The Witch's Familiars: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Harem of Babylon Book 1)

by G. A. Rael

  "An interesting theory. Okay, I've got one."

  "Go on," she grinned.

  "Ian Donnely, Makeup Assistant," he announced. "The man may not have been Hitchcock, but by God, did he keep Grace Kelly's nose powdered and James Stewart's eyebrows groomed."

  Jordan burst into laughter. "See, now you've fully experienced the movie, and the best part is, there's something new to experience each time."

  "Sounds good to me," he said, leaning in. He paused for such a long moment that she thought he might try to kiss her again, but instead he took her hand and helped her out of her seat. "Come on, let's go get dinner."

  "After all that food?" she balked.

  "It is the American way," he said in a solemn tone.

  She snickered. “Well, maybe something light."

  As they walked out into the lobby, Jordan's phone rang. She frowned, digging the phone out of the bottom of her bag.

  "Do you need to take that?" he asked.

  "I don't know," she said, staring at the word "RESTRICTED" that flashed on her screen where a number should have been. "What is that?”

  Darren leaned over, frowning. "It's probably just a telemarketer. Do you know anyone who'd want to block their number?"

  "No," she said, feeling an old dread building in the pit of her stomach. "I haven't even given the number to Mrs. Herrin yet. You and Cindy are the only ones who know it."

  "You'd better answer it, then." He seemed to sense her hesitation. "Or I could answer it for you."

  "Yes, please," she said softly, holding it out to him.

  Darren led them to a vacant area of the lobby and flipped the phone open. "Hello?"

  Jordan strained to listen to the voice on the other line as Darren's default expression of apathy turned into a frown. "Oh. Uh, hang on just a sec."

  "Who is it?" Jordan mouthed.

  Darren covered the mouthpiece. "He says he's your father."

  Suddenly the dread made sense. The man in the hoodie flickered in her mind again. Darren must have noticed the terror in her eyes because he said, "If you want me to tell him to fuck off--"

  "No, please don't do that," she said earnestly. "I'll take the call, but I need some privacy, if that's okay."

  "Of course," he said, watching her warily. "I'll go toss this stuff in the trash and wait in the arcade."

  "Thank you," she said, taking the phone with trembling hands. Darren didn't leave right away. In fact, he lingered so long she thought he wasn't going to leave at all, but he did. Part of her wanted to run after him and tell him to throw the phone away with the rest of the trash, but she didn't. She took a deep breath and composed herself until she could formulate a convincingly confident, "Hello?"

  She sounded like a simpering child, even to herself.

  "It's good to hear your voice again, Alyssa," came her father's unmistakably smooth Southern drawl. "You've changed a lot since I saw you in court. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were just another city whore."

  Jordan turned towards the wall just in case Darren was watching. She didn't want him to see her grimace. "How did you get this number, daddy?"

  "You've lost your accent," he said with a disapproving click of his tongue. "You know what they say. You can take the girl out of Arkansas, but you can't take Arkansas out of the girl."

  "What do you want? The judge told you not to contact me."

  "You know as well as I do ain't no judge got the authority to come between a man and what's his," said Byron, his genial mask already starting to slip. "And you are mine, Alyssa June. My daughter, my healer, my property."

  Jordan took a deep breath, keeping her hand over the receiver so he wouldn't hear how shaky it was. "That's not my name anymore," she said, cringing as the accent she had taken months of voice lessons to erase returned despite her best attempts to mask it.

  "I know. You go by Jordan now. Jordan Adams," he sneered. "At least until you trick that fool animal doctor into making you his wife. Shoulda known you'd run off and open your legs to the first man willing to feed you lies."

  "You've been watching me," she said, placing a hand on her churning stomach. She knew better than to respond to his taunts.

  "'Course I have. You think I was gonna throw you to the wolves just 'cause some piece of paper says so?" he asked in a cloying tone. "I got higher orders than that and he's got a bigger plan in store for you, girl."

