Witches of Barcelona: A Dark, Funny & Sexy Urban Paranormal Romance Series (Blood Web Chronicles Book 2)

by Caedis Knight

  I stand my ground, but the prince walks past me to the copper wet bar in the corner of the room and pours himself a gin, the glass frosting at his touch. He sips his drink, every inch of him naked, although there’s one part of him the cold doesn’t seem to affect.

  “Spit it out, Saskia. I am not in the mood for sass.”

  He’s right. I came here with a mission, and it doesn’t involve stupid banter with a naked fairy. But I can’t spit it out, that’s the thing.

  “I need another favor.”

  “Was parting the Mediterranean Sea not enough for you?”

  “Please.”

  The prince looks away. “Greed is unbecoming.”

  “Spare me the lecture, princeling,” I say, nodding at the three people in his bed and the grandeur of his bed-chamber…on a fucking yacht. “You are hardly disciplined with your own needs.”

  He laughs, holding his gin up in a silent toast. “You know favors come at a price with the Fae.”

  My eyes travel down his sculpted torso, his abs as hard and gleaming as milky marble. His skin glows in the sunlight streaming through the porthole, and I half expect him to start melting like an ice statue.

  I nod and the prince ponders my offer.

  “Fine. I will help you, and you will owe me a favor in exchange.”

  The word of the Fae is final, meaning I just sealed a deal without any Ts&Cs. Shit. The realization sends a chill into my bones, but there’s no going back now.

  “What do you want?” he asks.

  “I’m to Ascend today.”

  “And the problem with that is?”

  I try to speak but can’t. “I…” My voice fades. He focuses on me, his cold blue eyes brimming with curiosity. I can’t do it. “I want to Ascend.”

  He watches me, a cunning smile playing at his blue lips. I scan the room desperately as panic takes hold.

  This isn’t going to work!

  Then my eyes land on a pile of books by his bedside, all translated into Dutch.

  Nabokov. Morrison. De Beauvoir. Tolkien.

  “Have you read Lord of The Rings?”

  “Do not insult me. It is a Fae favorite.”

  “OK.” I search my brain as I flip words, translating, outsmarting the compulsion. I was an English Lit major. I can do this.

  I speak in Dutch. “Moonlight drowns all but the brightest stars.”

  “Why are you quoting Tolkien to me? In my own tongue?”

  “How can one drown out the moon?”

  The prince observes me, my gown, the moonflowers. Understanding dawns on his perfect face.

  “You do not wish to Ascend.”

  I do not move, and I stay silent, afraid my mother’s magic will overrun me.

  “Hmm...” The prince tilts his head to the side in an inhuman way. “Interesting.”

  I look out the tiny round window at the sun losing its heat. The Ascension is getting closer. My desire to go back to the MA HQ, where the event will take place, is mounting. The compulsion is literally causing me so much pain my body has started trembling.

  The prince places an icy finger under my chin and tilts my head up so I’m staring into his pale eyes. My own swim with tears.

  “I understand not liking where you come from,” he says. “Although I must admit I could benefit from having a contact like you so high up in the MA ranks. A Second is a useful person to know.”

  My leverage is slipping. I need to convince him that one of my measly favors is worth him going against my mother for.

  If I could only postpone the Ascension for another six months, until the next equinox, I could get him someone powerful as his contact. I may even have found Mikayla by then, and I know she’d jump at the chance of being Second. Anyone else will do; it just can’t be me!

  The prince drains the rest of his Nordic sloe gin. Waiting.

  “I can promise you a powerful contact, high up in the ranks. And I’ll make sure she’s loyal to you.”

  He contemplates this for a moment, then nods slowly.

  “And a favor still.”

  I look outside at the warm light dimming beyond the confines of the yacht, then look back up at the prince. My feet are shaking, and tears are streaming down my face. I can’t fight this much longer.

  “Fine,” I croak. “My favor is yours.”

