Beguiled

by Darynda Jones

“It’s a certainty. It’s the only explanation.”

  “Didn’t anyone think to keep records of that sort of thing?” I asked.

  “The feuding warlocks stole them all and destroyed them. After they hunted down the descendants, naturally.”

  “It was bloody and brutal,” Gigi added. “A dark time in our history. Several warlocks from prominent families were trying to wrangle control of all three. They each wanted the ultimate power trio. In the end, three of them managed to get one each. The other warlocks were also killed, as were their children.”

  I looked at Annette. “Are we sure we want to be a part of this?”

  “Do we have a choice?” She gestured toward the book. “What’s in there?”

  “A very broad description of the charmlings and their powers. It’s all that we know about them as separate entities. I was going to have you read this, Defiance, when you were ready, if for no other reason than to get to know your sister charmlings better.”

  “Sister charmlings?” I stood and walked to the bookcase, pretending to peruse in order to hide my agitation. “You said it yourself, Gigi, they stole the power, killing the previous charmling in the process. And I’m supposed to want to get to know them better?”

  “They are enslaved, Defiance. Little more than chattel to their warlocks. If anything, they should be pitied.”

  I turned to her. “You told me they’re like celebrities. They want for nothing. That to meet one was like meeting a rock star.”

  “Yes, and how many young rock stars over the centuries have been controlled by the business in which they work? By their managers or producers or labels? How many have been swindled and lied to and cheated only to be dropped at the first sign of declining sales?”

  “Dephne,” Annette said, walking up behind me. “What’s wrong?”

  I couldn’t put it into words. My elation at having Annette become a true charmling—a true sister—took a horrible turn. It was one thing when it was only me. When I was the only target of the unscrupulous warlocks in the world. But now Annette was in their crosshairs. In just as much danger. It tilted everything I’d felt up to this moment on its head.

  “We’re in this together now,” she said. “We’ll have each other’s backs.”

  I nodded, deciding to drop it for now. It wasn’t like my brooding would change anything.

  “And we have an incredible coven behind us. Once you get to know them, Deph, you’ll see. And there’s Roane and the chief and Percival.”

  “And me.”

  We dropped our gazes to the tiny blond gazing up at us. I knelt down to him. Samuel’s cerulean irises were as clear and deep as an ocean. “Hey, handsome. Did you find Ink?”

  He nodded and then released a long sigh. “Yes, but him runned away again.”

  “I’m sorry, buddy. Do you want to hang out with us?”

  He looked around and pointed at Roane. “I want him.”

  “He’s all yours,” I said, wrangling a wicked grin that tried to escape.

  “No. Ruff-ruff.”

  I stifled a snort. “You mean, you want him in wolf form?”

  He nodded, his face brightening at the thought.

  I gave Roane my best pleading face.

  “No,” he said, defensive. “I need in on this.”

  “You’ll be in the house. You’ll hear everything anyway. That is, if your hearing is better.”

  “It is.” He crossed his arms and put a booted foot on the coffee table to be stubborn.

  Gigi rolled up a women’s magazine sitting nearby and swatted his foot.

  He dropped it. “Sorry, Georgi.”

  “If you can hear us, what’s the problem?” I asked.

  “I’m not a dog.”

  I walked over to him and helped him to his feet. “Today you are.”

  “Fine.” He glared at Samuel, then gave him a playful wink. “But you stay here until I’ve shifted, okay? The last thing I need is a kid seeing me naked.”

  Oh, hell. That was a good point. “We’ll be right here.”

  He lifted his shirt over his head as he entered the hall, and we all took a moment to appreciate the finer things in life.

  When he was out of sight, I sank onto the sofa and motioned Samuel closer, wishing I could put him on my lap. “Okay, what’s in the book?”

  “Yeah.” Annette sat beside me. “What are my powers? Am I psychic? I’m psychic, aren’t I?”

  “Well, as you know, Defiance is a seeker. A finder of lost things. Her powers lie in her ability to see into a person’s soul, to find what they are searching for, and to extract the truth.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Annette said, hurrying her along. “Get to the good part.”

