Dairine MacFinn finished her cleansing of the room and opened her eyes. The energies she had raised settled peacefully, content to be empty again. The last client had been a particularly volatile faerie who had filled the room with her spastic energy.

Next on the books was a Mal O’Rourke. As Irish a last name as her own. What was the Mal for, she wondered. It could be Mallory, which was becoming a popular name for both boys and girls.

Today’s youth generally annoyed her. The recent generations of Americans had become obsessed with everything Celtic, including ancient power symbols for tattoos and dying their hair red.

Not that Dairine needed any red dye. Her hair was fiery like the sun, the natural flaming red of the old Irish, streaked with three wide stripes of silver,one on each side of her forehead, and one at the back of her head. With a life of their own, she drew power from the streaks, which would blaze with the red while she worked magick. When calm, they settled into the red curls.

Mal O’Rourke. She rolled the name off her tongue easily, familiar with the old language. If she wasn’t mistaken, Mal meant bad, in several languages. It must be short for something.

Her intercom buzzed. She pressed her code back to Janie, her secretary, to acknowledge she was ready. The door opened and she stood to greet her next client.

The power rolling off him almost knocked her back. He filled the doorway, almost literally, between his physical and astral presences. At six foot four, he barely cleared the door frame upon entering the room. Broad, muscled shoulders were hugged by an indigo blue chenille sweater that looked so soft and comfortable Dairine felt the urge to rub her face against it. His jeans fit his wide, sculpted hips nicely, but not too tightly and they moved with his body. His shoes were dress leather, but well worn and comfortable.

When checking out a man, Dairine usually started at the bottom. Shoes said everything. This one was comfortable with who he was, secure in himself. Her eyes moved up over the chest that she was sure was tight and smooth, to the face and almost gasped.

Eyes as blue as his sweater stared back at her. Thick, soft black hair framed his face in soft waves, slightly longer than his collar. A full, sensuous mouth spread into a smile, revealing nice, even teeth beyond his luscious lips. His jaw wasn’t simply squared, but softened just enough to make her want to run her fingers over it. A slight five o clock shadow gave him a more rugged appearance.

The check-out took only an instant but the eye lock held for almost a full moment before they broke contact.

The power rush simmered down for a brief moment as she welcomed him into the office, and then the invasion began.

First one spirit followed. Then two or three more at intervals. Then a whole swarm of them filled the room, chattering, talking, trying to get her attention, speaking several different languages.

Malachi O'Rourke was grateful for a moment alone before his clan swooped in. Whatever he had been expecting, Dairine MacFinn wasn’t it. No long gauzy skirts, incense burning, dreads in her hair, noting hippie about her.

But he did admire her hips, and the rest of her. Amazon Psychic, he thought. She was every bit of six feet tall, with full, curvy hips that he called full figured and womanly, clad in silky black dress pants. Her blouse was light peach silk, tailored to her figure, two buttons open but only a hint of what lay underneath. She wore a delicate sterling silver pentagram that glowed against her pale Irish skin.

Yes, she was Irish too, as Irish as they came. The fiery red hair, in which he glimpsed bits of silver, natural or put in for effect, he wondered, the big, luminescent blue eyes and the milky skin that would burn if in the sun longer than a few minutes. Heart shaped face, seductive lips, she glowed from the inside. She was the real deal.

A real psychic. He shut his thoughts down rapidly as the spirits followed him in.

Her cerulean blue eyes widened slightly as they focused behind him.

“Welcome,” she spoke out loud but he knew she was speaking to the spirits around him. He stepped forward and shook her hand.

Their powers met and danced. His golden glow met her shimmery one, and the magick began to weave its dance, dancing up their arms and jolting them both. Dairine finally pulled away. He was a lycanthrope, she realized, which explained the power, and the spirits.

“Please have a seat, Mr. O’Rourke,” she motioned to the loveseats opposite the desk. He took the one on the east side and she placed herself in the cozy chair on the north. She didn’t like using the desk with clients in the room.

