Witches of Barcelona
Blood Web Chronicles Book Two
Caedis Knight
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Caedis Knight
Also by Caedis Knight
Verity Knights
About the authors
WITCHES OF BARCELONA
Blood Web Chronicles Book Two
By Caedis Knight
Copyright © 2021,
Caedis Knight.
All Rights Reserved.
The right of Caedis Knight to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents act 1988.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Witches before bitches
Prologue
Marbella, Spain, 2008
The man floating in the middle of our dining room looked vaguely familiar. I nudged my sister in the side so she’d stop hogging the keyhole and let me see. Relenting, Mikayla slid a tiny bit to the left.
“Is he that politician running for mayor?” I whispered as we took turns to squint into the hourglass opening.
I’d seen the man on TV, standing at podiums in grainy adverts while making promises to thick crowds. I remembered his flashy ties and sweaty forehead glistening like a glazed donut in the Spanish sun. He wasn’t sweating now, though. Maybe the adrenaline had made his blood run cold.
Being part of a Witch interrogation will do that to a man.
Today, the man’s tie was a ruby red diamond-patterned number. Thanks to the power of the magic being used on him, his tie floated comically alongside his body like a thin red flag – not that anyone was coming to his rescue.
“His name is Roberto,” Mikayla replied. “They’re going to kill him.”
Her tone was icy cold yet indifferent, a thirteen-year-old already far too familiar with murder and magic.
A chill ran from the top of my head to my sandal-clad feet, and I blamed it on the stone tiles creasing my bare knees. I looked through the keyhole again. The senior board members of the Mage Association were surrounding the man in a half-circle, chanting a bunch of ancient words I couldn’t understand. The incantations silently hummed through me like electricity, making the air thick with magic.
Even though my Witching Day wouldn’t be taking place for another two years, at eleven years old I already knew I wasn’t as powerful as my sister. Yet even I could feel the cloying power snake its way out of the keyhole towards us. Back then I didn’t know much about chants, so couldn’t tell by the words alone what the Witches were doing. But I knew whatever was happening wasn’t good.
I turned to my sister and made a face that said, ‘What’s going on?’
“Mom is leading the spell,” Mikayla explained quietly. “The Elemental to mom’s right is making the man float by controlling the air. Mom is using her touch magic to make Roberto answer her, but it’s not working. Tia Maribel looks annoyed.”
Mikayla had a way of explaining things that never made me feel stupid. Unlike my mother or any of my teachers, she never thought less of me just because my magical abilities were embarrassingly meager. Every Mage’s Witching Day takes place when they’re thirteen years old, although by the age of six it’s normally obvious what type of powers they will have. Not me though. Nothing about me was obvious.
“It’s super weird,” Mikayla continued in a hushed whisper. “He must have taken some kind of antidote because he’s resisting her power.”
A flash of pink dashed past the window outside and I turned my head, squinting against the glare of the midday sun. The girl playing under the palm tree was Beatriz, the daughter of Warlock and Mage Association treasurer, Salvador. Our parents had done that annoying thing all parents do, throwing their kids together thinking we’d get along just because we were the same age.
Beatriz was doing something clever with crystals, making them shine and casting their rainbow reflection onto the shade of the tree trunk. Her true powers hadn’t been officially revealed yet, but she was already very good at the smoke and mirror stuff that every Witch could do.
Every Witch but me.
“Should we go and play?” I asked, drawing Mikayla’s attention to the sunny garden.
“I’m not playing with Beatriz,” my sister declared. “She’s been super weird since her mom was placed in the Mage asylum. It’s made her magic really intense. I’m not getting in trouble because of her.”
Mikayla turned her attention back to the keyhole while I looked out the window, unsure whether I disliked Beatriz or simply felt sorry for her.
Our own father had died just a year before, and from what I’d heard Beatriz’s mother was as good as dead. I knew the darkness that kind of loss brought with it.
I pulled at my sister’s shoulder again. “This is boring. Let’s go before Beatriz spots us and tells her dad we were…”
“Hold on. I want to see how this ends.”
A loud crash made us jump, Mikayla’s eyes widening with surprise as I tilted my head to look through the bottom half of the keyhole. The mayor-hopeful had dropped to the floor and was now crumpled in a pathetic heap. And our powerful mother, Solina de la Cruz, perfectly coiffed as always, was standing at the center of the half-circle.
She let out an irritated grunt then cursed in Spanish. “Mierda! Esto no va a funcionar.”
To her right, Salvador examined the fallen man with the toe of his boot.
