And with that Ramon falls to the ground.
Chapter Sixteen
When we finally stumble out of the Nox’s den, I’m surprised to see it’s not only daylight but already breakfast time. There was no reception in the basement, and my phone starts buzzing wildly as soon as we’re outside. It’s my mother.
“Fuck,” I mumble. “I forgot about the MA luncheon today.”
Beatriz hears me. “It’s not until four this afternoon, you have time for a nap.”
“A nap?” Rafi shouts. “When we have the whole city at our fingertips?”
“You might have the whole city, cabró, but some of us have classes to attend,” Luisa says with a yawn, ruffling his hair.
She kisses us all goodbye and lingers long enough by my ear to whisper, “You’ll be OK.”
I pull her back by the hand. “Thank you,” I say, my fingers playing with hers. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She winks before walking away without a backward glance. No one seems to have noticed our exchange, but the sickness of confusion, hunger, and too much weed is now churning my guts like butter.
“How we got out of there without getting caught, I don’t know,” Beatriz says to Xavi, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes and staring up at the MA HQ building. “I’m sorry things got weird.”
She wraps her arms around his neck, and he nuzzles her nose with his. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he spins her around.
“Are you kidding me? I loved being part of your world, princesa. I got to speak to my abuelita. You have no idea how much I miss her. And there’s an afterlife, which means I will get to see her again one day!”
“No rush,” she says, and their light kisses turn to a passionate embrace.
Rafi stifles a laugh, and we turn away as we hear Xavi mumble something about how much magic Beatriz has brought to his life.
“I should get to bed,” I mutter. So much happened last night, I need to process it properly. If Mikayla is alive, then she’s out there. And if she was pregnant, as I’ve always suspected, then did she have the baby? Whose was it?
“Food first. Come on.” Rafi slings his arm around my shoulder. “I’m taking you to La Boqueria.”
“The food market?”
“How dare you! La Boqueria is the finest eatery in this city!”
“What about Beatriz and Xavi?”
“I’m sure she’ll find him some corpse to peck at on their way home.”
I play-slap him on the arm, and he laughs. With my head resting on his shoulder, we head down Las Ramblas.
“What’s the plan?” I ask, stifling a yawn.
“We’re going to visit every tapas joint in the place and we’re going to gorge on fat prawns and suck their brains out, slurp back oysters and get our mouths greasy with chunky slices of tortilla de patata. Then I’m going to hand-feed you succulent morcilla and fuet, washed down with gallons of Rioja. What do you say?”
“Don’t stop.” I give him an exaggerated pout of my lips. “Keep talking dirty to me.”
Rafi stops walking and pushes my hair out of my eyes, then gives me a lopsided smile.
“You know, down in the basement, that wasn’t easy for Luisa. She doesn’t visit the Nox as often as I do.”
“What? I thought her and Alba had a…”
“No. Not for years. Not since Alba’s Nox powers came to the surface. You don’t mix Touchmage magic with the dead, that’s just asking for trouble. She went there for you, you know.”
I bite my lips together, and he winks at me.
“Don’t break her heart, eh?”
“Luisa seems pretty unbreakable to me,” I reply with a laugh.
Rafi doesn’t join in though. “You’d be surprised. She’s not as tough as she looks. What’s the time?”
I glance at my phone, ignoring the ‘How’s it going?’ text from Jackson, and see it’s almost eight in the morning. I’m past tired and I’ve moved straight on to wired— although after my last dream, I’d prefer to stay awake.
The entrance to the market is already crowded with tourists taking selfies and trying to capture the perfect Instagram shot. We weave past stall after stall of brightly stacked fruit and vegetables, bars already serving brandy-infused coffees and butchers selling lamb’s heads cut through the center like they’re gifts for a sacrificial altar. I look away. I’m starving, but after the amount we drank, and smoked last night, the last thing I need to see this early in the morning is sheep eyeballs.
“How come no one came through for Luisa tonight?” I ask, as Rafi stops at a tapas bar.