  Gigi pressed her lips together, but I had a feeling it was more to hide a grin than admonish the vibrant creature beside me. “Unless I am greatly mistaken, which I’m not, you’re the healer. The alchemist.”

  “No,” Serinda said, holding up an index finger. “Not just an alchemist. A mortiferata.”

  “Yes,” Gigi agreed.

  “Now we’re talking.” She nodded, snapped her fingers, and pointed to herself. “Mortiferata in the house.”

  “You don’t even know what that means,” I said.

  “Still sounds cool.”

  She had me there. “So, what does it mean exactly?” I asked. “Mortiferata?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent certain. I’ve never met a true mortiferata.”

  “But I’m psychic, right?”

  “Mmm, not exactly.”

  Serinda shook her head. “An alchemist’s strength lies in plants and chemistry and medicinal herbs.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You use plants to heal people. But it’s my understanding that a mortiferata can manipulate any organic material on a cellular level.”

  “Meaning?” she repeated.

  “It means you can change the chemical structure of any element into, well, anything you desire.”

  “That’s why everything she touches turns to poison? Or an explosive compound? She unconsciously wants us all dead so it was the magical equivalent of a Freudian slip?” I teased.

  “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

  “Says the girl who can’t even do a spell.”

  She covered my mouth with her free hand, and Samuel laughed. He captured her attention for a moment before she went back to the matter at hand. “You’re sure I’m not psychic? I really feel like I’m a psychic.”

  “Psycho,” I said from behind her hand. “You feel like a psycho. Big difference.”

  She gave up and removed her hand before pushing up her turquoise glasses. “So, I’m just poisonous? That’s my schtick?”

  “I would hardly call it a schtick,” Serinda said.

  “But what good can I possibly do in the world?”

  Gigi scooted forward in her chair. “You are a healer. They are revered far and wide.”

  “More than a seeker?”

  “Hey.” I scowled at her. “This is not a competition.”

  “I know. It’s just, your power is so cool.” She kicked at the carpet.

  “You haven’t heard the best part,” Serinda said. She leaned forward and whispered, “A true mortiferata can kill with a kiss.”

  Based off the expression Annette’s face morphed into, one would think she’d won the lottery, a Pulitzer, and a Nobel Prize all in the same week. She pressed her fists against her mouth and let out a little squeak.

  “But mortiferata are healers first and foremost. They’re alchemists, yes, but they are so much more.”

  She squeaked again. “Can we get back to the kiss? Let’s say I want to kiss a guy, like a certain police officer with incredible pecs, how careful do I need to be?”

  The barest hint of a wince flashed across Gigi’s face before she recovered. She took a moment, then said as congenially as she could, “Very.”

  Annette blinked at her, letting that sink in before having a total meltdown. Well, another
one. “Great.” She stood and started pacing again. “Like my love life isn’t fraught enough already. Let’s throw deadly kisses into the equation. Provided I don’t poison him at dinner by passing the salt. My power sucks.”

  “Your power doesn’t…”

  A low growl reverberated around us, and we watched as a massive red wolf emerged from the shadows of the hall. He stalked forward, his head lowered, his teeth bared, ready to rip into whatever got in his way.

  Samuel squealed in delight, not the least bit scared. He ran through the coffee table and toward the wall to the dining room.

  Roane leapt over the table between us and snapped at him, his growl so low and loud, we all jumped. Samuel reemerged from the dining room and ran toward me. I opened my arms, but Roane cut him off. He screamed and giggled as he ran for the stairs.

  Roane turned toward me and growled, the sound low and guttural, his teeth exposed, his irises full of warning.

  Goosebumps flared over every inch of my body as my lungs seized in my chest.

  He stalked forward and, right before he ripped out my jugular, he leaned in and nuzzled my neck, his tongue sliding out for a quick taste. Then he took off after the kid again.

  We heard giggles and growls and a couple of crashes. I cringed. “Maybe that wasn’t my best idea.”

