She sat with her back to the store, her profile barely visible. The strategic position made it almost impossible to hear what she had to say, but one quick turn of her head, and she could see the entire store from her higher vantage.
She held the woman’s rapt attention with deftness and skill, but the minute we stepped inside, she turned her sharp gaze on us. The first time I saw her, I felt an instant connection. A pull, as though she were a bug zapper and I was a beetle. Maybe a June bug. Or a firefly. It was the same kind of kinship I’d felt when I first saw Annette in the ninth grade, and it fascinated me.
I turned and pretended to shop, hoping she wouldn’t remember me, or who I’d been with the last time I came in, because she’d paused her session to throw Annette—and me by proxy—out of the store. Also, we’d technically shoplifted. I felt bad about that.
But she’d had as strange a reaction to me as I’d had to her. She’d seemed taken aback by me, and I would’ve loved to know why.
I watched her from my periphery. Her gaze lingered on first me then Roane, before the older woman dragged her attention back to the business at hand by clearing her throat. Quite loudly. The silver-haired woman seemed agitated, her rubied mouth drawn into a severe line across her face as she asked Love a series of questions. I wasn’t sure who I felt sorrier for: the woman or Love.
On one hand, the woman clearly had a lot riding on Love’s reading. Most psychics were little more than charlatans, and though I’d gotten the impression Love was the real deal, like my grandmother or Serinda, to place so much faith in something like the reading of one’s palms seemed foolhardy.
On the other, the severe lines on the woman’s face, the hard expression, made me think she wanted the reading to go a certain way, and she was not going to accept anything else.
Apparently, Love obliged. The woman gasped and sat back in her chair before her gaze traveled to the man sitting in the waiting area. Thus, my concern ricocheted to him and his well-being. The woman did not seem happy with him.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned to Roane and whispered, “What did she say?”
He chuckled softly and returned a figurine in the shape of a zombie back to its hook. “Isn’t that breaking some kind of confidentiality thing you witches have?”
“What? No. Maybe. I don’t know. Is that man in danger?”
“Only because he wants to be.”
“What does that mean?”
Love looked over her shoulder at us, her glare speaking volumes, so I shut my mouth and continued perusing the selection. Who knew they made cauldron-shaped coffee mugs? Her divided attention, no matter how fleeting, was enough to annoy her client, a woman clearly so entitled, she’d give a European princess a run for her money. She slapped her hand on the table, the sharp sound piercing in the small shop.
My hackles skyrocketed. I started to step over to them, to defend the talented witch, but Love didn’t seem to need my assistance. Slowly and with methodical care, she turned an astonished gaze on the woman.
“I am paying you for your time. I expect your full attention.”
Beyond livid, Love unfolded from her seat, took out what I could only assume was the woman’s check, and tore it in half. She tossed the two halves on the table and pointed to the door, saying through gritted teeth, “Out.”
The woman gasped and lunged back again, as though Love had slapped her. Then she snatched up the pieces and rose in a huff, almost upending the table. “I am filing a formal complaint with the city,” she said, shouting for her husband as she stormed out.
The man folded the magazine, gestured goodbye with a nod to Love, and went after his wife, his expression part dread and part annoyance. Poor guy.
I couldn’t believe what I just saw. I stepped closer to Roane and asked, “People still write checks?”
“Where’s your friend?” Love asked as she stepped off the platform and headed toward us. It was a small shop, so it didn’t take her long.
“Um, Love?” The girl behind the cash register stood with eyes wide. She pointed to the door the woman just stormed out of.
“It’s okay, Gwen,” Love said.
“No, it’s just, I already ran the check through the system.”
The grin that softened Love’s face was priceless. “I know. She’ll be back, I’m sure, but until then…” She turned her sparkling green gaze, the one that was as sharp as a scalpel, back to me. “Where’s your friend?”
“Home.”
She focused on Roane, her poker face slipping for barely a microsecond as she took him in, then turned back to me.
“Can you tell me what she did?” I asked, wondering what in the world my BFF could’ve done to warrant such animosity.
Her expression hardened. “She knows what she did.”
I stepped closer. “Yeah, but that’s the problem. I don’t.”
She eyed me for a long moment like she was trying to see into my soul. It would never work. I was certain I didn’t have one. After a silence so uncomfortable, I fought the urge to scratch my arms, she asked, “What are you?”
Okay, then. “I’m just a girl, standing in front of another girl, asking the second girl what on earth the first girl’s BFF did that was so bad it got the first girl’s BFF banned from the second girl’s shop.” I, perhaps, could’ve worded that better.
“Fine,” she said. “Don’t answer. What is he?” She gestured toward Roane who was perched against the checkout counter with his arms crossed.
“He’s just a man, standing in front of—”
“Is this conversation going anywhere?” She turned and headed back to her mojo area. “I have another client coming in five.”
“So I have five minutes?”
“You have two.” When I questioned her with a raised brow, she added, “I have to pee.”
“Oh, sorry. Okay, two minutes. I’ll take them.”