“We need to change tactics, Maribel. He’s taken something, perhaps a protection brew?”
Tia Maribel was not in any way my aunt, just my mother’s boss. Being the MA First made her the most important Witch in the association.
She gave Salvador a nasty look and turned away.
“Stick to counting euros, Salvador,” she said. “Leave the theorizing to us Witches.”
“Si, señora,” he replied, dipping his head in respect.
Maribel turned to my mother. “Solina. Fetch the child.”
I felt my sister’s body stiffen beside me. Since Mikayla’s Witching Day, when the entire MA had witnessed the extent of my sister’s magical abilities, the elders had been doing all they could to groom her. She didn’t fit
neatly into one faction like most Witches; she was a gifted Elemental, Touchmage, and dabbled in the other magics too.
“Is that really necessary?” my mother drawled. “Roberto is clearly lying to us. We don’t need to probe him further.”
Maribel’s eyes narrowed. “It’s necessary.”
“But my daughter’s too young. Powerful spells still drain her.”
Maribel whipped around, her hair the glittering red of koi fish scales.
“Under MA law we need solid evidence, which means the verification of more than one spell from more than one Witch. Go and get your daughter now.”
Eyes trained on the cream marble floor tiles, our mother headed for the door.
Watching her elegant dark form loom towards us, my sister and I skittered backwards but it was too late. She’d already spotted us, her brows knitted in disapproval. Mikayla didn’t have to be asked, she stood and straightened her skirt, already understanding the importance of looking presentable.
Rumor had it, Mikayla would be entering the Junior MA a year or two earlier than most – so it was Maribel she had to impress. It was Maribel every Witch had to impress.
“Leave her alone!” I hissed, pulling at our mother’s arm. “Last time you forced Mikayla to do a bunch of spells she was sick for days and missed my birthday party. She’s not doing it!”
My mother ignored me, too busy looking Mikayla up and down. Her lips pursed at the sight of a grass stain on her skirt. Then her gaze drifted back to me.
“You this time.”
“What?”
“Venga.”
She didn’t wait for a reply before pulling me towards the dining room by my elbow, her grip as strong as an eagle’s talon.
“Do as instructed and keep your troublesome mouth shut.”
Despite my initial indignation, my knees threatened to buckle and the skin beneath my T-shirt prickled with goosebumps. When I was younger my father always said ‘your mother is like a church; she likes worship and quiet’ — meaning my sass would get me into trouble.
I blinked back tears. The last thing I needed to do was think about my dead dad.
With a subtle shove, my mom pushed me into the center of the demi-circle of Witches and gave a nod at Maribel. The First looked at me with clear distaste.
“Not that one,” Maribel said, as if my mom had brought her the wrong dinner option instead of the wrong daughter. “I don’t need to wait for Saskia’s Witching Day to know she has no gift.”
My mom swallowed. “We don’t know that yet. Some of the girls are late developers and…”
“She’s useless. Where’s Mikayla?”
My cheeks stung with shame as if I’d been slapped across the face. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Salvador glance nervously at the window, clearly hoping Maribel would forget his own prodigious daughter was out there magically turning palm trees into stained glass windows. He caught my eye and shot me a warm and comforting smile.
“I agree, Saskia’s gift is small,” my mom mumbled. “But it’s perfect for this situation.”
She was referring to the light power that had blossomed in me that year.
Fingers dug into the flesh of my arms as she turned me around until I was facing Roberto. The politician was sitting up now, his dark hair poking out at strange angles and sweat trickling down the side of his stubbly face.
“Fine.” Maribel tipped her head in Salvador’s direction. “Go on, question him again.”
My mother left my side and positioned herself behind Roberto. For the first time I noticed that there were fresh chalk markings drawn beneath the spot where the man had been floating. Magical symbols and strange sigils. My mother put her hand on the prisoner’s shoulder, and I knew it wouldn’t take long before her touch magic would flood through him.
Salvador tucked his hair behind his ears. “Roberto,” he cooed.
I liked Salvador, he was sweet and always kept Chupa Chups on hand, but aside from a pocket full of candy I didn’t know what his magic was.
“Tell us,” he purred. “When you become mayor are you planning on putting through the bill we discussed about the apothecaries?”
At my mother’s touch, Roberto’s brown eyes softened and without blinking once he gazed stupefied into the Warlock’s eyes. Yet the politician’s jaw remained clenched, as if it was taking all he had not to answer or to react to my mother’s power.
With a flick of her wrist Maribel made the tie around Roberto’s neck tighten and fly upwards, creating a noose.
