swallow an eighteen-wheeler. Niall was back in Tobin’s king-sized bed surrounded by a mountain of pillows, a steaming hot cup of Tennyson Grimm’s favorite chamomile tea to his right. Midnight was giving himself a leisurely bath on Tobin’s pillow. Tobin was MIA.

Niall thought he’d heard the big man speaking to someone on the phone, but that was ten minutes ago. The house had been quiet since then.

The peace of the house gave Niall a chance to think about everything that happened today. From the fight, to the kiss, to the second time he’d been Force choked, to the bizarre word Jude Byrne had spoken that had somehow freed him. It might have been the lack of oxygen, but he could have sworn a pulse of energy had passed through him like a shockwave when Jude screamed.

Maybe the man hadn’t been far off when he’d joked he was the Chris Hemsworth of the group. Hemi was Thor, God of Thunder, after all…

A knock on the door stopped Niall’s crazy train of thought in its tracks. “Come in.”

“Oh good, you’re still awake.” Tobin offered him a shy smile.

“I’m not likely to sleep after what happened out at the house.” He shivered, remembering what it was like being lifted into the air with no visible means of support.

“Hello, precious,” Tobin cooed to the cat, scooping him up into his massive arms. Midnight started to purr. “Your daddies need to have a bit of a chat, okay?” Not waiting for a response, Tobin deposited the cat into the hallway and quickly shut the bedroom door.

“He’s not going to like that. You’re his person now.” Niall snickered.

As if on cue, Midnight started to yowl and scratch at the door.

“He’ll be okay.” Tobin’s tone was serious. “I’m more concerned with you.” His hands came up to cradle Niall’s face.

“I’m a little sore, but I’ll live.” Tears pricked at the back of his eyes. “What happens if the witches keep this up, Tobin? My whole inheritance is sunk into this house. Everything my mother left me. I signed a contract with you to do the work. You bought the materials. What if the Inn can’t open and welcome guests?” The tears Niall was trying to fight back fell anyway.

Tobin only knew how to answer one of the questions Niall had asked. “Don’t you worry about me and the contract. All that matters now is that you’re safe. Tennyson said he and the others were going to figure out a way to try to speak with the witches in a neutral way, without them being able to hurt anyone.”

“How is that even possible after what Jude did?” Niall looked up at Tobin. “What the hell did Jude even do with that nonsensical sounding word anyway? It sounded like something you’d hear Hermione shouting in a Harry Potter movie.” Was Jude a warlock? Was the word he spoke some kind of a spell?

“I don’t know what Jude did, but I’m damned glad he was there today. I wonder though…” Tobin trailed off, sounding like he was trying to organize his thoughts.

“What do you wonder?”

“When we got there, he said something about hunting witches. Then he says this magical word that seemed to repel their attack on you. What if he’s an actual witch hunter?”

“What, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but real?” Niall asked.

Tobin nodded. “Vampires, werewolves, witches, they’ve always been on the fringes of polite society. They’re mythical,” Tobin made air quotes over the word, “but all myth is based in fact, right? We know that witch hunts had been going on for centuries before Salem. What if they’re still going on now? Just out of the limelight. Being a private investigator would give Jude the freedom to move around the country all the while giving him a viable cover story for all moves and an actual, legitimate job.”

Niall thought about what Tobin was saying. As crazy as it sounded, it wasn’t any more crazy than being Force choked by the spirits of the accused witches murdered in 1692 during the Salem Witch Trials. “It’s possible, but that would mean Jude was killing people, possibly innocent people like our witches. I can’t imagine men like Tennyson and Ronan allowing a person like that into their circle of friends.”

“Our witches?” Tobin said incredulously. “Niall, you can’t call them ‘our witches’ when they’ve tried to kill you twice in three days.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t be calling them witches at all. They were all innocent. You know that as well as I do. Not to mention the fact that they haven’t killed me though, have they? Look, they’ve been through a horrific experience.”

“Yeah, three hundred twenty-six years ago.” Tobin shot back. “I think the statute of limitations on being angry and bitter has run out.”

“I don’t think it works like that in the afterlife. What if one day in heaven were like one hundred years here on earth?”

Tobin snorted. “I think your concussion is rearing its ugly head again.”

“You heard what the spirits said, Tobin. They were arrested, imprisoned, defiled, and murdered. All of the charges leading to their arrests were false, might I add. They were all repeatedly checked for Satan’s mark, meaning they had to show their naked bodies to multiple men. Some of them were repeatedly raped. Some of them were pregnant during this ordeal. Some got pregnant while imprisoned. They all had to listen to the other women being assaulted and were helpless to stop the attacks. Being dead doesn’t cure PTSD.”

Okay, Niall had a point. Tobin knew the factual history of the witch trials but had never stopped to think about what life must have been like for the women accused and imprisoned. “So, you think these women have a right, all these years on, to still be angry and vindictive?”

“I do, but I’m hoping there’s a way we can work through it with them so we can co-exist together at the Inn.”

“How do you plan on doing that, Dr. Phil? Sit around in a circle and sing John Lennon songs?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Tobin. You were the one who told me that the history of this place mattered. That if we didn’t remember it we were doomed to repeat it.”

Tobin got up from the bed to pace around the bedroom. “That’s right. I did say that, but that was before ghost-witches started trying to kill the man I-” He stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hanging open.

“The man that you, what?” Niall asked, his voice barely above a whisper. It was so quiet in the room, he could hear a pin drop. Even Midnight had stopped screeching from the other side of the bedroom door.

His blue eyes narrowing on Niall, Tobin turned away. He paced to the French doors. “The man I love,” Tobin said on a heavy sigh. “That was before witches tried to kill the man I love. Twice!” Tobin turned back to Niall, his eyes glassy. “You strode right up to that house like you were Clint Eastwood in High Noon. Jesus Christ, Niall, my heart was in my throat the entire time, but I had to let you go. Had to let you speak your peace.”

“Why?” His head was spinning and not from the after effects of his concussion. Niall was still so stunned over Tobin saying twice now that he loved him. It was just as remarkable that he was still able to follow the thread of the conversation.

“You had to know I trusted you to be your own man. That I trusted your judgement.” Tobin finally looked up at Niall, their eyes locking together.

“You know this whole thing is crazy, right?”

Tobin grinned. “Which thing? You’ve gotta be a bit more specific. There have been a lot of crazy things.”

“That’s kind of my point. We’ve known each other for two weeks and in that time, I’ve met eleven of the spirits of the women murdered in the Salem Witch Trials. Ten of them have tried to kill me twice. I’ve befriended Salem’s most famous psychic and his witch-repelling P.I. Then there’s you.”

Tobin strode back to the bed. The mattress dipped when he sat down on the edge of it. “What about me?”

Niall could see the big man was holding his breath. Whether in anticipation, fear, or both, he couldn’t tell. “In two weeks you’ve managed to overwhelm me. First with your kindness and talent. Now with your ferocity and courage in keeping me safe and protected. My heart never stood a chance. It’s as if I’m spellbound.”

His brow furrowing, Tobin leaned forward. “What are you saying?”

Feeling his face break into what had to be his first real smile in days, Niall took a deep breath. He set a hand against Tobin’s heavily stubbled cheek. “I’m saying I love you too, Tobin.”

 

 

16
Tobin

His heart full to bursting, Tobin pulled Niall into his arms. “You’re right, this whole thing is completely crazy, but I’m not going to question fate or destiny or whatever other force of nature put you in my path, Niall. I can’t help but feel that every road I’ve ever taken in my life, even the wrong turns, have led up to this precise moment in time with you.” Tobin knew he sounded like a lovesick fool, but he didn’t care. Niall loved him back.

Nodding, Niall surged forward to kiss Tobin. His arms slid around his neck, urging the big man closer to him.

“Are you sure about this? You’re still hurt from the other day and your poor throat,” Tobin protested weakly. His cock was already hard and pressing against the seam of his zipper.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You make everything better, Tobin. Now, make me yours.”

Growling, Tobin pulled Niall in for another kiss. His tongue surged into Niall’s mouth, roughly mating with his own. Every instinct to possess and own this man was working on overdrive. “Need you naked. Now!”

Not wasting another second, Niall reached for the hem of his tee-shirt, lifting it high over his head. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Tobin had done the same thing.

“What? Are you having trouble breathing?” His desire had morphed into concern in a heartbeat.

Throwing his own shirt the rest of the way off, Niall nodded. His pink tongue skimmed over his lower lip. Pushing himself forward, he crawled on his hands and knees toward where Tobin was sitting on the edge of the bed. “You take my breath away.” Niall licked slowly up Tobin’s washboard abs, stopping only to suck a small bruise against the side of his rib cage before nibbling and biting his way up Tobin’s chest. “Fucking delicious.”