We stepped onto the platform, and she sat down. I sank into the seat across from her.
I had an entire coven I could go to, expert advice on call twenty-four-seven, but I wanted to talk to someone outside the coven. Someone without a vested interest.
“I just have a couple of questions.”
She held out her hand and said, “Palm.”
“Oh.” I gave her my palm, but the minute my skin touched hers, an electrical arc passed between us.
She sucked in a soft breath and eased away from me, yet kept hold of my hand with one of hers. She didn’t take her wary gaze off me when she leaned over the side of the table and grabbed a small bottle.
“Okay, well, I’ll get right to it,” I said. I didn’t have a lot of time. “Can a witch manipulate memories?”
She tipped the bottle just enough to put a drop of oil on one of her fingers as she studied me.
“Especially those of another witch?”
“Depends,” she said as she drew a symbol on my palm with the oil.
“That smells really nice.” I picked up the bottle, but it wasn’t labeled. “Patchouli?” I asked.
She lowered her head, locked her gaze onto mine, and said… I had no idea what. The language was foreign. Something old. Maybe Latin? Or Farsi? Or Spanglish?
I leaned closer, suddenly very interested in what she saw. “Well? Are you getting anything?”
“What are you?”
I frowned in disappointment. “Are you going to tell me my future or what?”
She stumbled back, almost falling out of her chair, and repeated, “What are you?”
That time I frowned in suspicion and lifted the bottle again. “Okay, what was this supposed to do to me?”
She stepped as far away as her gated mojo area would allow. “It’s… it’s a truth serum. You should have been compelled to tell me the truth.”
I crossed my arms. “Well, that’s not nice.”
“How did you… Why didn’t that work?”
“Probably because… Wait. Why?” I asked, suddenly worried. “Does it usually? Is there somethin
g wrong with me?”
“Yes and yes.” Her gaze darted around as though she were looking for an escape.
Did this have anything to do with the fact that I was a charmling? I could hardly ask her that. She could team up with a warlock and try to steal my powers.
I held up my palms in surrender and eased to my feet. “Look. We’ve clearly gotten off on the wrong foot.”
“I saw your hunter, warlock,” she said, her voice little more than a hiss. “You stay the fuck away from me.”
Sensing his nearness, I looked over my shoulder to see Roane had come onto the platform and stood behind me.
She grabbed a small crystal off a shelf, held it in her open palm, and waved her other hand over it, chanting something in that same language. The crystal started to glow a beautiful turquoise about the same time Roane doubled over, crashing to the ground as he held his head in pain.
Eleven
You know you drink too much coffee if:
You go to AA meetings for the free java.
—Meme
“Roane!” I fell to the ground beside him as he tensed in agony. “What’s wrong?”
“The sound,” he said, his voice strained as he groaned, the pain becoming too much.
I glared at Love and stood.
She redoubled her efforts, putting her entire body into it, her chanting monotone but the words coming faster and faster. The crystal glowed even brighter, and Roane fell to his side and curled into a fetal position.
“Give me that,” I said, snatching the crystal out of her hand. It stung when I grabbed it. Not horribly so, but I threw it to the side nonetheless, worried it would explode or turn into a sea monster, considering the last few days of my life.
The tension in Roane’s body eased, and he rolled onto his knees, but he still held his head.
I gaped at her. “What the hell, Love?”
She gaped back for an entirely different reason. “You’re not a witch or a warlock.”
“Why did you do that?”
“What are you?” she yelled, fear glistening in her eyes.
I bent to help Roane onto the chair I’d vacated, his large body weakened by whatever she’d done, and knelt in front of him. His handsome face was still lined with pain, but he was breathing. “What did you do to him?”
“He’s a shifter,” she said. “What kind? A fox? A wolf?”
“A fuck you,” he said from between clenched teeth, but talking seemed to hurt his head even worse.
“Great.” I glared at her. “Now he’s grumpy.”
But I remembered something. I’d taken away his pain before. The pain of a thousand crushed bones. Or a hundred. Either way, I sought out the spell and drew it over him with two fingers. The thick lines seeped with the blinding glow of my magics, and I pushed them onto him.
He slumped closer, draping his arms over my shoulders as the pain leeched out of him, and he relaxed completely.
I looked over to scold our newest acquaintance again, but she lay prostrate on the ground, her knees folded under her. She was whispering something I couldn’t understand.
This entire situation had spiraled out of control so fast it made me seasick. We needed to leave her be. Let her recoup. But before I could help Roane to his feet, he bolted out of the chair, moving faster than my eyes could track. He was in front of me one second and behind me the next. He wrapped a hand around Love’s throat and had her braced against the wall before I could say who’s your daddy. A low, guttural growl rumbled out of his chest.
“Roane!” Jumping up, I hurried over to them and latched on to his arm. “Roane, let her go this instant!”
She was still mumbling, and I finally recognized one of the words: Sarru.
My heart sank. “No way. Not you, too.”
“Please, forgive me.” She pleaded, her face flushed, her cheeks wet, her voice strained. But she did have a massive hand constricting her larynx. And her airflow.
