Demon Lover

By Katherine Lampe

Over a difficult winter, Caitlin Ross has led a simple life preparing for the birth of her first child. Now spring and her due date are imminent, and she’s about to find out that for a witch married to a shaman, life never stays simple for long. When she witnesses a chance encounter between her husband and Gordarosa’s new dance teacher, Caitlin discovers they once were lovers. Timber swears he wants nothing to do with his old flame. But the dance teacher has magic of her own, and she’ll stop at nothing to get Timber back.

When a local girl with a crush on Timber is murdered, the sheriff arrests Caitlin’s husband for the crime. Caitlin suspects her rival of framing Timber out of revenge, and sets out to clear his name. In her quest, she uncovers a motive far deeper and more dangerous that simple retribution. To bring Timber home, Caitlin must sacrifice her very being, and make an alliance with a Power as old as Love itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katherine Lampe
• Release date: Aug 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311871947

Katherine Lampe

Some people posit that Katherine Lampe is a construct capable of existing in multiple realities simultaneously. Others maintain that she is a changeling, or at least has a large proportion of non-human blood. It is possible that her brain is the result of a government experiment, although which government is uncertain and as of this date none has claimed responsibility.

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DEMON LOVER

Katherine E. Lampe

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Katherine E. Lampe

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book, and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

By Katherine Lampe

The Caitlin Ross Series

The Unquiet Grave

She Moved Through the Fair

A Maid in Bedlam

The Parting Glass

The Cruel Mother

Demon Lover

The Fits o’ the Season

Other

Dragons of the Mind: Seven Fairy Tales

Demon Lover

A Caitlin Ross Adventure

Second edition copyright © 2015 by Katherine E. Lampe. All rights reserved. For reprint information, please contact the author: PO Box 1471, Paonia, CO, 81428.

Cover art and design by Matt Davis, [e-mail]

I Only Have Eyes For You © 1934 (renewed) WB Music Corp. Words by Al Dubin, music by Harry Warren. Used by permission.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance by any character herein to any person, god, demon, or entity, living, dead, or otherwise, is purely coincidental. Gordarosa, Colorado, is a fictional town not meant to represent any actual place.

Demon Lover

A Caitlin Ross Adventure

Katherine Lampe

Dedication

For

Heather MacAllister, 1968 – 2007

and

Heather Sainsbury, 1973 – 2014

Witches and Warriors.

Two bright lights too soon extinguished.

I miss you both so much.

Slàn Abhaile

"‘I’ve come for the vows you promised me

To be my partner in life.’

She said: ‘My vows you must forgive

For now I’m a wedded wife.’"

Demon Lover—Traditional

Chapter One: Caitlin

I took one last stitch in the tiny blanket under my hands, winding violet embroidery floss behind the needle to make the final link in a spiral chain. One last stitch to carry love and security, safety and health to the person who would soon lie under the blanket’s protection. Then I looped the thread around the needle three times, poked it through to the wrong side of the fabric, and made three invisible knots, murmuring a binding.

By all the power of three times three, this spell wound around shall be. To cause no harm nor return to me, as I will do so mote it be.

There. Done. I folded the quilt and laid it in the basket by my feet, along with the others I had made. Puffing with effort, I straightened, flexing cramped fingers.

Are you finished, then? my husband, Timber, asked from across the room.

I nodded. All done.

Outside the living room window, snow fell from a white sky, silent as feathers. Beyond the poplars at the west side of our property, J Road vanished under a thick blanket; I couldn’t see across the street. Cold songs tolled in my mind with the tinkle of icicles: The Month of January, and The Frozen Girl, and In the Bleak Midwinter. But Midwinter lay four weeks behind us. In two more, Imbolc would come, the February holiday marking the true beginning of spring. There might yet be a storm or two, but the awful dark had passed for another year. Soon, hidden things would come to light. The world would give birth. And so would I.

