by Lexi Ostrow
“Jonathon, so help me, if you don’t speak these damn words! Goddess be damned, I will kill you myself!” She hissed, her hair wrapping across her face in the blowing wind. I’m so sorry, Gerard. So sorry it’s today, but I have too.
Frantically, Deidre grabbed Jonathon’s hand, and draped the white sweater over their joined hands, ignoring the lack of red ribbon.
Some things could be removed – because despite Ivy and Patrick mere steps away, they would not help Deidre and Jonathon right now. It was the words that mattered, and the spilled blood.
Bending, Deidre grabbed her knife off the table and put it between her teeth. Biting down, Deidre lined the blade over her palm and sliced, the thin line of blood springing up with little pain. She didn’t know how long she had before she lost control of her hands. Grabbing the hilt with her bleeding hand, she snagged his hand, not daring to look in his eyes as she drew it over his skin.
“So help me, I will bring your soul back with a necromancer and destroy you, Jonathon Trevors.” She didn’t know what would happen. If he would say the words or if he would choose death. All she knew was that this happening today would destroy her later on.
Deidre glanced up then, the hair whipping across her face nearly obscuring any sight of Jonathon’s face. Through tiny slivers as the wind blew, she saw the anger etched in his brow. She noticed how narrow his gaze was as it watched her. Jonathon already chose death, but it seemed he’d do it again, knowing her intention was to save him.
Still, without uttering a word, his hand moved, dripping blood over the sweater. Deidre didn’t hesitate to move her hand, letting her blood trickle onto the garment. Her mouth opened, and she waited a moment before speaking, queuing Jonathon to do the same.
Deidre spoke, uncertain if he would join in. Uncertain if it were too late as the curls of black and blue swirled around his ankle, only succeeding in not taking him over because the wind kept blowing them back.
“I seek to bind my life to yours. To live through you and you through me. I seek to keep the magic strong. To keep my magic close at hand.”
Power flowed through Deidre and caused her to stumble backward. Her eyes burned as everything illuminated for a flash of a minute. Deidre could see the silver flecks of magic falling with every gust of wind. She knew linking with a caster brought more than with a human, but she’d never dreamed she’d do it to understand.
“You said them.” She whispered, not knowing he could hear her over the hectic wind that raged around them.
“I did,” he shouted, not dropping his hand from hers. “But why?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Jonathon. You’re too smart for that.”
“Are you certain?”
“It’s a little late now – eternity is an awfully long time to find out, though!” The sound of a tree crashing against the house sent Deidre jumping into the air. Her eyes darted up, and she breathed out. The tree landed but didn’t fall through her roof.
The blackness of panic threatened to take over. Not today, goddess. Not on this day! Blowing out a breath, she turned to the side in time to avoid a spoon crashing against her face as it was thrown off the table.
“Goddess, we don’t have much time.”
“No, we don’t.” Jonathon eyes focused just behind her. “Every word hurts.”
She didn’t know if it was due to the blistering burn from the hex compelling him to cast or from simply trying to cast something other the hex because he couldn’t the very first time.
They shouldn’t have been so cocky. They shouldn’t have believed a little magic band around their ankles and a spell on the house would stop something as powerful as a demon and angel created hex. Magic was stronger when done by two species – especially when it’s the pair who wielded more magic than any other with no recourse.
“Patrick, now would be ideal,” Ivy shouted as the wind whipped the table over, throwing the steaming gumbo onto the wooden deck.
Deidre looked away from Jonathon to their friends. They stood in a line, just beyond the steps of the house. An aura glowed around Ivy, and fire danced in Patrick’s hand. Tanner and Sam had their guns drawn, obviously ready to do what was needed if it got out of hand.
We could die for this. Deidre had known death might be the only option, but she hadn’t embraced that as the solution. Not the way Jonathon and the cops clearly did.
“Neropontí,” Jonathon hissed, throwing his hands toward the sky and beckoning the rainstorm.
