Don't Hex and Drive (Stay a Spell #2) - Juliette Cross
Chapter 1
~ISADORA~
I was thinking about purple pansies when it happened.
Just bumping along on my bicycle, down the narrow street that paralleled Magazine, while daydreaming of this particular little flower. It was right after sundown, which was my favorite part of the day to ponder things. I was a deep ponderer. Not deep thinker, mind you, because that would imply that I mused about profound, earth-shaking things. Nope. Mostly plants and flowers. And dogs. Sometimes cats. Or a more efficient way to organize our inventory at Mystic Maybelle’s. But really, mostly flowers.
Did you know that pansies, especially when infused with my special brand of magic, can be brewed in teas to heal skin rashes, reduce fevers, and even help with high blood pressure? Pansies! Shocking, right?
Tia liked to tease me—and by that, I mean aggravate—by reminding me that it’s also highly effective in love potions. Ancient Greeks used pansies for love potions, giving it the nickname heart’s ease.
“Maybe you can whip up a batch and find Mr. Right,” she’d said with a cheeky grin this afternoon at her house.
To that, I’d rolled my eyes and waved goodbye, carrying my precious bundle like a newborn babe right out the door. This particular pot of pansies had been dug up in the Meteora region of Greece where they’d been growing wild and untouched for centuries. Every witch knew, especially Conduits like myself and Tia, that the most powerful of plants were cultivated by mother earth, not human hands.
“Almost home, my sweet angel,” I whispered down to the basket attached to my handlebars.
Yes, I talked to my plants. Research proved they responded well to human speech and song. You can Google it.
Okay, fine. I just liked talking to them. Plants and animals never judged you. Not for what you looked like, what you wore or didn’t wear, what you said or didn’t say, what you believed or didn’t believe, or even that you preferred to travel by bicycle as opposed to car.
So that’s what I was thinking about when my world turned upside down. Literally.
I didn’t even hear him until it was too late. The sudden screech of tires and whip of the headlights hit me a split second before his car did. The bump against my back tire was hard enough to send me, my favorite handbag, and my sweet pot of pansies flying into the air. I was so shocked I didn’t even cushion my fall with telekinesis because, unfortunately, I needed a little warning and preparation before I used that kind of magic. How fast had this idiot been driving, anyway?
Landing in a tumble of limbs, my ankle twisted painfully on the fall. “Ow!”
The simultaneous crack of pottery twisted my heart and hurt even more. The headlights of the jerk’s car shone on the devasting sight of my pansies limp on their side. The terra cotta pot was shattered, the soil spilled, her roots exposed like some horrific murder victim.
“Nooo.”
A gust of wind, then, “Hey bhagwan! Are you hurt?”
It had been no more than three seconds since his car had hit my bicycle before the man’s large hand gripped the curve of my shoulder. No, not a man. Not a human one anyway. Only one supernatural could move that fast. And carried that kind of potent signature. It hit me almost as hard as his car did, punching the breath right out of my lungs.
Before I could even get a good look at him, he was hovering over my feet where my knee was bent and I was holding my ankle. He lifted my injured foot gently and slipped off my flat. His long black hair fell in waves over his crisp white button-down, well past his shoulders. I tried but couldn’t see his face hidden by that fall of hair. Then I became distracted by his deeply bronzed hands. Long fingers brushed lightly over my ankle.
“Are you a doctor?” I winced, tugging at my foot. One, because it hurt. And two, because I didn’t like strangers touching me. For that matter, I was pretty protective of my personal space even with friends. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
He ignored my questions, holding firm. “Try to point your toes.”
Aggravated, I pointed them anyway before biting my lip on a whimper.
“Not broken then.” He slipped my shoe back on, his fingers sliding over the injury before giving me a light squeeze.
Pulling my foot out of his hands, I accused as calmly as possible, “You’re not a doctor.”