The Witch and the Englishman (The Witches Series Book 2)

by J. R. Rain

  Millicent’s expression was unfathomable. “I was discussing your request with your spirit guide, of course.”

  “You are in contact with my spirit guide?” I asked.

  “This surprises you, child?”

  “I thought, well, you were my spirit guide.”

  She shook her head and a slow smile spread over her slightly glowing face. “No, dear. I am your friend and companion, a soul mate, if you will.”

  “Why did you consult with my spirit guide? And who is she?”

  “He,” corrected Millicent. “And it is up to him—and your higher, spiritual self—to decide what information you need to know in this present incarnation. Not all information from past lives is beneficial in the current life.”

  “And he’s the one deciding that?”

  “He is...along with your higher self.”

  “Well, that just sucks.”

  Millicent paused before answering, and I suspected she was, once again, consulting with my spirit guide. “Consider the torment you would feel in this life if you knew what a monster you had been in a past life.”

  “Okay, now I’m worried. Was I that bad?”

  “We all were, dear. We all have had much growing to do. In the past, you wielded great power...and sometimes misused it. You are being given a chance in this life to balance the disharmony—or karma—from past lives.”

  “By doing goodness?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if I don’t do goodness in this life?” I asked.

  “Then we will cross that bridge when we come to it. Just know that a lot has come into place to help you in this life...to aid you, here and now.”

  Millicent sat before me, her knees bending, but I knew it was just a front, a ruse. She had no knees. She could have just as easily appeared to me as a beautiful ball of light energy, except, of course, it was hard for humans to relate to balls of light energy.

  “You have been given great gifts, child, gifts that could help others. Witchcraft is not for personal gain, remember that. We are extensions of Mother Earth herself.”

  I motioned to the spell books and the vials of ingredients. “But I’m really no good at this stuff.”

  “Maintain your strengths,” she said to me, reaching out and touching my hand. Energy crackled through me and around me. “And work on your weaknesses.”

  “That’s a very zen thing to say,” I said.

  “Truth is truth,” said Millicent.

  “I am good at this,” I said and raised my hands. As I did so, all of the spell books and vials and candles and even the eagle statue lifted into the room. I motioned my hands and now, the various items swirled in a slow vortex. I motioned my hands faster and the pages flapped and vials tumbled in the air, faster and faster. Wax flung far and wide throughout the room. I was going to have to clean that later.

  “A nice trick, Allison.”

  “I know, I know,” I said, lowering my hands. The items all settled in place, mostly where they had begun. “Work on my weaknesses.”

  “Good, child.”

  “And what are your strengths?” I asked.

  “My gifts now are more spiritual in nature, Allison. But in the past, I was gifted at connecting with all of nature, from plants and animals, to even the rocks themselves. All of nature spoke to me. And still does.”

  I thought about that. “And Samantha Moon was our potions expert back then?”

  “She was,” said Millicent. “But not anymore.”

  “Because now she’s a vampire.”

  “Her life—this life—has taken a different path, it’s true. However, I have brought to you another.”

  “You mean Ivy?”

  “Yes, child.”

  As she spoke those words, a past life was revealed to me...surely it was a scene approved by my spirit guide and higher self. In it, I saw myself in the woods with two other women...women who did not look like either Sam or Millicent...but who were still them, all the same. Indeed, I recognized their soul imprint. And in the shadows, in the background, watching all of this, was a young girl. She was, in fact, one of our sisters, an understudy, if you will. Waiting for her chance.

  “She is strong,” said Millicent when I opened my eyes again.

  “But not as strong as Samantha?”

  “Strong in a different way...but she is reckless.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Some more than others, child. But...she is one of us. And she has been waiting for this chance.”

  “Do you miss her, Millie?” I asked.

  “Do I miss Sam, our witch sister?”

  “Yes.”

  The spirit thought about it, then looked away. “More than you know.”

  “She’s still here,” I said. “She’s still part of my life.”

  “But not part of mine,” said Millie. “Now, let’s get back to work.”

  I thought about all of this as I continued working again on my spellcraft—in particular, money spells. Working, as Millicent put it, on building up my weaknesses.

  So far, I hadn’t won the lottery, perhaps because magic wasn’t supposed to be for personal gain. Okay, so if I won, I would help a lot of people.

  My weaknesses sometimes held me back.

  But I’m trying.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Detective Smithy made it happen.

  The next afternoon, after my morning shift at The Psychic Hotline, I found myself seated across from a young woman wearing orange prisoner clothing. Separating us was ultra-thick, bullet-proof glass. Samantha Moon had once told me about her encounter with such a bulletproof piece of glass. Advantage: vampire.

  Although Smithy had pulled some strings, I still had to wait nearly an hour, along with the rest of the dregs of Los Angeles. I think I might have been murdered a half dozen times—at least in the minds of those sitting around me.

  Anyway, I was finally ushered into booth two, where I waited only a few minutes before a young girl appeared, blinking at me rapidly and looking generally confused.

