Hexes and Hemlines Read Online Free PDF

slight duck of the head that gave him an endearing sense of aw-shucks, little-boy vulnerability—an openness that was sheer veneer, of course.
    But over and above his physical appearance, Aidan sparkled with power. He gave off twinkly, almost blinding vibrations. Even those who never sensed auras felt his.
    And to add to it all, he was capable of using witchcraft to help others attain their desires. Was it any wonder the man had so many admirers? Poor long-suffering Clarinda was charged with screening his potential visitors, he had become so popular.
    “Lily, it is always such a pleasure,” Aidan said, his eyes sweeping over my vintage outfit with a warm gaze just this side of impolite—the kind that left a woman in no doubt as to whether her figure was appreciated. “Don’t you look just lovely in that dress? Let me see . . . 1960?”
    “Round about there, yes.”
    “You see, I’m learning something new simply by being in your company. One of the many things I adore about you.”
    He stepped back and gestured to me to enter. Not unlike Malachi Zazi’s place, Aidan’s office seemed like a holdover from the Victorian era of the old Barbary Coast, featuring a red-and-gold color scheme, dark wood, velvet, tassels, and wall-to-wall bookcases jammed with magical tools and books. A snowy-white lace doily atop one small table made me think of Zazi’s body lying so still upon his dining room table, his life’s blood staining the tablecloth. Maybe his death had nothing whatsoever to do with bad luck symbols—broken mirrors and trapped sparrows and black cats. Perhaps it was a simple crime of passion, stemming from jealousy or greed. Weren’t most murders, ultimately?
    I yanked my thoughts back to the present as Aidan closed the heavy door behind us. Oscar dropped his potbellied pig façade, but as usual around Aidan, he remained uncharacteristically silent.
    Upon spying the black cat, Aidan’s white long-haired familiar leapt into his arms. It glared, then hissed, at the orphaned feline, which ran behind the grimacing Oscar.
    I sneezed. Repeatedly. With each achoo Oscar whispered, “Gesundheit.”
    “Who’s this?” Aidan asked, eyebrows raised.
    “I was hoping you might want another cat.” I sniffed. “But it looks unlikely.”
    “I’m afraid my familiar would object,” Aidan said, handing me a monogrammed linen handkerchief. “You know how females are. They like to be cherished, to be the only one.”
    “So, now we’re adding sexism to our long list of faults?” I blew my nose into his soft handkerchief. “Seems to me most men have a problem with sharing as well.”
    He laughed. “So, have you been doing your reading?”
    “I’m up to ‘H’—Hauntings, Healing, Heaven, Hell, Hermetics . . .”
    I envied Aidan his control in the long run. But at the moment what I really lusted after was his musty, rarified library. Bound in crumbling leather, these thousands of parchment pages held the secrets of the ages. There were thick volumes concerning ancient and contemporary sacred paths, magickal and alchemical grimoires, manuscripts of paganism and Christendom, and books of the dead. Writings of magi, sorcerers, Gnostics, chaos magic priests, alchemists, scholars, and—of course—witches. Encyclopedias of ritual magick from around the world, obscure as well as celebrated secret societies, power brokers, masters of corruption, and healers. Testaments, charts of symbolism, and the complete roll call of angels and demons. Folklore and the foretold, the divine and the defiled, the creators and those whose hunger will never be satisfied, the lost technologies and manifestations . . . and more.
    This was the sort of rarified information that still couldn’t be found on the Internet—and I had spent many, many hours looking. It was a tempting, somewhat overwhelming world of arcane but essential knowledge. If I could take it all in, memorize it and learn to work with it, I might be able to control my own