Niall was blowing his mind. “Who knew you were such a naughty boy with that mouth of yours?”

“I’m just full of surprises.” Crawling into Tobin’s lap, Niall continued to lick and suck every inch of skin he could get his lips on.

This wasn’t the way Tobin had imagined this encounter going down. He pictured himself lavishing Niall with all the care and attention he deserved, but Niall was the one doing that very thing for him. “Slow down, handsome, we’ve got all night.”

Pulling back, Niall shook his head. Their eyes were locked together. “This has been a wild and crazy ride so far, Tobin. Tonight shouldn’t be any different. We have forever to be slow and deliberate. Claim me. Make me yours.”

His sweet little Niall had no idea that he was playing with fire by using those words. Tobin lifted Niall off his lap and set him back on the bed. “Take off your pants.” His voice was calm yet demanding.

A shiver tore through Niall’s body. His skin broke out in goosebumps. He rubbed a hand up and down his bare arms.

“Now, Niall! I won’t ask you again.” Tobin was pushing his jeans past the bulge in his tight red boxer briefs. The material stuck to the tip of his cock where it had been leaking. Being able to use this tone with Niall, seeing the way his green eyes darkened with desire, made his cock even harder, and made him leak more pre-come. He needed to slow down or he wasn’t even going to make it inside Niall before he’d be shooting off.

Taking a shuddering breath, he tried to steady himself as Niall obeyed. His soon-to-be lover laid back on the bed, pushing his pajama pants down his slim hips, then over his cock. Tobin had to bite his lower lip to keep from moaning out loud when he got his first look at all of Niall.

He was absolute perfection with his pale skin and dark hair forming a nest around his thick cock, which bent slightly to the left. Tobin walked slowly back to the bed where Niall was splayed out for him like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Opening the nightstand drawer, he pulled out the lube and a condom. “We’re using these until we’re both tested. Got it?”

Niall nodded, an eager look in his eyes.

Slicking his fingers with the lube, Tobin climbed onto the bed. His eyes were glued to Niall’s cock. The anticipation of what was to come was driving him crazy. This wasn’t like him at all. If Niall were one of his nameless, faceless lovers, Tobin would already be balls deep, fucking that man for all he was worth, but not Niall. The man who’d just confessed his love would never be worth that kind of careless treatment.

Tobin dove onto Niall’s dick, tasting every last inch of Niall’s length while using his fingers to open him up. He gagged slightly when Niall hit the back of his throat.

“Fuck, Tobin,” Niall gasped. “I’ve never seen anything hotter in my life than that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tobin grinned. “Watch this.” He dropped Niall a sexy wink, moving to straddle his face. “Why don’t you get this wet for me?” He brushed his own cock against Niall’s soft lips.

Niall moaned when Tobin’s cock made contact with his tongue and didn’t stop until he was nudging against the back of his throat.

Grabbing on to the headboard, Tobin hitched his hips forward a few times, just to see what Niall would do with his sizeable length. His man did not disappoint.

Niall dug his fingers into the meat of Tobin’s ass and urged him to go faster.

Not wanting this encounter to end before it really got started, Tobin gave him a bit more of what he wanted before starting to sliding back.

“Tobin, hurry,” Niall urged.

“You’re a bossy little thing, huh?” Tobin raised an eyebrow as he rolled the condom down his length and reached for the lube. “Bossy boys usually get chained to my bed.” Tobin was about to wink at Niall to show he was teasing, but he wasn’t prepared for his response.

“They do?” His voice was barely above a whisper. Tobin could see the flutter of a pulse point on the right side of his neck. Niall’s pupils were so dilated, there was hardly any green left at all. “Fuck me, Tobin!” Niall commanded. “Fuck me, now!”

Tobin chuckled, knowing exactly what Niall was asking for. He grabbed the base of his cock to keep from going off like a geyser at his lover’s demand to be chained, then fucked. He leaned down over Niall, their faces an inch apart. “Never forget who is in charge here.” Tobin’s cock jerked when Niall trembled at his half-growled words.

“Yes, sir,” Niall whispered. A ghost of a smile played around his lips.

“I’m going to love chaining you to this bed and fucking you into next week, but not tonight, Not our first time together. Agreed?”

Niall gave him a sharp nod.

“And don’t think you’re going to get away with trying to order me around either. Boys who do that have the tendency to be punished with marathon blow jobs. My control is legendary.” Tobin purposely drawled out the word legendary. His personal best was two hours and twenty-three minutes, but Niall didn’t need to know about that right now or the guerilla tactic he used to hold out that long.

Niall’s eyes widened in shock.

Gripping Niall’s hip, he lined his cock up and slowly pushed inside his lover’s body. It was killing him to go so slow, but with all Niall had been through in the last week, he didn’t want to do anything that would cause more pain.

“You won’t break me. My body was made for this, Tobin. For you,” Niall whispered.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Tobin slid his finger gently down the bruised side of Niall’s face. “You’ve had enough of that this week.”

“You could never hurt me.” Niall wrapped his arms around Tobin’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Tobin surrendered to Niall’s drugging kiss and to the instincts of his own body. He moved along to the rhythm of his pounding heart.

“Jesus, Tobin, your cock is a fucking monster,” Niall gritted out.

Tobin snorted. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that from another man, but it was the first time a man he was in love with had uttered those words. “Is it too much?”

“Never! Not that I want to risk more punishment,” Niall dropped him a sexy smile, “but could you fuck me with this thing? This going slow shit is gonna put me to sleep.”

“Your wish is my command,” Tobin growled. He’d had enough with this slow shit too. He pushed back to his knees and bent Niall nearly in half, holding his thighs near his knees. He set a punishing pace, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to keep this up for very long.

“Ah, fuck!” Niall cried out. His hands reached out for Tobin’s thick arms.

“You better hurry up. I’m not waiting for you.” Tobin growled. Of course, he was waiting for Niall, he was just looking to see his lover’s reaction.

“So…close,” Niall panted. “Please!”

“Come, now!” Tobin shouted. His cock jerked once, then twice. He screamed Niall’s name. The last thing he saw with clarity before his orgasm overtook him completely was Niall’s cock shooting off all over his chest.

“I love you, Niall,” Tobin whispered moments later, when he could think again and his man was wrapped around him pressing kisses against his sweat-slicked skin.

 

 

 

17
Niall

Niall woke up sore for all the right reasons. Round one wasn’t the end of their night even though Tobin had worried his athleticism could set Niall’s concussion back. There was no way in hell Niall was going to confess to his head being just as achy as his ass this morning. Tobin Woods was an absolute tiger in bed and he didn’t want the best lover of his life handling him like he was a fragile China doll. Again.

The morning after the I love you’s had been spoken at a fast and furious pace, Tobin had been back to playing the role of protector. When Ronan had called to invite them both to a breakfast meeting at West Side Magick, Tobin had insisted Niall stay home and rest.

Niall was having none of that. The Black Cat Inn was going to be his home and his livelihood. He was attending this meeting whether Tobin liked it or not. Based on the look on Tobin’s face as they pulled into an empty parking space near the Magick shop, Tobin didn’t like it one bit.

Niall set his hand over Tobin’s on the Ford’s steering wheel. “You told me yesterday you let me walk up to the house to face the angry spirits because you were proving to me that you trusted me to be my own man. That isn’t something you can give out and then take back, Tobin. This house is my life. It’s my mother’s legacy. It’s our future. If you’re interested in having a future with a man who’s not afraid of going toe-to-toe with you.”

Tobin shook his head, not meeting Niall’s eyes. “Going toe-to-toe with me is your only option. It’s not like we can go eye-to-eye, shorty.”

Niall yanked his hand back from Tobin. “Well that’s just rude.”

“But you love me!” Tobin crowed, laughing.

“Nope!” Niall pushed open the door to the truck. “I changed my mind. Rude!” He slammed the door on a huff. He was just teasing but before he knew what was happening, Tobin was charging around the side of the truck and hauling him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down!” Niall howled, slapping his bare palms against Tobin’s broad shoulders.

“You said I was rude. Might as well act like it!”

“I’ve got a concussion! All of the blood is rushing to my poor battered brain.”

Tobin pushed through the front door of the Magick shop. The bell tinkled to herald their arrival.

“Good morning, guys. I think?” Tennyson shot Ronan a questioning glance.

“Looks like someone was a bad boy!” Jude laughed.

“My head, asshole!” Niall swatted at Tobin’s butt.

