by Kayti McGee
“Your emotions are the primary tool of your magic. Sudden rages could have unexpected consequences if you aren’t careful.” The memory of how my rage had stopped a man’s heart last night hit me like a ton of bricks. And when I’d gotten angry later, it had been at Thorn. The thought of what could have happened chilled me to my core. Is this what I would do in the woods on that night? Misplace my anger, misdirect my magic?
“Don’t look at me like that. I was safe. I’m far from powerless myself, you know. Rue had no idea you had an ounce of magic in you, or she’d have had her own wards up and been much harder to kill herself.” His weight settled next to me on the bed as he picked up the mug and pressed it into my hands. “And to that end, drink every drop of this, please. The angelica I brewed it with should help protect you while I’m gone and my peace of mind is fragile enough without having to worry that you’re ignoring my offerings.”
If anything, that only made my face do the look of horror even harder.
“You’re leaving? Why? Where? No! Why?” I quickly guzzled the coffee, not for the sake of his peace of mind, but so he’d see what an obedient good girl I could be and would stay. Being alone right now did not feel like a good plan to me. Also, I still held out hope for another round of magical sex in front of the embers of last night’s fire.
“Relax. This is a parlay. Marion—the Maven—wants to talk. If I don’t go, that’s when things would really go sideways.”
“I don’t understand. She’s like—your boss? She just tells you what to do and who to kill and you do it?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but you’ve got the basic gist of it, yes. We operate in a matriarchal world here. The Maven is the head of our coven. Marion is the current Maven, and I am bound to obey her. As are all the members of our family. She is our high priestess and leader in one.” He stood, dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “Besides, don’t you know black magic is done at night?”
It was always difficult to gauge when he was joking, but I had a suspicion I was being mocked. It was hard to tell through the warm fuzzy glow that diffused through me at the brush of his lips on my hair. The dichotomy of his job as a coven hitman and the tender way he touched me was fast becoming my favorite thing. Weight hit the bed again as Thorn tossed a laptop and his wallet down.
“I burned all your things, so feel free to punish me by maxing this out.” And on that note he was gone. I threw myself back onto the bed and laughed at the ceiling. Asshole. I bet his cards had really high limits, unlike my own recently departed ones. If spending all his money was a challenge, it was one I was up for. But first, I was ready to indulge in my absolute favorite activity— snooping. I walked to the dresser and opened the drawer he’d pulled a shirt from and grabbed one for myself. Then I opened every other drawer one by one and gazed at the contents.
The methodical way he folded everything was so very Thorn. I was charmed. That didn’t stop me from messing everything up, of course, but I was charmed nonetheless.
His closet held an assortment of designer clothes, some of which still had the tags on. All of it smelled like him, that scent I’d have gladly rolled in like a dog if I thought it would stick to me. His bathroom was fastidiously clean, not surprising, but still a relief. The rest of his house was a complete surprise to me, just because of the condition I’d arrived in. Walking out of his palatial bedroom, I was greeted by a wide pine-planked hall, painted a soft coal, unadorned with photographs or art. One direction definitely led to the kitchen, judging from the lingering smell of coffee, but the other ended in a medieval style door. I was obviously intrigued.
The arch came to a point on the top, and the criss-crossed wood was secured with huge iron nailheads. It looked like it had been stripped from a Templar monastery somewhere, and knowing Thorn, probably had.
I gave the twisted handle an experimental tug, and to my delight, the door opened right away. The aura of magic was thick in the incense-scented air, tangible even to a child like me. I shouldn’t be there. Like hell was I leaving. I skirted the room, taking in the beeswax candles on the walls, black stains above them showing how frequently the sconces were lit. The entire center was a circled star surrounded by what I now knew were runes. The whole scene looked like a heavy metal band’s album cover and I was deeply jealous that this was the kind of witchcraft Thorn had while I was measuring sea salt and being corrected on my levios-ahhh by Rosemary and Sage.