“Her family isn’t dead. They’re just dead to her. Here, sit down.”
He pulls a tall stool out and hands me a menu, but his comment keeps buzzing around my mind. I can’t bear the thought of Luisa being alone.
“I’ll eat anything. You choose.”
Rafi’s face lights up as if I’ve given him the keys to a magical kingdom. Leaning over the bar, he rattles off a list of dishes to a guy in an apron, then sits back down triumphantly.
“Last night was heavy,” he says.
I nod. Images of blood on snow fill my mind. I’ve not even had time to think about Ansel and her message of forgiveness, let alone the weird thing my dad said about my mother, bears, and wolves.
“Who came through for you?” I ask.
Rafi stoops down and picks up a wilted flower from the floor. It comes to life in his hand, bright pink petals blooming and leaves unfurling. He hands it to me, but I tuck it behind his ear.
“Rafi?”
He sighs. “My father.”
The guy behind the bar places some dishes beside us, and I’m momentarily distracted by the smell of jamon croquetas. I take a bite, the soft salty filling burning the roof of my mouth. I tip my head back and groan.
“Fuck, they’re good.”
“A que si?”
“Tell me about your family.” I’m not letting him get away with it that easily.
He rolls his shoulders as if he’s preparing for a fight, then sighs.
“I was raised in a small village in Algeria, although most of my extended family live in Morocco, so I’ve never met them. My parents weren’t hugely religious, but they were traditional. Growing up I knew nothing about my family line and even less about Witches, Warlocks or magic.”
He finishes his wine and pours another glass from the carafe.
I can already see where this is going. “You saying you didn’t know you had powers?”
He shakes his head. “I’m the eldest, the only boy of six children. I was expected to work with my dad in his workshop. Carpentry. My magic came in late but strong, at around fifteen. There was a fire at the workshop and I…”
Rafi stops and takes a gulp of wine, then follows it with a slice of tomato-covered bread. He swallows.
“I put the fire out, except not in a normal way. I did it without thinking. One minute the workshop was an inferno, all my father’s creations turning to ash, and the next thing I knew I’d manipulated the flames into one corner and then drawn water from a nearby well, directing it to the shop like a snake charmer.”
Shit.
“Yeah. As I said, my family wasn't religious… but that doesn’t mean the villagers didn’t believe in evil spirits.”
“That’s crazy.” I take a slice of serrano ham and pop it into my mouth. “So how did you end up here?”
Rafi twists a napkin in his hands, slivers of paper falling to the dusty floor like confetti.
“My father tried to get me cleansed. For days he had me tied to my bed while a healer from the nearby village worked on me. It was ridiculous. I was so scared, Saskia. My mother was crying and screaming, telling them it was in my blood, that her own mother had been the same. The second time she said those words, my father hit her and told her to shut her mouth or the whole family would be ruined. Anyway, on the third day, a Spanish woman turned up. She had flaming red hair and, in fluent Arabic, said she was from a hospital in Europe. Tha
t the doctors there could cure me. I begged my father not to let me go, that I could control myself, but he literally turned his back on me and told her to take me. That woman was Maribel. I’ve been here ever since.”
“Maribel saved you?”
“Recruited me. The way she recruited many.” He smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m happy now. I belong here.”
“And that’s why you won’t speak to your father?”
He nods. “I didn’t even know he died two years ago until he came through to Jan — but I refuse to grant him peace in the afterlife. Not after what he did to me. I write to my mother now, though, and I’m in touch with my sisters again. It’s fine.”
“Parents have a way of fucking you up.”
“Maybe it’s a Mage thing,” he says through a mouthful of tortilla, “but none of my friends here have a happy home life. Beatriz hasn’t seen her ill mother in years.”
Beatriz’s mother is more than ill, but I don’t know how much she’s told them. “At least she has Xavi now.”
Rafi smiles. “Yeah. That guy is beyond cute. He’s good for her.”
“What about you and Jan?”