“Keep it up, princess. You’re just digging the hole deeper.” Tobin sounded downright chipper. He set Niall back down on his feet, reaching out to grab his hips to keep him from pitching forward into the nearby display of dreamcatchers.

Niall batted at Tobin’s hands but was grateful for his help. He would have ended up flat on his face again, but Tobin was the reason he was off-balance in the first place, for more reasons than one.

“We’ve got breakfast set up in the reading room.” Carson motioned toward the newer looking part of the store. “Niall, you might be interested to know that it was Tobin who did the renovation here for us. This used to be a vacuum cleaner repair shop before your man got ahold of the space.”

Niall tingled all over at the thought that Tobin was his man. He might be a bit miffed at the giant right now, but Tobin had marked him all over last night. Niall was undeniably his.

Tobin stopped Niall from entering the room. “You’re right. I can’t just take back letting you be your own man. I’m just scared that something’s going to happen to you out at that house.”

“Tobin, something could happen to me crossing the street. You can’t roll me in bubble wrap and keep me locked in your bedroom.”

Tobin nodded, his eyes not leaving his shoes. “But I want to. Tell me you understand that.”

Niall slipped his hands into Tobin’s. “I do understand it, but at the same time, we need to work together to figure this out. Leaving me on the sidelines isn’t helping the situation and it’s only making us fight with each other. The last thing I want to do is argue with you, Tobin. We just found each other.”

“Hey, you two lovebirds gonna blow each other or get in here? I got work to do.” Jude shouted.

Grabbing Niall’s hand, Tobin pulled him into the room, shutting the door behind them. “Sorry to disappoint you, Jude. You seem to be awfully interested in watching Niall and I get it on in one form or another. Is it that you really want to watch or are you wishing you were the one chained to my bed?”

“I… What?” Jude shook his head. His golden eyes were ablaze. “Fuck, no!” Jude’s eyes clearly indicated that he was lying.

“Mine!” Niall mouthed to Jude before smiling up at Tobin.

“For the love of God, guys. Can we get down to business here?” Ronan asked, sounding exhausted. “I’m getting drunk on all of this testosterone. Makes me feel like I should go out and chop down a tree or something.”

“You can mow my lawn if you feel like being manly,” Carson suggested.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Mow your own damn lawn.” He cleared his throat and turned to Niall. “Ten and I wanted to get everyone together this morning to talk about what happened yesterday at the Witch Hill House. Niall, how are you feeling? We were all worried about you last night.”

He was touched that Ronan and the others had been thinking of him. “I’m okay. My throat was a little sore, but nothing some of Tennyson’s favorite tea didn’t fix.”

“Good!” Ronan turned his attention to Jude who was still looking a little flustered. “You care to share with the class what the hell you did yesterday with your magic word, asshole?”

“Ronan, for God sake. He saved Niall’s life, you can’t exactly call him an asshole for that.” Tennyson shot his husband an exasperated look.

“Let’s call it payback on his balance due. Well, Jude?” Ronan wasn’t backing down.

Jude ran a hand through his brown hair. “I grew up in Arizona near Navajo land. Some of my best friends growing up spoke Navajo and I picked up some of the words. It’s like growing up in Little Italy and knowing ‘mangia’ means eat.”

The only problem with Jude’s explanation was that mangia was an easy word for anyone to learn. Hell, the word had been featured in ad campaigns for the Olive Garden and was in their menu. That ginormous word Jude had hurled like a spear at the witches yesterday didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. If Niall’s life depended on him spelling it, he wasn’t sure he even knew which letter of the alphabet it started with.

What he would bet his life on was the fact that the weapon-word wasn’t some casual Navajo buzz-phrase featured in ad campaigns that meant eat, drink, or be merry. It was a serious word, perhaps even a deadly one.

Niall wasn’t the only one who apparently felt that way about Jude’s story. Looking around the table, he could see the others were wearing looks of disbelief and Ronan looked ready to throw the bullshit flag. Niall had a gut feeling that would be the absolute worst thing to do. If the witches didn’t relent and leave the house on Witch Hill Road in peace, they might need Jude again. Who knew what other magic words he had in his quiver. “What’s our plan going forward?”

The three psychics in the room looked back and forth at each other in silence. “We have a secret weapon of our own.” Tennyson grinned. “Jude isn’t the only one with a magic quiver, so to speak. Tobin, Niall, I’d like to introduce you to my mentor, Bertha Craig.”

There weren’t any women in the room. Niall looked at Tobin and saw that he’d reached the same conclusion. “Uh, hi, Bertha.” Niall waved at thin air hoping he was doing the right thing.

Carson started laughing. “Not funny, Mom. No, you can’t take Tobin out for a joy ride.”

“Now hold on a second here. Is Bertha dumping me for this meathead?” Ronan sounded offended.

“She says there’s plenty of her to go around, Ronan,” Cole laughed.

“Meathead?” Tobin asked. “I hate to be a wet blanket here, but what the hell is going on? I don’t see anyone else in this room but the seven of us.”

“Bertha Craig was the original founder of West Side Magick. She passed away two years ago but assists us from the other side from time to time when a case stumps us,” Tennyson explained. “She has a bit of a crush on Ronan, so he’s understandably upset that Bertha’s found a new boy-toy.”

“Am not!” Ronan huffed.

Ten patted his shoulder. “Anyway, we asked Bertha if she could make contact with one of the witches and see if we could broker some kind of peace for you out at the house. Or, barring that, find out what it would take to come to a resolution where you all could live together harmoniously.”

“That’s not nice, Mom!” Cole hissed.

“What did she say?” Ronan asked.

“That the witches were bitches…” Cole shook his head.

“A-friggen-men!” Jude held a hand up to God.

Niall studied the man for a second. It was obvious to him that Jude had something against witches. He couldn’t help wondering what that thing was. “It’s nice to meet you, Bertha. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to help me out like this. Can you tell me what the women said about coming to some kind of peace with me?”

“Mom says it’s nice to meet you too, Niall. You and Tobin are good for each other, but don’t let his bite intimidate you.” Carson shook his head. “I’m not sure if she means that metaphorically or physically.”

“Physically,” Tobin and Niall said together.

“Okaaaay…” Carson drawled. “Mom also says that the witches don’t want you in the house, which you obviously know based on the fact they’ve attacked you twice now. They aren’t willing to negotiate with you at this point in time.”

“So, we’re just supposed to sit back and let these three-hundred-year-old spirits dictate terms here?” Tobin bellowed.

Cole shook his head. “No, there are other things we can try. Ronan has a friend in the Wiccan community we can turn to for help.”

“We’re going to fight witches with witches?” Jude asked sardonically. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“Definitely not shitting you,” Cole rolled his eyes.

“Who’s the friend, Ronan?” Carson asked.

“Lyric Vaughn. She’s the head of the Boston Crime Lab’s DNA Unit. She worked with us on the Harold Owens case last summer.”

“Oh, the girl with the aqua hair. I met her and her wife Katie at your wedding last year. I didn’t know they were Wiccan.” Carson reached for the box of muffins at the center of the table.

“Only Lyric is Wiccan, not Katie,” Tennyson chimed in.

“I hate to interrupt this fascinating conversation,” Jude rolled his golden eyes, “but can we please get back to how enlisting the help of one witch is going to help Niall fight off the gaggle of dead witches who keep trying to kill him?”

“I’m not sure,” Ronan admitted quietly. “Lyric said she was going to do some research and get back to us.”

“Oh good, so in the meantime, we what? Sit around and wait for the bitches to come after Niall again? Maybe they’ll kill him this time! Or you! Or Tennyson! Then what, huh, Ronan?” Jude was shouting, his voice bouncing off the ceiling in a tinny echo. “The only good witch is a fucking dead witch!” Jude bounced out of his seat and was striding for the door when Ronan caught him by the arm.

“Explain this to me, Jude.” Ronan’s voice was soft. He sounded more like Jude’s brother and fiercest champion than the antagonist he’d been moments ago.

Jude struggled to break free, but Ronan wasn’t letting go. He gripped the bigger man tighter, seeming to have the patience of Job. “Come on, man. You never get this rattled. Tell me why now? Why witches?”

“Witches killed my father,” Jude muttered before yanking his arm away from Ronan. He strode through the door without a backward glance.

Niall was so caught up in what was going on with Jude and Ronan that he startled when Tobin reached for his hand.

“That explains a lot,” Tobin whispered.

It explained everything, Niall couldn’t help but think.

 

 

18
Tobin

Tobin couldn’t sleep. It was well past midnight. The witching hour… He shuddered in his darkened kitchen, his arms coming up to wrap around himself.

