“Manda?”
From the corner of my eye, I see Alex leaning against the door. “What?” I snap, not in the mood for smart-ass comments.
He joins me on the swing. “Your sister is—”
“A bitch?” I rest my chin on my knees and shrug. “Yeah. Guess the Bishops will never win a Brady Bunch award.” We’re so screwed up, we make the Montagues and Capulets look like saints.
He glares at the dim sky. “Just ignore her. She—”
“Don’t do that, Alex.”
His gaze travels over my face, eager to read me. “Do what?” He sounds genuinely confused.
I claw the ailing wood of the bench and force my spine into a straight line. “Don’t pity me.” Taking shit from Melinda, I can handle. Alex’s compassion, not so much.
He shifts closer, a storm brewing in his malachite eyes. “Is that what you think I do?”
He can barely stand on two feet. I don’t see what other emotion could have forced him to get up and come out here. “Yeah, Alex. I think that’s exactly what you’re doing. The only other explanation for your contradictory behavior would be a dissociative identity disorder.”
His leg brushes mine, and I move away. “You’re being a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
He isn’t the cause of my anger, and I try to keep my cool. The thing is, deep down I’m always mad at him. “Am I, Alex?” I focus on the oak tree overhanging the driveway. “One minute, you call me a selfish witch, and the next, you try to make me feel better. I don’t know how to deal with your mood swings.”
Alex scrubs his hand over his tired face. “It’s complicated.”
There is that infuriating word again. I fucking hate it. “Oh, sure. It’s complicated, huh? Well, let me tell you something. From where I’m standing, it’s pretty simple.”
He raises his brows. “Enlighten me, then.”
Our eyes lock. “You’re a jerk with a hero complex.”
I expect a snarky reply or a cocky grin, but Alex catches me off guard when he folds his hands in his lap and says, “It’s not like that.”
My throat tightens. “Then how is it?”
He keeps quiet, gazing at the garden or the oak tree, but not at me.
I get on my feet, overwhelmed by some unexplainable disappointment. “That’s what I thought,” I mutter, ready to walk away.
Alex grabs my arm and pulls me back down. “Wait.”
I’m so fucking tired of all the drama. “Why, Alex? Why the fuck should I wait?”
A muscle in his jaw pops. “I know I don’t always treat you right.” He pauses and thrusts his fingers through his hair. “But you have that certain something that brings out the absolute worst in me.”
I’m the one he’s blaming for his shitty behavior? That’s fan-freakin’-tastic. I pull my hand out of his grip and laugh. “Congratulations, jerk-face. You just passed the ‘domestic abuser’ exam with flying colors.” Always blame the victim, right?
Realization flickers across his eyes. “No, Manda. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I cup my elbows and sigh. “Funny, ’cause that’s exactly how it sounded.”
“Manda.” He reaches for my hand, but I’m done with the touching thing and step back. “You’re really making me do this, huh?”
I have no idea what the hell this is.
He bites on his lower lip and draws a deep, probably very painful, breath. “You know what I see when I look at you?”
I cock a brow. “An evil, stab-worthy witch you’d like to kill?”
“Most of the time,” he confesses. “But I also see a girl who doesn’t give a shit about other people’s opinions. Someone who’s strong enough to do what’s right, no matter what anyone else thinks about her.”
My jaw drops. I check his temperature with the back of my hand. “Nope, no fever. Maybe your head injury is worse than I initially thought.”
He pulls a face. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.” His malachite eyes pierce mine. “All I’m trying to say is, Isobelle and all the other kids you saved back in Bakersfield would disagree with your sister.”
Something in his eyes cripples the rational side of my brain. “But you wouldn’t?” I blurt out, tongue faster than my brain.
He averts his gaze. It’s all the answer I need.
Sometimes, Manda, survival is about inner balance. We accept the things we can’t change and focus our energy on the ones we can, I hear Grams say.
Damn, the woman had been smart.
I extend my hand. “C’mon.” He looks up. “Let’s get back inside before good old Earl Grey gets cold.”
