by Ivy Asher
I should feel relieved at the fact that I’m still in Grammy Ruby’s—I mean, my—shop and not in some dank basement, chained to a wall, but all I can feel right now is pissed. Well, that and like I just went ten rounds with a grizzly bear.
Ugh. What did he do to me?
I let out an irritated groan and try to sit up as the song ends. I notice that the soul thief is currently holding Hoot and scratching him behind the ears. Hoot—being the traitor that he is—is loving it. My growl sounds more akin to a groan as I push up from the onyx table that my ancestors have used for their readings for longer than anyone knows.
“Put him down,” I order, glad that I sound more annoyed than pained.
Rogan studies me for a moment, and I can’t discern if he’s checking that I’m okay or looking for weaknesses. He pulls Hoot up to his face and kisses the top of his head and inhales deeply.
“Did you just get a bath, little buddy? You smell so good, you handsome little tater tot,” he coos at him.
I bite back a scoff as I watch Rogan kiss him again. Hoot rubbed himself all over my dirty underwear while I was in the shower this morning. The only thing he smells like is eau de mon vagina. Rogan’s eyes never leave mine as he gives Hoot one last rub down and then sets him on the ground. Hoot snorts and trots out of the room, and I feel some of my worry and tension drain as my familiar moves far away from this man.
“So I guess the what happens to my bones happens to yours is a load of crap since you don’t look like someone just knocked you out,” I grumble as I try to talk my muscles into helping me move.
“I said what happens to my bones happens to yours, not the other way around. I bound you to me, not me to you. That’s how a familiar bond works.”
“I thought you couldn’t do that with humans?” I growl as fury rocks through me. I use it to fuel my movement.
I scoot off the ebony table, feeling a little too virgin sacrifice perched atop it to find out what the hell is going on. Rogan’s moss-green eyes watch me intensely as I get to my feet. I take a second to test my weight to ensure my legs don’t crumble beneath me, and just when I’m sure that I’m good and ready to ball my fist and take another swing at his too handsome face, his smooth voice stops me.
“I’ll put you out and wait for you to wake up as many times as I need in order for you to hear me,” he threatens, but he says it in such a silky assured way that it takes my mind a moment to get past his tone and focus on the context of his words.
Tensing, I narrow my gaze at him and contemplate if I can run out the door and get into my car before this big asshole can catch me.
He tsks at me as though he can see my thoughts painted in the air clear as day.
“Can you read my mind?” I demand, frustration and helplessness overflowing in my veins.
“No, but I can read your face. And yes, you can create a familiar bond with humans and, like in this case, with other witches. It takes a level of power most magic users don’t possess anymore, which is why they’ve outlawed the practice. It was killing too many of us.”
His arrogance grates on my last nerve, and I’m not even sure how to respond to anything he just said. “Who are you, and what do you want?” I snap.
He leans back in the obsidian velvet wingback chair that my Grammy used to love. I try not to give in to the anger that surges in me as he makes himself comfortable in it, and focus on what to do about him.
There are rules about familiars, and this guy just admitted to breaking most of them. If I could just find a member of the Order and report him, I should be good. They would know what to do, how to fix this. The only problem with that is, I have no idea how to find one. I don’t have the foggiest clue how any of this really works, because I’ve been a damn Osteomancer for less than a day.
“My name is Rogan Kendrick,” he starts, pulling me from my powerless thoughts. “I’m sorry to do what I did to you, but you need protection, and I need your help. We’re running out of time.”
I cross my arms over my chest and cock an eyebrow, silently saying go on.
“A week and a half ago, my brother disappeared. I’m trying to find who took him, and for that, I need your help.”
Empathy swells in my chest, but I remind it that this guy just broke magical law and bound us together without my consent, so it can just fuck off. “What is it that you think I can do?” I snap, half irritated with him and half irritated with how quickly I felt bad for him despite what he’s just done to me.