It had been a quiet day after he and Niall had gotten back from West Side Magick. They’d sat at the kitchen table and had gone over building plans for The Black Cat Inn. Tobin had done it to keep Niall’s mind focused on the positive, while he, on the other hand, could only think of the negative.

Later, Niall had made a big salad while he’d thrown some steaks on the grill. After dinner, they’d gone to bed, but instead of a repeat performance of last night, they marathoned episodes of Nailed It! Niall had laughed his ass off at the disastrous bakers, which had been what Tobin was hoping would happen.

Now, Niall was asleep and he was in the kitchen wearing a proverbial hole in the kitchen floor as he paced back and forth. Part of the reason for his not being able to sleep was the research he’d done on his phone while Niall was making the salad.

According to what he’d read, spirits were notoriously hard to coax into the light if they were determined to stay in a specific place as it seemed these women were. Tobin had seen the papers detailing what Niall had paid for the Witch Hill Road property, that combined with the total cost of the renovations they’d discussed put the venture over the one-million-dollar mark.

He’d known Niall had been busting his balls this morning about wanting a future with a man who wasn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with him. That wasn’t what scared him. Tobin would relish every little verbal skirmish they’d engaged in, so long as they came out of it together. What scared the hell out of him was what would happen to their future if the witches kept the Inn from ever opening its doors.

“Hey?” Niall asked from the kitchen door.

“Shit!” Tobin jumped and spun around. “You scared me.”

“Sorry about that. You looked lost in your own head.” Niall walked to Tobin, wrapping his arms around him. “I didn’t expect to wake up alone.”

“I’ve got so much on my mind. I didn’t want to wake you up with my tossing and turning.” Niall had enough going on right now without Tobin keeping him from his rest. When they’d gotten back from the meeting at West Side Magick, Tobin had seen the dark circles under Niall’s eyes and the worry etched in his green orbs.

“We’re worried about the same things.” Niall slipped his hands under Tobin’s tee to rub against the silky skin of his back. “What’s going to happen if the Inn can’t open, right? What about all the money I spent? What about our future?”

“Our everything is tied up in that house,” Tobin whispered, feeling like a failure. He’d failed to protect Niall out there.

“Not true,” Niall disagree. “Our everything is standing in this kitchen.”

Niall had a point. “I get what you’re saying, but that house is your dream. Like you said earlier, it’s your mother’s legacy.”

“Have you done any research on Tennyson and Ronan’s cases?” Niall asked with a bit of a laugh in his tone.

“I know a little from what I’ve read in the Salem paper and what’s been on the local news, why?” Tobin didn’t get where Niall was headed with this question and why it could possibly be funny.

“The two of them have a pretty good track record when they get involved in things.” Niall sounded hopeful.

“Ten and Ronan solve crimes together. What we’re dealing with out at the Witch Hill House isn’t a crime. It’s more like a,” Tobin paused, “I don’t know. A possession, I guess.”

“I trust them to help us. Just like I trust you to keep me safe.”

Tobin snorted. “I’ve done a shit job at that so far.”

“What?” Niall pushed back from him and spun around in a circle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look at me, I’m all in one piece. Got all ten fingers and all ten toes.”

“Just barely,” Tobin muttered.

“Just barely is good enough for me.” Niall walked back to Tobin, setting a hand on his left cheek. “We’re going to figure this out. You’ll get back to work on the Inn and before you know it, we’ll be welcoming our first guests. It’s all going to work out.”

“You sound like the psychic now,” Tobin scoffed. He knew he sounded like a Debbie Downer.

“My mother was a big believer in the power of positive thinking.” Niall beamed up at Tobin.

“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned her with a smile on your face.”

“There’s still a giant hole in my heart without her, but I know this is where I’m supposed to be.”

“Here in Salem?”

Niall nodded. “And with you.” He pushed up on his tiptoes, brushing a kiss against Tobin’s lips before pulling away.

“Wait, come back here.” Tobin hadn’t gotten nearly enough of a taste of Niall’s sweet lips.

Niall sunk to his knees. “Are you sure about that?” He asked with a smirk as he tugged Tobin’s boxers off his hips.

“Fuck, no. You’re good right where you are.” Niall was so pretty down on his knees like that.

“You sure about that? I could get up and kiss you again.”

“The only thing you’re gonna be kissing is my fat dick. Got it?”

“Bossy.” Niall huffed. He pulled Tobin’s boxers over the head of his cock and slipped them down his thick thighs.

“You have no idea just how bossy I can be, sweetheart.” Tobin’s voice was all business now. Gone was any trace of warmth or sweetness. This wasn’t a game anymore.

“Tell me what you need, Tobin.” A shiver of awareness tore through Niall’s entire body.

“I need your mouth on my balls.” Tobin could tell Niall had never done anything like this before. He’d never knelt before another man offering to serve his needs. His own cock was throbbing with the excitement of it all. They were going to have so much fun together.

Niall briefly eyed the plump drop of pre-come gathering at Tobin’s slit longingly before pushing against Tobin’s thighs.

Tobin knew where Niall’s thoughts had been heading. He’d wanted to take a taste before obeying his command. Not that he could blame Niall, but it wouldn’t have gone well for him if he’d listened to his own internal urgings. He was going to get a mouthful soon enough.

Licking out tentatively, Niall ran his tongue along the wrinkled skin of Tobin’s sac.

“Don’t lick me like you’ve never done this before, boy. Get in there and go for it,” Tobin practically growled.

Niall looked up at him in the faint light of the room. Tobin saw surrender in his green eyes. Moaning, Niall sucked one of the sacs into his mouth, bathing it with his tongue, soaking it completely before moving on to the second one.

“That’s it. Same treatment for my aching dick.” Tobin reached out for Niall’s head, grabbing his hair and guiding him to his weeping cock. “Take your taste of me. I know you’re dying to.”

Niall obeyed, moaning obscenely when his mouth closed over the plump head of Tobin’s cock.

“That’s it. All the way down.” Tobin moved Niall’s head exactly where he wanted it to go. He didn’t stop until Niall was gagging. “Such a good boy.” He could see saliva glistening on his lover’s chin. “Think you can handle the rest on your own?”

Nodding, Niall lashed his tongue against the hot column of flesh.

Tobin relaxed his hands in Niall’s silky hair. His eyes were riveted to the way Niall’s lips were wrapped around his dick. His lover was moaning as he tried to service all of Tobin. Those sexy as hell sounds were just serving to bring Tobin closer to his end.

“Fucking close,” Tobin whispered on a sigh. “Where do you want it? Down your throat? On your face? Your chest?” Tobin couldn’t quite decide either. He wanted the look in Niall’s eyes to answer the question for him.

Niall’s eyes had darkened and his hands had gripped his thighs tighter when Tobin had said on his face. That had been what he’d been thinking all along. There weren’t a lot of men who liked getting their faces soaked in come. Thank Christ Niall was one of them.

“That sweet fucking mouth,” Tobin groaned. He was reluctant to pull himself from the sweet velvet heat of Niall’s mouth, but the reward of seeing his lover covered in his release was more thrilling than watching him swallow it down. “Fuck, Niall!” Tobin roared, pulling his cock from between Niall’s lips. The first blast of come splattered across his lips and left cheek. Tobin felt his knees go weak at the sight of it.

Opening his mouth wide, Niall moaned his encouragement. He was still clutching Tobin’s thighs and staring up at him in adoration with those green eyes.

This man was going to be the death of him. Tobin gripped the back of Niall’s head, not for the control it gave him, but for balance. He was coming so hard at the sight of Niall that he was afraid he was going to end up flat on his face. The second and third blasts landed on Niall’s tongue and left cheek. Niall swallowed quickly and opened his mouth for more as if he couldn’t get enough.

Neither could Tobin. His last thought before Niall swallowed him down to clean him off was that he loved this man to the moon and back.

 

 

19
Niall

Niall recognized Ronan’s candy-apple red 1968 Ford Mustang parked in front of the Witch Hill Road house when he and Tobin pulled up around 10am the next morning. There was a sage green Toyota Prius parked in front of the Mustang that Niall had never seen before. “Do you think that’s Lyric’s car?” Niall’s voice shook with nerves.

“Could be.” Tobin pulled the keys from the ignition and turned to look at Niall. “Are you going to be okay in there?”

Turning to look up at the house -his house- Niall nodded. “I love you so much, Tobin.” He turned back to look at the man who’d changed his life so completely. “I know this is going to sound so Hallmark Movie of the week, but today is the first day of the rest of our lives. I don’t know what’s going to happen in there, but whatever it is will allow us to take the next step toward whatever our future holds.”

Tobin seemed to be studying Niall. “You really believe that.” It wasn’t a question.