Alex’s gaze slides from my hand to my face. The surprise on his face is amusing. Guess he thought I’d blow a gasket. He takes my hand and smiles. “Manda,” he says as we walk back in.
I look at him.
“You were right. That stuff really is pussy shit.”
****
It’s late in the afternoon. The wind howls, rattling branches against the west side of the house. I’m confined to an uncomfy wooden chair, digging through 1,862 handwritten papyrus pages of the grimoire. My ass is numb. My eyes hurt like freaking hell.
“Anything?” Jesse asks, feverishly drumming his fingers against the table. Unlike Alex, who’s watching reruns of Judge Judy on the couch, and Bonnie, who’s in the kitchen with Melinda, Little Remington refuses to leave my side.
I rub my temples and stare at the page.
“Sleeping Pouch:
Place the following ingredients in a small pouch under your pillow. It shall keep the bad dreams away and help you find some rest.
Fresh lavender,
A spoon of dried amber,
A pinch of ghostplant,
Green jade.”
“Nope,” I say, looking up from the weighty book. “Not yet.” Jesse presses a palm against his forehead. “Anything I can do to help?”I glance at his tapping fingers. The sound is driving me nuts. “I could really use some Red Bull.” More like a whole case of the stuff but whatever. “Coffee wouldn’t hurt either.”
He bursts out of his chair. Running errands seems like a welcome distraction. “Ask and you shall receive.” He sounds like a man on a mission. The Red Bull Slash Coffee mission.
Bonnie sticks her head through the kitchen door. “Did I hear Red Bull?” She sounds like she needs the stuff more than I do. Understandable. She’s spent the last few hours with Perfect Housewitch.
Jesse nods. “I was just about to go get some.”
She leans against the doorframe, bats her lashes, and gives him one of her famous even-the-pope-couldn’t-resist-me smiles. “Mind if I come?”
There’s an odd spark in Jesse’s eyes. “You can point the way.”
Point the way, huh? Something tells me he doesn’t need a living GPS. The sidelong glance Alex casts his brother says he thinks so, too.
“Let me get my bag,” Bonnie says cheerfully.
I’m close to asking Little Remington what the hell he’s doing, flirting with my best friend, who happens to be a mambo.
Alex beats me to it. “What are you doing, Jess?”
He reaches for the car keys in his pocket. “Getting Amanda an energy drink,” he says matter-of-factly. “Why, need anything?”
Alex’s malachite eyes burn through his brother. “Yeah.” His voice is deep and commanding. “I need you to be careful.”
Translation: Don’t be a fucking moron and screw a witch. Been there. Done that. Didn’t end well.
“You coming?” Bonnie shouts from the hallway. She must have taken the shortcut through the kitchen.
“On my way.” Jesse winks at Alex and then he’s gone.
“Why do I get the feeling those two are up to no good?” Alex says as the door in the hallway slams.
Because they are.
I shrug. “Relax, Alex. They’re both adults.” I don’t sound very convincing, ’cause deep down, I’m a little worried too.
Alex rolls his eyes. “If you say s
o.”
I shake my head at his undertone and get back to the book.
“To Summon a Knight of Hell:
Like heaven, hell has its own hierarchy. Knights of Hell, also known as archdemons, are the leaders of the twelve demonic legions. These creatures are extremely vicious and dangerous. Summoning them, therefore, can have fatal consequences. If, however, you must do so, follow these instructions closely:
Find a crossroad in a cemetery. Draw a circle of salt and juniper around you (under no circumstances must you leave the protective circle during the ritual). Light twelve black candles around the circle, and one red candle in the center, next to you. Carve the demon’s sigil into your palm. Use your blood to draw the demon’s sigil on the ground in front of you. Focus on the demon you want to summon and repeat three times:
In this night and in this hour,
I call upon the darkest power.
Come to me,
I summon thee.
Come to me,
I set you free.
May fate spare you the need to call upon those brutish creatures, for they have no remorse and will not show you mercy. Blessed be, my child.”
