No Way: Colton & Shea (Claws Clause Book 1.75)

by Jessica Lynch

  The tinkling bell caught her attention immediately, then the tingle of powerful magic filtering in its wake directly after. The strength in the breeze obliterated her necessary shields. Like the wind that threw the door open, the rush of staggering power blew past her shields without any resistance at all.

  Her shields were her only line of defense. With a heart like hers, she’d try to solve every problem, heal every hurt. She kept her shields up around the clock, blocking the sources of pain that seemed to reach for her whenever they fell. She gasped when they shattered, steeling herself for the onslaught that could easily overwhelm her.

  Only it didn’t.

  Well, the urge to heal didn’t. The whipping wind? That nearly knocked her on her ass. Only a lifetime of living with a super powerful witch—her beloved Nana—kept her vertical.

  Shea’s inky black curls flew around her face, slapping her cheeks, stinging her eyes, a stray strand or two getting caught between her lips. By the time she raised her hands to her head, flattening the wild tresses and taming them, she blinked her eyes open to see the tall, statuesque redhead in heels striding through the doorway of Shea’s shop as if she owned it.

  Which was a matter of course. If a local witch had her name on it, part of it did belong to Luciana la Sorcière—whether Shea chose to be a member of the coven or not.

  “Madame Luciana.” Shea bowed her head, half in greeting, half in respect. She slipped her blue kyanite into her pocket before she looked up to meet Luciana’s haughty gaze. “This is such a… such a surprise. What can I do for you?”

  The head witch rarely left Coventry. When she did, she certainly wore a glamour. Very few Paras—and even fewer humans—knew her favored appearance. Luciana preferred to lord over the biggest coven in America from her penthouse office in the heart of Coventry. She had a whole staff of lesser witches to do her bidding.

  So what was she doing at Moonshadow Apothecary?

  “Brown eyes,” Luciana said by way of an answer. “It’s a choice.”

  It was. Shea couldn’t manage much, between her shields and her backward magic, but a simple glamour to hide her purple eyes from her customers? Easy peasy.

  And it wasn’t like she did so because she was ashamed of being a witch. Far from it. She was grateful for the small amount of power she did possess, and she was proud that—while her brother was completely powerless—one of them could continue on passing down the Moonshadow name.

  “It makes sense to hide my eyes. I’m not selling witchcraft here, just wellness. You know. Herbs. Poultices. Crystals. It keeps my customers from coming in with high expectations if they think I’m human.”

  “You’re a freelancer. I’m aware.” Luciana shrugged in that elegant way she had. The tiniest movement of her jacket-covered shoulders as if she couldn’t understand Shea’s motivations, but wasn’t going to argue. “Your grandmother speaks highly of your skills. Just know, there’s a place for you at Coventry when you’re ready to take it.”

  Her grandmother spoke highly of her healing skills. The fact that even the simplest of charms seemed to backfire when Shea tried her hand at them assured that she would never be an official part of the coven.

  Still, she respected Luciana and what she stood for. And while a visit from the head witch herself wasn't usual, she’d grown up the beloved granddaughter of one of Luciana's favored witches. With her Nana an ocean away, she had wondered if one of the coven witches would find a reason to stop by her shop.

  She just hadn’t thought it would be the most powerful witch on the east coast.

  “I was nearby, taking an important meeting in the Para settlement at the edge of the city. I thought, since Grayson’s right here, maybe I should stop by and say hello. I’ve been meaning to check your stock, see if you have anything new.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s great to see you. You look amazing.”

  Luciana offered her a thin-lipped smile as if saying, I know. “I’m actually in need of amethyst. Do you sell it in your apothecary?”

  Shea wasn’t that naive. There was obviously another reason why Luciana had made an unannounced appearance in downtown Grayson, but if she might get a sale out of it, Shea was going to go along with whatever Luciana’s motives were.