“I do.” Niall nodded. “It’s okay if you don’t, but I want you to at least be open minded to what could happen today.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe like you do, Niall, it’s just that I’ve seen firsthand the power in those women and they didn’t seem so keen on giving this place up. Ronan and Tennyson have a lot of faith in this woman, Lyric, and right now, that’s good enough for me.” Leaning forward, Tobin pressed a gentle kiss to Niall’s lips. “I love you too. My only goal here today is to keep you safe. If we can walk away with the house, I’ll consider that gravy.”

Niall leaned his head against Tobin’s for one last moment of peace. “Let’s do this.” Climbing out of the truck, Niall waited for Tobin in front of the wrought iron gate.

Tobin pushed it open and winced. The grating sound of metal on metal once again reminded Niall of the can of WD-40 that he still hadn’t purchased. “Shit, that sounds like someone screeching.”

“Yeah, it sure does.” Niall shivered. He was approaching the spot on the walkway where he was attacked the first time. Tobin took his hand and gave it a firm squeeze.

“I’ve got you.”

“Does it feel lighter here?” Niall looked around. “Call me crazy, but it feels lighter somehow. Like the air isn’t as dense.”

“Maybe Lyric already worked her magic.” Tobin sounded hopeful.

Nodding, Niall walked up the stairs and started to turn the front door knob. “I don’t know if you can hear me, Mom, but if you can, I could sure use your help today. I came out here looking for a fresh start, wanting to be in a place that wouldn’t remind me of you every time I turned around, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you every single second.” Straightening his spine, Niall opened the door and gasped at what he saw.

What used to be the living room was bathed in the light of what Niall guessed was about a hundred white candles of varying heights. Drawn in the middle of the living room floor in what looked like sidewalk chalk was a giant pentagram. “Wow!” Niall gasped.

“It’s a lot to take in all at once.” Tennyson stepped forward from where he’d been standing with Ronan and a woman with a raspberry tinted pixie cut.

“It sure is,” Niall agreed.

“This is our friend, Lyric Vaughn.” Tennyson motioned the tiny woman over to them. “Lyric, this is Niall Gallagher. He owns the house. And you remember Tobin Woods from when he was doing the renovation on West Side Magick.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Niall. I’ve heard a lot about you from Ten and Ro.” Lyric shook his hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Tobin. I’m glad you’ve found someone who’ll give you a run for your money instead of someone who’ll slink out the door at sunrise.”

Tobin snorted. “Me too, Lyric. Me too.” He looked around the room. “Is all of this going to keep Niall safe from the bad witches?”

Lyric’s face crumpled into a frown. “There is no such thing as good witches and bad witches. This isn’t the Wizard of Oz.” She turned and walked back to the pentagram.

“I’m sorry, Lyric.” Tobin sounded embarrassed. “It’s just that Niall’s been attacked twice and ended up in the hospital. I’m just frustrated and scared for him. I didn’t mean any offense.”

“I know you didn’t. Your heart is pure, which is why Niall chose you. It’s also why the spirits of the house don’t want either of you here.” Lyric looked around the room. “Everyone gather inside the pentagram. You too, Ronan.”

The detective was leaning against the far wall of the living room with a look on his face that said coming inside the drawn pentagram was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.

“I’d feel much better about protecting Tennyson and Niall with my gun and badge,” he mumbled.

“Well unfortunately for you, detective, these spirits are outside your jurisdiction and don’t respond to threats or lead. Now get your ass over here.” She pointed to the center of the drawing on the floor.

Ronan pushed off the wall and came to join the others inside the circle, making the sign of the cross before stepping over the line.

“I’m going to cast the circle of protection around us and then Tennyson is going to see if he can get any of the women to speak with us.”

“Witches, Lyric. They’re witches,” Ronan grumped.

“Oh, so you’ve taken over for your hateful friend, Jude, I see.” Lyric crossed her arms over her chest. I thought you were a better man than this, Ronan. None of the women who were killed here on this hill during the Salem Witch Trials were actual witches. They were all innocent daughters, wives, sisters, and mothers. You, of all people should know that. A man who’s dedicated his life to protecting the innocent and wrongfully accused.” Lyric shook her head. “You, Ronan, a man who’s spent his entire life fighting, proving to the world that you’re just as worthy, when others see you as less than…”

“Damn it, Lyric,” Ronan bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I just see the damage these spirits have done to Niall and I just want him to be safe here. I want him to live his life here in our town. I want his business to thrive. I want him and Tobin to be happy here. I didn’t stop to think that what these women went through could be the reason they’re still so hurt and angry three centuries later.”

Tennyson squeezed his husband’s hand. “If love can survive centuries, so can hate and the need for revenge. The darker emotions are actually easier to feed and keep alive through time.”

Lyric nodded. “That’s why it could be harder to get these women to move into the light today. If they were staying for love it would be easier to explain that they would feel and experience greater love on the other side. Since they seem to be thriving on hate and revenge, telling them about love might make it that much harder to get them to want to move on.”

“What do we need to do?” Tobin asked.

“Bring positive energy to the circle. Support Niall and be true to yourself.” Lyric looked around the circle. “Is everyone ready to begin?”

Reaching for Tobin’s hand, Niall took a deep breath. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.

 

 

20
Tobin

Tobin watched spellbound as Lyric stepped into the center of the circle. She stood silently for a moment, as if she were finding her center. Holding out her left arm, she turned around three times and began to speak, “God and Goddess, Guardian Angels, and Spiritual Guides, please be present with me during this ritual. Bless this circle and keep us protected. No unwanted entities are welcome here. Only pure, divine beings are invited into this space. The circle is cast. So mote it be.”

Tennyson stepped up beside her, taking her hand. “Hello, ladies, we’re all here today to talk, not to harm any of you. Niall has plans to renovate this house and turn it into a hotel. There will be many guests here over time. We hope.” Tennyson turned to smile at Niall and Tobin. “There has to be a way that we all can live together peacefully. Let’s talk about this.”

“You dare to bring a true witch among us?” a voice boomed, rattling the windows.

Tobin felt Niall squeezing their joined hands. Maybe bringing a real witch to a witch fight wasn’t the best idea, just like Jude said.

“My name is Lyric. I mean you no harm. I’ve come here hoping to keep my friends safe.”

“Safe?” the voice challenged. “You think your child’s drawing upon the floor can keep anyone safe from powers such as ours?”

“What is your name?” Lyric asked gently. “May we see you. It’s obvious there are several of you here.”

Tobin gasped when ten hooded figures suddenly appeared in the room. Chains clanked when they took a step toward them.

“Can we see what you truly look like? This parlor trick is nice to scare people, but I want to see the real women I’m speaking with.” Tennyson’s voice was filled with kindness.

“Real witches you mean!” the woman in the center of the line snarled.

“No,” Lyric disagreed. “None of you were practicing witches at the time of your arrest. History knows that now. You all proclaimed your innocence at the time you were taken into custody but no one stepped in to help you for fear that they themselves would become a target of the hunt.”

“You wish to see us as we looked in life?” The woman in the center dropped her head. Chains clanked to the floor as the women transformed before their very eyes. Instead of women in hoods and manacles, there now stood ten women in homespun dresses with their hair in long braids.

“Who are you?” the woman in the center pointed to Tennyson. “You are… different.”

“My name is Tennyson Grimm. I’m a psychic and a medium. I can speak to spirits and help them cross over into the light. Help their souls rest in peace.”

Several of the other women gasped and moved to step toward Tennyson as if crossing into the light was what they wanted.

“Hold firm, sisters.” The middle woman again took the lead. “We are all perfectly happy where we are. This is our land. Our home.”

Tobin didn’t think all of the women were perfectly happy staying here. He’d seen at least four of them step toward Tennyson and had a feeling a few more of them would be willing to cross over if the leader of the pack relented her firm stance.

“What is your name?” Tennyson asked gently.

“Mariah Goode,” the leader answered.

Tobin gasped, his hand fluttering to his mouth.

“You know of me?” Mariah’s eyes narrowed in on Tobin with laser focus. Her hands came up in front of her, to protect herself or as weapons, Tobin did not know.

“I do,” Tobin nodded. “I am Tobin Woods, ma’am. My family has lived in Salem since 1682. There is a Salem historian in every generation of my family and for this generation, that’s me.”

Niall glanced at Tobin with a knowing look in his eyes. “That’s what you meant when you told me people who didn’t know the history of this place were doomed to repeat it.”

Tobin nodded, but kept his attention on the spirit of Mariah Goode. “Mariah was a single woman when she arrived in Salem in 1690. Her intended husband, Matthew Barker died from a fever on board the ship that brought them from England. There was no way that Mariah could return home, so she had to make the best of things here in Salem Towne.”