Rafi chokes on an olive, and I wait for him to spit the stone out. “There’s nothing going on between us.”
Ping! I tilt my head to one side and raise my brows.
“Mierda. Verity Witch. OK, yeah, he’s the Nox I was telling you about at dinner the other day. But...no. It was getting too intense too fast. I like to keep things casual.”
“Let him in, Rafi.”
He smirks. “I have.”
“You know what I mean! OK, well then tell me more about Luisa. She doesn’t talk to her family either?”
I think back to his earlier comment about them being dead to her. Whatever they did, it must have been truly awful. “What happened? Did they force her to do something against her will?”
He nods, happy to change the subject. “Yes, but not what you’re thinking. Unlike me, Luisa has known about her Touchmage abilities since she was tiny. Her parents weren’t anything powerful, just your average Seesages. They make a living in Sitges, southwest of here, reading Tarot for tourists. They have a small shop there too, selling crystals and candles and shit.”
It all sounds innocent enough.
“Were they angry about her joining the MA?”
“No, they signed her up when she was five, she attended the best Witchling schools, and they had high hopes for her. But not for her own benefit. Since she was little, they used to force her to help make them money. They made her walk around their shop, accidentally bumping into customers and forcing joy upon them. Through her touch, she would make them want to buy things, feel excited about a reading, and create an addiction to the shop so that business was always booming. As Luisa got older, she realized how wrong that was — that she was controlling strangers against their will, and that her parents were controlling her.
One day she refused, but her parents said if she didn’t help them, they’d stop her from going to the MA. So as soon as she turned eighteen, she told them to fuck off and moved to Barcelona. That’s when her Musemage powers came in — her art helps her through a lot of the pain. They send her guilt money now and then, but she refuses to talk to them. Every time they piss her off or she’s sad about something, the first place she goes is her studio. You know, the building where Estrella is? Ironically, her hatred of them has only made her magic more powerful. They truly do fuck you up, your mom and dad. What was your dad like?”
I peel the skin off a slice of fuet and think.
“Kind. I was ten when he died. I didn’t see him much, he was away on MA business a lot, but he was generous and funny and... well, he was on my side. He was big on justice.”
“So are you, Verity Witch,” Rafi says. “I’m surprised you’re an accountant. You’d make a good politician or writer.”
I take a gulp of my wine, but I don’t say anything further. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my dad until I heard his voice tonight. I feel bad that when he came through, I freaked out, instead of saying something nice.
“My dad kept the peace, you know?” I continue. “Him and Mikayla. But with both of them gone now, my mother is worse than ever. I don’t know how you can heal from that.”
Rafi’s mouth sets in a straight line. “There’s no healing, guapa, only surviving. Along with good food, good friends... and sex.”
I laugh and raise my wine glass. “Cheers to that.”
“Hey, Saskia,” he says quietly. “Everything is going to be OK.”
There’s no ping, because he truly believes it. And for a moment, one glorious moment, I believe it too.
Chapter Seventeen
It’s hot for March, and I’m standing outside the House of Bones – otherwise known as Casa Battló. The balconies towering above me are shaped like alien skulls, the outside of the building a kaleidoscope of colorful tiles.
I’m wearing a long black dress and heels far too tight and spiky to walk comfortably on Barcelona pavements, and although I took a shower this afternoon, the smell of La Boqueria still clings to me like a diluted perfume made of chorizo, Cognac and bad decisions.
A burly security guard double-checks my name on the guest list and lets me in. I walk slowly, conscious of the fact my heels are scraping against a Barcelona heirloom. Like so many MA venues, this one is yet another fairytale mansion dropped into the middle of the bustling city.
If the outside of the building is all skulls, then the interior feels like I'm inside the ribcage of a mythical blue beast. I climb the stairs, gazing at the entryway made of sculpted sandstone with wall after endless wall of cobalt mosaics.
Tourists think this place is called The House of Bones because of its ivory-colored architectural curves, but the truth is the MA has been burying the bones of their Witches in its underground tomb for centuries. And just like the MA headquarters, this building was also designed by the famous architect Gaudí.