  “Posh,” Gigi said. “The sweet boy deserves to have some fun. And so does Samuel,” she added, then laughed at her own joke.

  “Right. Because who doesn’t love being chased by a snarling wolf?” Serinda asked, a little horrified.

  “I’ve had worse days.” I turned back to Annette and picked up where we left off. “Your ability does not suck.”

  “It kind of does. Especially if everything I touch turns to poison. What’s going to keep me from poisoning myself?”

  “Annette, you’ve been drinking poisons for days. Clearly you’re immune.”

  “True. I guess I could be a spy, what with my immunity and all. Then again, what if it builds up in my system? What if one morning I wake up after exposing an international arms dealer who found out and put a cobra in my room, and I’m dead? What then?”

  “An international drug ring would hardly put a cobra in your room. They’re far more likely to bust a cap in your ass and call it a day.”

  “A local arms dealer, yes. International ones are far more elegant.”

  “Ah.”

  “Nannette,” Gigi said, annoyed with our arms-dealer conversation, “I do believe you’re missing the bigger picture here.”

  “Precisely.” Serinda was totally starstruck. “You can change any substance on earth into any other. From what I understand, you can change tea into snake venom. Or gold. Or a cure for cancer.”

  “You had me at gold.”

  “Your nature is to heal, of course,” Gigi warned. “If what this book says about the mortiferata charmling is true, you will feel compelled to do so. You won’t be able to stop yourself.”

  “Oh. I guess that’s cool.”

  “And,” she said, her voice singsong, “guess who else was an alchemist.”

  “The Dalai Lama?” Annette asked. Gigi did tell her to guess.

  “Percival.”

  That got her attention. “Percy? He was like me?”

  Percy squeezed her hand as she stared down at him.

  “Wait!” she said, her gaze snapping back to Gigi’s. “Can I turn water into wine?”

  Gigi nodded. “And vice versa.”

  She reared back, aghast. “Georgi, why would anyone want to turn wine into water? Isn’t that, like, counterproductive?” She gasped as another idea hit her, and she turned to me. “We can open our own winery!”

  “We could, yes, but I think the real question is, can you turn water into coffee?”

  The whites of her eyes shone when her eyes rolled back into her head a little. “It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  I giggled and asked the two older women, “Can she? Because coffee makes me feel less murdery, so having a twenty-four-hour supply on tap would be amazing.”

  They nodded in perfect unison.

  “Yes. You said there are others? Other mortiferata?”

  Serinda pressed her lips together. “While there are a few who claim to be, I’m convinced they’re all charlatans. Frauds who spout nothing but flimflam.”

  Was that a real word?

  “There is only one true mortiferata,” Gigi said, agreeing with her friend. “Because only a charmling can be protected against her own powers.”

  Serinda leaned closer to Gigi. “Exactly. Remember when Cicely Cromwell claimed to be mortiferata?”

  Gigi snorted. “The harlot. I’d like to see her drink an entire bottle of cyanide and live to tell the tale.”

  “Right?”

  Roane walked back in, pulling his shirt over his head. I just caught the bottom half of his abs. “He found Ink again.”

  Gigi tsked. “That poor cat.”

  “Nah, it’s good for him.” He stopped beside Gigi’s chair and gave me a once-over. A slow one that had me warming in all the right places.

  “That was some show,” I said. “I thought I might lose my jugular there for a minute.”

  “Yeah.” His gaze dropped to other, more sensitive parts of me. “I would’ve never gone for the jugular.”

  Sixteen

  THEM: I’ll see you in hell!

  ME: Call first. No pop-ins.

  —Meme

  Annette was so wound up, I couldn’t convince her to go to bed. She kept pacing and ranting, one minute in love with the bizarre turn of events, the next bemoaning it, wondering what good she could possibly do. How she could help people. In the span of three minutes and twelve seconds, she considered becoming a chemist, a brain surgeon, a CIA operative, a perfumer, a tennis pro—no idea—and an assassin.

