haven hollow 00 - 01 to 10, page 35
Yes, that was more than generous. And as for Henner... well, he’d be harder to repay, but I’d figure something out eventually. And the others? Grant them each a spell?
My heart began a nervous canter when I settled across from Lorcan. I was suddenly very aware of how much flesh I was showing. His gaze never wavered from mine. It was absurd to feel so self-conscious around the vexing vampire. Many humans bought into the idea that the body was somehow sinful. Witches believed the body was sacred. We were a part of nature, and nothing in nature, besides the human being, truly took shame in its nudity. There was nothing shameful about sex either. Pleasure was part of life, and any natural being should revel in it.
But that was the rub.
Lorcan wasn’t natural. His gaze did feel sinful. He wasn’t a part of the natural order, and I was ashamed that any part of me felt excited by the prospect of...
Of what, Wanda?
Nothing. Of nothing.
Hellcat dutifully took to my shoulder as we began the ritual. The ambient magic in the air sprang easily to my hands, and the tightness in my gut eased. Whatever caused the block in my side of the home was definitely absent here. Hellcat’s entire body shook, channeling and enhancing my magic as I shaped it. He emitted a subtle glow, orange light flickering like a flame from the end of his bushy tail. His whiskers shifted from orange to yellow, to white like tiny fiber optic strands, and his eyes flared lurid red, washing over Lorcan’s face like a burst of crimson blood. Lorcan jumped in surprise, purely on instinct.
“Stop,” Hellcat and I said at the same time. Channeling my magic, my familiar could only say precisely what I did. “You’ll break the circle.”
Lorcan sat still, but his eyes were wide as he examined my face. “That’s so fecking disturbing.”
“Do you have the needle I gave you?” I asked, pointing imperiously at the spot across from me.
“Yes, but what…”
I didn’t give him time to complete the thought. In one quick move, I wrested it from his hands and brought the pointy end down onto the pad of his thumb. He let out a surprised yelp.
“What the bloody hell was that for?” he groused. “You ought to warn me before...”
Words failed him again when I tugged him forward and delicately flicked my tongue over the single bead of scarlet on his thumb. He shuddered, and his lips parted, as if that one act had been indescribably erotic. His eyes smoldered when I released him, and something inside me coiled tight with anticipation.
Lorcan sucked in a breath when I pricked my own finger and offered it to him.
“Wanda...”
“Drink it. This spell won’t work if the connection isn’t open between us.”
Lorcan took my hand with unnecessary care, guiding my injured thumb to his mouth, closing his lips over it almost reverently. His lids fluttered closed as he flicked his tongue over my skin, tasting me for the first time. A soft groan built in his throat, and his grip tightened around my wrist.
The connection flared to vibrant life, quivering like a plucked harp string.
Betanya said this was the most dangerous part of the ritual. With the connection open, I felt his draw like a siren’s call, alluring and deadly. There was a large part of me that wanted to climb into his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and bare my throat. It would be easy to submit, to change, to end the half-life I was living.
I tugged my wrist from his grasp, grimacing when he didn’t release me right away—it was clear he was fighting this bond between us as much as I was.
“Come here,” he said, eyes half-lidded, brogue thicker than I’d ever heard it. “Let me touch you, sweetling.”
“That’s your Kiss talking,” I managed, my voice coming out breathy. “Just hold still for a few minutes more.”
Fine tremors ran through my hands as I set about muttering the incantations in Betanya’s journal. A spell to affect the dead. Roscoe had flatly refused to try the spell, because he hadn’t wanted to break the bond between Betanya and himself, so I wasn’t certain if it would actually work or not. Goddess, I hoped it worked. If not, I was going to have to cast fire at the vampire and run. I didn’t think I’d find the will to stop him if he managed to sink his fangs into me.
The power built like a gathering storm, so thick I could barely breathe. Dark, forbidden power that ran over my skin like the finest of silks. So comfortable. So easy to call on. I could live like this forever.