Being in here was undoubtedly some sort of trespass, so I didn’t dare approach the altar in the middle even though I longed to. I left reluctantly, but my extreme act of self-control was rewarded almost immediately when I found another door on my way to the kitchen.
This one was less ornate, but it led to a library. A library! In his house. All my wildest Beauty and the Beast fantasies were coming true as I stepped up on the ladder—of course it had a ladder— and pushed off. I sailed for three or four feet, rather unlike the cartoon version. When the ladder stopped, I realized I was in front of books about magic.
Now this was an opportunity.
I selected three or twelve of the most interesting looking volumes from his shelves and set them on a low table in front of an armchair. I gave the stack a little sniff. The perfect old-book smell. If someone could bottle that, they’d make a bazillion dollars. I wondered if there was a spell for that. Maybe I could get my own high-limit cards if so. Which reminded me that I was wearing nothing but Thorn’s shirt, and would be for the foreseeable future if I didn’t take advantage of his parting gifts. It only took a moment to retrieve his computer and credit card, and then I set up camp.
My Pretty Woman moment was over in about ten minutes after I hit the Bergdorf Goodman site and ordered myself a small wardrobe’s worth of new clothes from designers I never thought I’d ever afford. All in black. It felt appropriate. Besides, I liked the idea of matching Thorn.
I wanted his Maven to see that we were a united front.
That she might have had him for the last hundred years, but he was mine now.
I hadn’t had any bad feelings as of yet, so I presumed he was still safe with her. Surely, after the bond we’d developed and refined, I would know if something was amiss. So I proceeded to start cramming like it was finals week at college all over again, tearing through book after book, jotting down notes with a pen and paper I found in a desk drawer near Fiction. Because of course he Dewey Decimal-ed his home library. Of course.
After a while I stopped and stretched. I was a newly minted murderer. A necromancer. A half-orphan, stuck between worlds. And I’d never been happier.
Fifteen
Thorn
I stepped into the woods behind my house, just into the shadows, and sank against a tree. How cavalier I had pretended to be in the house—how nearly indifferent! And when Rose had gone wide-eyed and pleaded with me to stay, I’d told her to relax. Relax! As if I could relax, leaving her alone on a mountainside crawling with witches.
No, leaving Rose was the last thing I wanted to do, and relaxation was the furthest feeling from my heart. I shouldn’t let her out of my sight. I turned back toward the house.
The curtains, which I had drawn, remained drawn. Behind them, the shutters slanted together. Maybe I should have warned her not to open them. Maybe I should have tried to teach her a quick cloaking spell, or maybe we should have fled...
A draft of bitter wind rose from the valley. I closed my eyes as specks of snow and ice stung at my face. No spell that I could teach Rose now would offer sufficient protection if Marion sent the coven to search my home, and it was far too late for us to sneak away. Rose was safest with me, but our safety was precarious at best. I could only hope that my ward held if witches came to the house.
I turned up the collar of my coat and trudged into the forest. On a happier occasion, I would have enjoyed the walk. Hoarfrost plated every twig and branch. Morning sunlight hit the treetops and the ice became lucent, the wood like a palace. Even so, I barely raised my eyes. I took a
deep breath and remembered Rose as the cold filled my lungs. I remembered her last night, the way she had felt under me, my hands all over her.
I was still thinking about her when the cold morning thawed into the stifling warmth of Marion’s library. I knew it was dangerous, yet I held Rose’s face in my mind as I lifted my head. The thought of her was a talisman.
Marion stood before me, her hair loose and her hands clasped together. The room around her rippled with energy. She had been casting, scrying perhaps.
“Rue is dead,” she said. Her tone was curiously empty.
“I know.”
She blinked in front of me and touched my cheek. “You have a strange aspect about you.” Fingers like ice slid into my mind.
With one violent mental swipe, I raked her out of my thoughts. She lurched back.
“How could you,” I spat, “send Rue to do a job that was mine?”