Tennyson let out a small gasp.

“Judge not lest ye be judged!” Mariah roared, throwing her hands toward Tennyson.

Holding his hands out in supplication, Tennyson met Mariah’s angry eyes. “I’m not judging you, Mariah. I was seeing your life through your eyes. I could feel your pain. Anguish actually.”

“Men like you brutalized me. Attacked me. Used me for their filthy needs and blamed me for that. They would throw their coins at me as if I were the one who was dirty. I tried to survive by taking in washing and mending, but the women were just as vicious and vile as the men they married. They somehow knew their men were coming to me for the reprehensible services they were unwilling to provide in the marriage bed. They talked. They schemed. They plotted. They won!” Mariah screeched.

“I know,” Tennyson agreed. “I can see it all in my head.”

“Then you know what happened to my Grace.” Mariah’s face twisted in a mask of pain. She fell to her knees, her blue eyes upturned to Tennyson.

“Grace?” Tobin asked in shock. “There is no record of a Grace Goode.” He set a hand on Tennyson’s arm. “I’ve studied everything to do with the Witch Trials, Ten. There is no mention of a person of that name. She needs to tell the story,” Tobin whispered.

“Mariah,” Tennyson said gently, “please tell us about Grace.”

Mariah looked at Tennyson, her eyes glassy with tears. “Preacher Gideon Black ended each Sunday sermon with the admonition that fornication was a sin. Worse than lying. Worse than killing. He always looked at me when he preached this final line. He knew what I was doing when the sun went down because he was my best customer. It was inevitable, I suppose that I caught pregnant. The sermons on sin and fornication got more fervent the more swollen with child I got. Preacher Black was convinced the child would be born with the mark of Satan or worse, with horns.” Mariah shook her head, sending fresh tears cascading down her cheeks. “The day the baby came was in the middle of a fierce thunderstorm. There was no one to help me bring her into this world. It was just me and the grace of God. That’s how she got her name. Grace.”

“Was she a beautiful baby, Mariah?” Tennyson asked.

“Perfect in every way. I checked her every day for the mark of Satan, but one never appeared. My daughter was a child of God.” Mariah straightened her spine and looked Tennyson straight in the eye. “It wasn’t until she was about six months old that she started to take on the looks of her father…”

“Let me guess,” Tobin started. “She looked exactly like Preacher Black?”

Mariah nodded. “Down to the cleft in his chin.”

“What happened to Grace?” Tennyson asked.

“Don’t you know?” Ronan whispered.

“She needs to tell the story,” Ten shot back, sounding annoyed.

“Grace had just started to walk. She tottered everywhere after me, calling ‘Mama! Mama!’ She was my tiny shadow, only she was filled with pure sunshine.” Mariah took a shuddering breath. “The day I was arrested, they took Grace too. Preacher Black used her as a means of getting me to confess. Told me I could have her back if I just confessed that I was a witch. If I confessed, he said, Grace and I could go home. We could get back to our regular lives. I would be pardoned and I could go home. I held out. I would not confess to something I was not guilty of doing. Days passed. Then months. Still I held out. I was beaten. I was raped and tortured, but I was innocent of witchcraft, so I held out, until the last day…” Hot tears scalded down Mariah’s face.

“What happened on that last day?” Tennyson’s breath was barely above a whisper.

There was no air moving in the room. Tobin felt like no one was breathing. His attention was completely focused on Mariah, knowing it would be up to him to add this piece of the story to the account of the Salem Witch Trials.

“They brought Grace to me in the bowels of that dirty jail. A child of light in that dark place.” She shook her head. “She cried out for me. Her little arms stretched out as far as they could. She shrieked my name again and again. My entire being ached to be with her again. Black whispered that all I had to do was confess and Grace and I could be together again.” Mariah cried out, shaking the entire house.

Tobin pulled Niall into his arms. He was afraid the glass would shatter from the pitch and grief in Mariah’s screech.

“I confessed. I confessed to it all. I lied through my teeth. All I wanted to do was hold my daughter and smell her sweet scent again. When I finished speaking. Black walked away with Grace in his arms. He said I would be hanged at sunrise.” Mariah’s glassy eyes focused on Tennyson. “He lied to me. He lied! The next morning, I was brought to this place. There was a rope tied to a tree and a horse cart under the rope. My head was placed into the noose and it was tightened. I knew it was the end for me, but I had comfort in the knowledge that Grace would live. I knew the preacher was doing this to save his flock. To save Salem, but then…”

Tennyson cried out as if he’d been struck. He fell to his knees. He tried to take a breath, but it was as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Ten?” Ronan hit his knees next to his husband. “Let him go, Mariah!” Ronan bellowed.

“I’m not doing anything. He’s seen what comes next.” Tears dripped from her eyes.

Tennyson gasped, managing to take a breath.

“What happened next, Mariah?” Tobin asked. He felt like he was glued to the spot. Niall was safe, wrapped tight in his arms. He needed to know what happened to Grace.

“Black arrived in a carriage with Grace. She was screaming for me. He proclaimed me a witch to everyone who’d come to witness my execution. Then he accused Grace of being a child of Satan as she was born of a witch and an act of fornication.  The only way she could be proven innocent was to be put through a trial of her own.”

“A trial?” Tobin could barely breathe. “She was barely a year old and couldn’t speak to defend herself. How could she go through a trial?”

“It was not a spoken trial,” Mariah said sadly.

“Oh, Jesus, no,” Niall moaned from the safety of Tobin’s arms. “Trial by water,” he whispered. “Witches were deemed innocent or guilty through a trial by water. They were thrown in and if they floated, they were a witch and then executed, but if they sank and drowned, they were deemed innocent.”

“Is that what happened to Grace?” Ronan asked.

“Yes. There was a small pond here on this land. Black threw my screaming child into it. Grace surfaced once, but never again. She was deemed innocent of the charge of witchcraft. Those were the last words I heard upon this earth.”

The room was silent. Tobin looked around at the others. He could see from the looks in their eyes that they were as devastated by the story as he was. It was as if he’d lived it through Mariah’s eyes.

“Have you seen the white light, Mariah?” Lyric asked.

“Yes, many times. There is nothing there for me.”

“Grace is there,” Tennyson said. “It is why the light keeps returning for you.”

“Lies!” Mariah screeched.

“Are you staying here because you are still searching for her?” Tobin asked.

“Yes! I am not leaving until I find my daughter.” The heartbreak in Mariah’s voice was gut-wrenching.

Niall pulled away from Tobin. “Is that why I am not welcome here? Are you afraid you won’t be able to find Grace if me and my friends are on this land?”

Mariah nodded.

“You won’t find her here in Salem, Mariah. Grace is in the white light. May we show you?” Tennyson turned to Lyric who nodded.

“How can you possibly show me?” Mariah scoffed, regaining her feet.

Lyric held out her left arm as she’d done when she cast the circle. “God and Goddesses, I prevail upon thee to open the veil between the physical and spirit world. Let us speak with Grace.”

The air in the room was still yet charged with unspent electricity. Tobin reached out for Niall, not knowing what was about to happen.

A beam of pure white light shot from the ceiling to land on the floor between the circle and where Mariah’s spirit was standing. It was a mere pinprick of light, but slowly began to increase in size, reminding Tobin of a trick he’d once seen at the circus. He half expected Tennyson to tuck the beam of light into his fist. The light grew in size until it was the circumference of a spotlight. Tobin wondered if the ringmaster would make an appearance after all.

“Hello?” a young woman’s voice called.

Blinking rapidly, Tobin could swear the image of a young woman was coming into sight, which wasn’t possible, was it?

“Hello, Grace,” Tennyson said. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello, Tennyson. You are a persistent man.”

“Do you see now that I had good reason for reaching out to you?”

“Yes, I see now why you’ve been calling my name.” Grace turned toward Mariah. “Mama,” she whispered. 

“Grace? How can this be? I have searched for you. How is it I could not find you, but this witch could?” Mariah spat the word “witch” as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. 

“I have not been here in this place of sin and death. Heaven called me and I answered.” Grace smiled.

“This is a trick,” Mariah sneered at Lyric.

“No, I only practice white magic. Good magic, Mariah. Modern Wicca is nature-based, for the good of others, for the good of Mother Earth. The witchcraft the Quakers and Puritans preached against is not part of my faith.”

“Come home with me, mother. Come into the light and we can be together forever. Leave your anger and vengeance here, there is no place for it where I am.”

