Styx (The Four Book 1)

by Layla Frost

  “Relax. This is all new to you, and the fact you’re not catatonic in a corner shows your strength.” The woman put her hand out. “I’m Sabrina.”

  Though I tried to hide it, my face fell as my hope plummeted. My voice was lackluster when I met her hand and said, “Denny.”

  Bursting into a full-on cackle, she shook her head. “I’m just fucking with you. Could you fucking imagine? Even if my real name was Sabrina, I’d have to change it if I wanted to be taken seriously. Do I look like a teenage witch?” Wiping at her eyes, she grinned. “Juno. Still weird, but at least not a stereotypical witch, right?” She gestured between us. “I’m talking to a chick named Denny, so I know you get it.”

  Since my name had been the bane of my existence, I really did get it.

  When I was a kid and still going by Haden, I’d had to field the question of whether I was secretly a boy. My genius idea to go by Denny had given me a couple years reprieve before my high school classmates began asking if I was open twenty-four seven. I’d stuck with going by Denny because by then it’d been a matter of principle and I’d always been stubborn as hell. Also, it’d pissed off my dad, so that’d been an added bonus.

  “You strike me as a coffee kinda gal. Why don’t you run next door and grab a cup then meet me in there?” Juno jerked her head toward the room she’d jumped out of.

  Nodding, though she’d already turned away, I asked, “Want something?”

  Her steps halted and she looked over her shoulder. “No one’s ever asked me that. Tell Beth I want my usual.”

  Hustling like a woman on a mission, I didn’t get distracted by all the pretties as I went to order our drinks. Once armed with my black coffee and Juno’s sugar mountain of a blended drink, I returned to the room.

  I was about to knock when Juno called out, “Come in.”

  Pushing the door open, I stepped inside and lost my breath. It was amazing. A large, ornate table was in the center of the room, each leg etched and sculpted meticulously. Crystals, beads, cards, and fabric hung from various spots. Jars of various sizes lined the walls, the fragrant smell of herbs and flowers filling the space so strongly, I wondered how the whole building didn’t reek.

  I watched in amazement as she flitted around the room, touching and arranging things before flipping through books without ever touching the pages.

  Either that’s a well-practiced parlor trick worthy of a Vegas headlining act, or she’s a legit witch.

  Holy shit, what is my life right now?

  “I had a spell planned,” she said as she moved, “but after feeling the magicks, it’s not strong enough. Frankly, I’m not sure anything I have is.”

  I expected crushing disappointment, but it was surprise that filled me. “Oh.”

  “Don’t throw in the towel yet.” She paused to look at me. “It may be a Hail Mary, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a damn good one. I just don’t know if it’s enough.” Resuming her quick pace, she grabbed jar after jar, sometimes returning one in favor of another.

  “If it doesn’t work, do you know anyone stronger?”

  Stopping again, Juno gave me a cocky smile. “Hey, you’re looking at the strongest witch in the world.”

  My eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. I mean, there’s an old hag in Ireland and a warlock in Poland who like to claim they are, but they’ve yet to back it up.” When I didn’t respond, she repeated, “Don’t look so surprised.”

  Shaking myself from a stunned silence, I admitted, “I just pictured someone older. Or, well, I would’ve pictured older had I known there was a power ranking for magic.”

  “There is. And, let me tell you, it’s competitive.” She smirked. “Well, at least from number two down. I’m lonely, way up here at the top by myself.”

  She began laying out small squares of material while I tried to process what she’d said.

  My curiosity got the better of me and I had to ask, “Are you old?”

  Juno’s eyes snapped to mine. “What?”

  “Sorry, that was rude. You’re powerful and all that, so I was wondering if you’re actually old, but you just use your magic to look…” Unsure how to end my already probing ramble, I gestured to her like a dingus.

  Smooth, Underwood. Real smooth.

  Luckily, she laughed. “I’m flattered you think my appearance is on a paranormal level, but no. The amount of magicks I’d have to expend to maintain an appearance change for any length of time would never be worth it. I’m not that vain.”