I yanked again. “Roane, seriously.”
“I didn’t know, Sarru. Please—”
“—stop.” I pulled Roane off her at last, grabbed a rag that smelled like lemon-scented furniture polish off a shelf, and dabbed at her cheeks. “Sweetheart, stop. What is going on?”
She dodged my ministrations and fell to the ground, going all prostrate and worshippy again. “Please, forgive me.”
Oh, for the love of… “Okay. You’re forgiven. Now stop it.” I helped her off the ground, and we sat on our knees, gazing into each other’s eyes. Or we would have been if she would look at me, but she kept her gaze downcast.
A few customers came into the shop and began browsing, but the cashier was gone. We’d frightened her off.
“Be with you in a minute,” I said happily, then I looked at Roane. “Can you see to the customers while we talk?”
He glared at the audacity.
“That would be a no,” I told Love.
She covered her face with both of her hands.
I gave her a moment to gather herself and spotted the can of furniture polish. It was the multi-surface kind, so I polished my nails while I waited.
The group that came in hovered nearby, clearly killing time, waiting their turns to have their palms read by a real Salem witch. Love did have a business to run, and we’d taken up far too much of her day. And we almost killed her, so there was that.
“We’ll go,” I said when she continued to sob into her hands. “But can I come back later?”
She sniffed and lowered her hands just enough to show her emerald irises, her lids swollen around them. “Please don’t go, Sarru.”
“Defiance.” I held out my hand. “Defiance Dayne.”
She took it and bowed her head over our clasped hands. “It’s such an honor. I’ve never met a real charmling.”
“You know what I am?”
“Of course. No one but a charmling draws spells on the air like that. I’ve never seen anything like it. And”—she looked at Roane—“I thought you were a shifter.”
“He is a shifter.”
She blinked, confused. “He’s not your warlock?”
“He wishes,” I said with a snort. “Why would you think that?”
“Because I saw a hunter in town.”
“Where?” Roane asked, his tone brusque.
“On the street. Like he was waiting for something. Or someone. Does he belong to your warlock?”
“No, hon.” I helped her onto a chair. “He may belong to a warlock, but I do not.”
The surprise in her expression said it all. She stared a really long time. Long enough for me to conjure elevator music to entertain myself. “How is that possible?”
Now was certainly not the time to get into it. I sat across from her and leaned closer. “Look, I’m new to the whole charmling thing. I’ve only just gotten my powers back, so—”
“Back?”
“Yes. They were… dormant. For, like, forty years. Give or take. It’s a long story.”
“How is that possible?” she repeated.
“You’d have to ask my grandmother. But just to be clear, you don’t know why the hunter is in town?”
An idea seemed to take shape. She took hold of my hand. “He must be here for you, Sarru.” Her gaze shot to Roane. “You must protect her.”
“No, no. It’s okay. I have a coven. Kind of. I’ve only met a few so far, but I’m meeting the rest this afternoon.”
She shook her head. “That’s not enough. You need a warlock to protect you.”
“No. It’s amazing how I need a warlock to protect me when they are the very reason I need protection in the first place.”
She sank back into her chair. “You’re right, Sarru.”
“Defiance.”
“I apologize. But you haven’t been under a warlock’s protection, how have you kept your powers for so long?”
“Again, you’d have to ask my grandmother.”
Then another thought hit her, if the stunned expression she leveled on me meant
anything. “But that would mean you’ve had your powers since you were a kid. I don’t understand.”
“I was born with them, apparently.”
“You’re… you’re a blood heir.”
“Yes.”
She sank onto the floor and tried to do the prone thing again.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I said, physically stopping her from sinking to the ground. Once I had her ass planted back in the chair, I had to ask, “How did you even know? How did you know I was… different?”
“Your energy. I’ve always been able to see auras, and yours is… Well, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
“How can you see them?” I was a charmling, and even I couldn’t see people’s auras.
“I’m a blood witch. My mother is from a long line of witches, but she says I’m much more powerful than she ever was.”
I may not have known much about witches in general, but to say Love was a powerful witch was an understatement. Anyone who could bring Roane to his knees deserved more than a modicum of respect.
“My mother believes I inherited my power from my father, though she doesn’t know who he is.”
Strange coincidence. My mother didn’t know who my father was either. And the disturbing culture of misogyny seeps even into the witch community, a community that was traditionally a balance between the masculine and the feminine. I could see why the original witches created the charmlings. To protect their sisters, both witch and human, from the masculine regime. If they could see us now.
“I’m sorry, Sarru—”
“Defiance.”
“—you had a question.”
“Yes. Of course. You have customers. You need to get back to work.”
“That’s not it. You must get back to your coven. You must be protected.”
That whole line of thinking was getting old, but I didn’t tell her that. “All right. I promise to go home right after this where I’m protected by a powerful witch, a haunted house, a wolf shifter, and a feisty best friend who may or may not be a crow when I get home.” Hopefully she’d been practicing. “Can a witch use some kind of spell to manipulate memories?”
Beguiled Page 15