  "I'm never going back," she said, reigning in her trembling voice. "I'm not yours to use and lock up as you see fit now. I don't know how you got this number, but I'm not alone anymore. I've got a life and people who care about me. They'll--"

  "They'll what?" he interrupted. His voice had turned from syrup to arsenic on the edge of a single word. "Your knight in shining armor is gonna come and rescue you? You know what the Lord does to those who stand in his way. One way or another, you'll be back where you belong. I guess it's up to you how many casualties there are along the way."

  Rage exploded through the terror. "You listen here," Jordan seethed, only to be cut off by the sound of the phone slamming into its cradle. Her father always used analog phones. Digital ones sent signals to the government, he said. Signals the government used for tracking servants doing the Lord's work.

  Jordan struggled to collect herself. She could already see Darren walking over from the arcade game he had been pretending to play. "What was that about?"

  "Nothing," she said stiffly, looking back over her shoulder. There was still a group from one of the other showings gathered around talking by the snack stand, but there was no sign of the man in the hoodie. "Can we get out of here?"

  She could tell he wanted to ask more questions but, as always, Darren was too much of a gentleman to pry. "Sure," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. The simple touch made her feel more secure in an instant, but it was fleeting unlike the all-encompassing feeling of safety she had felt in his arms. The little bubble of distance she had created between her and Arkansas had been popped by a single phone call.

  "Do you want me to take you home?"

  "No," she said quickly once they were outside. The rain had stopped but the pavement glistened more than ever. "I want to enjoy the rest of the evening. Maybe we can skip the food, though? I'm kind of nauseous."

  "No problem," he said, glancing around. "Most places are closed anyway, but I think I know something we could do. Come on," he said, nodding over his shoulder as he set off down the sidewalk. "It's close enough that we can walk."

  "Where are we going?" Jordan asked, following him. She glanced behind her every few steps just to make sure the man in the hoodie wasn't following both of them.

  Darren looked back at her with an easy smile and in that moment, Jordan realized that all the dread and terror she had felt during that phone call wasn't on her own behalf. "Come on," he said in that teasing tone that could always be counted on to make her heart do a somersault in her chest. "Have a little faith."

  Darren came to a sudden stop and asked, "Do you trust me?"

  "You know I do," she mumbled.

  “Then close your eyes and let me lead you somewhere.”

  She hesitated only a moment before doing what he asked. He took her hand to lead her forward and the trip to wherever he was taking her wasn't a long one.

  "I hear running water," Jordan said, her curiosity getting the best of her frayed nerves as they came to a stop. "Are we near a stream?"

  "Guess again," he said mischievously.

  "You could just show me.”

  "Alright, alright. Go ahead and look."

  Jordan opened her eyes to discover that the water was coming from the four streams flowing around a large stone fountain in the center of the memorial park Darren had led them to. The second thing she noticed was the towering stone angel in the center of the fountain. The angel's head was bowed and its hands covered its eyes as it wept.

  The sight was probably a beautiful one to any normal person, but it filled Jordan with the same kind of dread that had accompanie
d the sound of her father’s voice. Her chest tightened and as she backed away from the fountain, she felt her composure slowly unwinding.

  "Whoa," Darren said, reaching out to steady her. "What's wrong?"

  Jordan tore her gaze away from the angel’s blank stone eyes and looked at Darren. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered. “It’s nothing. It’s… beautiful.”

  "Don't be sorry, just tell me what's wrong so I can fix it," he said, his voice full of concern as he placed his strong hands on her shoulders. His brow was knit with worry as his eyes searched hers for the answers she couldn't give.

  Jordan swallowed in hopes of gaining control over her voice and cutting off the panic attack before it could spiral any further. “It’s just the statue, it…” Her voice stopped working again, but even if it hadn't, she was at a loss to explain herself.

  It was just a statue. A statue of an angel, no less.

  "Come on," Darren said, putting his arm around her shoulder to usher her quickly down the trail. "Let's get you out of here."