The room was a soft shade of peach, good for enhancing her abilities, and soothing to most spirits. The loveseats were varying shades of golds and browns, and placed in different corners of the room. By choosing the east, she knew he had a specific problem. And she was pretty sure it had to do with the chattering spirits around him.

“Call me Mal,” his timber voice wrapped itself around her spine and slid down it, warming her. “It’s short for Malachi.”

Happily, she thought approvingly, though while she found it pleasurable, she didn’t approve of the power game.

“I do request you tone your aura down,” she said politely, “it makes it a bit hard to focus on your issue. Are you ready to tell me about it?”

Direct, he thought.

“You haven’t figured it out?” he asked in an amused voice.

“Does it have to do with the herd following you?”

“Yes,” the amusement left his eyes. “They’re driving me mad.”

Dairine was used to drama, and a bit disappointed in his sudden flat tone. He didn’t seem like the drama type.

“I can’t shut them out,” he added. “They pester me when I’m asleep, when I’m awake, in the shower, while I’m hunting, camping, all the time. There are so many of them. Ancestors, mostly, generations, from the old country, or a few random spirits that have just attached themselves to me.”

“You radiate power Mr.-Mal,” she said, almost shyly, “and it attracts them, especially your ancestors, whom I take to be rather fierce hunters?”

“Yes,” he smiled.

Damn, she could see them too. She was powerful.

“They wear a lot of battle gear,” she said absently, turning her eyes to them, “Lots of language, old language I can’t understand. There seems to be some arguments though.”

“Yes, they squabble day and night about stupid family issues, things that can’t be changed now, how I run the-family,” he said hesitantly. Family? She raised one eyebrow as she made notes while he talked. That’s an interesting way to say it. There was family here all right, but not just his. Something bigger. Multiple families, she was inclined to say. And that was unusual for them to attach to living non-family woman.

“So what exactly are you here for?” she asked.

“I want you to get rid of them. Release them; banish them, whatever you can do so they will leave me alone. I can’t take the noise. I can tune them down but then it becomes a buzzing in my head like cicadas. And if you’ve ever lived out west Ms. MacFinn, you know that is one of the most annoying sounds on the earth.”

Dairine nodded. “That’s all you need? Just a spirit cleansing?”

“Your phone number would be appreciated,” he smiled charmingly at her and she laughed. It was music to him. The spirits began poking him, pointing to her, whispering.

“She can hear you,” he reminded them. The reminder made them talk faster.

“All right Mal, this is what I want you to do. Close your eyes and focus on me.”

Not hard to do, he thought.

“Name two spirits you would like to keep with you.”

“Matthew and the Chieftain,” he said promptly. The two named spirits stepped forward. Matthew was a young man with shoulder length brown hair and soft eyes. The Chieftain was old, wizened and bent but still throbbing with power.

“Focus only on me,” she said softly. “Visualize the as room empty, except for you and me, Matthew and the Chieftain.”

It took a couple minutes of breathing and focusing before he could do as told, and try not to picture kissing her on the loveseat.

Dairine smiled to herself. His lust was evident, reaching out to her to tickle her arms…He finally called it back but she knew he was struggling with it. After a few more minutes he was still and calm. The spirits were quiet too, watching.

Mal felt, rather than heard the music. She was making music with her body, and he felt the energy began to seep out from her. It was cool and strong, and it coiled around him and the two spirits. The rest began to fade.

“Spirits of Mal O’Rourke,” she spoke firmly in her pleasant, soft voice. The voice began to tickle his ears, then his chest, then his groin but he forced the thoughts out, focusing on his spirits. “Hear me and listen well. You are released to go on about your business, to move forward and no longer follow this man. His energy is to become his own and you are to go back to your own. Sever your connections at once, without my assistance. Disperse back to whence you need to be until called for.”

To his amazement she began to call them by name. One by one he felt them fade. They slipped out of the room, some sighing at being let go, others reveling in their new freedom. The two chosen spirits stood close to him, watching and listening.