But you don’t want to, stupid, I reminded myself. Stay a Blood Witch and you’ll eventually die. Lorcan will kill you.
That thought sobered me just long enough to examine the last incantation. The power snapped taut with a sound like a whip crack. Thunder rolled outside before a lightning flash struck the ground. I felt the shockwave of magic down to my toes, every cell in my body threatening to burst as it washed over me. The power proved to be too much for Hellcat, because he released my shoulder with a yowl of fright.
“Hellcat, no!” I yelled, reaching out to grab him, but it was already too late. He dashed out of the circle, breaking the salt line.
The power poured out of the circle like a tsunami, and I was caught in the backwash, back arching, a scream of pain-pleasure tearing from my mouth as I struggled not to drown in the immense flow of magic. For a second that felt an eternity longer, I felt everything: the heat of the fire, every dust mote in the air above us, the coarseness of the wood grain of the floor, every rat, spider, and snake in the basement of the duplex. And more than that, I felt the frosted grass outside, every sharp, broken blade like a needle underfoot. There was something more than water dewed on the grass, but I didn’t have time to examine what, because my awareness hit the edge of the cemetery, and filled with a chorus of voices.
Men’s voices, women’s voices, children’s voices, and even a baby’s coo. Voices that echoed from a great distance off. They each called to me, sang to me. I could feel them shifting restlessly, and then my magic slammed into a barrier of some sort. Starbursts erupted behind my eyes, and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, staring blearily up at the ceiling. I blinked a few times as Lorcan’s face came into sight and I felt his arms curling around me, gently lifting me off the hard, dusty floor.
“Are you alright?” he asked, sitting on the couch as he settled me into his lap.
Was I alright? I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t move so much as a finger. “I feel… numb,” I muttered. My head felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton, and my arms and legs were the consistency of wet noodles. I hadn’t been hit so hard by my magical backwash since I was a teen.
“What happened?”
I groaned and buried my face in his chest—not because I necessarily wanted to; it was just the way my head moved when he shifted underneath me. His cool skin was distractingly firm under my cheek.
“Hellcat screwed up the ritual.”
“And that means?”
“That the circle was broken, so the energy flooded out.”
“Then the spell failed?”
I tried to nod. “Not only did the spell fail, I essentially punched myself in the face with my own magic.”
“Will you be alright?”
“Eventually.”
He nodded and continued to look at me, where I lay in his arms, clad only in my bra and jeans. It was then that I realized I was completely helpless. If ever there was a time for Lorcan to completely turn me, now was it.
“We’re still bound?” he asked.
I felt my heart start pounding. “Unfortunately.”
Lorcan cradled my head in his hands, lifting my chin so he could inspect my face. Something flickered in the deep green of his eyes as he loomed over me. He traced my bottom lip with his thumb, grinning when I tried to bite him.
“Can’t be too badly off. You’re still feisty.”
“Don’t test me, Rowe. When I can move again, I’ll kick your ass.”
He laughed and looked prepared to lob another insufferable comeback at me when there was a knock at the front door. Instead of pulling on his shirt and leaving me on the couch to answer the door, like any sane person, he just hefted me up in a princess carry and opened the door, clad in just his trousers.
Poppy stood on the other side, a filthy rag clutched in one hand. Her gaze flicked from Lorcan to me, and her cheeks flushed pink as her eyes went completely circular.
“O-oh. I, um, ha… I, well…” She cleared her throat. “Is this a bad time? I can come back.”
“No, it’s not a bad time because this isn’t at all what it looks like,” I said, glaring up at the vampire.
“We were just… making magic together,” Lorcan answered with a wicked grin, laughing at my feeble attempt to hit him.
“Don’t listen to him,” I said as I faced Poppy resolutely. “It’s really not what it looks like. I was… I was trying to cast and it… backfired.”
“Are you okay?” Poppy asked me, frowning.
I nodded. “I lost the use of my limbs… for the moment. Hence why Rowe is holding me.”