Marion panted and stared at me. Her pale eyes betrayed nothing, but I could feel her shock. I was stronger than she knew.
“What happened?” she said.
“You should be telling me that.”
“You took too long returning. I sent Rue. Who are you to question my choice? I’ve sent her in your stead hundreds of times.”
I channeled my fear into anger, although I wasn’t afraid for myself. I was afraid for Rose. Horrifying possibilities paraded through my thoughts. In that moment, I felt sure that her fate depended on my ability to act.
“This wasn’t one of those times,” I growled. “Her family killed mine. I deserved to be the one to finish her.”
Marion’s expression softened slightly. She believed me, or she wanted to believe me.
“I went to Rune’s cabin as soon as I got back,” I continued. “It was too late. The girl was gone, her uncle and Rue were dead. If you had just let me handle it...” I sneered.
“Did you try to find her?”
“Of course. I burned her car and searched half the mountain.”
“And you didn’t think of coming to me?”
“Why should I?” I took a step closer to Marion. “Why should I consult you? You didn’t consult me. You sent Rue to her death and stole my revenge.”
We stared at each other—me glaring, Marion gazing flatly—and I was on the point of taking a different tack when Marion retreated. She seemed to deflate, to become even more petite, as she dropped into an armchair. She held her head in her hands. The gesture revealed the many years behind her guise.
“You’re hurt,” she said. “I understand.”
“Do you? It was my right. How many meaningless executions have I carried out for you? I wanted this one. I deserved it.”
“You may still get it.”
I scoffed. “As if the girl would stay.”
Marion’s head came up. She was young again, her eyes filled with confusion. “How could she have killed Rue? It shouldn’t have been possible.”
I shook my head. I allowed my anger to give a little, as if I cared for Rue or the parents I had never known. “We don’t know what happened. We won’t know until we find her.”
“You think... maybe the uncle did it?”
I approached Marion and touched her shoulder. “Possibly. He’s dead now, so it doesn’t matter. And I will find the girl.”
She clutched my hand and gazed up at me. She believed me wholeheartedly now, I was sure of it, or else she was as skilled at lying as I was.
“I want her gone,” she whispered.
“So do I.”
“She may be strong, Thorn. She may be here to avenge her family.”
“She isn’t strong enough to kill me,” I said, and I smiled because I was remembering Rose’s spirit grip on my neck. More—Rose had spoken of a vision of my death. I had feigned nonchalance at the time, but now it was becoming quite clear that the girl might be the death of me after all. “How many know about Rue’s passing?”
“Only a few.” Her small hand slipped away. “I had hoped to keep the girl’s presence a secret...” She stared toward the window. “She is only one witch.”
“I’ll find her. Don’t disturb the others. She can’t have gotten far.”
Marion nodded and lapsed into silence. I had never seen her so disturbed. She continued gazing off at nothing while I let myself out, through the thicket of magic around her home, and back into the frigid morning.
My phone, which I had silenced during the meeting, chimed about a dozen times when I unmuted it. I grinned at the screen. There were, it seemed, some unusual expenses appearing on my Amex Black Card: A four thousand dollar Prada tote, black silk trousers, a semi-sheer turtleneck, cashmere cardigans, a two hundred dollar bra with a Bengal tiger appliqué, and Scandalwood Heretic Parfum, among other things.
A quick call set my bank at ease.
I searched the forest around my house before returning. In Marion’s presence, I had believed that she believed me, but perhaps that was what she had wanted. I was not so clever as to delude myself. In the coming days, I would need to make a show of my alleged search for Rose. Juniper Hollow would become my stage.
I found Rose in the library. She was not curled up in one of my more comfortable armchairs; she was hunched over the desk, one hand on a book, the other scribbling notes on loose leaf. She looked for all the world like a college student. I smiled slyly and leaned in the doorway. Warlock perks: I could sneak up on just about anyone.
“How old are you anyway?” I murmured after a while.