I shifted my bulk on the sofa. These days I had a hard time getting comfortable anywhere. Even with the extra weight I’d put on, chairs pressed into the bones of my butt. I sank into cushions like a whale out of water and couldn’t get myself out of them. My clothes all felt far too tight. My belly made me look as though I’d swallowed a large pumpkin, and my boobs hurt. Not for much longer, I hoped.

I’d done everything I could do. Upstairs, the guest room sported a new coat of lavender paint, trimmed in white, and gifts from the shower my friend Breda had thrown me back in November had all found homes there. The generous rocker Timber’s father had made for me and shipped to Colorado in pieces stood under the window. The cradle Timber had carved waited in the bedroom, and I’d finished the last of the quilts. Boxes of baby clothes, both old and new, sat ready in the closet. I had diapers, nursing covers, hats and socks, pajamas and onesies, and more baby slings than a single infant could possibly use. My hospital bag sat in the entry, packed and ready. I had nothing to do but wait.

Timber cocked his head at the basket. Shall I take that upstairs for you?

Please.

He laid his laptop aside and got up from the tweed chair where he’d been working, but instead of picking up the basket and making away with it, he sat down beside me on the sofa. Taking both my hands in his, he pressed his forehead against mine.

You’re a marvel, he murmured, voice throaty with emotion. Then his lips twitched. And I’d take you in my arms if I could reach around you.

I grabbed a throw pillow from behind my back and bonked him over the head. Watch your mouth, you Scots git. I’m still a witch.

In truth, I didn’t have any great confidence in my powers these days. As my pregnancy had progressed, magic had become slippery, sometimes there when I reached for it and sometimes not. Knowing this, Timber just grinned.

A fine way to talk to the father of your child.

I’ll do more than talk if you…Oooh! I gasped as the baby planted a foot in my liver.

Timber sat bolt upright, face white. What is it? Should I get the car?

I couldn’t help laughing at his reaction. No, silly. Just a kick. I’ll let you know when it’s time, believe me. I’ve at least a week to go yet.

I spoke with more conviction than I felt. I guessed I’d know when the mild contractions of the past month turned into something serious, but, never having had a baby before, I couldn’t be sure. It would be my luck not to notice and drop the baby in the middle of dinner or something.

Timber relaxed a bit, but frowned. They don’t always mind their due dates, love.

I know. But I think this one will. Crossing my fingers under the edge of my skirt, I sent my awareness within to touch the unformed thoughts of our daughter. Though awake and restless, she felt in no hurry to leave her warm nest. I couldn’t even be sure she understood she’d have to.

I brushed Timber’s hair back from his face and struggled forward to give him a brief kiss. Anyway, I’m not going into labor in the next five minutes. Go on and take the basket up, there’s a good lad.

He went to do as I’d bidden, and soon I heard him puttering around upstairs, messing with gods knew what. Not rearranging the nursery, I hoped; I had it the way I wanted it. It had been both a blessing and a curse having him around the last week. He could have kept at his job. The house up on Pine Mesa he’d started in May had a lot of interior work yet to do, and he needn’t have called a halt on account of the winter weather. But he’d wanted to be available if I needed him. And most times I appreciated it. He did, however, have a tendency to fidget and fuss, and sometimes he got so troublesome out of sheer nervousness that I wanted to tell him to go for a walk, go for a beer, go challenge someone to a duel—anything, but leave me alone.

When Timber came back down, I was staring out the window thinking of nothing, as I had been apt to do for the past few weeks. His voice startled me out of my reverie.

Can I get you something? Tea? Or are you hungry? Shall I rub your feet?

I gazed at him, considering. A foot rub would be nice; my feet ached a good deal from carrying around so much extra weight. But his energy looked jumpy and scattered in my Sight. Having him rub my feet would not be a restful experience.

I’m fine. Didn’t you have something you were working on? I glanced in the direction of his abandoned laptop.

Nothing important… Stopping himself, he gave a rueful chuckle. Och, I’m doing it again. I’m sorry, love. I’ve never had a baby before.

Neither have I. In fact, you have a lot more experience than I do at this sort of thing. The oldest of six, Timber had not only cared for his youngest sister when she’d been an infant, but also boasted countless nieces and nephews.