“A spell to summon a knight of hell? Thought you descended from white witches,” Alex says, peeking over my shoulder. I’d been so focused on the wicked stuff I didn’t hear him coming.
I flip a page. “I do, Alex.” Never heard of a rogue Bishop witch.
He gives me a don’t-bullshit-me-I’m-a-hunter look and walks to the fireplace. “Then why would your ancestors need to summon a douchebag of hell?”
Very good question. I have no freaking idea why a spell like that is in the grimoire. Our kind—the ones who practice white magic—aren’t allowed to consort with demons. It’s pretty much against the code and punishable with exile.
“Manda?”
“Sometimes you’ve gotta work with what you’re given,” I say, more to myself than to him. “I had to summon a reaper to get Isobelle out of purgatory, remember?” Whoever wrote this spell must have had an equally good reason.
Alex doesn’t look convinced. He leaves it at that, though. Or maybe, he’s just too busy studying the family photos on the fireplace. “Who’s that?”
I look up. When I see the picture he’s pointing at, my heartbeat accelerates.
“Manda?”
“He’s…my nephew,” I whisper, mouth dry as I gaze at his beautiful, innocent smile and the cat-like shamrock-colored eyes.
Alex grabs the photo and saunters toward me. “Your sister has a son?”
Pressure starts in my stomach, slowly rising to my chest and throat. Breathe. You gotta breathe. I gasp for air, but the stabbing pain radiating from under my ribs to my back makes it kinda difficult.
Alex snaps his fingers in my face. “Earth to Manda?”
Pull it together.
I ignore the blood-rush in my ears and nod. “Yeah.”
Jerk-face studies the angelic face. “What’s his name?”
“Leandro.” My voice is hard, my face frozen.
“Nice name,” he says. “How come we haven’t met him yet?”
I flip a few pages and shrug. “He’s with one of Melinda’s friends.”
Alex flings himself into a chair next to me. “Is he a warlock?’
I want to hide in the kitchen. Run as fast as I can and never look back. Instead, I swallow the needles in my throat and sigh. “He’s what we call a hereditary.”
Alex laughs. “Sounds like some kind of aristocrat.”
Keeping my eyes on an entry about spirit animals, I shake my head. “Simply means he descends from witches.” It also suggests there’s a good chance he’s gifted. He’s too young to be absolutely certain.
Alex places the photo on the table in front of him. “What about his dad? Is your sister married?”
“Was married,” I snarl. “She’s a widow.”
Alex’s eyes pop. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t be.” Pity is the universal reaction when people hear a twenty-three-year-old is widowed. In Perfect Housewitch’s case, totally unnecessary. “My sister has crappy taste in men.” Her husband had been the most arrogant English prick I’d ever met. The dude’s pompous behavior drove me nuts. Granted, he hadn’t deserved such a cruel death, only hours after he said “yes,” but Grams had warned Melinda. She’d chosen not to listen.
Alex stares at me. I pull the book closer and pay no attention.
Eventually, comforting silence falls over the room. No more bloodcurdling questions from Alex’s side. No more half-truths from mine.
Then, as if life hasn’t screwed me enough, Alex says, “You know, he looks one helluva lot like you. Same eyes. Identical smile.”
I should come up with a snarky reply. Something like, “Mesmerizing beauty is a family trait,” or “Guess God tried to make it up to him since he’d punished him with a mother like Melinda.” When I see the suspicious look in Alex’s eyes, though, I forget all about it.
I push the chair back. “I’m gonna get some water.”
Chapter 16
Good news: Bonnie and Jesse are back with plenty of Red Bull and coffee, and Alex has long since returned to the TV. He stopped his interrogation, but not because he wasn’t curious. Hell, he’d have given an arm and a leg to question me some more, but Melinda and I got into each other’s faces, and he heard the whole thing go down. Keeping his mouth shut was healthier.
Bad news: I’m still hovering over the damn book. Lucky me, huh?
Bonnie shoves a can of Red Bull my way. “Find anything?”
“Nada.” Not a single reference to deals with demons, let alone how to break them. Maybe Alex is right. Maybe there is no fixing him.
