Free Interview With a Gargoyle by Jennifer Colgan

find out what it was.
     
     
    Calypso’s panicked voice blared out of Mel’s phone the moment she flipped it open. “I’m here, Cal. I’m okay.” She kept her eyes on DeWitt while she spoke. He looked shaken, as if their brief physical contact had rattled him nearly as much as it had rattled her.
    “Mel! Thank God. Where are you? I’m out in front of your apartment. I’ve been banging on your door so long your neighbors are ready to call the cops on me.”
    “I’m over on Bailey. Stay where you are. I’ll meet you there and…don’t freak out, but I’ve got Blake DeWitt with me.”
    Of course, Calypso freaked. In between some very creative cursing, the witch managed to ask, “What did he do to you? If he’s making you make this call, you tell him I’ll see to it that all his descendants are cursed.”
    “Cal, calm down. I’m okay. We’ve struck a bargain.”
    “You can’t bargain with a witch hunter.”
    DeWitt obviously heard Calypso—the whole neighborhood could probably hear her. His comment was directed toward the cell phone, but his eyes held Mel’s. “I’ve never hunted witches. All I’m searching for is justice.”
    Calypso huffed. “I’ll be here, but I’ve got spells, so tell DeWitt he’d better be on his best behavior.”
    “He will be.” Mel snapped the phone shut. “You’re in for it now. I thought Calypso was hell on wheels before I knew she was a witch.”
    “I’ll behave, on one condition. No one calls me ‘witch hunter’. Percival Blake was a witch hunter two hundred and eighty years ago. I’m an accountant. Or at least I was, until I inherited this curse. It’s hard to keep a day job when you’re not alive during the day.”
    Mel gave Blake DeWitt a long, thoughtful appraisal. The dark, disheveled hair, the broody gaze and day’s growth of stubble on his strong chin along with the rippled muscles stretching the white T-shirt beneath his leather jacket didn’t belong to any accountant she’d ever met. He looked more like a fallen angel, sinfully beautiful and sadly out of place. Something simmered in him, beneath the surface. She’d felt it when they’d touched, and she wasn’t sure she had the power to resist it if she ever felt it again.

Chapter Eight
    The short ride across town with Melodie settled snugly behind him, her arms wrapped around his chest, had him practically jumping out of his skin. Every nerve ending tingled as if he’d touched a live wire, not exactly unpleasant but disconcerting. The power of the Cabochon had always been a distant itch, something not quite definable. With her next to him, it transformed into something electric and irresistible.
    All the way across town, he’d been edgy, as though his skin was on fire. The essence of the Cabochon rested against his spine like a blade, and the urge to claw it away and free himself from the burden of it had become nearly overpowering.
    When he pulled up in front of Melodie’s apartment, the black-haired witch glared at him. The weight of indigo eyes on him the moment he set both feet on the sidewalk did little to calm his soul.
    Melodie swung his helmet off her head, and her dark brown hair tumbled in lustrous waves to her shoulders. The sight distracted him only momentarily.
    “It’s about time.” The witch’s smoky voice might have been sexy if it wasn’t so full of disdain.
    Melodie hurried up the short flight of brick steps to meet her, and Blake followed, allowing himself a leisurely appraisal of both women.
    “Blake DeWitt, this is Calypso Smith. She’s a good friend, so play nice.”
    At Melodie’s introduction, Calypso flicked her waist-length hair off one shoulder but didn’t offer a hand. Blake recognized the band of runes tattooed on her left wrist as a protection spell, and he caught the pleasant aroma of lavender and mint when she turned her back on him and followed Melodie into the apartment.
    Calypso Smith was black lace and dark lipstick, and Blake had the feeling she