It’s not the same. He perched on the edge of the sofa, shaking his head. I’d no idea becoming a father would be so nerve-wracking. Wonderful, but nerve-wracking.

You ain’t seen nothing yet, bub, I drawled.

I expect not. He gazed out the window. Old Gary did ask if I would come speak to a cow of his. She’s taken against her calf, and he thought perhaps I could sort them out.

Old Gary, our nearest neighbor, lived a quarter of a mile down J road; in fact, our five acres had once been part of his ranch. In addition to cattle, he ran a small flock of sheep and kept a few horses, including a well-known Quarter Horse stud. How he’d learned of Timber’s gift with animals, I’d no idea, but he called on my husband several times a year when he needed help across the intra-species communication gap. Sometimes he inveigled Timber to go out with the Cottonwood County Search and Rescue, of which Gary was the chief; in a crisis, Timber’s ability to get information from wild creatures could mean the difference between life and death for a lost camper. In return, Gary supplied us with hay, which Timber spread at the back of our lot for the deer coming into town during the winter months.

It’s fine with me if you go, I told him. I have dance class soon, anyway. It may be the last time I can go for a while.

To his credit, Timber did not laugh at the inevitable image of me lumbering around a dance floor, which my words called to mind. He simply lifted an eyebrow.

Are you sure dancing is wise?

It’s a class for pregnant women, I reminded him.

Aye, but extremely pregnant women?

Aisha may be new in town, but she’s been doing Movement for Mothers for years. And she’s a doula. I expect if I pop in the middle of the Arts Center, she’ll know what to do.

Hmmm. My husband did not look much mollified, but he refrained from comment. D’ye need a ride?

I’m going with Mariah. I made a feeble, shooing motion with my hand. Go on. Go talk to the cows.

Aye. I expect it will be good practice for dealing with you in the next few days.

Get out! I shrieked, lobbing a pillow at him, which he dodged. Jerk! And don’t come back looking for dinner to be ready!

I expect I can grab something with the ranch hands, he replied, ducking a second pillow.

Go!

Unchastened, he vanished through the entry door. I heard him singing to himself as he rooted in the closet for his coat—it sounded like My Bonny Large Lass—and then the front door slammed. I sat fuming on the sofa for a few minutes before I decided indulging my ire might raise my blood pressure and wouldn’t be good for the baby. All things considered, Timber had shown remarkable restraint in joking about my bulk and my condition. According to other women in my dance class, lots of men were much worse. I could take a jibe or two.

The doorbell woke me up from half a dream. Mariah already. With a sigh, I heaved myself out of the sofa and went to answer it.

Come in for a sec, I told the young woman on my doorstep. I have to run up and change.

Hey, Caitlin. She followed me into the living room, brushing snow off her coat. Man, are you sure you want to do this? You look ready to explode.

Mariah Bennett looked far too young to be pregnant, though she was the same age as my friend Breda. Tall and thin, with long, black dreadlocks tied back from a face the color of coffee with cream, she had a six-month bulge under her ICP T-shirt, giving her a distinct resemblance to a twig with a gall. She worked at Sunshine Coffeehouse and lived at Stupendous, the arts commune on Apple Way. In the normal course of events I wouldn’t have had much to say to her. But pregnancy makes strange bedfellows. I’d started speaking with her at the dance class, and found I liked her.

Timber asked me the same thing, but yeah. I want to move while I can. Hang on.

I ran upstairs—or, I lumbered as rapidly as I was able—dragged off my voluminous dress and pulled on an old sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants of Timber’s, about all I could fit into anymore with any degree of comfort. Then I trundled back down, grabbed my coat, and accompanied Mariah out the door.

Speaking of Timber, she said as she pulled her car into a neat U-turn and sped away down Third Street. Guess who’s pregnant?

I should hope my pregnancy is the only one with any relevance to Timber, thank you very much, I replied with some asperity.

