by Rachel Shane
Delilah’s heart thrashed harder and her mouth moved quickly into an incantation to break the ropes, but no sound came out. He’d robbed her of her voice again. Of her ability to defend herself both with a spell and with a sharp, desperate scream into the night.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” He pressed his body against hers, his lips inches from her mouth. She squeezed her mouth shut and tried to look away, bracing herself. And then he reached above her head and sliced a short line down the flesh of her exposed palm.
Pain radiated from her hand, and Delilah tried to let out a scream that was swallowed by her own silence. Kendrick caught a few drops of blood into a second vial, and then lovingly, carefully wrapped her hand up in gauze and antiseptic. The cut still throbbed and stung. Everything about this stung.
He hummed again as he dumped her blood into the boiling pot and recited a curse. “Under the discretion of Promisee, this spell terminates the Promisor’s ability to use magic in all scenarios, including but not limited to spells, curses, charms, glamours, siphons, hexes, harmful intent, acts of God, war, strikes, injury, death, or any other force majeure event. The term of this contract commences with this spell and continues in perpetuity unless Promisor performs a counter blood spell to sever the parties’ obligations under this contract.” He dumped his own blood into the pot. “Magic gone. Spirit remains. You’re mine to claim.”
Delilah felt a whoosh as all the magic stored inside her bled out of her pores, rushed through her mouth, and seeped out of her eye sockets. Every hole and crevasse in her body oozed the magic that made her whole. Even the latent sting of the vigilante curse slowed to a dull pulse before fading completely.
“I don’t know what exactly you were planning tonight,” Kendrick said. “But rest assured, your plan stops here.”
She collapsed into the ropes like a limp, wet noodle.
CHAPTER SIX
COLE
Cole frantically tore through the banquet hall, knocking into waiters and elbowing fellow participants. He left a trail of glares and curses—the verbal kind—in his wake, but he didn’t even notice. His breath came in heavy gasps, his head pounding hard and fierce behind his eye sockets. One second Delilah was there, a fierce look on her face as she talked with that cheesy Producer. And then the lights blinked out, a rush of wind whipped through the hall, and when all semblances of reality returned like a punch in the skull, she was gone. The Producer was gone. He had taken her somewhere. He. Him. Kendrick.
Cole’s hands curled into tight fists. The other attendees were busy fixing their wind-whipped hair, adjusting their skirts that rode up too high, complaining about the electricity going haywire. Cole didn’t wait for Kendrick to return. The heat of Las Vegas hit him square in the chest as soon as he exited, and the people who had just been complaining that it was too cold inside were already fanning their faces with their palms.
Pain throbbed against Cole’s forehead, and he wondered if this was how Delilah felt when her vigilante curse called to her—wild, feral, desperate to just do something. Cole turned in circles, scanning every direction but having no idea which one to take. Which one might hold a key or a clue to Delilah.
His vision locked on a tall gold spire rising higher than any other building on the Strip. A glittery golden leaf spun in circles at the top, radiating beams of light into the night sky. Cole’s feet pulled him toward the building, each stomp reverberating through his entire body. Every muscle under his skin tightened in preparation to strike. The building wound and curved in a spiral of architectural achievement. The exterior glittered with billions of golden sparkles, catching the extravagant lights of nearby buildings and reflecting them to become its own. A crowd gathered outside, snapping pictures of the glitter fountains that performed synchronized confetti shows. Cole stormed right past them, straight into the decadent lobby, that welcomed him with open arms. He stopped just inside the entrance, cringing for the briefest moment as if the magical sensors might ping and ruin everything for him right there. But a doorman simply nodded at him, so Cole continued inside, his feet scraping across the gold leaf-patterned carpet like fallen Autumn leaves.