Mariah shook her head as if to make sure what she was seeing were real and not some mirage. “How is it you are a full-grown woman when you were but a babe when we were parted?”

“Souls age in heaven, Mariah,” Tennyson supplied. “You’ve remained unchanged here in the physical world so that Mariah would recognize you when you were reunited, but she has continued to grow on the other side.”

“This is truly my child and not some trick?”

“It is me, mother. Come see for yourself.”

“I will not be snapped away to Satan and his pit of fire!”

“You cannot go anywhere without your consent,” Lyric said. “Take Grace’s hand and you will see I speak the truth.”

“I will see him do it first!” Mariah pointed to Niall.

“Okay.” Niall stepped away from Tobin who held on to his hand tightly. “I have to do this, Tobin.”

Tobin nodded, still not convinced this was the best idea. 

Niall stepped out of the protective circle Lyric cast and stepped up to Grace. “I’m Niall. He held out his hand, palm up.

Grace set her hand on top of his. “I’m Grace.”

“Now you, Mariah.” Niall offered his free hand to her. “Please come meet your daughter after all of these years apart.”

“Why would you do this? I’ve tried to kill you twice.” Mariah took a tentative step forward.

“My mother passed on a few months ago. I would give anything to see her face one more time. To have a chance to speak to her again. Please, Mariah, take the chance I never had.” Niall held his hand out again.

This time, Mariah took it. 

“It’s a pleasure to bring you back together.” Niall joined their hands and stepped back. 

The second Niall was close enough, Tobin grabbed him, pulling him back into the protection of the circle and into his arms. He fought back tears as mother and daughter, separated by nearly three hundred years embraced. 

“What do I do now?” Mariah asked. 

“You walk into the light with me, Mama. Come home with me.”

“I want to go too,” one of the other women said.

“Me too,” another chimed in. 

“As do I,” a third said.

Before long, all of the women were gathered around the beam of light. 

“Blessed be, my beautiful sisters. Go in peace,” Lyric said as one by one, the women stepped into the light and vanished from sight. 

Only Mariah remained. She turned to face Niall. “Can you forgive me for hurting you?”

“Consider it done. Enjoy this time with Grace.” 

Mariah nodded and looked at Tobin. “You will record my story?”

“Yes. You are a courageous woman, Mariah. A strong woman and mother. The people of Salem deserve to know that you sacrificed everything for the love of your child.”

“Love is the greatest power this world has ever known.”

“It is indeed,” Tobin agreed. 

“Thank you for this day, Tennyson. I will not forget this kindness.”

“There’s no need to thank me. Enjoy being with your daughter.”

“I never thought I’d owe my happiness to a witch,” Mariah smiled at Lyric. 

“It was my deepest pleasure meeting you, Mariah.”

“Tell the warrior his battle yet looms.” Mariah smiled at Ronan and vanished into the light. 

Seconds later the light itself was gone. 

“The warrior?” Tobin asked no one in particular.

Ronan started to laugh. Before long, he was doubled over with his hands on his knees, laughing so hard tears were rolling down his cheeks. 

“What’s so funny, Ronan?” Ten asked, looking at Lyric. 

“I’m guessing Mariah sees your Jude as the warrior after what happened here the other day. Didn’t you say he used a Navajo word to save Niall from being choked?”

Still laughing, Ronan managed to nod. 

“Christ, Jude’s not going to like getting a prophecy from the enemy.” Ten said.

Ronan raised his hand like he was in a classroom. “Can I be the one to tell him?” he wheezed out. “Please?” 

“You’re an overgrown toddler. You know that?” Ten grinned at his husband.

Ronan took Ten’s hand and pulled him close, whispering something into his ear.

“Yes! You can definitely tell him. Sorry to hit and run, guys, but we’ve, uh, gotta go!” Tennyson practically dragged Ronan toward the door. “Call me soon, Niall. Your Mom has a ton to tell you! You too, Tobin!”

Tobin felt his stomach lurch. He’d stood up to a mob of angry witch-spirits without batting an eye, but the thought of sitting down with Niall’s mother was making him feel like tossing his cookies.

“She’s going to love you as much as I do.” Niall brushed a kiss against the back of their joined hands. 

Tobin prayed Niall was right. 

 

 

EPILOGUE
Niall

Two months later…

Niall’s palms were sweating. No matter how many times he brushed them off against his pants he had to keep repeating the process. Tennyson Grimm was running late with his last appointment which gave Niall more time to sit and worry about what Betty Lou could possibly want to say to him nearly six months after her passing.

The eight weeks that followed Mariah Goode’s dramatic exit from The Black Cat Inn felt like they’d been lived in fast-forward. Tobin’s work crew had been back at the Witch Hill House the next morning to start work on the bed and breakfast. Guest bedrooms had quickly started to take shape, as did the living quarters that would be his own and maybe one day Tobin’s as well. The Inn’s office had been framed out and the kitchen was refitted to accommodate the needs of an Inn with guests rather than the needs of one family. Niall was thrilled with the progress.

A few days after the meeting with Mariah and Grace Goode there had been a development in his relationship with Tobin, one Niall hadn’t even known was coming. He became an uncle. Six pound, ten ounce Rebel Grace Woods was born early Tuesday morning. One minute Tobin was introducing Niall to his brother Talbot and sister-in-law Thea, and the next thing he knew, he was being called Uncle Niall while cuddling baby Rebel.

The changes in his life were happening at warp speed.

“Why are you so nervous?” Tobin set a hand on Niall’s bouncing right knee. “If anyone should be nervous it should be me!” Tobin pointed to himself. “I mean it’s meet the parents day for this guy.”

Niall looked up into Tobin’s shining blue eyes. Now that the excitement over at the Inn had died down to normal construction issues like warped load-sharing beams and lead paint, he’d had time to think about his and Tobin’s whirlwind romance.

It was still hard to believe they’d only known each other for ten weeks. In truth, it felt like they’d always known each other. Maybe their souls had. He’d have to ask Tennyson about that. The psychic might know more about their past life journeys together.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Harrison, Gage!” Tennyson said brightly to two men who were clutching each other and crying. One of the men was carrying a package wrapped in brown paper. Ronan came out of the reading room behind them, wiping tears from his own bloodshot eyes.

“I had no idea Ronan sat in on readings,” Niall said.

“This was a special session with some unique circumstances.” Tennyson grinned, reaching out to shake hands with each of them. “Harrison is the curator at the Bunker Hill Museum in Boston and he was hoping to connect with one of the soldiers who lays at rest in the Bunker Hill Burying Grounds. Ronan’s a student of history and asked if he could join us.” Tennyson rubbed his husband’s back. “You okay, champ?”

“Ronan shook his head no. “I need a muffin and another hug. That reading was something else.”

“Why don’t you go see Cassie over in the bakery and she’ll fix you right up.” Ten bit his lip as his burly detective husband shuffled off toward West Side Sweets. “Beneath that street-smart exterior beats the heart of the sweetest man in the world. Just don’t break the law or you’ll see the other side of him.” Tennyson shivered as if he were flashing back to those moments when Ronan was in full-on cop-mode.

“Duly noted.” Niall cleared his throat.

“Ready to begin?” Tennyson showed them into the reading room and got them settled in around the table.

“We are.” Niall reached out for Tobin’s hand.

“Wow!” Tennyson laughed. “Betty Lou is ready to go!”

“Hi, Mom!” Niall felt himself break into a smile.

“Hello, Miss Gallagher.” Tobin waved.

“Don’t hello, Miss Gallagher me, living in sin with my boy like you’re doing.” Tennyson’s mouth dropped open. The psychic looked like he wasn’t quite sure what to say next.

“Now, Mom,” Niall soothed. “I didn’t mean to live in sin with Tobin. I was injured out at the house and Tobin took me home with him to recuperate. He didn’t want me paying to stay at a hotel, so I’ve been staying at his house while the Inn is undergoing renovations. He loves me, Mom. Like no one on earth has ever loved me but you.”

“Don’t you think I know when someone loves my boy, Niall?” Tennyson’s face managed a brief smile. “I’ve been keeping watch over both of you.”

“Uh,” Tobin raised his right hand like he needed to ask a question or be excused to use the bathroom. “Does she stick around when we’re, umm…”

“You mean when you’re chaining my perfectly innocent little angel to your bed of depravity and sin?” Tennyson asked before slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah, that.” Tobin sunk his head into his hands for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Miss Gallagher, I am so sorry for defiling your son in that manner. I have sinned and I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

Tennyson burst out laughing. “Good Lord, son. You sounded like Jimmy Swaggart there for a second. There’s nothing to forgive. You can defile my son in any way you see fit so long as he agrees to it.” Tennyson’s eyes went wide in his head, as if he couldn’t believe the radical shift in the conversation.