  “Purple, right? Sure. I have it right over here.” She kept some on hand for her few witch regulars. Amethyst was a nurturing stone that helped create a field of protective energy around a spellcaster. Plus, it was purple. Perfect for a witch. “How many stones would you like?”

  “You have to ask?”

  Duh. Stupid question. If ever possible, any witch worth his or her craft would always choose three. It was, after all, the magic number. It also represented the Goddess every witch revered. One for the maid, one for the mother, one for the crone.

  Without another word, Shea gathered three large hunks of purple amethyst, slipping them in a small leather satchel and tying it off with a bit of twine.

  “That’s mine? For me alone?”

  It wasn’t just a question. It was the beginning of an intonation. Doing her part, Shea nodded.

  The air crackled with magic again. The leather bag disappeared from her loose grasp. She knew, without a doubt, that the crystals were stowed securely in Luciana’s suit jacket pocket.

  Once that casual display of magic was done, the head witch lifted her hand, rubbed two fingers together, and conjured a bill.

  She placed it on the counter. “For payment.”

  Shea wouldn’t dream of insulting Luciana by turning the payment away. Witches as a race were nothing if not mercenary, even among their own kind. Luciana wouldn’t expect the crystals for free any more than Shea would offer them to her in tribute, so the bill was definitely appreciated.

  Most demanded diamonds in payment, but a witch would always pay in cash. Whatever diamonds a witch earned, they kept, and Shea couldn’t tap into the gem’s power anyway. She pressed the ‘no sale’ key on her register and tucked the twenty in the til gratefully.

  Once the echo of the drawer slamming shut disappeared, Luciana’s gaze turned pointed. “Grayson is your home now, right?” At Shea’s nod, she asked, “Tell me, did you hear anything about the incident that happened downtown last week?”

  Shea blinked.

  She wasn’t quite sure how to answer Luciana. Since she made the decision not to act as part of the coven, technically she wasn’t considered a real witch. Sure, Luciana humored her because of her close relationship with Shea’s grandmother, but she was still the head of Coventry. She had to be very careful how she responded.

  “Only what was reported. Someone”—supposedly a witch, but she wasn’t going to repeat that rumor out loud—“tossed a shifter out of a sixth-floor window. He’s okay, but I heard the local pack is pissed.”

  “As am I. I knew the witch who caused all this trouble. She’s made life very troublesome for me lately. I owe her for that.”

  “One of yours?”

  “A freelancer, like yourself.” Luciana gestured at Shea’s side. “I saw the way you clutch your side as you move. You walk like it was you who got tossed.”

  “Can promise it wasn’t,” Shea said, keeping her tone light. Luciana’s vivid red hair whirled like flames behind her, a sure sign she was as angry as she claimed. “I was at my shop all day, except when I closed up early. Actually,” she added, putting two and two together as Luciana watched her with unveiled interest in her purple gaze, “that was the day I started to feel a little off. You’re right as always, madame. My side does hurt. Huh. I wonder if the rogue witch managed to snag me with her spell. I might’ve gotten hit with like a stray curse or something.”

  “Perhaps. Priscilla wasn’t worried about who she hurt when she unleashed her fury. She’ll regret that, of course, when we find her again.”

  We, Shea noticed. Not they. Like with any other bad apples, the coven would have their own ways of dealing with a rogue witch. Luciana would never let the pack of shifters retaliate against a witch before she had the
chance to.

  Luciana waved her hand, as if wiping away the unpleasant topic of conversation. “Anyway, you might have felt the effects of her casting. It’s certainly possible. If that’s all it is, you should be better in no time at all.”

  That made sense to Shea. Only… “Do you think it could be something other than that? I… I don’t think I sensed any magic when it hit me, and no matter what I try, I can’t heal it.”

  “Oh, you won’t be able to heal this one on your own.”

  “What? Really? Why? Was it a different kind of curse, then? Or a spell with a little oomph behind it?”

  Luciana shook her head, her flame-red hair continuing to dance around her lovely face. “If what I suspect is true, no amount of diamonds could have done this to you,” she promised.