  “I—”

  “Okay, okay,” she rushed on, pointing to her head. “Every once in a while, I have to use magicks to tame this wild hair. And one time, I was coming to open the shop but I’d literally just rolled out of bed, right? So, I unlock the door, flip the sign, and headed for some much-needed java when this fucking stud comes waltzing in like this isn’t Nerd Capital. That time I had to go full body transformation, but it was only needed for five minutes because the dude was a tool. He thought Batman was in the same universe as Thor and went blank when I tried to explain the difference.”

  “That’s—”

  “So, yes, I’m vain. But I’m not that vain.”

  “Noted,” I muttered, overwhelmed and amused and so… stunned. Captivated. It was like opening the basement door of a tiny shack to find a tunnel that led to a heretofore unknown mansion. “Why do you say magic like that? Is there a difference?”

  “Is there a difference between decaf and regular?” she shot back.

  “One is heaven in a cup and the other is pointless bean water.”

  “Exactly.” Juno stopped what she was doing and gave me her full attention. “Most ‘magic’ in the world comes from coincidence, circumstance, and illusion. If you’re receptive to the idea, magic is an easy answer to the unexplainable. The beauty of nature, finding your long-lost keys on a fluke, that kind of thing. Then there’s mild magic—the kind that comes from the earth. It requires a tremendous amount of dedication and practice to harness any.”

  “So, the witches and warlocks camped out in Salem right now?”

  “Definitely the first kind. Maybe a few of the second.”

  “Which are you?” I asked.

  She shot me another cocky grin as she held up a finger, twirling it. A strong current filled the room, washing over me. The purest joy seized my heart and I burst out into carefree laughter.

  And just as fast, it melted away, leaving me panting. “Whoa.”

  “I’m the rare third form. I was born with magicks. I never needed to study it because it came as naturally as breathing. There was no honing needed. No learning curve. It’s a part of me.” She paused before answering my unasked question. “And I’m twenty-three.”

  “And Thor’s in Marvel while Batman’s in DC.”

  Gasping, she grinned and nodded emphatically. “Did we just become best friends?” She began opening the jars. “What’s the story with your body spray of Eau de Magicks?”

  I shrugged. “I’m honestly not sure. I can’t see him, but he’s there… kinda. I’d say he’s invisible, but that’s not right, either. It’s like he’s there but not.”

  “He’s definitely real—not a ghost or a spirit. Like I said, his magicks is light. And the strong waves I’m picking up means he’s…” She gave a low whistle. “He’s something else, ya know?”

  I thought about the way he made me feel. How his low voice curled my toes. How he made me smile and growl and scream and overheat until I was sure my body would combust. “Yeah, he’s something, alright.”

  Growing silent, Juno used a mortar and pestle to grind up multiple ingredients before pouring the powder onto a fabric square. She added a few more intact items, her lips moving as she mouthed something.

  Only after she’d tied the pouch closed with a strip of leather did I ask, “What was the spell you were saying?”

  Juno’s brows lowered for a moment before she smiled. “Wise words advising me to push it. Push it real good.�
�� She picked up the little bag. “I’ve had Salt-N-Pepa in my head all day.”

  “At least it’s a good song. It could be worse, like—”

  “Don’t! I swear, once I have a song stuck in my head, it’s there for days.” Tossing me the bag, she began cleaning her work space. “This could do the trick… or not. We’ll see. Since I got the feeling you wanted him gone but not,” she made a slicing motion across her neck, “gone, it’s a space spell with a little extra. Keep it on your person for maximum effectiveness. If you want him near you, there is a small and glittery leaf in there. Take it out, but don’t use your hands, even with gloves. Use metal tongs to hold it, and watch what you think until it’s back in the bag.”

  I looked down at the small bundle of fabric and herbs. “Uhhhh, okay. Is this a hex bag?”