  He clicks his fingers and a member of staff hands him a small blue box. Reaching forward, the prince gently wipes my cheek with his thumb. My tears instantly turn to a glittering gem at his touch.

  “Witch tears are more valuable to our kind than any diamond,” he says, placing the solid tear in the velvet-lined box. “I have a piece of you now, so our bond is sealed.”

  He walks back to the bar, pours two drinks, and holds one out to me.

  “Tell me what you need.”

  I breathe in, steadying myself against my mother’s compulsion. Then I speak one last time in Dutch, every word pushed through clenched teeth as my feet begin to move of their own accord.

  “I need you to make it snow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I’ve never been to a Witch’s Ascension before. Maribel was ordained head of the MA nearly thirty years ago — way before I was born. Being a First is like being a pope or a queen; they can’t be replaced unless they step down or die.

  A wild shiver overtakes my body, whether from the compulsion, the fear, or the ice still clinging to me from the prince’s touch. All I know is that the voice inside my head is compelling me to the HQ roof and then the base of the aisle. I’m nothing but a puppet with invisible strings.

  All the balustrades on the rooftop have been adorned with garlands of lilac orchids and white peonies, which are slowly entwining, blooming, and closing by magic. It reminds me of the night before last and the few hours of bliss Luisa and I had together. I haven’t been able to talk to her yet, although I’ve seen all her worried texts.

  I brush icicles from the strap of my dress, so my mother won’t see. The train is stained grey from running through the city streets, so I tuck that under too.

  The view to my left is stunning. Barcelona, which a few moments ago was bathed in vivid hues of lilac and orange, has now turned a muted indigo. We’re just a few minutes away from the full moon making her grand appearance. This would be beautiful and serene if my blood wasn’t made of pure terror.

  The guests take their seats, all of them dressed in various shades of purple.

  My mother, as the star of the show, is standing at the top of the stairs in a perfectly cut white velvet pantsuit. She greets each guest with Salvador by her side who is looking...solemn? He whispers to her, but she ignores him.

  Beatriz leaves her father’s side and heads to the seating area. Her outfit breaks all MA high-society protocol. She’s in black, the color of mourning in the Shifter world. Her skirt is long and flowing, but her stockings and sleeves are slashed with intricate latticework, and her top far too revealing for any formal event.

  Guests are staring at her but she ignores them. She’s making a point. She wants everyone here to know she’s grieving for Xavi, and she doesn’t give a fuck what they think.

  I didn’t have her down for being this brave, but I like it.

  Her eyes widen as she takes me in standing by the aisle, dressed in an elaborate white gown. I guess that makes two of us. Her face blanches further when she notes that the roof’s aviary is full of messenger crows again. Beatriz loved those birds, but to the MA they are nothing but communication devices.

  Her jaw sets hard, but neither of us says anything.

  Silently she walks to the front of the congregation and takes her seat just as Luisa materializes before me.

  “You haven’t returned my calls,” she says, then looks at my outfit. “Que fas? Why are you in white?”

  My eyes glaze over with tears, but I’m rendered speechless. I can feel my mother’s gaze hot on my skin, her infernal pull inching me forward.

  “I want to Ascend.”

  “Mentid
era! No, you fucking don’t.” Luisa’s fists are balled at her side as she glances back at my mother. “We haven’t known one another for that long, Saskia, but I do know being Second to your mother is the last thing you want.”

  Solina glides past us, ignoring the desperate plea in my eye. She smiles at the guests as she walks down the aisle towards the altar, taking her place at the front. That’s my cue. It’s time to start the show.

  “Saskia,” Luisa hisses, gripping my wrist. “Tell me. What’s Solina got on you?”

  Normally, Luisa would be able to feel my terror through her touch, my hesitation, but my mother’s magic is a mummifying balm around my heart. It’s masking every shred of my true feelings.

  “I want to Ascend. You don’t know me that well. Please, move.”

  Her eyes are glistening, her fists pulled tighter like she wants to fight me out of wanting this. I wish she would. I wish she would punch me and make this pain recede.

