Witchy Woman Read Online Free PDF

making room for a woman with a baby stroller to pass behind them.
    She waited for the moment to pass, as she knew it would, but it seemed to last forever. Nate’s nearness overwhelmed her.
    “How can you tell it’s real?” he asked softly, his breath fanning her hair.
    How what was real? The table? “The, uh, wood grains. The way they’re matched up, and the patina of the finish.” All nonsense, but the best she could come up with.
    At last he moved away. “Damn.”
    She took a deep breath and avoided his gaze, certain he would be able to read her wantonness in her eyes. She was actually aroused. She could feel the heat pooling in her abdomen.
    With some effort, she brought her mind back to the subject at hand. Another authentic piece. That’s the way it had gone all day. Every item Tess touched reeked of authenticity. Sometimes the vibrations were from former owners, but often she found that her energy tuned in to the actual manufacture of the object, and usually those images were positive, imbued with the artisan’s creative spirit.
    Hanging around a bunch of antiques hadn’t been the ordeal she had expected. She wondered if that was because she was calling on her “gift” with a specificgoal in mind. Although she’d had this ability for as long as she could remember, she’d never done much purposeful work with it. Most of the time she simply fought it, trying unsuccessfully to turn it off.
    As they exited yet another shop Nate stopped and pointed up the street. “Hey, look where we ended up.”
    To Tess’s discomfort, she discovered they had wandered right back to Anne-Louise’s store.
    “Let’s go in and ask Anne-Louise where she got that vase,” Nate said. “That should be a good lead.”
    “Oh, I don’t think—”
    “I won’t tell her it’s a fake, not until I have proof. Hey, what’s wrong? You’re all pale.”
    She wasn’t surprised. Just the thought of going near that cat made her head spin.
    “Oh, no, not the statue again.” He sighed impatiently. “You don’t even want to be in the same store with it?”
    “No, I really don’t,” she said, knowing how ridiculous he must think her.
    “You know, that’s a pretty severe phobia you’ve got.”
    “It’s not a phobia,” she protested.
    “Aversion, then. It’s not so uncommon. I did a story once about phob—er, I mean, aversions, and you’d be surprised how many people have them. Did you know our former mayor is afraid of elevators? The editor of
Boston Life
can’t go into a parking garage without breaking into a sweat. And my mother is terrified of moths.” He laughed at that.
    “It’s not nice to laugh about such things,” she toldhim icily. “But I suppose you don’t have any irrational fears.”
    “As a matter of fact, I do.” He shoved his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and looked around, reminding her of a little boy about to confess that he’d gotten into the cookie jar.
    “Well, go on,” she urged. “What are you afraid of?”
    He shuddered. “Graveyards.”
    “Well, that at least makes sense. I’m not overly fond of them myself.” They were filled with vibrations left by mourners, and sometimes with the darker residues of death itself. “A cemetery is a very sad place.”
    “Not sad, terrifying. I know that’s not a rational, adult reaction, but there it is.”
    “And my reaction to the stone cat is just as illogical and just as real. You should be able to understand that.”
    He nodded, conceding the point. “Okay. Would you mind standing out here for a minute while I run in and ask Anne-Louise where she got the vase?”
    That was a compromise she could live with, Tess supposed. “Okay. But promise me you won’t look at the statue.”
    He winked. “Be back in a minute.”
    Tess paced the sidewalk outside the store. It hadn’t escaped her attention that Nate hadn’t promised. She wouldn’t be surprised if he came out of that store with the Crimson Cat. It would be just like him to