  I knew Liz Turner’s face by now, thanks to the many pictures in Billy’s home. I nodded encouragingly as she continued to blink uncertainly, letting her know that, yes, she had arrived at the right booth. She looked at me some more, looked back from the doorway she’d just appeared from, glanced at the guard who was making his slow rounds behind the prisoners, and then looked back at me and shrugged.

  As she shrugged, I saw it, of course. It was hard to miss, after all: the same dark energy that swirled through Billy Turner’s aura swirled through hers as well. Perhaps it was even darker, if that was possible.

  This wasn’t good; in fact, it was very, very bad. This meant she was going to die...and die rather soon.

  Unless I was dead wrong.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was reading people incorrectly. Maybe I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.

  No. I had seen Billy’s impending death—his horrible, horrible death—as he had brushed up against me at his home. True, I couldn’t know for sure if Liz Turner was going to die, unless I touched her, which wasn’t going to happen with this thick piece of glass between us. And, unfortunately, I wasn’t a vampire who could punch my way through it. But I could make an educated guess. And my guess suggested that she was going to die...within days, if not hours.

  Holy shit.

  A moment later, she reached for the red phone receiver hanging on the partition that separated her from the prisoner in the booth next door. I was already holding my own red phone receiver. I was proactive like that.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Who the hell are you?” Liz asked.

  “My name’s Allison Lopez.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend of your dad’s,” I said.

  Her eyes narrowed, and as they did so, something flashed behind them, something red and menacing. “He’s never talked about you before.”

  “I’m a new friend.”

  Liz Turner was t
wenty-four. She had her whole life ahead of her. She had, in fact, everything to live for. She lived a comfortable life in Santa Monica. So, why had she killed a shopkeeper? I was beginning to have my suspicions why, but I needed to confirm them. Liz was cute in a plain way. She had big, round eyes with naturally long lashes. She spoke with a faint English accent.

  Those same round eyes were now widening...her pupils were shrinking to pinpricks. Red flared just behind her pupils. I doubted that others could see the red, but I saw it, and that was all that mattered. “Father is an unbeliever,” she said.

  “In what?” I asked.

  The red in her eyes flared. “In me.”

  “And who are you?”

  “We are many.”

  “You speak of yourself in the plural, Liz?”

  “I am not Liz. Not now. Sometimes I permit her to return, but mostly, I do not. Soon, it will be time to destroy her. In this place, she is of no use to me.”

  “What are you?”

  “I am your worst nightmare.”

  I almost smiled. In fact, I think I might have. “I’ve seen worse.”

  The red in her eyes flared and the darkness around her swirled, faster and faster. Now, thick, black cords wove within her dark aura. They wove and swirled and tightened. These could have been a hundred black vipers. A thousand.

  “I want to speak to Liz,” I said firmly.

  “And I want to kill you, Allie.”

  Hearing the entity speak my name was unsettling at best, but I refused to show it. “Where’s Liz?”

  She looked at me for a long moment, and a slow smile spread over her face. “Waiting to die.”

  “You have possessed her.”

  “Never give the devil an opening.”

  “How did she give you an opening?” I asked.

  “You ask a lot of questions, witch.”

  I had never spoken directly to a demon, although, at one point in my life, I, too, had been possessed. But that was another story. As I sat there, I summoned light energy to surround me. I felt it move over me and around me, and I saw it flare briefly in the eyes of Liz. She sat back a little.

  “Stop it,” she said.

  I decided that firmness was the best approach to dealing with a demon. “Answer me,” I said. “How did she let you in?”

  “She had many openings, witch. Her guard was down, you could say.”

  I knew that, in general, dark entities could not gain access to us without either an invitation...or if our psychic guard was down. There was some disagreement as to how exactly one’s psychic guard could be down, but some believed that extreme depression and drug and alcohol abuse were some ways that gave demons an invitation to possess a human.

  “She was depressed?” I asked.

  “Wouldn’t you be?” she asked. “Living in that big, dark, creepy haunted house. So far from home. You might start taking some illegal drugs, too. Anything to...cope.” It spoke that last word in a guttural whisper, and grinned broadly. Too broadly. I had seen a grin like that before, last year, on a remote island in the Pacific Northwest.

  “So, you took advantage of her situation,” I said. “You took advantage of a depressed girl.”

  “You call it taking advantage...I call it an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity to do what?”

  “To live,” she said, and her voice was quickly sounding less and less female. “It had been far too long.”

  “Because the house stood empty,” I said.

  “You are a smart witch.”

  “Then why kill her?” I asked. “If you need her to live?”

  “Because I am working on another. You might have met him. He is close to coming around, you could say. He’s fighting me, but it’s always a losing fight.”

  I knew, of course, who he was talking about. “You would kill a father and daughter?”

  “I will kill all that I can, and as many as I can, and as often as I can.”

  “Why?”

  It looked at me oddly. “You ask too many questions, witch.”

  “Answer me,” I said, sitting forward. I surrounded myself with even more white light, imagining it engulfing me completely, spreading down through the floor and up through the ceiling, behind me and even through the glass. Liz shrank back even further.