  “Yup! But don’t let that throw you… There are a few things the hottie brothers of Supernatural get right, and hex bags are one. Also, angels are dickless dicks.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  Stopping what she was doing, Juno’s gaze shot to me. “You have?”

  I held up the hex bag. “He mentioned it.”

  Her mouth turned down in a thoughtful expression. “Hmm. I’d almost think god or demigod, but if it were one of them, you’d know. Trust me, they never shut up about who they or their parents are, what they’re gods of, and why you should bone them.”

  “The gods are real? And plural?” I asked.

  “Of course. I mean, there’s God with a capital g. You know, the head honcho. Creator of all the universes. The main event. God. The gods were… supervisors. Delegates for the mundane. They were supposed to ease God’s workload, but they made it worse thanks to alcohol, tempers, and a rampant inability to keep it in their pants.”

  Unsure what to think, let alone say to any of that, I opened my mouth a few times before saying, “None of that has come up.”

  “Good because even my magicks couldn’t silence them.” She raised her hand to do the talking motion. “Egotistical horndogs.”

  When she opened the door and I stepped out, the smell of herbs was instantly replaced by the much more appealing scents of candy and coffee. “How do you do that?” Bouncing back and forth between the rooms, there was a literal line where it changed.

  “Containment spell. Otherwise this place would reek like frog dong, cockroach anus, or worse… rosemary.”

  I almost asked what she needed frog dong and cockroach anus for, but decided I didn’t really want to know. Instead, I asked, “How much do I owe you?”

  “I’m not a for-profit kinda witch. That’s the equivalent of a magicks hooker, and I’m just not that kinda girl.”

  I’ll just buy a few things. I know how much a sale means to a small business owner.

  “Well, thank you for everything,” I said sincerely.

  “It’s what I do,” she said with a shrug before tilting her head toward the candy shop. “I think Lea just made some cotton candy. Trust me, you’ll eat it in a day.”

  My stomach growled and my mouth watered. “I’ll check it out.”

  “And call me if the hex bag doesn’t work. I can always suck it up and reach out to the hag in Ireland.”

  “I will, thanks again.”

  On my way to the candy store’s entrance, I grabbed the updated version of Catch Phrase and a second board game. Juggling the boxes, I sipped at my forgotten coffee and browsed the copious amounts of sweets.

  “You can set those down here,” the young woman who I assumed was Lea said. “The systems are all connected, so I can cash you out.”

  Does that mean Juno owns all three stores?

  And, more importantly, is she in the market for a best friend and taste tester?

  “Thanks.” I set my games on the counter before adding so many packages of candy to the pile, I worried I’d need magic to carry it out to the car.

  Reminding myself I didn’t have to buy it at once, I tore myself away without even exploring the other two-thirds of the shop.

  I paid for my goodies and was lugging them out the door when Juno called out, “Oh, a new Catch Phrase. That should be fun for game nights at Lula’s.”

  Her words registered just as the door closed behind me.

  “What?” I tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. “How did you know that?”

  Nothing.

  “How the hell did she know about Lula?” I asked. “And how did she lock the door from across the room? And why am I talking to myself?”

  With no answers, I walked to my car on shaky legs, my thoughts whirling.

  Even with all her boasting, I get the feeling she’s more powerful than she let on.

  A lot more.

  Chapter Nine

  Jinkies, Zoinks, and the Baby Chuck

  Denny

  STILL OBSESSING OVER MY meeting with Juno, I climbed onto my porch in a daze. So lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice the man sitting on my porch swing until he spoke.

  “You didn’t leave.”

  “Sam, Dean, and the baby Chuck!” I shouted, dropping my bags to clutch my chest. My gaze shot to the man in time to see one corner of his lips tip up before his expression turned impassive. I had a feeling that slight upturn was his version of a joyous grin.

  Whoever he was, he looked ridiculous on my porch swing.