“For starters, you can tell me what you get from this,” he explains, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small plastic bag, containing what looks to be a light gray powder.
“And it never occurred to you to just ask me to help you with that?” I demand, pointing to the bag in his hand and trying really hard not to punch him again.
“That’s initially what I hoped Ruby would do. That’s why I came out here. But when you said that she had died, I worried that they had gotten to her somehow and that you would be next,” he defends, and my brow furrows with confusion.
“Who is they?”
Rogan pushes out of my grandmother’s chair and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure,” he confesses, deflating slightly, and alarm bells go off in my head.
This dude is mental. I’ve been attacked and bound to a man that is certifiable. Oh goody.
I take a step back, and his eyes narrow. Of course he has gorgeous long black eyelashes framing his already captivating green eyes. He’s the most dangerous lure I’ve ever seen: mouthwatering on the outside with a crunchy batshit-crazy center.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he growls.
“Excuse me? You waltzed into my shop, magicked me, and dropped your crazy right on the ground for all to see. I’ll look at you any damn way I want to.”
“I’m not crazy, and I’m not wrong. Something is going on in the magical community. Someone is taking our kind. There are four Osteomancers on the northern continent—know how many of them are missing?”
I gape at him, not sure what to say.
“All of them except you.”
“You’re an Osteomancer?” I ask, surprised by the discovery. I figured we’d give each other the tingles or there’d be a knowing sensation that would come over me when I was near another witch.
“No. I’m a Hemamancer, my brother is the Bone Witch in the family.”
It takes me a moment to mentally flip through my lessons as a kid and figure out what that means.
He’s a Blood Witch.
I guess that explains what he did earlier when he knocked me out. “Wait, you can have more than one kind of magic in a bloodline?” I ask, shocked.
He gives me an incredulous look, like he thinks my question is somehow mocking him. “Did your grandmother not teach you about our world?” Moss-green eyes take me in with concern, and there’s a definitive spark of judgment in his gaze.
“She tried.” I pause, feeling sheepish and hating it. “Everyone in my family thought the bones would go to someone else. I didn’t think I needed to pay much attention,” I admit.
“So you don’t even know what you’re doing?” he demands dubiously, looking around as though he’s now questioning what he’s gotten himself into. He shoves the plastic bag with powdery remnants back into his pocket and starts to pace.
Technically he’s right, but the way he’s acting right now bothers the crap out of me. Yeah, I’m rusty and massively underprepared for the task at hand, but it’s not like all hope is lost. I’ll get there...eventually.
Warmth moves through me, and I can’t help but feel like it’s an atta girl from my Grammy Ruby. A small smile ticks at the corners of my mouth as the sensation washes over me, and a confidence I’ve sorely been lacking settles in my soul. I square my shoulders and step in Rogan’s path. He’s forced to stop pacing and look at me.
“Are you kidding me?” I demand. “You barge into my life, take things without asking, and now you’re going to throw a fit
because those things don’t work exactly how you want them to. What kind of spoiled little shit are you?” He balks. “It’s going to take me a minute to get my magical feet under me, so to speak, but I will, asshole, and so help me god, you will rue the day—”
Laughter cuts me off, and I stare open-mouthed at Rogan as another chuckle slips past his lips. What is with this guy and thinking threats and rage are funny?
“Did you seriously just say I would rue the day?” he asks.
“Are you bipolar?” I query. One minute he’s pissed and pacing, and the next he’s unhinged with amusement. Yep, definitely crazy. Another round of chuckles overtakes him, and I roll my eyes. “Listen, I’m clearly not who you were hoping for, so why don’t you just lift the binding you put on me and be on your merry way. I’m sure you can find another Osteomancer to help you with your little problem.” I gesture at his pocket, the one with the baggie and the questionable contents.
Rogan sobers, and the odd look that just flashed through his eyes gives me pause.
“You do know how to lift it, don’t you?”
A red flush creeps up his neck, and my eyes go wide.
