The Witch's Initiation. Elle James

her pentagram and cried out, “Sisters, come to me!”

      The world spun in a vacuum, lifting her higher still. Then the bottom dropped out of the dark cloud, the earth opened and the wind sucked her down, into a black abyss deep below the surface of the mossy garden soil.

       Chapter 2

       Sisters, come to me!

      Deme Chattox’s hands shook as she held the paper cup of green tea, letting the warmth permeate her skin. She’d been chilled since arriving in Chicago. Having left her cushy private investigative business in the balmy breezes of St. Croix and flying overnight to get here, she hadn’t had a chance to acclimate. Hell, she hadn’t had a chance to breathe.

      A nit in the scheme of things, considering her baby sister was missing. Deme could stand to be a little cold. She could only guess at the horrors Aurai faced. For her sister to reach out in the middle of the night and across great distances with enough force to knock Deme out of her bed, she had to be in serious trouble.

      She downed the last of the tea and crushed the cup between her fingers. Deme and her sisters would find her if it was the last thing they did. She just hoped they found her before anything really bad happened to the youngest sister of the five of them. For now, her heart told her that her little sister was still alive.

      Now where the hell was that detective?

      She glanced around the student commons, searching every face for the one that looked most like an undercover cop. Her sister Brigid had given the detective a description of Deme, but she didn’t have a name or description of him, and he was already ten minutes late.

      The girls at the table next to her leaned close, their expressions nervous. “Did they find her yet?” one asked.

      Deme blocked out the extraneous noises of the large cafeteria-style room in order to hear every word spoken by the college girls. That’s why she’d come to this campus as a nontraditional student. Not because she wanted to improve her lot in life through a college degree. She already had a BS, an MS and a private investigator license. She’d enrolled as one of the students only to get inside and learn the truth about her sister’s disappearance.

      “No, they haven’t found her,” a blonde responded, her blue gaze darting around the nearby tables, briefly pausing on Deme.

      Deme’s attention remained on the entrance as she used her peripheral vision to study the girls beside her.

      The blonde’s glance moved on. “I bet the Gamma Omegas know what happened to her. Hell, they probably kidnapped her as part of the hazing.”

      A brunette snorted. “I don’t think any of them are smart enough to get away with it.”

      The group of six giggled, their fingers pressed to their lips, their glances taking in the room.

      The blonde sipped from her soda before asking, “Did the police interview you yesterday?”

      “No,” the brunette answered. “What about you?”

      “No. They seem to be concentrating on the staff and the sorority. I hear the G.O.s were performing their initiation ceremony in the garden when the girl disappeared. I mean, like really, how can you lose a fully grown college student in a garden? That’s just random, if you ask me.”

      Deme wondered the same, and then her attention was distracted by a gray-haired man stepping through the glass entrance doors. He could be a college professor…or maybe an undercover detective.

      With the patience of a Yorkshire terrier dying to be unleashed, Deme tapped her plastic spoon on the laminate tabletop. The man stopped at the coffee urn, filled a cup, paid and weaved his way through the tables. He didn’t stop until he came to a table in the far corner by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a garden. He never once looked her way.

      Damn. Either he wasn’t her detective or he was playing hard to get. A man like that would fit right in. No one would ever suspect a guy who looked the image of a college professor of being an undercover cop.

      For several long moments, Deme stared at the man by the window. She cleared her mind and focused on him, trying to read into his thoughts. Her sister Selene was much better at reading minds than she was. It wasn’t Deme’s talent. Give her dirt and plants, and she could whip up a tempting spell with her knack for all things relating to the goddess of earth. Reading minds? Nah. Not her bailiwick. Still, who was he and what was he doing here? Did he have anything to do with her sister?

      The man stopped sipping his coffee, a frown pressing his silvery-gray brows together. Was he feeling her probe?

      Excited that maybe for once her mind probing might work, Deme concentrated harder. Who are you? Did you take my sister? Who are you?

      A thin, bookish, young man carrying a tray with coffee and a Danish passed by, stopped and spoke to the professor. At first it all looked like any student stopping to say a word to his instructor. Until the gray-haired man lurched to his feet and shoved the younger man’s tray into his chest, toppling the coffee cup. The boy yelled and dropped the tray, pulling his sweater away from his chest, cursing as scalding liquid burned his skin.

      The older man hurried from the room, pushing people out of his way as he went.

      Deme half stood, torn between helping the guy with the soaked sweater and chasing after the man who’d blown a gasket. A student commons worker beat her to the younger man with a handful of napkins. Meanwhile, the gray-haired gentleman had already left.

      She sank into her chair and stared through the glass doors at the back of the retreating professor. What the hell was that all about?

      The young man walked by her table talking to the employee, his brow wrinkled in a frown. “I don’t know what set him off. All I said was ‘How’s it going?’ Then he yelled, ‘No, I didn’t, and none of your effing business’ and slammed my tray into me.” He lifted his sweater away from his skin and flapped it. “That coffee was hot.”

      “Wonder what came over Professor Dane. He’s never blown up like that before.”

      “It’s like he was possessed or something. Did you see his face? Even his eyes didn’t look right.”

      They moved out of range and Deme sat back in her seat. Was the gray-haired Professor Dane feeling the pressure of a missing student? Was he responsible for Aurai’s disappearance? Had Deme’s probing pushed him over the edge?

      She’d never been successful at probing before, so why should it work now? And why in such a way as to cause a violent reaction?

      Her chest tightened. Not known for her patience, Deme could feel the blood boiling inside her. She wanted to follow the professor and shake the truth out of him. If Brigid hadn’t insisted on this detective, who came highly recommended by the Chicago police as the best undercover operative on the force, Deme wouldn’t have waited ten minutes past their scheduled time for him. She could have conducted her own search and interviews. She had shoved her chair back and leaned forward to stand when the glass doors opened again.

      Deme sat back in her chair, her mouth falling open.

      No way.

      He strode in as if he owned the place. Every female gaze riveted on his incredibly broad shoulders encased in a black leather jacket. Black jeans caressed his thick, muscled thighs and tight ass, moving with him like a second skin.

      His black hair hung to his shoulders in loose waves, and he carried a helmet in one hand. Pausing for a moment, he removed sunglasses and stared around the room.

      Deme held her breath. When rich, brown eyes collided with hers, her heart skipped several beats then made up for the loss by hammering a staccato against her ribs. She’d never reacted to a man so instantly or with such impact. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, and then every nerve ending lit up like the Fourth of July.

      No way.

      No way this biker bad