Roberto was practically on tiptoes. “Yes, yes, of course,” he sputtered, his fingers desperately attempting to create a barrier between his Adam’s apple and the silk bind.
I felt the ping of the politician’s lie ring in my head as clear as a bell. My one budding power. Telling truths from lies.
My mother and Maribel were staring at me intently, waiting for an answer.
“He’s lying.”
Maribel nodded and with another flick of her wrist Roberto’s red tie tightened and shot up into the air, pulling him up with it. The man flipped and twisted like a fish on a hook, his hands flapping at his throat. His attempts were futile as he struggled against the noose, his mouth opening and closing and gasping for air.
“Do you have specific plans on implementing our interests once you are in office?” Salvador asked, loosening the tie a little with his fingers so the politician could speak.
“Yes. Of course!” Roberto croaked, the exertion making his eyes bulge.
I winced at the sound of the second ping. I didn’t want to say anything – I was literally condemning the man to the mercy of the MA.
But it didn’t matter, because my mother only had to take one look at my face.
“Another lie,” she said.
The tie rose higher as Roberto’s shiny leather shoes paddled in the air like he was riding a unicycle. I looked around at my mother, the Warlock, Maribel and the other five Witches that made up the upper rankings of the MA. Their faces were passive, the only emotion a faint glint of glee in the curl of their lips.
“Did you make false promises upon accepting our payment?” Salvador continued, his voice laced with sympathy.
The man’s answer was half words, half gurgle. “Please. I would never… I have already let my… team know the plan. I’ve bribed the right people…”
The tie, although loose enough to allow Roberto to speak, was now holding him up by nothing but his jaw. He was gripping onto the fabric above his head, using his upper body strength to take the strain off his neck.
Stop lying, I wanted to scream.
Salvador turned to me, his eyebrows raised, expecting an answer. I shrugged and shook my head slowly, my eyes turning away from the struggling politician.
With a crash, Roberto hit the ground and I heard the crack of bone as I covered my eyes. At the sound of him taking a deep, painful breath, the knot in my stomach eased. He wasn’t dead. Good. It was over.
I turned to go, heading for the door where I knew my sister was probably watching me through the keyhole, but my mother twisted me around again, forcing me to look at the injured man.
“You did this,” she said quietly in my ear. It wasn’t an accusation; her words were laced with a rare pride.
Maribel stepped forward and ran her hand through the politician’s damp hair.
“Never cross the MA, we always win,” she said to him, stroking the side of his stubbly face with the tip of her index finger. She turned back to the rest of the Witches and, in her usual authoritative tone, declared, “a Witch does not burn!”
I cowered as all but Salvador echoed back. “For she is made of fire!”
And as if by an unspoken command, my mother stepped forward, a flash of silver glinting at her side. She grabbed Roberto by his hair, angled his head towards the symbols on the floor, and I watched in horror as my mother slit the man’s throat.
Chapter One
“Fuck you and the were-panther you rode in on!” I glar
e at Jackson, placing my palms on either side of his desk so that I tower over him. With bears you’re supposed to make yourself big and menacing, maybe it works with giant Shifter men too.
“Language, Saskia,” he tuts disapprovingly. “I’m still your editor. And were-panthers do not exist.” He crosses his thick arms, clearly not bothered by all the menacing and towering I’m doing.
At a normal newspaper you would get fired for speaking to your boss like this — but at The Blood Web Chronicle, the world’s most widely read Paranormal news source, it’s just another Monday. Although even I know when to stop pushing Jackson’s buttons.
I sit back down. Time to play this smart.
When Jackson first announced he was sending me to Barcelona, I reluctantly agreed. The scoop is that Maribel, head of the Mage Association, has gone missing, plus strange sigils have been appearing around the Gothic Quarter, and Jackson thinks the two are connected. My mother has already asked me to come out, so at least she won’t be questioning me for turning up out of the blue. Easy peasy, witchy squeezy.
Yet over the weekend I thought about it properly, visualizing in great detail what time back at the MA would actually feel like. And what being around my mother meant. It was enough to make me gag.
I was adamant I was going to stay in New York and say no to both Jackson and my mom. But then I realized this is the second high-profile MA disappearance since Mikayla, my sister, went missing two years ago. Since I discovered she was pregnant and then never saw her again. Maybe this story will get me closer to finding out where she is.
Witches of Barcelona: A Dark, Funny & Sexy Urban Paranormal Romance Series (Blood Web Chronicles Book 2) Page 1