“Oh,” she said, as if my explanation were a commonplace one. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here, Wanda, because I was actually looking for you, not Lorcan.”
“Why?”
“Well,” she started and then glanced sheepishly at the rag in her hand. “I decided to clean a few things in your house last night before we unloaded all the furniture...”
“And what furniture would that be?” Lorcan asked.
“Never-you-mind,” I answered him with a furrowed expression before I turned to face Poppy again. “Go on.”
She nodded. “Well, while I was dusting, I noticed a strange substance rubbing off onto the rag.” She looked down and held the rag in question out to me. I didn’t notice anything strange about it, though. “So, I took the rag home and tested it at my house, just so I could be sure about what I was seeing.”
I lifted myself a fraction in Lorcan’s arms, though it took a great deal of effort to do it. “Strange? In what way?”
She shuffled nervously. “When I was cleaning your mantel and the floors, I noticed both had already been polished, but I thought the polish was a little odd. It was the scent that tipped me off. I mean, I’d only smelled something with that same scent once before… and that was when I realized it was a potion.”
“A potion?” I repeated.
She nodded. “Yes. It’s a potion that’s difficult to make, because it requires magic I don’t have. Magic most people don’t have, honestly.”
“Well, what does it do?” I demanded.
“It’s sort of an... anti-magic potion. It shorts magic of any sort out—basically, it cancels magic.”
“Then that’s why,” I started as Lorcan looked down at me.
“Your magic won’t work,” he finished.
I nodded and looked back up at Poppy. “What’s this potion called?”
“Well, it’s a form of Black Arts Oil, but it’s a highly specified one that’s not exactly well known.”
“Black Arts Oil,” I repeated, nodding as I felt the blood starting to rush back into my extremities. I could move my toes and fingers now. Regardless, Poppy was right—Black Arts Oil wasn’t something you came across every day.
“I didn’t think you would have put it on your mantel or the floors because why would you want to cancel out your own magic,” she continued with a shrug, “And Lorcan is so hopeless with potions, he needs my help in telling a healing potion from a good luck potion.”
“Might I remind you I’m standing right here?”
She smiled up at him. “I didn’t mean offense.” Then she looked back at me. “My point is: if you didn’t do it and Lorcan didn’t do it, then who did? And why?”
“Goddess,” I breathed. I’d been so blind. The answer had been in front of me this entire time, rubbing potions into my floor, no doubt spraying it onto the lawn. “Mother,” I started, but Lorcan shook his head.
“Your mother has not set foot on the property,” he announced. I have cameras set up around the perimeter and she has not appeared once.”
I didn’t have the wherewithal to get irritated about the cameras I hadn’t known were there. “Then who else had access,” I started, but then the words dropped right off my tongue. “The cleaners.”
“Cleaners?” Lorcan repeated.
“The Nooks and Crannies Cleaning Service!” I continued. “I thought you hired them before I moved in!”
He shook his head. “I’m much too private a person to allow strangers into my house, or yours for that matter!”
Which explained the dismal state of his side of the duplex. The place was a mess because he wouldn’t let anyone into the house.
“So if you didn’t hire them, who did?” Poppy asked.
“Mother,” I said immediately.
Chapter Seventeen
“You’re going to get us killed!” Poppy shrieked, clutching her armrest with white-knuckled terror. Her back was plastered to the passenger seat, and she looked like she’d be sick on the dash at any second.
Because the Vega couldn’t go much faster than fifty, I’d opted to take her Jeep. And, no, she hadn’t offered it—I’d just asked for her keys because I was more than sure the gypsy wouldn’t be able to drive like I could. That is to say, she would be too concerned with things like speed limits and the law.
“I’ve got to agree with Poppy,” Lorcan said. I couldn’t see him hunched in the back, but he sounded a little nauseated, as well. “It doesn’t take wood to end me, sweetling. Shrapnel from a wrecked car will do the trick.”
“Choke on a garlic bulb,” I muttered.