There’s a tug in my stomach as my father’s voice fills my head once more. Dreamt by a child, made by a master.
I can’t believe I spoke to him last night. Even though the conversation was riddled, I actually got to hear my father’s voice after all these years. It may have been brief and urgent, but it was so real. His voice. A voice I hadn’t heard in years. A voice urging me to steer clear of Solina. Too late now.
“Rough night?”
And here she is, my mother, slicing through my daydreams. She sweeps into view, her black cape trailing behind her, and I instinctively step back.
I lie. “I had a quiet night, actually. We don’t all have a Latin lover to keep us up.”
I immediately regret alluding to my mother’s sex life as she stares into the distance in contemplation. I disguise a gag with a cough and snatch a glass of orange juice from a passing tray.
“Today’s equinox luncheon is full of important people,” my mother says through the side of her lips. She nods in greeting at an officious-looking someone. “There are people here you should be speaking to about both Maribel and Mikayla. The evening ends with an award ceremony. At the MA, we like to reward promising Witches.”
I survey the thickening crowd of elites and their outfits, rivaling those of the ball. A woman walks by in a pulsating gelatinous dress, light rumbling through it like electricity along an eel’s skin. Another older woman is wearing a dress made of daisies, except the flowers are growing straight out of her papery flesh, their stalks protruding grotesquely through her bony clavicles. An Elemental, no doubt.
The walls of the building look like they’re melting, with curved stained-glass windows and an undulating ceiling sporting a ginormous chandelier. Shining beneath its glow, I spot Beatriz, dressed in midnight blue, chatting to a man adorned with medals.
“How come Beatriz is here, but Rafi and Luisa aren’t?”
My mother tuts with exasperation. “Beatriz is the treasurer’s daughter, she holds rank. Not everyone matters, Saskia.”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. The MA has more nepotism than Hollywood. Solina welcomes another delegation, and I take the opportunity to hunt down some food. La Boqueria was amazing, but even that wasn’t enough for this hangover.
I spot a waiter and motion for him to come over. He dips his silver tray before me, and I pluck a tiny ceviche boat. As he goes to stand, his gaze catches mine, and I let out an involuntary yelp.
What the fuck?
A thin veil of lilac smoke is swirling in his eyes, making them look like a Seesage’s crystal ball.
“More ceviche, señorita?”
My mother is back at my elbow.
“I see you’ve found the food.” She nods at the canape frozen in place halfway to my mouth. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“More ceviche, señorita?” the waiter with the creepy eyes repeats robotically.
“Uh... no thanks...”
Solina pulls the food from my clamped fingers and sets it back on the tray, dismissing the man with a wave of her hand. He wanders off, his face expressionless.
“I was eating that!”
“I’m sure you will find more.”
Bitch. Another waiter walks by, and I grab a calamari ring, stuffing it into my mouth greedily to make a point. This waiter’s eyes are purple too.
“What’s with the staff, Mom? Did you bring them back from hell with you when you crawled out?”
She purses her lips. “Erasing spell.”
“Erasing spell?” I repeat with my mouth full.
“Honestly, Saskia, what’s this and what’s that. It’s like you weren’t raised with magic. It’s embarrassing. The servers are bewitched humans — employed and paid like normal waiters but enchanted to forget all they see. You don’t expect MA members to cater at our events, do you?”
I think back to Xavi and the waiter uniform around his ankles.
“I don’t remember purple eyes at the ball.”
“In the case of the ball, the event itself was spelled and warded rather than the staff. It’s safer that way because there are more guests, and it would be possible for a human to accidentally slip in unnoticed and see us in action. Enchanting the staff would not be enough, so we do it to the venue, warding it in a way where any human would forget what they saw there upon leaving.”
Witches of Barcelona: A Dark, Funny & Sexy Urban Paranormal Romance Series (Blood Web Chronicles Book 2) Page 13