  That was saying something. As every witch knew, with enough diamonds, almost anything was possible. The precious gems acted like amplifiers for more difficult spells. So if the head witch was sure that that couldn’t be it, then—

  “Madame Luciana… do you know what it could be?”

  “Mmm.” Her vivid purple eyes flashed wickedly. “I think I’ll let you discover that yourself.”

  And that was the end of that. Shea had enough experience with powerful witches to know when her audience with the head of Coventry was over with.

  On her way out of the shop, Luciana paused by the ornately carved wooden dresser that Shea had pulled the purple amethyst out of earlier. A glass display was perched on the top, showing off the expensive crystals she had for sale. The intricate drawers built into the piece housed the rest of the wares on padded bottoms.

  “That’s a nice piece of furniture.”

  “Oh? Thanks. I really like it. I actually had it made especially for the shop. Cost me an arm and a leg”—and that poor guy his ankle—“but it was worth it.”

  “I’d be interested in commissioning one just like it for my office,” Luciana said conversationally. “You wouldn’t happen to know the name of the craftsman, would you?”

  It was the last thing she ever expected Luciana to ask.

  “Um, no. Sorry. I got a flier tucked in my doorway a couple of weeks ago, advertising handmade wooden furniture. It’s a local guy who creates it, real shy about his work, and he only communicates through e-mail. But I’ve got the name of the guy who made contact with me and delivered it to my shop if that helps.”

  “It might.”

  “It’s Wolfe. Colton Wolfe.”

  All those weeks later and Shea recalled it easily. How could she forget? Before the awful squeezing sensation and the aches coursing through her body made it difficult to sleep, the delivery man with the gorgeous face, tempting body, and bad, bad attitude had been the star of all of her nighttime fantasies.

  For a second, he had looked at her as if he had felt… something. Of course, then he’d snapped at her before running out of her shop on an ankle that burned so bad, it had to have been shattered.

  “Wolfe, huh?” Luciana’s tongue darted out, playing at the corner of her blood-red mouth. She grinned. A pulse of satisfaction slammed into Shea’s rebuilt shields. If she was a cat, Luciana would be purring. “That’s what I thought.”

  Then, before Shea could recover enough to ask the head witch what she meant by that, the front door flew inward again, Shea struggled to maintain her shields, and Luciana was gone.

  7

  It seemed as if Shea might have taken too long to unravel the riddle in Luciana’s visit. The next day, while she leaned up against her counter, rubbing her still throbbing hip, her doorbell tinkled again.

  The warmth of the aura preceding Kallista Moonshadow reminded Shea of freshly baked bread. It was homey. It was cozy. It embraced her shields, rather than plowing through them. It was like being enveloped in the most soothing, most comforting hug ever.

  She smiled broadly at the familiar beauty silhouetted in the doorway.

  It was her beloved grandmother.

  While Kallista didn’t stop by the shop as often as she did when Shea was first starting out, Shea was far less surprised to see her than she had been with Luciana even though, as of last night, Kallista had been an ocean away.

  Mainly because, after that strange encounter, she was almost positive the head witch had contacted her grandmother.

  After sweeping into the shop and kissing Shea on both cheeks, Kallista disappeared into Shea’s back office, returning a few minutes later with a steaming mug that she set on top of the counter.

  “Devil’s claw tea,” she said. “Drink up, honey. That’ll help you with the pain.”

  Shea didn’t have the heart to tell her grandmother that nothing she’d taken over the last few days had helped at all. She didn’t bother asking how Kallista could tell she was hurting, either. Not only was her grandmother also a witch, but they had the same talent. Kallista was a healer who could sense illnesses and injuries and often used magic to help relieve someone of it.

  Well, her grandmother could. What Shea did was… different. She could feel all kinds of pain—both physical and emotional when her shields were down—but relying on magic to fix it?

  Yeah. Nope.

  Shea blew on her tea to cool it, resigned herself to a burned tongue in addition to all her other aches and pain, and chugged the tea.