Stacy Cluny. She came in this morning and made a huge deal out of ordering tea instead of coffee.

I groaned. Living in a small town had its advantages. It also had its drawbacks. One of them was attracting attention when one would sooner not, and my husband was, unfortunately, a case in point. Being charming, built, and very, very good to look at, Timber had a certain following among Gordarosa’s young women. Most of them remained content to languish from a distance, but Stacy Cluny, former captain of the high school dance squad, had no such scruples. My estimable husband had made the mistake of flirting with her the previous Saint Patrick’s Day, during a time when our marriage had been going through a rough patch, and she’d been a thorn in his side ever since.

Gods. Who’s the father, did she say?

Nope. Mariah shook her head. But at least we know who it’s not.

Not Timber. And not Colin. I named Mariah’s boyfriend, an accordion player I hoped to cultivate. A terrible thought crossed my mind. Gods. You don’t think she’ll be at the class, do you?

Mariah shuddered. I hope not. She’s bad enough in small doses. I don’t think I could stand a whole hour of her.

Nobody saw fit to grant our wish, however. When we walked into the Arts Center dance studio, I spotted Stacy’s blonde ponytail right away. She’d cornered the teacher and had her back to us, but no one else in town had hair of the same bleached-out shade.

Crap, I muttered.

Look on the bright side, Mariah offered, nudging me. Maybe now she’ll give up on Timber.

One can hope.

We dumped our coats and took our usual places at the far end of the studio. Mariah started some mild stretching. Knowing the class always began with floor work, I lowered myself to the ground, stifling a moan of pain; the baby liked dance class and had begun to jitterbug in my belly. I wished she could be a little less energetic, at least until she was born.

A few more women trickled in. Attendance varied from session to session as schedule and inclination allowed, with a core group of half a dozen, including myself. When it seemed clear no one else would be arriving, the teacher broke off her conversation with Stacy and clapped her hands. Stacy scurried to a place at the front of the room. I noticed idly that she was wearing a new pink sweatshirt and matching leg warmers, and she couldn’t be very far along. She didn’t show at all.

"All right, mes femmes! Let’s get started!" the teacher announced.

Aisha Touissant reminded me of my friend Sage, who taught Haitian dance in Boulder. They looked nothing alike. Sage was ebony-skinned and black-eyed, short and round. Tall and curvy, Aisha had skin the color of chestnuts brushed with gold, and curious dark amber eyes. But both dance teachers had the same no-nonsense attitude and the same ability to dominate a room. As soon as Aisha spoke, all the women gossiping in twos or threes fell silent and attended to business.

We have a new person today. Aisha pointed at Stacy, and a hushed murmur of speculation rose. And at least one of us looks ready to pop. She smiled at me. Every eye in the room turned my way, to the accompaniment of renewed whispers and a few squeals of excitement. "Bien, we’ll take it easy today. Très lentement, very slow. On the floor, legs crossed."

I didn’t know where she’d come from, other than it had to be someplace French-speaking. It could have been Quebec, or it could have been Paris, or some remote island for all I knew. People from all over gravitated toward Gordarosa—for the scenery, for the quiet, for the clean air and welcoming populace. Some stayed and some moved on. I hoped Aisha would stay. I liked her.

Aisha hit the button on a battered boom box, and windy flute mixed with ocean sounds spilled out.

"Get in touch with the rolling salt water inside you, now. Feel it rock you. Forward, deux, trois, and back…."

We all copied the movements she demonstrated at the front of the room. I’d been attending the class since late October, shortly after Aisha had moved to town, and the patterns were familiar to me. They should have come without any trouble. But they didn’t, not today. My daughter did not want to be soothed. She wanted me to get up and bounce around. Her kicks made an insistent counterpoint to the liquid flute, and I found it hard to keep the rhythm.

Please let me have this, I begged her under my breath. You can pester me all you like once you’re here. But please settle down for the next hour.

She didn’t, and I spent the class struggling to hold my own against her increasingly vigorous protests. Toward the end, I gave up and took to pacing in the back of the room. It calmed the baby a bit, but every time I slowed down she started kicking again.

