Tarot Academy 1: Spells of Iron and Bone

by Sarah Piper

  Plan B it is.

  “Alright, big guy. You win.” I dropped the stake and smiled, sidling toward him with all the confidence I could muster, which wasn’t much, considering how hard I was shaking. “What are you doing with a scrawny little kid, anyway?”

  He looked at the kid, then back at me, his lecherous gaze burning my skin. The stench of cigarettes and cheap booze lingered on his breath, like old fish and sour milk.

  “I’ve got everything you need right here,” I purred, choking back bile as I unzipped my jacket. “Unless you’re not man enough to handle it?”

  His gaze roamed my curves, eyes dark with lust.

  “You’re about to find out,” he warned. “Ain’t ya?”

  He shoved the kid away, and in one swift move, he grabbed me and spun me around, pinning me face-first against the bricks.

  He was a hell of a lot faster than I’d given him credit for.

  “So you’re an all talk, no action kind of bitch?” He wrenched my arms behind me, the intense pain making my eyes water. His sour breath was hot on the back of my neck, his hold impossibly strong, my knife impossibly out of reach. “That ends now.”

  A few blocks off, an ambulance screamed into the night, but it wasn’t coming for us. The kid and I were on our own.

  “Mmm. You got some ass on you, girl.” He shoved a hand into the back pocket of my jeans and grabbed a handful of my flesh. “I like that in a woman.”

  Of course you do.

  After all these years making illegal, late-night deliveries to the seediest supernatural haunts in town, this wasn’t my first rodeo. The one-liners, the threats, the grabby hands… Human or monster, guys like this never managed to deviate from the standard dickhole playbook.

  But this was the first guy who’d actually pinned me to a wall.

  At least he’d ditched the kid. I tried to get her attention now, to urge her to take off, but she’d tucked herself behind a Dumpster, paralyzed with fear.

  The man pressed his greasy lips to my ear. “No more bullshit, witch.”

  You don’t know the half of it, asshole.

  He didn’t—that much was obvious. Just another dude with a tiny dick who tossed around the word “witch” like an insult.

  My vision flickered again, rage boiling up inside, clawing at my insides like a caged animal searching for weak points.

  It wanted out.

  I took a deep breath, dialed it back down to a simmer.

  God, I would’ve loved to light him up—spell his ass straight to oblivion. But I hadn’t kept my mojo on lockdown for damn near a decade just to risk exposure for this prick.

  So magic was out. I couldn’t reach my knife. And my top-notch negotiating skills had obviously failed.

  Fuck diplomacy.

  I let my head slump forward in apparent defeat.

  Then slammed it backward, right into his chin.

  He grunted and staggered back, but before I could spin around or reach for my knife, he was on me again, fisting my hair and shoving my face against the wall.

  “Nice try, little cunt. Now you eat brick.”

  “Don’t!” the girl squeaked. “Just… just let us go.”

  “Aw, that’s cute.” He let out a satisfied moan like he’d just discovered the last piece of cake in the fridge. “You’ll get your turn, baby.”

  Okay, she’d saved me from a serious case of brick-rash—not to mention a possible skull fracture—but now she was back on his radar. And I still couldn’t get to the knife.

  Time for plan B. Or was this C?

  Fuck it.

  “Hey. I’ve got some money,” I said. “Let us go, and it’s yours.”

  “Yeah?” He perked up at that. “How much we talkin’?”

  “Like I said—some.”

  Lie. At the moment, I was loaded. Most of the $3,000 I’d already collected tonight was in the van, wrapped in a McDonald’s bag and shoved under the seat. I also had $200 in a baggie inside my boot and another $800 in my bra, because I believed in diversifying my assets.

  My commission depended on me getting the cash and van back to the docks without incident. I couldn’t afford incidents. Rent was due tomorrow, and Sophie had already covered me last month.

  But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk him hurting the kid.

  “It’s in my boot,” I said. “Left one.”

  “We’ll see about that, Blondie.” He yanked me away from the wall and shoved me to the ground, wet pavement biting into the heels of my hands.

  With a boot to my back, he pushed me flat on my stomach, then crouched down and grabbed my wrists, pinning them behind me with one of his meaty hands. With his free hand, he bent my leg back and yanked off my boot.

  Bastard.

  “I hope you feel good about your life choices,” I grumbled.

  Another wheezing laugh rattled through his chest, and he coughed. “Choice ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

  Whatever. I waited until he saw the baggie with the cash, let him get distracted and stupid over his small victory.

  The instant he released my wrists and went for the money, I pushed up on all fours and slammed my other boot heel straight into his teeth.

  The crunch of bone was pure music, but his howl of agony could’ve called the wolves.

  I had just enough time to flip over and scamper to my feet before he rose up and charged, pile-driving me backward into the wall. The wind rushed out of my lungs on impact, but I couldn’t give up. I had to keep fighting. Had to make sure he wouldn’t hurt the girl.

  I clawed at his face and shoved a knee into his groin, but damn it—I couldn’t get enough leverage. His hands clamped around my throat, rage and fire in his eyes, blood pouring from his nose and mouth as he spit out broken teeth.

