Witches of East End - By Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,5

voracious sexual appetites. He was the worst offender of the type - screeching up in his Harley, and that ridiculous hair of his - that messy, shaggy, bangs-in-your-eyes kind of thing, with that sexy, come-hither smolder: but there was something else. An intelligence. A knowingness in his eyes. It was as if, when he looked at her, he knew exactly what she was and what she was like. A witch. A goddess. Someone not of this earth but not apart from it either. A woman to be loved and feared and adored.

She looked up from the vase and found him still staring directly at her. It was as if he were waiting the whole time, for just this moment. He nodded his head, motioning to a nearby door. Truly? Right here? Right now? In the powder room? Was that not just another cliche that went with the motorcycle and the bad-boy attitude? Was she really going to go into the bathroom with another man - her fiance's brother, for god's sake - at her engagement party?

She was. Freya walked, as if in a daze, toward the aforementioned rendezvous. She closed the door behind her and waited. The face that stared at her from the mirror was flushed and radiant. She was so happy she was delirious, so excited she didn't know what to do with herself. Where was he? Making her wait. Killian Gardiner knew what to do with wanton women, it seemed.

The doorknob turned, and he walked in, smooth as a knife, locking the door behind him. His lips curled into a smile, a panther with his prey. He had won.

"Come here," she whispered. She had made her choice. She didn't want to wait a moment longer.

Outside the door, in the middle of the party, the cabbage roses burst into flame.
Chapter two
Country Mouse

Old Maid. Tight-ass. Spinster. Ingrid Beauchamp knew what people thought of her; she had seen the way they huddled and whispered behind cupped hands as she made her way across the library, putting away returned books to their proper shelves. In the decade that she had worked there, Ingrid had made few friends with her patrons, who found her strict and high-handed. Not only did she never forgive a fine, she had a tendency to lecture on the proper care and maintenance of the books under her jurisdiction. A book returned with a broken spine, a drenched cover or dog-eared pages was sure to garner a cool reprimand. It was bad enough that their operating budget barely covered their expenses; Ingrid did not need the patrons doing unnecessary damage to the books in her care.

Of course Hudson was supposed to do the grunt work, but even if Ingrid was the ranking archivist she enjoyed the physical aspects of the job and didn't like to sit behind a desk all day, steaming blueprints. She liked the feel and weight of the books - to stroke the pages softened with wear, or put a mismatched jacket to rights. Also, it gave her an opportunity to police the library, wake up any of the bums sneaking a nap in the carrels, and make sure there weren't any teenagers necking in the stacks.

Necking was such an odd word. Not that anyone "necked" anymore. Most of the teens had moved far beyond and below the neck. Ingrid liked the kids - the teenagers who visited the library and clamored for the latest dystopian post-apocalyptic releases made her smile. She did not care what they did in the comfort or discomfort of their own homes or untidy cars. Against popular belief, she knew what it was like to be young and in love and unafraid - she lived with Freya, after all. But a library was not a bedroom, or a motel room; it was a place to read, to study, to be quiet. While the kids did try to comply with the last rule, heavy breathing was sometimes the loudest noise of all.

In any event, necking wasn't limited to the kids alone. The other day Ingrid had had to cough quite a few times to make sure a middle-aged couple was successfully untangled by the time she walked through the aisles with her cart.

Located in a grassy quadrangle across from city hall and next to a community park and playground, the North Hampton Public Library was neat, organized, and as well-kept as its meager funding would allow. The city budget had shrunk along with the rest of the economy, but Ingrid did