Deidre hadn’t heard that word before and worried about what it might bring.
Drops as large as golf balls fell from the sky above where they stood. Something was wrong. The hex was meant to look natural. This didn’t ride the tide of a storm or hurricane, this would even appear to brew in the center of the damn city.
The pain in her arm was like a knife slicing over and over into her skin, but somehow the pain stopped when Jonathon brought on the rain. Her right hand threaded in the air above her left. Deidre’s index and forefingers pinched together as she held no control over the actions her arms took.
All at once, the day turned to nearly night as thick gray clouds rolled in. Giant, fluffy, dark clouds. At any moment, they would open the flood gates if they were real clouds. These were mere illusions. She knew it from the way they almost vanished against the rest of the sky. She didn’t believe any one else would think that.
“This doesn’t look natural!” Tanner called, cupping his hands over his mouth.
Deidre agreed. Until Jonathon called the wind again, and the clouds began to disperse across the sky. Freak storms came and went all the time in New Orleans. Unless people stood outside moments ago, this would appear natural.
This was real, and for all their planning, all their precautions, nothing worked to cut the hex off.
“Patrick, lock us down. Now!” Deidre shouted, swallowing enough rain to pull a gag from her.
“Not a chance in hell. I’m not going to let you two drown by isolating your house.”
Whatever she did, it wasn’t standard casting. It was djinn magic, skills she shouldn’t know or have but recognized from time living with a clan to learn what she could from them. Djinn magic didn’t require items – merely motions and wishes.
“Then fucking knock us out! Both of us. At least then, we can’t feel the pain.” She screamed, the words swallowed by a blow of thunder that likely came naturally from the weather pattern they started to create. “Hurry!”
“You’re on the deck. I can’t.” Patrick dodged a freaking mailbox as one went crashing by.
Jonathon glanced at her, tears in his eyes. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. The hex had hold of him.
“Págoma,” Patrick aimed his wand.
Deidre braced, waiting for the strange sensation that accompanied being unable to move, hoping her hand would stop the intricately beautiful dance.
It didn’t.
“The dampeners!” Elijah thundered, shuffling Ivy under the roof of Deidre’s neighbor’s house.
The hex was strong enough to let magic out, and the dampener kept magic from getting in.
“Jonathon,” Deidre whispered, knowing he’d never hear her. He didn’t look at her, but that was okay. She’d just married him, this was likely implied. “I’m falling in love you with. No matter what happens, I need to say it.”
His head didn’t so much as turn in her direction. The wind hurled rain against them both. Like tears, the rain blurred Deidre’s vision, and she couldn’t tell if she did cry. Nothing was left except to embrace whatever happened when she got them away from the house. Away from the spells.
She knew she couldn’t cast, but she could move. Walking next to Jonathon, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Then, Deidre charged, slamming her body against Jonathon, and thanks to the element of surprise, she sent them both toppling down the stairs and out of the dampeners zone.
Pain blossomed like a firework as her head struck the ground. The world blurred even fur
ther, and Deidre heard Ivy cast the healing spell.
Sucking in a breath, Deidre stared at her neighbor’s front steps until they became sharp and clear. Jonathon didn’t bother to stand, he just continued to call the wind and rain from where he lay on the ground.
Deidre understood. She was the caster – but this part of the hex only needed one person. It had been brewed to only require one of them. They both mattered, but only one of them had to survive to kill the city. Remy must have sensed his skill and powers from a meeting with him. She was a pawn, and if she didn’t stop the man she knew she was falling in love with, he’d destroy the only place she’d ever called home.
Twenty-Two
The burning in Jonathon’s throat lessened as the few bits of casting slipped out. He knew the weight of the world hinged on whether the small band of would-be heroes standing feet away from where he lay could stop Deidre and him.
“It’s you!” Deidre shouted, her voice nearly swallowed by the wail of the wind and the scrapping of leaves across the ground.
