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Roar (Witches & Warlocks Book 3)

Page 13

by R. M. Webb


  “What do you remember?” the doctor asks.

  “Not much,” I say and don’t have to try too hard to be convincing. “I was walking home from work with Becca …” And seriously, that’s all I know. I’m busy trying to figure out how a cover story with Becca in it works at all, considering she’s been dead for a while now. Or at least I thought she was dead for a while now. Although technically, I guess she still is dead. Or was. I’m not sure as to her current status.

  “A car jumped the curb,” says the doctor, Dr. Linda Francis according to the badge on her chest. “Your friend took the brunt of it, but it appears you were flung away. Hit your head pretty good. Bled a lot.” Mom and Dad exchange looks and there are tears standing in Mom’s eyes again.

  “What?” I ask them. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Mom looks to Dr. Francis, who nods her head. Mom tries to speak, but tears eat her words. Dad puts a hand on her thigh and then stands up. Walks to the bed. Touches my arm.

  “Zoe, sweetheart. Becca didn’t make it.”

  I do my best to appear stunned. Which I that’s going to be out of my repertoire today. I settle for a blank look, the best I can manage, and hope that they believe I’m numb from grief. I feign exhaustion and the room clears, everyone telling me they should give me space and that they’ll be right here if they need me.

  I hear my mom break down, sobbing in the hallway and I wait for her grief to echo inside me, to call on my own tears. There’s nothing. Maybe I’ve finally crossed the line into hardened badass after all.

  Chapter Twenty

  I manage to bumble my way through my hospital stay and, with just a little magical help from my friends, manage to get all the way to checkout time without anyone suspecting I was never in a car accident. Mom and Dad offer to stay in town, but when I tell them I’ve got Noah, they smile in earnest.

  “He never left your side, the whole time you were unconscious,” Mom says. Her sweet face is exactly the way it should be, the way it’s always been. Made beautiful by love and pride, not twisted by hate and anger.

  “We’ll be back for Becca’s funeral,” Dad says and pulls me in for a hug. I swallow and nod and hope that he reads that as grief. I’m still not sure how they’re gonna pull of the whole funeral thing, but I’ve got a meeting with Daya later this afternoon. I guess I’ll find out then. And I’m really not sure how I’m going to pull of the whole grieving best friend, considering everything that’s happened, but I’ll figure something out, I’m sure.

  I promise to call frequently, way more frequently than I had been, and there are real tears in my eyes as they pull away, waving and honking. As soon as they’re out of sight, Noah pulls me in close and wraps me up in his arms.

  He doesn’t say a word. But, his feelings are there, easy for me to understand. It’s in the way his hand strokes my back. In the way he smells my hair. In the way he holds me close for so long. The way I melt into him and he melts into me.

  We’re still standing like that when a car pulls up, all black and shiny and expensive as all hell. The driver gets out, opens the back door, and gestures for us to climb in. I hesitate, not sure who would send a car or where the car would be taking us and I’m really not feeling like trusting people just for the sake of trusting them anymore.

  “It’s OK,” Noah says, sensing my reluctance. “Daya sent the car. No magic for you until we’re sure you’re alright.”

  The car ride passes in comfortable silence. Me, tucked against Noah, wondering what it might mean if my magic is actually broken. If somehow, I’m not able to be a witch anymore. Would that make me happy? Or would I grieve the loss? What does it say that I even have to ask those questions?

  Despite the blowing snow and bitter cold, there’s a crowd gathered on the steps of Windsor Manor when we pull up. This is more than just students as there’s never more than a handful here at any given time. They start clapping and cheering when we step out of the car and I don’t know why. The driver leads us up the steps, people reaching out to touch us, making our progress difficult.

  “Give them room,” admonishes the driver. “Give them room.” The crowd follows us inside but is diverted into one of the large ballrooms as we’re escorted back towards Daya’s office. She’s sitting behind her desk, the same as always. Swathed in a flamboyant dress that makes her look as wide as she is tall. The instant she sees us, she stands and crosses the distance between us, wraps me into a tight hug that feels hella awkward because for one, I don’t think I’ve ever touched Daya before. And for two, I’m way taller than her, so the whole grandmotherly love thing just isn’t working. Instead of guiding us to the chairs at her desk, Daya offers us a seat on the couch. Offers drinks. Sits beside us.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks me, looking like she genuinely cares about the answer.

  For the first time since I woke up, I give the real answer. “I feel … normal. And not in a good way. I’m not sure what’s happened to my magic.”

  Daya smiles and all the grandmotherly love she was going for in the hug is wrapped up in her face. “Don’t worry about that for now. We’ll come back to that. What about everything else?”

  I genuinely feel fine and tell her as much. I’ve got so many questions to ask, I don’t even know where to begin. I just sit in silence while I cycle through them all, trying to decide where to start.

  “Becca’s funeral?” I finally manage, adding as much uncertainty as I can to the question.

  Daya sighs and nods her head. “It’s actually going to work out just fine. Becca’s a vampire now, but as you may have noticed, she kept some of her witchiness, too. She’s the first vampire to walk in the sun.” There’s a huge undercurrent to Daya’s words, so much she’s not saying, but I think I can read between the lines. A witch vampire that can walk in the sun…

  That’s terrifying.

  “Thing is, it can really help a vampire go off grid if they can fake their deaths and make it believable.”

  “But how can we have a funeral if she’s not going to be there? Closed casket?”