  Rafi appears behind her. “People are staring,” he says, pulling at her arm. “Venga, cariño. Saskia is free to choose, remember?”

  She blinks and looks down, letting Rafi lead her away.

  No. No. No. Please don’t give up on me!

  The compulsion squeezes. Somewhere classical music begins to play. I can’t see any string quartet or flying violins. The music is coming out of the flowers which are acting like speakers, each bloom radiating a different musical note.

  With a deep breath, like a sacrificial bride, I walk down the aisle towards my mother and take my place beside her — where she wants me to be forevermore.

  The guests are seated in a crescent formation, a traditional way to signify our mother moon. The board members at the front, then in order of Witch hierarchy. I notice the Nox are missing, no doubt confined to the darkness of their basement, and the lesser Witches at the back. If I wasn’t Solina’s daughter I wouldn’t have been important enough to have even been invited, let alone become her Second.

  I look up at the sky. It’s clear. Of course it is, Solina has had every Elemental work their magic. I turn to my mother, my face betraying nothing of the hatred within. She smiles widely and turns to her audience.

  “Welcome!”

  I wince at the sound of my mother’s rich voice, so full of regal entitlement like she’s already wearing the MA crown. Salvador takes his seat at the front, but he’s refusing to look at me.

  A hush descends over the guests and my mother continues, basking in everyone’s adulation.

  “Tonight we usher in a new light. The age of the Mage. An era of promise and justice — one where Witches rule, at their rightful place, at the top, as the most important Paranormal body in our realm.”

  I notice Salvador flinch — she's completely left Warlocks out of her speech. No Paranormal being I know would agree with a word the pompous bitch is saying. She may as well slap Make Magic Great Again on a baseball cap and wear it.

  My mother continues her speech, something about bloodlines and pride, but I don’t hear a word. It’s darker now. The sun has sunk into the water and my stomach twists in anticipation. I look into the crowd. The prince isn’t even here, only MA members have been invited. Will he still come through on his promise?

  Solina finally finishes her speech. I’m no Touchmage but I can feel her giddy excitement emanating off her like electricity. This is all my mom has ever dreamed of since she married my father thirty years ago. She thought he was her way in, and after he died, she climbed the ranks by herself ensuring she made Maribel her best friend and confidant. She now has everything she’s ever wanted. She’s won.

  Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.

  The rooftop has gone quiet, even the wind has stopped blowing. Everyone is waiting for me to come alive, to entertain them. I nod at my mother, her magic constricting my throat as ceremonial words pour out of me.

  “A Witch does not burn.”

  “For she is made of fire!” my mother replies with glee.

  A Witch approaches with a water basin with floating white lilies. This must be the cleansing part.

  The air is balmy. I swallow, my throat tight and dry, and turn to face the carrier. She’s an Elemental, and she channels the water over my body then over Solina’s until we are both drenched.

  “In the light of the moon you shall be cleansed,” she says.

  A second woman steps up and using her powers she pulls the water from our clothes and places it back in the bowl, just like Rafi did with Luisa on the beach. It feels like a lifetime ago.

  I flinch at the tug in my belly, magic is pulling at me — no longer just my mother’s compulsion but the Ascension taking hold.

  If the prince doesn’t come through on his promise I’m going to Ascend. I’ll be trapped forever. The thought is a twisting dagger in my side.

  The classical music which has been playing this whole time dies down, and another woman steps in front of us. I recognize her as the opera singer from the ball. She holds her hands out wide and a beautiful melody leaves her lips. It’s the MA anthem, the words sung in the old language — a song about feminine unity, the mother moon, and the goddess of power and justice.

  As the woman sings, a lilac mist leaves her mouth and forms blooming flowers that weave their way through the people. Everyone is oohing and aahing, but I know what this is — it’s the quiet before the storm.

  My mother is busy running a knife along the palm of her hand and squeezing her blood into the silver bowl on the altar. The bonding blood, the last stage of the ceremony. Mom nods at me and I step forward as everyone’s eyes are on the flowers made of mist.