I love you. You know I do, I muttered. But you’re being a real pain.

"Alors! Looks like someone is getting ready to make an appearance, non?"

Aisha popped up at my elbow; the class had come to an end without my noticing. The other women were gathering around the water cooler or picking up their things and heading for the door. I saw Mariah talking to one of the teachers from the grade school and gave her a wave to let her know I’d be with her soon.

I knew she’d need a lot of attention after she was born, I said. I expected to lose sleep. But I thought I’d be safe until she got here.

Aisha laughed, a rich sound, like dark chocolate. "I can tell it’s your first, chèrie. You’d know better, if you’d done this before."

Do you have kids? I’d wondered. She seemed solitary. At least, no family members had ever appeared at the dance class, and I’d never seen her with a boyfriend, the few times we’d met outside the Arts Center.

"Pas moi! She shook her head, making her gold earrings swing. For the briefest instant her face clouded, as if I’d touched a sore spot. Then she smiled. But I’ve taught this class a long time, in many places, and as a doula I’ve been around a lot of pregnant women. You get a feel for it, after a while. May I?"

She gestured toward my belly and, when I nodded permission, laid a long hand on it.

"Hush now, ma p’tite, she crooned. Give your mama a rest, for a while."

I didn’t expect anything. But to my surprise, a gentle wave of energy soaked into my abdomen. The baby in me stretched and seemed to sigh, and her kicks softened.

That’s great. I smiled, too relieved to question the fact that my dance teacher had demonstrated some real healing juju. Can I take you home with me for the next couple weeks?

She laughed again. Sorry. I’m booked up until June, at least. But you’ll be fine.

Away on the other side of the studio the door opened, admitting a blast of cold wind that sent a shiver down my spine. I didn’t think anything of it. Women were leaving; they’d be opening the door.

You know, I never thought I’d get tired of being pregnant. But I’m ready to be through.

Everyone says the same thing, Aisha agreed.

Hey, Caitlin. Mariah popped up at my side, wearing her coat and carrying mine, which she thrust at me.

Sorry, Mariah. Am I keeping you?

Not me. Grinning, she jerked her chin over her shoulder in the direction of the door. Looks like your man came for you. And you’d better rescue him before Stacy eats him alive.

I glanced up to see Timber standing just inside the studio to one side of the door, where a figure in pink had backed him up against the wall. He peered over the top of her head, trying to locate me, then glanced back down, face abstracted. Stacy had said something and he didn’t want to be rude, I decided. But then she pushed her luck a bit too far. She laid a hand on his arm in a gesture too intimate for mere acquaintances and pressed her body several inches closer than she should have. Timber made a curt response and yanked his arm out of her grasp. Stacy didn’t get a clue. In fact, she took a step closer. Timber’s face darkened with irritation and, to my surprise, he put his hands on her shoulders and moved her aside.

Wow. Mariah’s dark brow furrowed. She’s getting super pushy.

I’ll say. I’d never liked Stacy’s obsession with my husband, but I hadn’t paid it much attention, either. Maybe I should have. It needed to stop.

His eyes finding me at last, Timber stalked across the studio, still muttering. Beside me, Aisha went still and drew in a breath. I remembered she and Timber had never met. He’d been working too hard, both at his job site and getting ready for the baby, to spare a lot of time for hanging out in town. And I always came to dance class with Mariah. Aisha may have heard through the grapevine that I had an attractive husband, but this would be the first she’d seen him. Her reaction didn’t strike me as unusual. A lot of women had a hard time breathing the first time they laid eyes on Timber. After ten years, I should have been used to it.

All the gods save me from ill-mannered groupies, Timber grumbled as he approached. "Are ye ready to go, Caitlin? Because if I’ve to speak to yon strapaid again I’ll not answer…."

His words trailed off as he stopped at my side, uncertainty in his face. He didn’t want to interrupt my conversation, I thought, once more thankful to have such a considerate spouse.