Mal used his own Sight to see her. Hazy but he could see her blue glow, pulsating. Her hands were held out and open, two blue energy balls crackling with power. One spirit didn’t want to leave, when he saw the energy ball raise from her hand, he fled.

At last the room was quiet.

“Open your eyes, Malachi O’Rourke, and be free,” she said softly. He did so, and listened. There was just quiet. Matthew and the Chieftain stood at his sides.

“They’re really gone?” he asked.

She nodded.

“They’ll come when you call them, but not without. No uninviteds.”

“You’re an angel,” he sighed happily.

Dairine laughed again, the music filling his ears.

“No, just a psychic,” she opened her own eyes and he refrained from a gasp.

The woman was more than a psychic. She was a full witch, at least half, and possibly part faerie. No mere psychic could make herself glow like that. True glamoury was a Fae gift.

Without realizing it he had stepped closer to her. She smiled up at him and before he knew what was happening he was touching her arms, running his hands up them. Power crackled, rolled off his skin and onto hers. Her power hadn’t faded and it met his, teasing it, licking at it. Their eyes locked and Mal knew he was lost. This woman was more than what he was seeing, and would be more than he could have ever thought.

Dairine stepped up closer to him, eye contact never wavering, as she released just a bit more of her power, enough to tease him, run down his chest, taste his skin and breathe him in.

Mal felt her magick creep around him tighter, bringing him closer to her. His hands went around her waist, against the silk of her blouse, pressing her up to him.

The heat from his body had her bordering on sweating, his hands were scorching against his back. Closing her eyes she let him draw her against his chest for a kiss, brushing his lips against hers once, twice, then kissing her full on, firm and gentle. Her lips opened and his tongue began to explore her, but she matched his exploring with her own teasing. Her breasts were crushed up his chest, and she could feel the tautness underneath the sweater. One slender hand ran through his wavy hair, almost pulling it and his intake of breath heightened her own passion. His hands, strong and supple slid up the back of her skirt to touch her flesh.

Mal was drowning in her. She tasted of strawberries and peaches and he was a starving man. Devouring the taste, holding it tightly he didn’t want to let it go.

Dairine was stunned to realize he tasted of cinnamon and honey. She could always tell about a man by the way he tasted. This one was strong, confident, kind. A good man.

The intercom buzzed loudly, startling the pair and breaking the embrace. They stared at each other in mutual shock.

It buzzed again.

“My next appointment,” she murmured, running her hands through the layered, almost waist length red waves. “That’s my reminder buzz that time is up.”

Mal pressed his lips together. “I-I’m not sure what just happened.”

Dairine laughed nervously.

“It’s rather simple really. . . two creatures with magickal abilities acted on a mutual moment of lust. Powers collided.”

“Somehow I think our powers colliding might move mountains,” he laughed. “But I am no magical creature, as you put it.”

She tilted her head to one side.

“You’re a lycanthrope. And I’m willing to bet alpha male.”

His mouth opened slightly and he burst into laughter.

“You’re good. I usually hide it better.”

“Oh you hid it well.” she smiled. “I’m just that good.”

He laughed again and the buzzer rang.

“Let me take you out to dinner,” he blurted out.

Dairine shook her head.

“I don’t fraternize with clients, and besides, our energies would collide too powerfully.”

“That’s a ride I’d like to take,” he said earnestly. She shook her head again. “I’m a one time client; you’ve fixed my problem.”

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. O’Rourke, I do, but I must regretfully decline.”

He nodded and bowed to her.

“Very well, Ms. MacFinn. But you should know I don’t take defeat easily.” He flashed a smile and was gone out the door.

Dairine’s knees gave way and she sagged against her desk.

“You all right?” Janie poked her head in.

“Fine, fine, just give me a moment to cleanse,” she said. Janie nodded and vanished.

Sitting down, she breathed deeply for a few seconds and gathered her energy ball, sending it through the room to cleanse away the lingering traces of Mal O’Rourke.