The Seven Year Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 2

by Jodi Redford

  Refusing to dwell on things she couldn’t change, she flipped to the next page in the ancient grimoire. A knock sounded on the door, and she looked up just as Griffin stepped inside the office. He glanced at the book propped in front of her and mumbled an apology for disturbing her before backing through the entry.

  “Wait.” Desperate for any opportunity to get her mind off her upcoming meeting, she slammed the text shut. She scrambled from her seat and banged her kneecap on the underside of her desk. Wincing, she hobbled toward the doorway. “I thought you weren’t due to come in until Wednesday or Thursday.”

  “Jemma’s been a nervous wreck doing this last-minute wedding planning from a distance. I decided to do her—and me—a favor by driving us out here sooner.” Humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. “This way, I figured I’d have backup in case Jem decided to go bridezilla all of a sudden.”

  A pointed cough sounded behind Griffin and he jumped, his face taking on a guilty flush. He swiveled sideways, revealing Jemma standing behind him, her arms stacked above the slight swell of her belly. She arched one blonde eyebrow. “Bridezilla?”

  “Don’t get mad, Jem. It’s not good for the baby.”

  Jemma snorted. “That excuse is only going to last you so long, buddy.”

  “Then I’ll just have to use it to my full advantage for the next four and a half months, won’t I?” Flashing a grin, he leaned down and banished Jemma’s scowl with a kiss.

  When he leaned back, Jemma curled her palm around his jaw. “I really, really hate it when you make it hard to be pissed at you.” The loving adoration in her gaze counterbalanced her stern tone.

  The pair’s easy affection stoked a strong flare of envy within Clarissa. Seeing their obvious love and devotion stirred up every wistful desire she thought she’d safely locked away. Rather than pander to the traitorous longings that did her absolutely no good, she shifted her scrutiny to Jemma’s stomach. “How is the pregnancy going?”

  “The doc says everything looks good.” Jemma’s hand automatically dropped to her baby bump.

  The tenderness in the gesture rubbed at the all-too-fresh scab of Clarissa’s shameful envies, peeling back the edges to expose her hidden vulnerabilities. With sickening clarity, a memory popped into her head—her mother throwing empty beer bottles at her, screaming slurred words of hate. “I wish you’d never been born, you little bitch.”

  Somehow, she yanked herself from the painful remembrance and buried the tide of emotions threatening to surface. Once the familiar numbness filled the ache in her chest, she glanced at Griffin. “Would you mind asking Gloria to put together some refreshments for us?”

  Griffin’s expression hinted that he knew her underlying reason for the request had more to do with getting him out of earshot for a moment than any sudden thirst, but he dutifully ducked from the room. Once he was gone, Clarissa abandoned the doorway and invited Jemma to take a seat on one of the twin French armchairs. “I’ve been meaning to ask how things have been between you and the guild. They aren’t still hounding you about testing your abilities, are they?”

  Jemma smoothed the hem of her peasant-style blouse and grimaced. “No. I think they got the point after Griff threatened to make a few of them his chew toys at the last meeting.”

  “It’s good that he’s protective of you.” And it gave her one less thing to worry over. The guild’s overenthusiastic interest in exploring Jemma’s latent magical skill could have become a giant headache.

  Jemma shifted in her seat, obviously trying to get comfortable. “Enough about me. What’s the latest excitement around here?”

  “Not much,” Clarissa lied.

  “I suppose that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Personally, I’m thrilled my life has become boring again.” Jemma’s lips twisted in irony. “Well, as boring as it can possibly be when I’m shacked up with one tiger and months away from popping out another. Not to mention all the wedding planning that’s been driving me loony. I’m just thankful Griff has been so patient with me.”

  The tiger in question chose that minute to stroll back into the room. He handed Jemma one of the glasses of lemonade and a cookie. “Did I hear someone singing my virtues?”

  “It depends. Are you going to fork over the other cookie you’re hiding from me?”

  Grunting, he placed the tray on the desk and fished the treat from the pocket of his flannel shirt. “I have no idea how you do that. Your nose is practically better than mine when it comes to sniffing out sweets.”

  Her smile angelic, Jemma snatched the cookie and added it to her stash. After taking a sip of her beverage, she glanced at Clarissa. “Speaking of world-class sniffers, where’s Logan? I thought for sure he’d be hanging around. Especially today of all days.” Jemma shrugged in response to Clarissa’s frown. “Griff told me it’s your anniversary today. I think it’s nice that you guys celebrate it.”

  The reminder of how she’d let Logan down socked into Clarissa with all the subtlety of a two-by-four. The awful sensation intensified when she recalled how angry and hurt he’d looked before he’d turned and stalked away from her yesterday. She hadn’t seen him at all since then. Probably just as well. He needed space to cool off. And she needed time to figure out how to make things right again between them.