She jumped and glared at me. “Thorn.” In an instant, her anger softened to relief. She exhaled and tucked back her hair. Maybe she understood the gravity of our situation better than I expected. “Hey. I’m... twenty-two.” She cleared her throat. “Well, basically twenty-three. Why?”
“No reason.” I continued watching her, and she seemed to sense that I wanted to do just that. She completed my library. She finished my otherwise insignificant home.
She licked her lips and rather self-consciously resumed reading, or pretending to read. Her hair tumbled forward the moment she lowered her head. Under her shirt, my shirt, her heart began to drum.
I stayed in the doorway as long as I could stand it. Then I crossed the room and stood behind her, my fingertips brushing the back of her neck.
“So, I’m allowed to stare at you now?” I said.
She nodded slightly. Her hand on gone still, white knuckling the pen. I lowered my lips to her ear. She smelled divine, like sex and sleep.
“What changed?” I whispered. To my satisfaction, she shuddered.
“You scared me in the woods. That night, by the stream. You scared me on purpose.”
I moved my mouth to her other ear, brushing my nose through her hair. “And now? I don’t scare you now?”
She rolled her head back, dropped the pen. I kissed her neck and she sighed.
“Don’t know,” she mumbled.
I liked that answer. I liked it because she frightened me a little, and that excited me. I lifted off her shirt, the only thing she wore. We kissed slowly, her head tipped back against the chair and my hands around her lovely face. I needed to kiss her slowly. I felt that I had been starving for something like Rose most of my life. Now that I had it, I intended to savor it.
I closed my fingers against her cheek and the light shrank from the room. Night came down in my library, a panorama of stars wrapping the ceiling and darkness folding around us. “Leaving the lights on...” I sucked on her bottom lip. “Is so overrated.”
I moved my hands down her body her to her thighs. She knew what I wanted. She pushed back from the desk and spread her legs on the chair. I got on my knees in front of her and kissed her again, my tongue inside of her.
I dragged it out. I made her beg for it. When she squirmed and shook, I held her against my mouth unrelentingly. Her legs clamped around my back. She moaned my name like an incantation.
Afterward, I stood and she did it for me. Her mouth was velvet. I should have known that she would make me beg, too.
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Spent and yet pleasantly unsatisfied, I carried her to an armchair and held her on my lap. I wrapped a shearling throw around her. Gradually, the light returned to the room. I traced little nothings on the crown of her head.
“I like a woman who knows how to spend my money,” I said with a laugh.
She smiled sheepishly, her eyes glittering. “Your card is on the bed. I’ve never seen one of those.” The Centurion Card, she meant.
“You can have anything you want. You have good taste.”
She sat up enough to look at me. “How many woman have”—she attempted a nonchalant tone—“spent your money?”
“A lot.”
She nodded too quickly.
“I bet,” she said. “I can tell.”
I tilted my head and watched her through half-shuttered eyes. I enjoyed watching her. The play of emotion on her face was the very definition of life.
“Not that that’s a bad thing,” she added hastily. “I was living with a guy before I came out here. My ex.” She began to pick at her fingernail. “And I’ve dated other guys. I even dated a girl once.” She chattered away about her sundry romances as if I had asked—as if they might bother me—or maybe in an effort to appear more worldly than her twenty-two years allowed. I certainly enjoyed listening to her.
By the time her history finally ran aground, her face was as red as her hair and she couldn’t look me in the eye.
“I have... no idea why I told you all that,” she admitted.
I touched her lips. “I’m glad to know it. I would be glad to know anything about you. Rose, sometimes...” I considered my words carefully. “The coven. What we are. Sometimes sex is for pleasure; sometimes it’s for power. Do you understand?”
She nodded, but her brow was knit.
“There are nights when we need its energy,” I continued. “Brothers and sisters wake up in each other’s arms. Men with men, women with women. You see? Nothing in our world is delimited. The meanings are different, even if the signs are the same.”