  He cocked back an arm, but just before his fist connected, I went limp, dropping to the ground like a pile of rags.

  The momentum of his swing threw him off balance, and I quickly ducked beneath his arms and darted behind him, crouching down and reaching for the sweet, solid handle of my knife.

  “You can’t win,” he taunted as he turned to face me. Neither his injuries nor the newly acquired lisp diminished his confidence. “I’m bigger, stronger, and I ain’t got no qualms about hurting little cunts like you.”

  Despite the tremble in my legs, I stood up straight, blade flashing in the moonlight.

  “Whoa. Whoa!” Eyes wide, he raised his hands in surrender, slowly backing off. “Hand over the knife, sweetheart.”

  “Not happening.”

  “You’re gonna hurt yourself, waving around a big weapon like that.”

  “Also not happening.”

  “Look. You need to calm the fuck down before—” A coughing fit cut him short, and he leaned against the wall, one hand on his chest as he gasped for air.

  I held the knife out in front of me, rock steady, finally getting my footing. Chancing a quick glance at the girl, I jerked my head toward the other end of the alley, willing her to bolt.

  Her sudden, panicked gasp and a blur of movement beside me were all the warning I had before the dude slammed into me again, tackling me to the ground. My knife clattered away.

  Straddling my chest, he cocked back an arm and offered a bloody, near-toothless smile. “Time to say goodnight, witch.”

  “Leave her alone!” No more than another flash in my peripheral vision, the kid leaped out from behind the Dumpster, flinging herself at our attacker.

  She scratched and punched for all she was worth, eyes blazing and wild. I’d never seen anyone so fierce.

  But he simply batted her away like she was nothing. A fly. A gnat. A piece of lint.

  She hit the ground hard.

  I gasped, heart hammering in my chest, shock radiating through my limbs. She wasn’t a fly or a gnat. She was a fucking child in a unicorn hoodie, lost and scared and totally alone, and he’d thrown her down.

  Just like that.

  Still pinned in place, I couldn’t even see where she�
�d landed.

  But I would never forget that sound. Her head hitting the pavement. The eerie silence that followed. Seconds later, another ambulance howled into the darkness, nowhere close enough to help.

  “What did you do?” I screamed, no longer caring who or what might’ve heard me. “She’s just a kid!”

  I clawed at the man’s chest, but I was pretty sure he’d already forgotten about me.

  “No. No way. Fuck this bullshit.” He jumped up to his feet, staggered back a few steps, then took off without another word.

  Still trying to catch my breath, I crawled over next to the girl, adrenaline chasing away my pain. Blood pooled beneath her head, spreading out like a dark halo. Her breathing was shallow.

  “Hey. I’m right here,” I whispered. “It’s okay, baby.”

  She was thin as a rail, her wet jeans and threadbare hoodie hanging off her shivering frame.

  “Jesus, you’re freezing.” I shucked off my jacket and covered her body, careful not to move her. “He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  I swept the matted hair from her forehead. Her skin was clammy, her eyes glassy and unfocused, but she was still conscious. Still there, blinking up at me and the dark, cloudy sky above.

  “What’s your name, sweet pea?” I asked.

  Blink. Blink.

  “Hon, can you tell me your name?”

  She sucked in a breath. Fresh tears leaked from her eyes. That had to be a good sign, right?

  “Um. Yeah,” she whispered. “It’s… Breanne?”

  “Breanne?”

  “Sometimes Bean.”

  “Bean. That’s a great nickname.” I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, my fingers coming away sticky with blood. “Hang in there, Bean. I’m going for help.”

  “No! Don’t leave me here. I—” She reached for me, arms trembling, skin white as the moon. “Grape jelly. Grape—”

  Grape jelly grape, she’d said. And then her eyes went wide, and I watched the spark in her go out.

  Just like that.

  “Bean!” I pressed my fingers beneath her jaw, then checked her wrist, desperate to find a pulse.

  But it was too late.

  Here in the middle of vamp central, the sweet kid in the unicorn hoodie—the one who’d ultimately saved my life—was dead.

  Ready for more? Dive into the sexy supernatural world of The Witch’s Rebels! Grab your copy of Shadow Kissed now!

  About Sarah Piper

  Sarah Piper is the author of sexy, swoony urban fantasy and paranormal romance novels, including the Kindle All-Star winning series, The Witch’s Rebels, and the new Tarot Academy series.

  She lives with her husband in Colorado (though that changes frequently) (the location, not the husband), where she spends her days sleeping like a vampire and her nights making inappropriate jokes, writing witchy stories, playing with her ever-expanding collection of Tarot cards, binge-watching Supernatural (Team Dean!), and obsessing over the best way to brew a cup of tea.

  You can find her online at SarahPiperBooks.com and hanging out in her Facebook readers group, Sarah Piper's Sassy Witches! If you're sassy, or if you need a little more sass in your life, or if you need more Dean Winchester gifs in your life (who doesn't?), come hang out!