Slot machines whirred and bleeped. Shouts of glee rose from the Craps tables. A woman wearing a fanny pack clutched a bucket of jingling coins as she zoomed to a nearby Slot Machine. Cole stood in the entrance, not knowing where the hell to go. Casinos were his second home, his comfort zone, but he felt entirely out of his element here. Where would Kendrick of taken Delilah? The answer could be anywhere. Cole couldn’t even describe how he managed to take her. Wherever he had taken her to, it wasn’t on this floor. It wasn’t out in the open. It wasn’t any place Cole could access.
Fuck. He resisted the urge to swing his fist into the nearest metallic box but settled for raking his palm through his dark hair. Delilah had saved him once. And he couldn’t even repay the simple favor. He dropped onto the black stool and buried his face in his hands. In Poker, this would have been simple. But Cole had no idea how to play when his opponent had more tricks up his sleeve than card.
Cole sat there for hours, until the sun peeked in whenever someone opened the blacked out windows. Until he felt so weak he could barely lift his head. The energy siphons, he thought. Every time someone in a fedora walked by, Cole jumped to alertness, but none were Kendrick. He was probably already wearing a new disguise. Hell, he could have been sitting next to Cole and Cole would have no idea. He rose on shaky legs, unwilling to let Kendrick take anything else from him, even something as small as his energy. Cole trekked home, his throat tight. He’d failed. He’d failed her.
Her house felt empty. A reminder of everything he’d already lost. His sister. His nephews. And now her. He didn’t even bother ripping off his tuxedo jacket, he just wanted to bury himself in the covers that still smelled like her. But he stopped short at the sight of the bed. A hum of static trilled in his chest. There she was, resting peacefully under the covers, her dress from last night swirled around her.
“Oh thank God!” He rushed toward her, not caring if he woke her. The bed rattled when he crawled onto it and her body rustled, but her eyes stayed closed. “Delilah…” he whispered in her ear, a gentle wake up. Her hairs danced in his breath but she didn’t wake. “Delilah?” he tried again, this time a little louder with a nudge to her shoulder.
Her chest rose and fell with every breath, but she remained still.
Cold panic raced up his spine. “Delilah!” he shouted on the top of his lungs and rattled her shoulders, pushing her to and fro. Her eyes stayed shut.
Cole clamped a cold palm against his mouth, his heart racing. He ripped off the covers and spotted a gauzy bandage wrapped around one of her hands, dried blood seeped through. There were scabbed over streaks on her cheeks as if she’d been sliced there and then healed. “What happened to you?” He punched the headboard, shaking the entire bed.
He crawled beside her, wrapping her in his arms, and held her for the next few hours, taking small comfort in the steady rise of her chest, in the pulse beating beneath her skin. Cole hadn’t believed in witches until Delilah waltzed into his life and presented him with cold hard evidence. He also didn’t believe in Fairy Tales…until now. He was living in one. But this time, a kiss didn’t wake Sleeping Beauty.
She didn’t wake that afternoon. Or that evening. He paced back and forth through her house, cringing at every clock he passed. He had to leave now if he was going to play in the first round of the tournament. But how could he leave her like this? Helpless. It went against everything she believed in.
With shaky fingers, he plucked her phone from her night stand. All her possessions from that night had been neatly arranged and put away exactly as she liked it as if Kendrick had to balance out the magical coma by charging her phone properly and putting her lipstick back in her make up case. Cole flipped through the caller list and bit his lip at the name that stood out. He dialed, bracing for impact.
“Where were you today?” came the
voice on the other end. “I had to cancel all your clients. I called you like fifty times.”
Avery had called and Cole had purposefully decided not to answer any of them. Avery was Delilah’s receptionist slash secretary at the law firm she owned, but she was also one of Cole’s many mistakes from his past. He’d texted Avery after the third call and claimed Delilah was sick. “It’s Cole,” he said.
Avery groaned. “Not interested.”
“Listen, Delilah needs your help.” The squeak of Cole’s sneakers was the only sound for a moment.
Avery let out a large sigh. “With what?”
Avery was well versed in Delilah’s use of magic thanks to the magical curses she routinely broke for her clients, so Cole explained about the magical coma and that he wanted someone to watch over her while he went to the tournament. Delilah needed him to win. And so he would. Avery reluctantly agreed, but made it clear she wasn’t doing this to help Cole but to help her boss.