Jonathon opened his mouth, but the sound didn’t come out. She was wrong. Even though it seemed like he could cast this on his own, her hands fueled his words even without drawing potions or casting circles with them.
We thought we had it all figured out. But he was one step ahead of us. He chose this day knowing she wouldn’t be able to fight. Jonathon rolled out of the path of the rushing water and stood. Dee, prove him wrong. Don’t let Gerard’s death weaken you. Let is strengthen you.
The rain already began to flood along the ground, rushing down the narrow mid-city street and backing up along the storm drains as it always did because the city never had every drain functioning – despite magical help. Jonathon’s shoes squished with every movement, taking in water.
No inch of his clothing or skin remained dry. The sweater that bound their hands together before he broke free to summon the storm lay in a soggy heap just beside his foot.
Married and about to die on the same fucking day – the same thirty minutes.
Remy proved smarter than they’d ever dreamed. The hex centered around two but could be easily performed if only one of them survived. Deidre could cast with the forced motions of her hand, and he could call upon the storm with or without the elements in place.
And you likely will any minute now.
The rain slammed down against his skin like tiny pellets, but it wouldn’t be enough to drown the city unless it went on for days without end. Something impossible with Supernaturals there to change the weather.
Deidre’s free hand wrapped around his. Terror stared out of the depths of her green eyes, screaming in fear at what would come next.
“I’m sorry.” He mouthed the words, knowing the sound wouldn’t come out.
He’d never realized how important she’d be to him. Even as she became his entire world the past few months, Jonathon hadn’t realized what it was doing to him. Then she’d bound them, sacrificing the rest of her life to save his, and everything fell into place.
Jonathon didn’t want love or a relationship. He wanted work. He wanted to offer safety to the world. Or so he thought. Now he wanted to make the world a safer place for women like Deidre. Women – and even men – who’d suffered at the hands of criminals and fought back, finding meaning in the life they still held on to.
Patrick’s voice rang out loudest amongst the chaos, but Jonathon couldn’t understand what the warlock leader shouted. He saw Ivy take Patrick’s hand as Elijah, Sam, and Tanner walked to create a circle around Deidre and him. Their guns remained drawn, ready to fire and blast through the rain like a torpedo if either one of them made another move to bring out the hex.
Jay was still on the patio, three-hundred plus pounds of fierce panther soaked to the bone with his eyes trained on them.
They should have been more careful – his friends. We should have been more careful. We thought we could win because we have before. We didn’t prepare. They should have killed Deidre and I days ago. The sacrifice of a few to save the many, but they wouldn’t let us.
The burning came again. It started as little more than swallowing hot soup for a moment before turning into an inferno of lava rushing over his throat. Jonathon screamed and then rapidly clamped his mouth shut, doing anything he could to stop whatever the burning signaled.
Heat traveled along his jaw, racing like a cheetah until his eyes began to heat in his head. He’d never experienced anything like it. His face stung, screamed for something cool to compress against the skin under and above his eyes.
“God of water, I call to you! Enter the circle, lend me your strength. I cast to you and you alone!” The words burst past his lips the moment they parted. The pain ceased, and Jonathon realized he’d closed his eyes. Panting, his hands fell to his knees as he bent over.
Opening his eyes, Jonathon wasn’t surprised to see a tinge of orange at the edge of his vision, as if fire lingered around his eyeballs. Deidre had let go of his hand, her right hand once more dancing through the air, lending itself to the magic.
He watched, transfixed, as a small stream of green smoke trailed behind her fingers, dancing like fire magic.
The space next to Jonathon lit up as lightning struck the ground beside them, launching dirt, concrete, and moss. A chunk slammed into Jonathon’s jaw, drawing his attention away from the pain throbbing against his throat.
He was wrong. Jonathon thought only one was needed. If Deidre began to cast with her hands the moment he did with his mouth, then there was only one thing he could do.