  “Feel better?”

  No. “Oh, yeah. I do.”

  Her grandmother snorted through her long nose. “She’s twenty-five now and still my granddaughter tells me fibs.”

  An experienced witch learned how to tell lies from truth using magic. After raising Shea and her older brother, Hudson, their entire lives, Kallista was pro at knowing when they were lying—and she didn’t need her magic to figure it out.

  Having been caught, there was nothing she could say except, “Sorry, Nana.”

  “Mm.”

  Shea took another sip, willing the herbal tea to do something. “I mean, I’m sure I’ll feel better later. Sometimes it takes a minute for the remedy to take.”

  “The tea, yes. But I’ve been working on you since I arrived in front of your shop and I could sense your aches. Your hip,” Kallista said, her dark purple eyes narrowed shrewdly on Shea’s right side, “and your back. The bruise must be something terrible for the heat radiating off of it.”

  That’s how the healing senses worked. Shea had a hard time explaining it to anyone who didn’t already understand, but she could look at someone and tell where they were hurting and how badly by the color she saw and the level of heat she felt wafting off their skin.

  Only... one thing. That first night, when the sudden pain brought her to her knees, she went home and checked every inch of her body in the mirror for some outward sign. She was perfectly intact. No bruises. No cuts. Not a single blemish on her olive-toned skin.

  Since she didn’t plan on stripping down and showing her back to her grandmother, she hurriedly tried to change the subject. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you were overseas.”

  Her grandmother was currently working with a European coven and had been since the beginning of the year. So while it was nice to see her again after missing her these last six months, she had to admit that the timing was a little suspicious.

  “I’ll be returning shortly. My coven has priority over any others, my family even more than that. You didn’t seem surprised when I entered the shop, Shea. Now, is there anything you want to tell me?”

  She wasn’t surprised because, from the moment Luciana left her shop, Shea had been expecting a visit just like this. Her grandmother would’ve burned through quite a few diamonds to gather the magic to transport halfway across the globe, but Kallista wasn’t kidding: family comes first. So, yeah, she’d been expecting this.

  Her grandmother’s question? Not so much.

  Shea gulped. She hated questions like that. A million different things always sprang to mind—some so embarrassing that she cringed to think her Nana might know about them—and she had
to wonder if that time she went three days without changing her underwear meant something now.

  Before she could admit to anything, her grandmother said, “I spoke to Luciana.”

  Was that all? She figured that already. “Yeah? Did she mention that she stopped by yesterday?”

  “She told me that she suspected the cause of your problems, my dear. And, now that I’ve come all this way to see you, I have to say that I agree.”

  “You know what’s wrong with me?”

  “Yes. I believe so.”

  “Great!” That was the first good news Shea had received in days. “Then you can fix me.”

  “It’s not so easy as that. Tell me, what do you know about bonds?”

  “Bonds? What do you— wait. You mean like fated mates, true love, Para bonds?”

  Her grandmother nodded.

  “It’s usually a shifter thing. Their beasts go looking for a mate so they can have kids, everyone knows that. Vampires have a blood bond, too. Maybe there’s some others, I don’t know… witches don’t. Right?” When Kallista quirked a perfectly shaped eyebrow high without saying a word, Shea felt her stomach go queasy. “Nana, right? Witches don’t have bonds.”

  “Of course we do.”

  Shea picked up on her grandmother’s meaning a second after she made her denial. “Well, yeah. I know. It’s like how all the witches in our family can communicate with each other. That’s not what I mean, though. We don’t have fated mates.”

  “No,” Kallista said, drawing the word out as she looked down at her granddaughter. “But that never stopped us from being someone’s mate.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I’m not. It would explain your symptoms, and how neither your healing skills or my magic could fix what’s going on inside of you. From what I understand, when there’s a bond, mates can experience each other’s pain. An incomplete bond, however… if your mate—”

  Shea finally shook off her shock long enough to say in bafflement, “I don’t have a mate.”