Every tender feeling I’d had for him during the ritual seeped away with the backwash of magic. I was sore, hungover, pissed off, and not in the mood for the vampire’s whining.
I took another turn at eighty, and the Wrangler attempted to go up on two wheels before settling with a groan on the pavement. We hadn’t found the culprit—Nooks and Crannies Cleaning Service—in the Hollow proper, and the high speeds were fair game on the roads out of town. The worst I could do was hit a deer. I could probably hex it out of the way before it went splat on the Jeep’s grill.
All I could think about was finding that damned van and then hexing whoever was inside it within an inch of their lives until they spilled all the lurid details of Mother’s plan and exactly why she’d made it so my magic wouldn’t work.
“We’ll be fine. Just keep your eyes peeled, will you? They could be anywhere,” I said.
If they were smart, they’d have cleared out as soon as they’d pulled their prank. They’d already gaslighted me into believing my dark magic was faulty. If they’d left well enough alone, I would have continued believing it long enough for my self-esteem to tank, my shop to flop, and then I would have had no choice but to return to Mother with my tail between my legs. But we witches tended to be the vengeful sort, so I was betting the culprit had stuck around to watch me break down. Maybe in order to report back to Mother.
“What if,” Poppy started as she clutched her seat. “What if your mother isn’t the one who did this?”
“She’s the only one who would go to these lengths,” I answered.
“Are you sure about that?”
I looked at her, and she pointed to the road so I looked straight ahead again. “Well, I guess the whole coven hates me so, no, I’m not sure about it.”
Putting Mother aside for the moment, the question became: which member of the coven hated me enough to try to ruin my life more than it was already ruined? I was already persona non grata among the witches of Crescent Circle. Moving to the Hollow was like taking vows at a convent. I was stuck following the rules, and wouldn’t be able to stray outside my own magical bubble. They could have left me alone, and I’d have never darkened their doorstep again, which meant they wouldn’t have a reason to vex me further. So that had to mean… this was an old vendetta. I’d pissed someone off in the past. Badly.
Shame that didn’t strike many names off the list. The more I thought about it though, the more I realized I could probably strike Mother off the list. She was a stickler for rules, and she wouldn’t breach the Hollow’s charter to sabotage me, no matter how much she might want to. I doubted she’d let anyone else do it either—she’d be too afraid news would leak and as soon as it did, she’d be demoted from her position as High Witch. And there was no way she’d do anything to ever threaten that title. So this witch was acting alone.
I slowed to forty miles an hour as we approached the school zone. There was a game of some sort going on, and I didn’t want to run over a kidlet or two. I slammed on the brakes, before making a sharp right turn into the school parking lot because parked in the middle of the lot, almost camouflaged by a pair of school buses, was the Nooks and Crannies Cleaning van.
“Got you.”
I didn’t bother with a parking spot. I weaved through the lot, growing more irate with every second it took to reach the van. Sick satisfaction coiled in my gut when I spotted someone behind the wheel. We’d caught them! I threw the Jeep into park directly behind the van and stalked out, ignoring Poppy’s warnings.
All I could think about was seeing this woman’s face, putting a name to the week of misery I’d suffered because of her meddling.
But when I threw open the van door, I didn’t find a witch. I didn’t even find a woman. For the briefest of moments, confusion settled over me. Had I gotten the wrong cleaning van?
No.
No, I hadn’t. Because while the face wasn’t female, it was familiar.
He was tall, dwarfing even my statuesque mother by a half foot, and though he’d put on muscle, he’d never had enough to completely balance out the broad shoulders and the immense height. He favored all black ensembles, which didn’t help his skinny and tall physique. He looked like the stretched shadow of a much broader man.
He kept his thick, waist-length black hair braided behind his head. He wasn’t an unattractive man, certainly—he had full lips with a cupid’s bow, and large gray eyes like his sisters. His jaw was strong, square, and lined with stubble. His face was haughty, utterly masculine, and sickened me to my core.