  “Answer me,” I said again. “Why do you hurt others?”

  “I don’t hurt them,” she said, sitting back now in her chair, the phone’s cord stretched to its max. “I possess them, I control them, I own them, I destroy them. Then I kill them. I do far, far worse things than hurt them.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Why do you do these things?”

  Liz cocked her head at me, and I saw that she had bitten down hard on her lip and maybe even her tongue. Blood spilled over her jaw and down over her orange jumpsuit.

  “Fuck you, witch,” she said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The city was beautiful at night.

  Perhaps no more beautiful than other big cities, but I enjoyed what Beverly Hills had to offer. Big, safe streets were filled with mostly friendly people. And those who ignored you were generally on the phone or texting, but, on the off chance that you caught them mid-text, they generally looked up and smiled.

  Generally.

  I was walking down Third Street, surrounded by rows of elegant apartments and apartments. The buildings were a beehive of activity. Open curtains revealed couples eating, people talking, cooking, watching TV, and working out. There was movement everywhere. Cars were coming and going. I passed many joggers and dog walkers and nannies.

  I was walking to clear my head and to think, which might have been counterproductive. I was wearing a light windbreaker and a white beanie cap. No, it wasn’t that cold, but my ears got cold easily. I hated when my ears got cold. I wore yoga pants and sneakers, and, I suspected, I looked kinda cute. Maybe not.

  It was hard to think about being cute—or anything else, for that matter—when death and demons were on your mind.

  Yes, I had some experience with demons. In fact, I had some very personal experience with a “body-hopping” demon on a remote island in the Pacific Northwest. It was personal because I just happened to be a blood relative of a cursed family...and I got to experience first-hand just what it felt like to have another entity control my body. I had watched from the depths of my own mind—as if from a nightmare—as another creature literally took control of my body. Moving me, walking me, speaking for me.

  At the time, I could do nothing more than watch passively. It was terrible, and I wouldn’t have wished the experience on my worst enemy.

  I had done nothing to invite the entity in. I had simply had the misfortune of being a distant relative of a family who was very, very cursed.

  However, Billy and his daughter weren’t cursed. The house was cursed. The land was cursed. And Lord help anyone who came into contact with either, let alone anyone who lived there.

  I didn’t know what to do for either of them. That they were both on a path of destruction, there was no doubt. The blackness that invaded their auras wasn’t the demon. It was looming death. Imminent death.

  I walked faster, tucking my hands in my jacket pockets. My friend, Samantha, had destroyed that demon last year. But that had been different. So different. An ancient family member had invited the demon in...a family member who had lived on until it had decided to take on Samantha.

  No, I thought suddenly. It hadn’t been a demon. It had been a highly evolved dark master. It had been someone who had once been human, but no more. Someone who had elevated their status through wicked means.

  Not a demon, I thought. A human who acted like a demon. There was a difference.

  The thing I had seen in Billy’s house had never been human. I was sure of it. Its very essence was so...foreign.

  I shuddered and continued on, wondering what to do about Billy and Liz, and who to speak to, but knowing the answers would come soon.

  They had to.

  Time w
as running out.

  * * *

  A half hour later, lost in dark thoughts, I rounded a corner, and stepped onto Rodeo Drive. I admired shop after shop, window display after window display, of some of the most famous brand names: Gucci, Valentino, Versace, Ralph Lauren, Jimmy Choo, Giorgio Armani, Cartier, Bulgari, Chanel, Prada, Fendi, and so many more.

  I sighed heavily, as I usually did.

  And, as usual, a sense of despondency overcame me. And not just because I had seen my first demon. These shops weren’t for me, I knew that. They were for other people, rich people, successful people. People who’d figured out the money enigma.

  Not me, I thought. No, I had just enough to get through the week, until my next check.

  I knew that money didn’t just magically grow on trees. Millicent had said it was a process of abundance coming to me. Not necessarily money. She’d also said for me to have faith. To keep that door open, and to not shut it firmly.

  “Easier said than done,” I mumbled, as I passed Céline’s storefront, sighing at the rows of shoes and handbags.

  Yes, I knew that my attitude, even now, was shutting that door firmly. But how to open it? That was the question.

  I took in a lot of air, and did what I had read in one of those Law of Attraction books on money. I visualized myself spending imaginary money. I imagined walking into these stores and spending money that I didn’t have. Mostly, I imagined what it would feel like to have money. And for a few minutes, as I stopped before the Jimmy Choo shop and gazed at the latest shoe offerings, it felt heavenly. And, I had to admit, for a few brief minutes, I was about to capture that wonderful feeling of having abundance...and having exactly what I wanted.

  Then I sighed...and continued on.

  Fat lot of good that did me.

  The shoes were still in the shop and I was still barely making it. I sighed again, and continued home.

  I did, after all, have the evening shift at The Psychic Hotline.

  My life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I cut short my shift when I got a call from Detective Smithy.

  No, my bosses at the Hotline wouldn’t be happy that my line was busy. They could also suck it.