Jesse hands his brother a takeaway cup from Gulu-Gulu Café on Essex Street. Then he looks at me, worried. “You look like crap, Manda. You should get some rest.” Judging by the sound of his voice, I’d say he sees the defeat on my face.
“He’s right.” Bonnie squeezes my shoulder. “I can take over.”
Ten days to hell and only a couple of hours until Leandro returns. No way am I stopping now. “I appreciate your insults. Really do. But we’re on a clock, in case you forgot.”
Bonnie lifts her chin. “All right, Miss Stubborn.” She pulls a sandwich out of the grocery bag and throws it on the book. “But you gotta eat something.”
I toss the sandwich aside. “Make yourself useful, B, and check hunter-heroic’s wounds, okay?”
She murmurs something. I pay no attention.
“Anam Cara—Soulmates:
Souls are older than mankind itself. They are the most complex creation and possess infinite power, for they are not only immortal but also divine.
Mother Nature forged the life essence in sacred flames, thereby creating the first gods: Yahweh and Asherah, Ra and Hathor, Zeus and Hera, Jupiter and Juno, Tabaldak and Glooscap, Izanagi and Izanami, and Shakti and Shiva. The mighty gods ruled earth under the watchful eye of Mother Nature. The sacred fire bore them many powerful children who, in their own rights, were gods themselves.
For millions of years, the deities lived peacefully together, protecting earth. But the more gods born, the harder it was to maintain peace. Soon, they engaged in a sanguinary battle, killing each other mercilessly.
Mother Nature banished the remorseful gods to heaven and the unrepentant to hell. In a desperate move, she decided to split future souls so each being only carried half of the divine energy. The sacred fire no longer bore gods, but humans and animals.
Every coin has two sides—yin and yang, good and evil, male and female—and the soul of a human is no different. Each creature only carries half of the divine energy. The other part resides within our Anam Cara.
Soulmates are destined to meet, drawn to each other like a moth to the flame. They accept each other as they are and share a love so fierce, it might be destructive at times. It’s a deeply rooted, sacred connection. One that cannot be broken. The link between two souls is
so strong, neither heaven nor hell can claim one of them if the other objects.
Blessed be, my child.”
I can’t take my eyes off the page. Does that mean what I think it does? I need a goddamn translator. “B, get your ass over here.”
“What’s going on?”
From the corner of my eye, I see her curious expression as she marches toward me. Jesse is right behind her, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Did you find something?”
I refuse to encourage his enthusiasm and push the book toward my best friend. “I need you to read that.”
I don’t have to tell her twice. Her eyes fly over the words. The expression on her face is a cross between WTF and is-this-for-real. “Oh. My. God.”
I jump out of my chair and pace the living room. “Tell me it means what I think it does.” Awesome. I sound as thrilled as Jesse looks.
Her eyes lock with mine. “I-I think so,” she stammers.
Jesse clenches his fists. “Guys? Care to share why you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Alex stretches his arms above his head. “She ain’t that pale when she sees ghosts,” he assures his brother.
I shut them both out and concentrate on Bonnie. “Have you ever heard of this?”
“Never.”
“You think it’ll work?”
She shrugs. “It’s worth a shot, I guess.”
“Jesus Christ!” Jesse’s excitement turns into irritation. “Can you guys quit the secret witch language and tell us what the heck you found?”
I ignore Little Remington and stomp to the couch. “Just to get a few things straight,” I say to Alex, “you’re the only one who signed this deal, right?”
“Who else would have signed for my soul?” He sounds annoyed. Looks it, too.
I cross my arms. “Yes or no, Alex?”
He runs a hand over his stubble and scowls. “Yes, Amanda. I’m the only one who signed the deal.”A fat smile creeps over my lips. “Awesome.” Because if the whole Anam Cara shit is true, I have just found his do-not-pass-hell, do-not-pay-with-your-soul card. “Enough.” Jesse throws his hands over his head. “One of you. Will tell me what the fuck is going on, or I swear I’ll…I’ll…”
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