  Once they were safely out of view of the angel, Jordan took a deep breath. The crisp night air was the only thing staving off an impending panic attack. Once she was a bit calmer, humiliation took over again. "I'm so sorry," she repeated.

  "I'm the one who should be apologizing," he muttered. "I don't know what I was thinking, bringing you to a cemetery. Granted, I haven't been on a date in years, but that's a bit macabre even for me."

  "It's not the cemetery," she said quickly, eager to bear more humiliation if it meant he wouldn't blame himself for her meltdown. She took a deep breath and said, "It's angels. I have a phobia of angels."

  He blinked. "Angels? Like the fat babies flying around shooting arrows, or--"

  "No," she said sharply, looking away. "Real angels, not the fake ones the stories are based on."

  He remained quiet, waiting for her to go on.

  "I must sound like such a lunatic to you. Here I am freaking out over something you don't even believe in."

  "If phobias were rational, no one would have them," he said gently, sitting down on a nearby bench. He pulled her down beside him. "When I was a kid, I was afraid of plants."

  "Plants?" she asked warily.

  "Yep. Caught a glimpse of an old campy horror movie my dad was watching," he said. “That one about the big Venus flytrap that ate people. Freaked me out so bad I couldn't go into the lawn-and-garden section for a year."

  Jordan couldn't help but laugh. "You must really hate my place."

  "It took some getting used to," he said with a grin. "It's not easy to avoid greenery when you live in a town planted in the middle of the forest. The point is, every fear comes from something that's real to you, no matter how silly it seems to everyone else. What is it about angels that bothers you so much?"

  She hesitated. "I could tell you, but it involves the Bible.”

  He shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first date I've had that ended that way."

  Jordan tried to laugh, but the sound got choked out by the tightness in her throat. “What do you think of when you envision angels, Darren? Besides the babies selling holiday candy."

  He considered that for a moment. "I don't know. I guess a beautiful person with wings, maybe a halo."

  “They’re not,” she said quietly. “In the Bible, they’re described as monstrous beings so terrible and beautiful that people die just from the sight of them. You can’t look at something that’s seen the face of God without being filled with terror. Angels are just part of the world I grew up in, and I learned a long time ago that there’s a dark side to everything. There’s the version people see, and then how it really is. Once you know some truths, you can’t ever get them out of your head.”

  Darren placed a hand on her shoulder and his touch threatened to undo what little composure she had gained. "You can talk to me, Jordan. You don't have to tell me about your father or your past, but if you do, I promise that it won’t change anything between us. It won’t change the way I feel about you.”

  She stared at him, warring with herself. At first, she had kept her past from Darren because it wasn't safe, but after the phone call she knew he was already in danger. He had a right to know what he was getting into, at the very least. A right to put as much distance between them as she had put between herself and Arkansas.

  The resignation gave her strength and she sat up, drying her eyes. "Okay, Darren," she said quietly. "I'll tell you everything."

  Fifteen

  Some stories were as hard to escape as they were to tell, and Jordan knew there was a chance that once she’d finished, Darren would want nothing to do with her. She promised herself that if that was the case, she would accept it. Sometimes she wished she had the same option.

  "When I was born, my father said he received a vision," Jordan began. "Until then, he’d been nothing more than a second-rate assistant pastor, but an angel appeared to him in a dream--the first of many--and told him I was special. Not because of who I was, but because I had gifts that would make my father great."

  "Gifts?" Darren asked. "You mean your uh, spells?"

  "More or less," Jordan replied. "We called it faith healing back then. The branding made it easier to sell to his ‘flock.’”

  "Oh," he said knowingly. "Like the con men on TV?"

  "Yes, only in our case, it was all real," she murmured. “The healing, the miracles, everything. I don't expect you to believe me. That's not why I'm telling you any of this, but my father believes it wholeheartedly and so did a lot of other people. He became regionally famous by using my power and people would come from thousands of miles away just to be at one of his services in hopes of getting healed.”