“Call it whatever you want, but thanks.”
After letting Avery into the house, Cole whisked off to the tournament with his hands squeezed over the steering wheel. He cracked his neck side to side, a new determination swelling in his veins. He waltzed inside the room with the kind of swagger he’d lost years ago with every competition that knocked him out before the top spot. As he grabbed his badge, another person sidled up next to him, peering over his shoulder at his assignment. “Table seven? It’s a good bunch.” Derek pursed his lips at Cole. “You’ve got a chance of taking them.” He tilted his head again, squinting. “Maybe.”
A knot coiled in Cole’s neck and he clenched his jaw, but he swallowed back all his comebacks. Derek was trying to rattle him, and Cole had already filled his quota of being rattled today with Delilah lying there in bed, motionless. Instead, he turned the tables on his old friend. “I’m surprised you actually showed up. Seems like your best play is disappearing without a trace.” Last night, Cole had asked Derek point blank where he’d been for the last few weeks and Derek had simply placed a finger against his lips and donned a grin Cole itched to punch off his face. Derek’s apartment had been cleared out, not a box or speck of dust left. His phone had been cut off. And yet here he was, acting as if he was the one who belonged.
“Bitter because I didn’t call you back once? You know, it’s okay to get a few more friends. You can’t always rely on me.”
Cole gritted his teeth. “Where. Were. You?”
Derek shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said a vacation?”
“Not when you phrase it like that.” Cole decided to try a new tactic. “Where are you living now?”
“Holing up in The Golden Leaf for a while.” Kendrick winked, a clear play to imply his reasons for The Golden Leaf in particular had everything to do with this tournament.
Cole shook his head, the memories of their time as best buds falling out of his mind like discarded crumbs. There used to be a time where they’d spend all weekend together with their thumbs tapping video game controllers, sharing laughter and clinking beers. Where Derek was the first person he’d tell good—or bad—news too, even before he told Jewel. But the man standing in front of him was a stranger, not the college roommate he knew every bad habit of. Cole spun on his heels and walked away. If Derek wasn’t going to give him the truth, then Cole didn’t owe him any of his time.
When he took his seat at his first table—a mix of strangers and players who weren’t even worth sharing the same breath as Cole—he grinned, something he never ever allowed himself to do during a game. But he wanted to let the others know he was about to crush him.
Each player had to win several other tournaments to make it into the McCoy tournament, so he wasn’t dealing with amateurs, but thanks to his reconnaissance at the banquet last night, he already knew some of their tells. Cole perfected his own bluff, tapping his fingers during a few rounds when he had actual good hands, so when he had a terrible one, all the other players folded and he won the large pot on a hand filled with absolute shit. It only took an hour to knock out every single player at the table. Cole sat back and allowed his cocky grin to overtake his face.
One round down. Several more to go.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DELILAH
Delilah woke in her warm bed, the covers cozy on all sides. It was all a dream. Only a dream. She was still herself. She was still whole.
She brought her hands to her face, rubbing across her cheeks to confirm this was true. Her palm stung as she did so and she felt the scratch of a rough scab grazing her cheek. She froze.
“Holy shit,” a voice said beside her, then, almost in a pleading prayer, a whisper, “Thank God.”
She flinched, popping one eye open and expecting Kendrick. But it was only Cole, hovering over her with a concerned expression on his face. He wrapped her in a hug, burying his face in her neck and let out a small sob. “I thought I’d lost you.” He squeezed her again. “I can’t believe you’re awake.”
“What—” she tried to say, jarred by the sound of her own voice. She’d expected to scream silence again. “What happened?”
Cole’s expression turned grave. “When I got home from the banquet you were here. Passed out.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I couldn’t wake you up.” He took a deep breath. “For five days.”
Delilah bolted upright, her head pounding against this news and the pain already latent in her skull. “The tournament started!”