It was Niall’s turn to bury his face in his hands. “Mom…”

“Oh my God!” Tobin laughed. “Your mom was shitting me? She was busting my balls from beyond the grave?” Slapping a hand on the table, Tobin laughed harder. “Good one, Miss Gallagher. You really had me going there for a second.”

Taking a deep breath, the look on Tennyson’s face sobered. “She wants to thank you, Tobin, for taking such good care of Niall when he was hurt and when you were dealing with the women out at the Inn. She wanted to step in and help out in that situation, but she knew Niall needed to find a way to make it here in Salem without her.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Niall whispered. He remembered asking for Betty Lou’s help that last day when they’d met Mariah Goode and heard her heartbreaking story.

“She heard your message that day, Niall and was there just in case.” Tennyson patted Niall’s hand.

“Just in case what?” Tobin asked, sounding curious.

Ten laughed. “Just in case our friends couldn’t save the day.”

“Mama grizzly to the rescue.” Tobin laughed. 

“I’ll always be here for you, Niall. I’ll always be with you, loving you, but I think the role of protector is taken, isn’t it, Tobin?” Tennyson turned to the man in question with an expectant look on his face.

Tobin cleared his throat. “Well, Miss Gallagher, nothing like putting a man on the spot.”

“I’m sure she’s just messing with you again.” Niall shook his head. “Aren’t you, Mom?” Poor Tobin. His mother was really putting his boyfriend through the ringer and Tobin was taking it like a trooper.

“I think we should let Tobin finish answering Betty Lou’s question…” Tennyson trailed off. He was wearing a strange smile on his face.

“I had a whole little speech planned.” Tobin sat up straighter in his chair.

“Whole little speech about what?” Niall was totally confused now. Between the way Tobin was yanking on his shirt collar and the bizarre smile on Tennyson’s face, he knew something was up but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Something clicked into place the day we met, Niall,” Tobin started. “It was like I’d found something I didn’t know I was looking for. Once I found you I couldn’t help wondering how I’d managed to live all of these years without you. When I found you bleeding and unconscious on the path leading to the Witch Hill house, I knew what real fear was for the first time in my life. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you that day.” Tobin shook his head as if to banish all of those thoughts from his mind.

Niall reached out to take his hand. “It’s okay, Tobin. I’m safe. You kept me safe.”

Tobin nodded. “Once you were living with me, I never wanted to let you go because, I don’t know, it’s like you somehow belonged there, like that old house was finally a home because you were in it. That’s what you’ve done to my entire world, Niall, like my life was just this place I was passing time in before I met you. Now it can really begin.”

Tears were pricking the back of Niall’s eyes. No one had ever said anything like this to him before. He knew Tobin loved him. God knew he said the words often enough, but he never knew those feelings extended this deeply.

“Betty Lou, I promise to protect your son with the last breath in my body. I promise to love, honor and respect him and I hope to one day make him a father and you a grandmother. May I have Niall’s hand in marriage?”

Niall sat stone still. He was too shocked to even gasp. Make him a father? Asking for his hand in marriage? It was too much.

Tennyson sat nodding as if Betty Lou was speaking too quickly for him to keep up with. “This is the happiest day of my life, well next to the day Niall was born. And next to the to the day that -No! Do not tell them that, Tennyson Grimm!” Ten burst out laughing. “Phew! That was close! I almost blew the surprise!”

Niall’s mind was reeling, his mother was giving Tobin her blessing and now there was some kind of huge-ass future surprise. Niall didn’t know how much more he could take.

Tobin pushed back from the table, his chair scraped against the hardwood floor.

Niall gasped as his giant of a man stood up and pulled something from his pocket before getting down on one knee in front of his chair. “Oh, hi!”

“Hi!” Tobin laughed.  “Niall, my life was a mess on the day we met. I didn’t know which way was up. Thanks to you, I’m finally on the right path, taking all the right turns, traveling in the right direction. You’ve become my compass. My true north. My best friend and my great love. Niall Joseph Gallagher, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

Niall was speechless. He knew what he wanted to say, but he was so impressed by Tobin’s speech that he couldn’t draw breath into his lungs to respond. He nodded instead.

“That’s not an answer, handsome. I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes!” Niall finally managed to spit out. “Yes! YES!”

Tobin slipped the gold band onto his finger and pulled Niall into his arms. “If I’m your true north, what does that make you?” he whispered into Tobin’s ear.

“The luckiest man alive,” Tobin whispered back. 

 

 

 

IF YOU ENJOYED MEETING COLD CASE DETECTIVE RONAN O’MARA AND PSYCHIC TENNYSON GRIMM, GO BACK TO WHERE IT ALL BEGAN WITH BOOK ONE IN THE COLD CASE PSYCHIC SERIES WITH DEAD SPEAK!

Demoted to the cold case squad after shooting a suspect in the line of duty, Detective Ronan O’Mara knows that his career with the Boston Police Department is hanging by a thread. His first assignment is the case of Michael Frye, a five-year-old boy who has been missing for seven years. With no new leads or witnesses to interview, Ronan has to start from scratch to solve this mystery. When he sees a handsome local psychic on television, Ronan figures he’s got nothing to lose in enlisting the man’s help to find Michael. 

Psychic Tennyson Grimm is riding high after helping South Shore cops find a missing child. He’s even being courted by the Reality Show Network about a program showcasing his abilities. He has no idea that his midday appointment with a customer, who instead turns out to be a police detective, is going to change the course of his life and his career.

With the blessing of the BPD, which badly needs an image make-over, Ronan is allowed to bring Tennyson in to assist with the Frye case. Being thrown together in front of cameras is never easy, but add in an emotional missing person’s investigation, a tight-lipped spirit, and a cop who’s a skeptic, and it definitely puts a strain on both men and their working relationship.

When the child’s body is found, the work to identify his killer begins. As Ronan and Tennyson get closer to solving the case, the initial attraction they feel for one another explodes into a passion neither man can contain.

Will working together to bring Michael’s killer to justice seal their fledgling bond, or will unexpected revelations in the case tear them apart forever?

 

Dead Speak is available in ebook, Paperback or Audiobook format!

 

IF YOU’RE A REGULAR FOLLOWER OF THE COLD CASE PSYCHIC SERIES, BOOK SEVEN, DEAD IN THE WATER, WILL BE AVAILABLE ON SEPTEMBER 4, 2018!! GRAB YOUR PRE-ORDER NOW!

Cold Case Detective, Ronan O’Mara, has set sail on the honeymoon of his dreams to sunny Bermuda. He’s looking forward to a week of fun in the sun with his husband, Tennyson, but nothing is going as planned. From a fight between Truman and Carson that’s threatening to break up their marriage, to Captain Fitzgibbon’s on-again, off-again lover not showing up to meet the ship, to dealing with his always challenging mother-in-law, to frenemy, Jude Byrne, showing up with a suitcase loaded with sex toys and lube, Ronan has all he can do to stay sane.

Psychic, Tennyson Grimm, is on the ship to work as well as honeymoon. The cruise ship line has hired him to be the “celebrity” on their celebrity cruise. In between private and group readings reuniting family members with those who have crossed over, Ten is running himself ragged attempting to put the pieces of Truman and Carson’s marriage back together and trying to keep Jude from horn-dogging after the ship’s captain, all while trying to squeeze in a few stolen, passionate moments with his husband. He isn’t having much luck.

During the return trip to Boston, Ronan and Tennyson are enjoying a performance of Murder Mystery Night staged by the ship’s crew. When the crewmember playing the murder victim turns up dead for real, Ronan and Tennyson must set “fun in the sun” aside when the ship’s captain allows them to investigate the crime.

Putting the clues together, the Boston detectives corner the cagey killer who takes someone close to them hostage. Can Tennyson and Ronan save the day before they end up dead in the water?

 

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Books by Pandora Pine

 

Cold Case Psychic Series

Vision of Love
Dead Speak
Dead Reckoning
Dead Silent
Dead Weight
Dead to Me
Dead Ringer
Dead in the Water
Dead of Night

Cold Case Psychic Spin Offs

Beyond the Grave
Spellbound

Sand Dollar Shoal Series

Undercurrent
Riptide
Deep Blue
Storm Surge

Reading, Writing, and Romance Series

A Little Love
A Little Lesson
A Little Luck

On The Radio Series

Pillow Talk
Double Talk
Country Talk

Student Bodies Series

Like the Knight
In the Shade
Do No Harm
Brick and Mortar
All Fall Down
Ties That Bind
Third and Long
Across the Pond
Happily Ever After