  "And your mother just allowed him to traipse you out onstage like a prop?" Darren asked, his voice rough. Jordan knew he didn’t believe a word about the magic, but he believed her about the abuse, and that was enough. It had been so long since she’d told anyone, sometimes it felt like a festering wound inside of her. It felt good to air it out, even if it did probably mean the end of their relationship.

  "Of course," said Jordan. "She was a ‘godly wife.' She never would’ve questioned her husband even if she didn't support it wholeheartedly. My brother Ezekiel was the only one who ever actually objected, and they punished him for it so severely that I cooperated."

  "Jordan, I'm so sorry."

  She shook her head. "Save your pity for when I'm done and you'll realize I don't deserve it at all.“

  He frowned and she could tell he wanted to argue, but he didn't.

  "As I grew up, my father kept receiving visions but he stopped telling us what they were about," she continued. "At least, he stopped telling me. He changed, too. He hated my brother, but I had always been the golden child." She swallowed her revulsion before adding, "His angel. That changed when I was thirteen. I don't know what the angel who gave him the visions told him, but he started being even more controlling. I was always homeschooled, but they let me go to Sunday school and see the other kids at the church my father started. All of a sudden he decided they would be a bad influence and that I had to be kept ‘pure’ and separate from outsiders. Ezekiel was the only friend I had. Even then, they would keep us apart if I hadn't performed adequately at service."

  She took a deep breath, trying to stuff the memories down. "One night at service, everything changed. It was a normal night. We were visiting a local town and the tent we held the service in was packed, as usual. A few people were brought up to be healed. A woman with epilepsy and an older man with dementia," she said softly. "The only thing out of the ordinary was how my father was acting. He seemed nervous, and for someone who thinks God is on his side, that's saying something."

  "I'd imagine so," muttered Darren.

  "I saw strange things a lot back then--you'd probably say I was hallucinating, and maybe I was--but I haven't been the same after what I saw that night," Jordan said, her voice cracking. She couldn't bear to look at him or the way she knew his face would change when he
heard what she had to say next. "There was a bright light, brighter than anything I've ever seen before or after. It came from outside the tent and then it came closer. The light was coming from eyes spinning in the air on two huge wheels."

  Darren blinked. “What the hell was that?”

  “An angel,” she muttered. “The way they’re actually described, anyway. That’s the last thing I really remember. There was an explosion and I blacked out. When I woke up, everything was burned to the ground. Everyone at the service except for me and my father was killed that night in the fire. There was an investigation, of course, but the fire department couldn't find the source and they ruled it an accident. Even the fire marshal said he didn't know how my father and I got out. Our clothes were burned. We'd been at the center of the explosion, and we shouldn’t have survived, let alone without a scratch on either of us.”

  “What caused the explosion?” Darren asked warily.

  Jordan stared at him for a moment, deciding she owed him the whole truth since she had already taken him this far. “It was me. I don’t know how or even remember it, but my father and I are the only two people who actually know the truth about that night. At least part of it…”

  “Jordan, you seriously can’t believe you had anything to do with that. It was a freak accident, and your father is insane. For all we know, he started the fire himself.”

  “You don’t understand,” she murmured. “You don't believe in any of this, but I do. Not because I want to, but because I've lived it. My mother and brother are dead because I'm a supernatural freak. Because I’ve always been able to do things that no one should be able to do, and when it finally got out of control, I killed them. Healing those people was just a side effect. All I'm really good for is destruction."

  Jordan took a deep breath and forced herself to carry on, knowing that if she didn't tell him then she never would. "After the fire, my father went underground for a while to let the press die down. We stayed in our old home, but he stopped holding meetings and started locking me away in the attic. He said it was so I couldn't hurt anyone else, and I believed him. At first, I didn't want to leave. I just wanted to die and being all alone in that dark place with no human contact was the next best thing."