Cole bit his lip. “I’ve already made it to the finals.”
Delilah pressed a palm to her forehead, trying to make sense of this. Her lips moved automatically in a quick incantation to rid herself of the headache, to gain clarity, but nothing happened. The spark in her veins she craved stayed dormant. There wasn’t even a tingle of magic still buried in her. Moonlight splashed into the window, and Delilah felt no pull to rush outside and save the world with her bare hands. “It’s gone,” she whispered, testing out the words against her lips. “My magic’s gone.”
Cole swallowed hard. “Yeah.” He reached across her and plucked a note from the bedside table. “He left a note.”
I guess this means you’re welcome again at the Golden Leaf. -K
Delilah crumbled the note into sharp points and hurled it across the room. It ineffectively bounced off her dresser and landed on the floor. The asshole had not only robbed her of magic, the worst con of all, but he’d broken into her house to bring her back here. He’d laid her gently in bed and covered her with her blankets, the way he always used to do when they were together. He needed to be stopped.
She leaped out of bed and tore off the dress that had seemed so perfect a few nights ago but now felt like a cage against her skin. Her muscles felt coiled, already in the throws of atrophy that might have been accelerated from Kendrick’s spell. Hell, she wouldn’t put it past him to put her in a magically induced coma, a simple solution to mitigate that pesky problem of her trying to disrupt his perfect competition. After all, there was a reason Kendrick had taken such extreme measures to ward himself against her: she was the only one that posed any kind of threat to him.
The shower steamed up the bathroom and she let the hot water scald her skin, trying to feel something, anything, that resembled the tingle of magic sparking in her pores. She allowed herself one moment to rest her head against the cold tiles, let her shoulders rattle, and scream like she hadn’t been permitted to do in Kendrick’s lair. And then she turned off the shower, dressed in her favorite leather pants, and headed for the door with a stomp that ricocheted through the whole house.
Cole skidded after her. “Wait! Where are you going? The vigilante—?”
She shook her head. “I’m calling in reinforcements. I may not have magic but I know someone who does.” Her plan to destroy Kendrick couldn’t end because he overpowered her.
“Who?” Cole squinted at her. She glanced at his outfit, his lucky jeans, his most comfortable T-shirt. He was about to head to the finals. Their plan was still in motion and she’d
enact her part of it. Something in Delilah’s face must have given away her answer because Cole gasped. “Britta?”
“The way I see it, she owes you after lying to you for so long. And I intend to collect on her debt.”
Cole grabbed her arm, his fingers wrapping around her elbow. “There’s something you should know.” He met her eyes. “Derek. He’s back.”
Delilah blinked, trying to make sense of this, too. Derek Hamel had disappeared, seemingly straight off the face of the earth back when Cole was cursed. “Where was he?”
Cole shook his head. “Wouldn’t say.”
Delilah let out another scream. How had everything gotten so out of control? Magic was supposed to make her able to balance out the universe, but it felt like the world was spinning away, about to collide with distant planets, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. It was time to take some control back.
She squared her shoulders and spread her feet wide. “All right, here’s the plan. You try to win the finals tonight. I’m going to recruit Britta to give you an edge.”
Cole glanced away from her for a second and then met her eyes, strong. “I think…I think I can do it on my own. Win, I mean.” He nodded as if to reassure himself. “I got into the finals already.”
God, he was so cute when he was nervous. She stood on her toes and placed a delicate kiss on her lips. The time between the banquet and right now had been instant for her but deep down, she still mourned the five days she lost with Cole. She wanted to spend every single day moving forward with him to make up for it. “I didn’t mean give you an edge in the tournament.” She traced her lips along his jaw and slid her tongue around his ear lobe. “I meant when you get to the winner’s celebration. So you can take on Kendrick.” Arming Cole with magic through third party means might be the only way to sneak in magic past the wards and catch Kendrick off guard.
Cole grinned and pulled Delilah into a desperate kiss that made her insides squirm and electricity bolt through her. It wasn’t magic. But it was close.