  Noah gives a little laugh. “Even better. She doesn’t have a heartbeat and breathing’s optional…”

  I kind of mentally connect the dots. “And she’s pale as a corpse and can hang out in the sun. No need for an empty casket when she can just lie there and pretend.” It’s kind of brilliant. Except for the whole, I trust her just about as far as I can throw her thing. It’s not my concern though, I guess. I’ll leave that to … huh. Who? Now that Barnabe’s gone, who’s in charge?

  “What about all those people? On the steps? Why are they here?”

  “Word traveled fast after the summit—”

  “Summit?”

  “Ya. You think the death of two major players like Lucy and Barnabe would just go unnoticed? Of course there was a summit.” I want to ask why I wasn’t there but Daya just continues talking. “And of course you had to rest. So Noah and I spoke for you. Explained what happened.”

  “Did you find the stuff in the second basement or whatever? It wasn’t Lucy and Albert who were conspiring to make hybrids, it was Barnabe.”

  Daya’s waving her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. We found it. And we had Becca who was more than happy to fill in the blanks for us.”

  “They wanted to do it to me.” And now, of course, my voice fails me and quavers a little. “They wanted to make me a hybrid, too.” I hate the emotion in my voice, but the thought of someone else taking control of me, using me as a thing, like a commodity instead of a person … well … it just makes me feel really low.

  Daya sees all the contained emotion I’m trying to hide and takes my hand. Gives it a squeeze. “But they didn’t. You’re here. You’re safe. No one is going to use you ever again.”

  I think I’m just getting more confused, here. I’ll have to mull over that last statement before I know what to do with it. “So, the people?” I ask, changing the subject. “Why are they here?”

  “Well, my dear. Seein
g as how you are the one who killed Barnabe Withers and managed to stop his diabolical plan from coming to fruition, and managed to damage your magic along the way, sacrificing yourself for the good of all the rest of the world, we’re having a little party in your honor.”

  “A party?”

  “Well yes, especially for you.”

  I don’t know what to say so I just stay quiet, but I’m really not sure how to take this. A party. I killed Barnabe and because of that, inadvertently killed Lucy. Luke’s dead. Becca’s some weird vampire witch hybrid deal. I’ve lost my magic. And Daya’s throwing a party?

  She kind of laughs. “I know it’s a little silly, but there’s an ulterior motive. You’re in need of some serious healing, Zoe.” And all humor fades from her face. “Barnabe twisted your magic up so your dark magic feeds on your light magic. Every time you cast a spell, you’re essentially cannibalizing yourself. It’s a miracle you didn’t die.”

  “Again,” Noah adds, his voice heavy and hard.

  “Again,” Daya concedes. “We’ve gathered the best and brightest healers here to untangle your magic. Figured we might as well do it with music and food available and call it a party.”

  ********

  The night passes in kind of a blur. There’s clapping and cheering and music and dancing. There’s a moment when I’m on a stage, in front of everyone and it’s not the least bit embarrassing.

  Well, wait.

  It’s a little embarrassing, but when you put it up in front of all the embarrassing moments of my life, it barely even registers on the scale. There’s the healing ceremony that leaves me feeling whole and questioning why I ever wondered if I’d be better off without my magic. I spent my whole life being denied the truth of who I am. Why in the world would I want to lose that truth now?

  I’ve got a beer in my hand and am leaning in to try to hear whatever it is this witch I’m talking to is trying to say — something gushing and congratulatory — when I catch sight of a familiar face in the corner. Long brown hair in looping curls that used to be so cute and now are strikingly gorgeous. Tiny little frame, just reaching five foot three in her dangerously high heels. She waves and smiles, but it’s sad. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Becca alone at a party. I excuse myself and head over to her. It’s not until I’m halfway there that I remember I’m mad at her.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to take in all that’s changed about her. The pale skin, faintly outlined in silver. The power and strength in her eyes. The suppleness of her movement.

  “I don’t really fit in here.” She waves at the gathered witches and warlocks. “No one trusts a vampire.”

  “Ya, but you were a witch first.”

  “Sure. The witch who betrayed the beloved Zoe Tate.” She says it without bitterness, but also without even a hint of humor. “I’m not really sure what to do with myself.”

  I want to ask her why she came, but that just seems rude so I don’t say anything at all.

  Becca leans in, widening her eyes. “Zoe. You have to use your words.” And this time there’s all kinds of humor in her voice. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear her say that, but I smile anyway. She falters when she sees my face. “Ya,” she says. “Probably not very funny, huh?”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “You shouldn’t do that anymore.”

  “What?”

  “You spent too long not saying anything. I’m sorry for that. You should speak up whenever the hell you feel like it.” And with that, Becca pushes off the wall. She grabs my arm and gives it a squeeze and then just disappears. She didn’t use a spell. I would have felt the magic. She probably just walked out, using her newfound speed.

  Damned vampires.

  And then there’s a hand circling my waist. Someone pulling me backwards. I spin, and ready my magic and sigh when I find myself face to face with Noah.

  “Easy there, Tonto,” he says with a laugh. “Just wanted to kiss the guest of honor is all.”

  “Oh, ya? You think you can just come in here all sexy like and have your way with me?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” And then he kisses me and it’s long and it’s deep and it makes me want to strip him of all his clothes and press my body to his. My chest is heaving when he pulls away and smiles. “How do you like them apples?” he asks with a little lift of his eyebrow.

  “Oh, Noah,” I say, catching the little inside joke he just tossed my way. “Those apples are good.”

  ********

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  Books by R. M. Webb

  Witches and Warlocks series:

  Speak

  Hush

  Roar

  Howl

  Whisper – coming soon!

  Immortal Memories series:

  Façade

  Unleashed

  Reclaimed – coming soon!

  Also in the Immortal Memories Universe:

  Til Death

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

 

 

 


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