Time slowed, stopped even, as he watched the rain matt Deidre’s thick black curls against her ivory skin. Fog from the rapid change in temperature and pressure curled around her, drawing out an ethereal grace she’d always had, but he rarely noticed until giving in to his feelings for her. Brilliant, vibrant eyes stared back into his with understanding – or maybe fear – Jonathon couldn’t tell.
The only thing he knew was that he was absolutely falling in love with the woman soaked by the rain beside him. The woman he might very well destroy New Orleans with if he didn’t find the strength to do what was needed once more.
He wanted to tell her but couldn’t. His lips wouldn’t move in the proper direction.
“God of water, bring the tides.”
The wrong words exploded out and were met with a thunderous boom.
She’ll never know. A tear slipped from his eye and slide down his cheek, hidden by the rain crashing around them. Deidre would never know his final thought, his last vision, was her.
His fingers wrapped around the butt of the gun tucked away in the holster around his waist. Jonathon jerked it free, thankful the hex didn’t control his hands, pressed the barrel against his stomach, and pulled the trigger as he looked directly into Deidre’s eyes.
Jonathon heard the gun, even over the storm.
Then there was nothing.
Twenty-Three
Remy understood one thing. The storm had come.
The threat of the wind nearly knocked him on his ass as a gust rushed by where he stood on the corner, staring at the panic just houses away. He would need to duck inside a shop, or else they’d notice a foolish man standing in the storm and know without a doubt it was the man they sought. It didn’t matter that the potion transformed him into a six foot ten, scrawny, white man with a bad haircut. They’d know.
“But, it’s here.” Remy restrained a cackle as he ducked inside the gas station’s store. The small corner shop had zero space thanks to the five bodies crammed inside. Remy hated tight spaces. “I’ll take my chances.”
Shoving open the door, Remy cringed at the ridiculous chime of the bell, but not before he got a look at his reflection in the door.
Curly red hair, freckles, and a thin frame disguised him as little more than an Irish waif, never mind an alpha leader capable of defeating an entire city of cruel and disgusting people.
“They should never have let my people be slaughtered for so many years
.”
With a snarl, Remy didn’t bother to tug his clothing off. He kept his gaze on the group of mixed species half a block away. Not a single one of them looked in his direction. They remained too busy focusing on the witch and warlock who brought about the destruction of New Orleans.
Ducking on the other side of the small shop, Remy kept his eyes open but focused on his alligator half. He could control what shifted first and started with his head. His lips pressed together and quickly extended out. Tiny pokes of pressure broke out along his jaw as the teeth changed shape, and additional ones grew in. A second eyelid, the clear one, grew over his eye.
Now, he could change without suffocating when he sunk into the deepening water. It was up to his thighs, even if it didn’t look that way with his current form.
Remy cringed at the pop of his muscles as his feet and arms widened even as they shortened to damn stumps. He crashed face-first into the disgusting rainwater mixed with New Orleans street dirt.
Had he been human, the taste would have left him gagging. The animal in Remy merely balked at the cleanliness of the water.
As he shifted, Remy, like all shifters, could see no further than directly in front of him. His body continued to twist and distort until his tail bone grew into a tail finishing the shift.
All at once, his senses shifted. He could smell absolutely everything, right down to the rotten sandwich in the dumpster next to him. He could smell the hex in the air, the bitter tang of magic, and the fresh taste of a falling rain signaling it danced in the sky. With a gentle push of his right foot off the ground, Remy floated forward.
There was no need to rush. The hex would take approximately eleven hours to play out. In that time, the rain and wind would destroy the city until the casters could stop it, or it ran its course in a day or so. Either way, everything unfolded exactly as it should, even with the small mishap of a treacherous congregation member last month.
Remy slid through the water like a snake until the scent of panic turned into the vision of dozens of legs submerged up to the thigh in water. He crouched just across the way from the witch’s home.