That’s my call, I said to Aisha. Then I remembered my own manners. Oh, I’m sorry. You haven’t met. This is my husband…

Timber MacDuff, Aisha finished for me.

I glanced at her, startled. Her eyes sparkled like polished gems, and her lips had opened in a wide, moist smile, showing a glint of white teeth. The expression held something possessive and knowing, and I didn’t like it.

Mariah widened her eyes at me. Her lips shaped words: What the fuck?

"Je n’en crois pas! How long has it been?"

I glanced at my husband in time to see the uncertainty in his expression fade into something else, something I couldn’t read. His next word came unwillingly, as if his lips shaped it before his brain could put on the brakes.

Ashanne. To my surprise, Timber bowed his head in a momentary sign of respect. Then he looked up, and his eyes blazed at my dance teacher in an all too familiar way. I’d never seen him look at anyone but me like that.

Their gazes met. The air between them crackled like wildfire, swift and hot. But as quickly as it had erupted, the blaze died; one or the other of them had clamped a lid on it. I glanced from my dance teacher to my husband. Aisha was smiling more widely than ever. Timber’s face had gone still and remote, the way it did when he stumbled over something from his past. Something he didn’t wish to share.

It’s good to see you again, he said.

"Come visit me sometime, chèr, she drawled. We’ll talk."

Timber took my arm and steered me across the dance studio and out the door. I pulled my coat around me, shivering. The storm had passed and the sky had cleared to a night of icy cold, but the weather hadn’t put the chill in my bones.

Aisha and Timber knew each other. Not only knew each other; I’d felt the energy flare. They’d been lovers.

And he’d never mentioned her to me. Not once in ten years.

Chapter Two: Timber

They drive home in silence, the air between them in the truck cab heavy and tense. Caitlin’s brooding, and he can’t think what to say to Her. She knows, of course. She couldn’t have missed the flare, like a meteor blazing through the sky, a fireball of forgotten passion.

At least, he’d thought it forgotten. It’s been years since Ashanne, years since she haunted his dreams, years since she even came to mind in idle moments. He doesn’t want her in his mind now. The past doesn’t matter. He belongs to Caitlin, and Caitlin should understand it. She is The One, The Woman. The only woman for him. He thinks of Her in capital letters. It’s been so since they met.

But the body. Sometimes the body remembers. It’s not something you can help; it just happens. A reflex, like a chicken running around with its head off before it understands it’s dead. And that’s all it was at the dance studio tonight. A memory of smell, of touch, of taste. A bright spark, soon consumed into ash. A meteor blazes through the sky and crashes to the ground, ended and cold. Some things can’t live, when you bring them down to earth.

Still, he wishes She hadn’t seen it. She’s been moody the last few months. It’s because of the child. Their child—he can’t get over it, the thrill he feels at the prospect of the coming birth. Even now, here in the dark truck with Her unhappy, the thought brings a smile to his lips. That they should have made a child together. It’s something any two creatures with the appropriate parts can do. Snakes. Snails. Rats. Rats do it constantly. Yet for him, with Her…. It’s an unexpected joy.

Anyway, She’s been moody. He’s seen it in other pregnant women, but he knows better than to make light of it, put it down to hormones and discomfort, as other men might. As other men do, because they’re afraid of paying too much attention to what women feel. What women think and say. He knows the reality of thoughts and feelings, how they can gnaw a hole right through a person if they go unregarded. How a little thing, a single misstep, can push you off the edge of reason into disaster. And he’d never hurt Her if he could help it. But he couldn’t help running into Ashanne.

How long has she been in town? He fumbles for memory. Caitlin’s been going to the dance class since they came back from their disastrous trip to Michigan. He’s been glad for Her to do it. She loves to dance, doesn’t get enough of it, especially since he won’t dance with Her. And that’s Ashanne’s fault too, in a way. Because he danced with Ashanne back then, and it turned dangerous. Too dangerous to risk in a civilized country. But Caitlin needs it. Sometimes he hates not being able to give it to Her.

So, since late