“You’re seriously judging me and my Osteomancer proficiency when you’re going around using magic you know nothing about?” I shout at him, stepping closer threateningly.
“I know how to use it,” he retorts. “Just not how to undo it. And proficient or not, you’re still my best hope.” He pauses for a beat and fixes me with a determined stare. “You’re mine, Bone Witch, until I say otherwise.”
My fist is connecting with his jaw before he can even blink. Pain explodes in my hand, and I make a note to yell at my kickboxing instructor. Never once did that prick warn me about how badly it hurts to hit something without gloves on. Rogan’s face whips to the right with bone cracking speed, but I’m reaching for the metal rod that Grammy Ruby keeps by her chair to shut the curtains so she doesn’t have to get up to do it.
Rogan pulls me back, but I just get my fingers wrapped around the weapon as he does. I swing like my name is Hank Aaron, and connect with his shoulder. He lets me go, which makes me stumble back as he yelps and grabs his arm with his uninjured hand, but I don’t have time to feel bad. I need to incapacitate him as much as possible and get the fuck away.
I swing for his leg, and it does the trick. He’s down on the ground like a crumbling tower of cards, and I’m sprinting for the door. Yellow curtains billow in my wake as I shove them out of my way and run out into the main part of the shop.
Witches. What binds witches? I shout internally at myself as I search the shelves of the shop I played in when I was a kid. Salt is for demons, ash for angels… I reach the right bank of shelves and search through the bottles, hoping it will come to me.
Witch hazel, no. Turmeric, no. Wormroot, ugh! Frantically, I shove bags and bottles aside in search of something that will help me. Laurelwood...yes! That’s it. I reach for the bag of wood chips just as I’m tackled from the side. I go down like Jim Halpert in that Office meme, wide eyes and all. The bag goes flying from my hand, and once again I find myself on the floor of my shop with Rogan’s big ass on top of me.
I don’t waste time with screaming and swearing this go-round. Instead, I muscle myself toward where the bag slid. I don’t care if I have to drag him all the way there, I’m getting to the bag of laurelwood. Hoot wakes up long enough to see that we’re there and then lies back down and promptly goes back to snoring.
“Lennox, stop,” Rogan growls at me, his strong arms wrapping around me as though he’s readying himself to pin me down.
I spot a pile of pink grains and reach out to grasp a handful.
“I don’t want to hurt you, please!” he commands again.
Twisting in his hold, I shove my palm full of Himalayan salt right in his eyes. He shouts and bats my hand down, rubbing the sting from his vision as I wiggle away. The bag of laurelwood slides inches further as I scramble for it. I curse and stretch out as far as I can, my fingertips skimming the plastic. Just another inch. Hands grab my hips and start trying to pull me away.
I screech and reach with everything I have. Suddenly the bag is in my grip. I don’t know how it happened as I was being dragged further from it, but it’s in my grasp. Without hesitation, I flip onto my back as Rogan pulls me closer to him. His eyes are alight with ferocious determination. He doesn’t look angry, more like an apex predator about to down the prey in its sights.
Let’s see what he thinks about my foot in his neck. I kick for all that I’m worth, and he stops pulling at me to guard himself. He assumes I’m going for a crotch shot, and when his hands drop down, I aim for his neck instead. He gasps and grabs for his throat, and a victorious cheer goes off inside of me. Skittering back, I rip the bag open with my teeth and start throwing laurelwood around his bent over form. My breaths come fast and panic-filled as I scramble to my feet and rush to encircle him before he recovers from my assault. Wood chips fall to the ground in frenzied throws, and just when Rogan looks up at me with promises of retribution written all over his face, I close the circle.
A light moves through the ring of laurelwood, confirming its completion, and unsteadily I step back and exhale a sigh of relief.
He’s trapped.
I’m safe.