  The air isn’t even cold. That cursed Fae prince has broken his promise to me. It’s all over.

  My mother grabs my hand. My heart sinks as I let her cut it, adding my blood to hers. It’s too late. I’m in too deep. The magic pulls and tugs and drowns me, calling every fiber of my being.

  Just then the moonlight, clear and sparkling, hits my skin, and my dress shines. The opera singer stops singing and the crowd falls silent.

  Of fuck. This is it.

  All the Mages seated before us hold hands and a ripple of energy threads through the congregation. I can see it, like a lilac crackle of lightning. A few younger Witches in the audience jump, clearly unaware of this stage of the ceremony. My mother’s hand tightens in mine as she holds out her left hand and I hold out my right. A bright light has formed like a blanket over the crowd, and as we hold out our hands the glow from the moon beams down on us and the light from the audience collects in our hands. My mother has a fistful of light in her palm and so do I.

  “Before all of the MA,” my mother shouts, her voice wavering with excitement. “I instruct my Second to Ascend with me.”

  She holds my other hand with hers and I feel the power of her light join with mine until I jump back, and I’m left holding a halo between my two hands. I look up at the sky, the moon a bright silver orb smiling down at us. I know exactly what I’m expected to do. I’m expected to place this halo of light on Solina’s head. And my fate will be sealed. Forever.

  No. Goddess, please no. I close my eyes, bracing myself for something worse than death — a life spent at my mother's side. A life as nothing but an obedient lapdog, compelled, drained, and controlled. I try to scream but nothing comes out.

  Nothing. Then something cold lands on my cheek.

  Everything has gone dark. Solina is staring at me.

  A solitary snowflake floats before her. She reaches for it and crushes it. It’s instantly replaced by another, and another. Her eyes narrow predatorily on me.

  Then all hell breaks loose.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Everything is white. I can’t even see my mother next to me anymore, let alone my friends or the rest of the crowd. The compulsion is still singing in my head.

  Ascend. Ascend. Ascend.

  Then suddenly, just like a rubber band snapping in two, the tether between me and my mother is gone. I reach my hands out, feeling my w
ay through the crowd. Rafi and Luisa are on their feet, looking around them at the sea of white, Rafi is staring dumbfounded at his hands as if all of this was his accidental doing. Luisa turns to me and I take my chance.

  “Get me the fuck out of here!” I scream.

  Reaching out through the flurry of snow she grabs me with one hand and Rafi with the other.

  “Run!” I cry.

  We rush past bewildered Witches and Warlocks, heading for the stairs and back into the HQ. I can’t see my mother, but something has definitely broken her hold over me.

  I wait until we’re two floors down and nearing the main doors to the street before I allow myself to breathe.

  “It worked!” I cry. “The prince did it!”

  “What?” Luisa replies as we race towards the exit. “Are you saying you got the Fae to make it snow?”

  Hand in hand the three of us race through the streets and I recall every last detail to them as we put distance between ourselves and HQ. But hearing myself say the words aloud sends a flurry of panic through me.

  What the fuck have I done?

  I need to say goodbye to my friends and get as far from Barcelona as possible before anyone realizes I’m behind it all. Then I'm going to make Jackson’s Warlock-for-hire brew me a lifetime supply of protection brew and keep it on me at all times. I’m never letting my bitch of a mother get the upper hand again.

  The snow is falling so hard it’s already settling and nearly reaches our ankles. Tourists in the streets, dressed in light jackets and short sleeves, keep asking one another what the hell is happening. It rarely snows in Barcelona, let alone in late March. Luisa buys us a couple of pashminas from a flabbergasted vendor who is trying to not let his wares get soaked.

  “Follow me,” Rafi shouts, pulling us forward.

  He weaves in and out of mopeds stationary in the middle of the street, the riders looking up to the heavens in confusion. We slip and slide as I try to keep up in my stupid heels, the snow getting higher and higher by the minute.