  It took a while, but I finally convinced her she’d make a horrible assassin. She just didn’t have the killer instinct. Thank the Goddess, because with her new abilities, she could go to town.

  In truth, I could hardly blame her agitation. It’s not every day a girl finds out she’s a charmling. We discussed ways that she could learn to control her abilities—for everyone’s safety—and spells she needed to try to learn ASAP, but I was exhausted. At midnight, I called it a day and headed for bed.

  Annette followed, unable to calm her nerves. To quieten her mind.

  Thus, I spent another night alone. If one didn’t count Annette, Samuel, and Ink, all sprawled across my bed in every direction but a normal one. Twenty minutes later, the one bedmate who swore she’d never be able to sleep, not even if we gave her an entire bottle of horse tranquilizers—which she was probably right about, considering her immunity to all things deadly—lay snoring beside me, and I was the one who couldn’t sleep. I turned over and studied Samuel’s gorgeous little face—perfect in every way—only mildly curious about the fact that he was sleeping. I had no idea the departed would need sleep.

  After memorizing every line, every curve from his bow-shaped mouth and dimpled cheeks to his button nose and long lashes, I gave up on sleep. I shimmied out from under the covers at exactly uno-cero-uno—I checked—and headed downstairs for a nightcap. When I got to the kitchen, I heard a shower running. I turned to the basement stairs. Steam billowed up from the lower level, and the scent of sandalwood filled the air.

  After a short debate between my head and my heart, my heart won. It usually did. I took the stairs and found the door to Roane’s apartment open. I knocked softly, then entered.

  His scent enveloped me as I made my way to his bathroom. The door to it, too, was open, so I stepped inside. Roane stood behind a glass door, water cascading over his wide shoulders, down his muscular back, lower and lower until the last remnants of soapsuds slid over his steely buttocks.

  “Are you just going to watch,” he asked, startling me, “or are you going to join me?” He turned, and I caught a glimpse of the heavy burden he carried between his legs a millisecond before I lo
oked up. His olive irises studied me from underneath spiked lashes.

  Unconcerned for the T-shirt I was wearing, I opened the door and stepped into the shower. He didn’t move back to give me room. Instead, he reached around and closed the door, forcing me to press against it. Against him. Cool on one side. Blisteringly hot on the other.

  His lips found mine and my palms found his chest. They spread over his wide shoulders and down his arms until I came to his hands. He clasped them together and leaned in for another kiss. The scruff on his face was softer than I thought it would be.

  He broke off the kiss to look down at me, and I marveled once again at the color of his irises. A glistening olive green like I’d never seen before. “You are so beautiful.”

  I wanted to argue, but I wanted his tongue in my mouth again even more. I tiptoed and pressed into him.

  He drove his fingers into my hair and lowered his head. The kiss was soft. Unhurried. Exploratory. He slid his tongue between my lips and ran it over the edges of my teeth before going deeper. Then he tilted his head and pushed his tongue all the way in just as I wrapped a hand around his erection.

  He sucked in a cool breath between our mouths as I tightened my hold and stroked. I took my other hand, cupped the base, and squeezed softly.

  “Fuck,” he ground out, before wrapping me in his arms and holding me to him. “Wait.”

  But the sensation, the control, was too heady. I felt the blood rushing beneath my fingers. His cock hardening to marble. His hands curling to fists at my back. Seconds before everything went silent.

  At first, only the sound of my own breathing registered. Then, somewhere in the background, a single, constant note resonated around me.

  I lifted my lids to find myself standing in total darkness. The cold hit me first. I was shivering, my feet bare in a puddle of water on the floor. My T-shirt soaking wet and almost frozen. The ringing deafened me. The darkness blinded me. The cold disoriented me.

  My hair hung in long, wet locks over my face and down my back. Fairly certain I looked like the girl from The Ring, I did a quick illumination spell with two fingers, afraid to move anything else.

  A soft glow brightened the hexagon-shaped room I stood in. Like the morning before, I was back in the attic, standing in front of the same door. The door that, at least on my last visit, was unlocked.