Rogan watches me, his chest heaving from his efforts to stop me. I want to smile, crow something childish like take that, asshole, but the way he’s looking at me steals the wind from my overconfident sails. A smile tilts one corner of his mouth, and I watch as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small switchblade. The blade slashes down his palm, and he tilts his hand to allow the drops of blood to fall to the floor inside the laurelwood circle.
“Your magic is bound to me, Lennox. Did you forget that?”
Well, shit.
With each vermilion drop, my heart rate picks up. I look around the mess that is now my shop, hoping against hope that somehow the solution to this new problem will be sitting right there in front of me. The Blood Witch starts chanting, and it tears a gasp from my lips as I feel a pull on the magic nestled at my core. A buzzing feeling overcomes me as a current of power flows from my veins into his.
Fuck, is this what Hoot feels when I use my abilities? No wonder he’s been trying to choke me to death with his noxious farts. I rack my brain for a way to make it stop, but once again my lack of attentiveness in Witch 101 is coming back to bite me in the ass. I could scream in frustration at being such a shitty witch heir, but my lungs feel cold, and I feel like I’m being stripped of my essence from the inside out.
Words pop up in my mind, disjointed and unhelpful as the Blood Witch pulls on my magic to free himself from my laurelwood prison. I can practically hear Grammy Ruby’s voice spouting off the different languages that witches use for their incantations, but none of it is helpful as a flicker goes through the barrier separating me and Rogan Kendrick. I can think of nothing that will give me the upper hand as he siphons my magic with each second that passes.
And then it comes to me.
“Tedas ruk shaw aus forin ve Hemamancer. Ise hiruse ou fooiq tork shin iei.”
Rogan shouts no as the last syllable leaves my lips, but the heat that slams into me denies his plea. My feet lift off the ground as a blazing force bows me to its will. I’m all at once consumed by power as I do to him exactly what he did to me. I bind his essence, his magic, to mine, making us both a conduit for each other’s abilities. I seal the circle between our souls, and then I collapse in a battered heap on the floor as the power ebbs and I’m left seared inside and reeling.
“What did you do?” Rogan coughs out, his voice pained and gravellier than it was before.
“What you deserved,” I retort, my own tone mimicking that of a chain-smoker of fifty years. If he thought I was just going to sit idly by while he treated me like some magical gas station, then he just learned how wrong he was. If you take from me, I’ll take right back. I’ve always been an eye for an eye kind of girl. Let’s see him
command me now.
Rogan tries to push to his feet, his corded arms shaky and his legs stiff. On the second try, he finally gets himself upright and fixes me with a glare. I’m still on the ground, and if I have it my way, I’m just going to take a little nap before I’m forced to start cleaning up the mess that’s one hundred percent Rogan’s fault.
“You tethered us,” he accuses, his lichen-laced eyes all the more beautiful for the fury floating in them.
“No, fucker, you did that,” I argue, trying and failing to get up myself. No way am I going to let this prick lord over me, disdain dripping from his every word. Maybe I can stand on a downed shelf, bring us closer in height. My arms do their best impression of over-boiled noodles, and I give up. Screw it, standing is overrated.
“I created an anchor, you tethered us!”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“Tethering makes our power reliant. They’re no longer individual sources of magic, they’re linked.”
“How is that different from what you did?” I demand.
Rogan releases an exasperated huff, and if I had the energy and Giselle Bundchen’s legs, I’d kick him in the throat again.
“Familiars are a one way connection for a reason. We pull magic and energy from them as an extra layer of protection for us. We can also siphon magic and energy into them to be stored in the event that we get overloaded to the point of danger or death. The witch decides and takes or gives what he or she needs. But it doesn’t work the same if the link is full circle. Both the witch and the familiar then have control, and that’s dangerous. You just tainted a link that was meant for protection, and now calling on the familiar bond will be dangerous for both of us.”
Well, isn’t that just perfect. I haven’t even taken my magic for a proper joy ride yet, and already I’ve wrecked it.
“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about flouting magical law and pulling crap like this,” I lob at him, the accusation sounding impotent and juvenile even to my ears.