  The man was attractive, with a full head of light brown hair and deep, dark chocolate brown eyes. Tall and thickly built, I could see the definition of his arm muscles through his tight tee shirt. Where I could’ve sprawled out on the bench with plenty of room to spare, he dominated the space. His legs were stretched in front of him, his casual positioning not matching his intensity. He didn’t look like he belonged on a rickety porch swing. A football field or some covert military mission seemed more his style.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “You didn’t follow my directions,” the man said again, more gruffness filling his tone.

  “Mr. Hale?” When he pushed off with his foot, I stepped forward. “Don’t!”

  I braced, preparing for the swing to go clattering to the ground like the previous time I’d attempted to sit on it. I’d managed to reattach the chain, but it wasn’t secure enough to swing. I hadn’t even thought it could support anyone’s weight. Getting it fixed was on my long to-do list.

  But when he rocked, nothing happened.

  Actually, something happened, but it was just the slow, easy sway of a fixed swing.

  What the hell?

  Maybe my car, the rickety fence, and the garbage disposal will all repair themselves magically, too.

  Only acknowledging my outburst with a raised brow, the man said, “Call me Thomas. Why did you not listen, Ms. Underwood?”

  My eyes narrowed. “How do you know my name?”

  He tilted his head toward where my last name covered the front of my mailbox in a decorative script. Since my grandma had put it on years earlier for herself, the letters were faded and peeling, but still legible.

  “Oh,” I muttered, feeling silly for jumping to nefarious conclusions.

  Giant leap or not, unease filled me at his presence, and I knew better than to discount my instincts. When The Voice made me feel on edge, my toes curled and I mentally penciled in silicone sessions. With Hale, my instincts screamed at me to run.

  Pushing off again, he stood with the forward motion of the swing. He was even larger than I’d thought, especially as he closed the distance between us.

  “Your guest is still here,” he murmured, his gaze on my mouth.

  I paused, taking a moment to try to feel The Voice. Coming up empty, I shook my head. “He’s gone.”

  It was Thomas’ turn to shake his head. “He’s here. Not on the porch, but close.”

  My lips turned down. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh. You need to leave and let me handle him.”

  Despite the sunny day, a chill ran down my spine. “I’m fine.”

  His eyes flared before narrowing, the br
own turning almost black. “Do you know who he is?”

  “Do you?” I shot back.

  “No. And that’s all the more reason why you should go. I told you, visitors aren’t harmless.”

  “I feel like we can say the same about you.”

  I jumped when he laughed suddenly, the sound rich and rough. When he finished, his smile remained as he stepped closer. “I like you, Ms. Underwood. You’re right, which shows you’re smart. That’s why I can’t figure out why you’re not letting me help.”

  Because I like The Voice.

  I pressed my lips together, knowing better than to admit my feelings. Something told me sharing them would make Hale my enemy and not my ally.

  And Thomas Hale was not a man I wanted to go up against. Especially not in a war where I didn’t know the rules.

  Going sentimental, I gave him big eyes. “This was my grandma’s house, and I recently lost her. I don’t want to leave behind my only connection to her.”

  With a small scowl and crinkled nose, his expression bordered disgust rather than the sympathy I’d been going for. Still, disgust was better than the hostility the truth would’ve brought.

  “He’s close,” he repeated.

  “It left,” I insisted firmly, purposefully avoiding the use of a pronoun.

  We faced off, neither of us speaking for long moments that seemed to drag on for even longer eternities.

  Lowering his chin in a small nod, he murmured, “Have a good life, Ms. Underwood,” before jogging off my porch and across my lawn.

  Holy shit, I am so not made for this.

  Shoulders slumped in relief, I didn’t move from my spot until my shaking legs steadied enough to walk. I grabbed my bags and let myself in before immediately locking the door behind me. I hesitated for a moment before throwing the deadbolt, too.

  After setting my purchases on my couch, I stood in the middle of the room and tried to decide whether I should fix coffee and do some work or pour a glass—or ten—of wine and read.

  “Where is he?”

  My heart stopped before kicking into overdrive as I jolted so hard, it hurt. “Sam, Dean, and the baby Chuck!”

  The Voice