  Plastering on a smile that she prayed didn’t appear as pained as it felt, Clarissa rose from her seat and crossed to the built-in bookshelves. She pretended to be busy searching for a particular tome, using the time to compose herself. “Our celebration had to be postponed, unfortunately. No doubt he’ll be swinging by sometime in the coming week though.” Hopefully. If he hadn’t finally decided that he’d had enough of her.

  The possibility tightened the vise in her chest. She turned back around and met Jemma and Griffin’s all-too-shrewd expressions. Oh shit, had she somehow revealed too much? The last thing she needed was the entire coven knowing about her chaotic emotions where Logan was concerned. She’d never hear the end of it.

  Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, she pivoted toward her desk. The clock caught her attention and a splinter of dread pierced her fragile bubble of calm as she took in the time. The rest of her burdens immediately exited stage left as the hour of her judgment glared her in the eye.

  Seven years had come down to this.

  It was time to face her fate.

  Chapter Four

  The interior of Tatum’s was exactly as Clarissa remembered. Dark and dingy. Still, a twinge of relief scuttled through her. The dim, smoky gloom provided a modicum of obscurity. Not that she expected her mother to be working the floor tonight. And even if she was, not much chance the woman would race over, ready to dole out a hug and a smile.

  A waitress who appeared to be poured into a slinky black leather halter dress tottered up to the hostess stand in her sky-high platforms. “Here for the band tonight?”

  “No. I’m meeting someone. I don’t think they’re here yet, but can I grab a spot near the back?”

  Responding with a nod, the waitress led Clarissa toward a vacant table a safe distance away from the smoke-filled bar. “We’re expecting a packed house tonight. Might want to put your order in now, before the kitchen gets swamped.”

  She doubted her stomach would agree to the idea of food, but she accepted the grease-splattered menu anyway. Soon as the waitress wobbled off, she ditched the menu and wiped her fingers on the available paper napkin. Obviously Seven chose Tatum’s out of a twisted sense of sentimentality and not because of its two-star luxury.

  Then again, dark, dismal places seemed to be Seven’s preferred hunting ground. Places where oblivion could be found in a bottle—and any soul could be bought for the right price. She was all too familiar with that last reality.

  Leaning back in her seat, she watched the noisy quartet who’d wandered in off the street tromp toward the crowded bar. None of the four appeared to be old enough to drive, much less drink. Still, she doubted Tatum’s was the sort of establishment that looked too closely a
t their patrons’ drivers licenses.

  “Foolish children, walking straight into the devil’s den.” The melodic, raspy voice managed to crack through the aura of calm Clarissa had so painstakingly worked on for the past twenty minutes, causing her shoulders to jerk. Silently berating her jumpy nerves, she tipped her gaze upward. Seven stood close enough to her chair the immense heat radiating off him nearly scorched the fine hairs on her forearm.

  Truthfully, Seven wasn’t exactly a him. Or even a she. More like a conglomerate of personas that took multiple personality disorder to an extreme new level. The little she had managed to glean during her limited dealings with Seven all those years ago hadn’t shed too much light on the creature’s mysterious origins. To this day, the only thing she knew with absolute certainty was that Seven held an insatiable hunger for one thing above all else.

  Souls.

  Today, the creature wore the trappings of an average, everyday Joe dressed in tailored khakis and a navy polo. She was more acquainted with this personality than the others, although she’d met them all during that harrowing week seven years ago, when she’d hammered out the contract on her soul. But for whatever reason, the personality standing before her had seemed to be the one most intensely interested in her. As seemed to still be the case now, judging from the way those black, reptilian-like irises focused on her.

  Seven’s head cocked to the side. “What, you don’t agree?”

  It took her a moment to remember the creature’s earlier observation. “That this is the devil’s den? Or that they’re foolish children?”

  Slipping on a smile that didn’t reach those cold eyes, Seven brushed by her and lowered into the neighboring seat. “Both.”

  She stifled the urge to shiver as Seven watched her intently. Her overwhelming unease didn’t just stem from the fact this creature held the contract on her soul. Although that small detail certainly was enough to pump anyone with dread. No, there was also something oddly, frighteningly hypnotic about Seven. A magnetic force that simultaneously repelled and beckoned. She’d seen firsthand that power in action and how it’d lured in victims. Even so, that in no way made her immune to its draw.

  Somehow she pulled her stare from Seven and glanced toward the young quartet up at the bar. “They’re teenagers. It’s a requirement to be foolish at that age.”

  “Tell me, Clarissa, were you ever foolish? Or young?” Once again, that dark, fathomless gaze seared into her as if trolling her subconscious for the memories she preferred to keep submerged in the deepest recesses of her mind.

  Maybe that was the secret to Seven’s allure, a telepathic skill that amounted to a twisted version of a Jedi mind trick. She battled to resist its potent pull. “We were all young once.”

  “Not you. Those parents of yours made sure of that, didn’t they?”

  A suffocating sense of vulnerability washed over her, and she swallowed. The interior of her mouth felt dry, gritty. She searched the table for a glass of water before remembering that the waitress had never returned for her order.

  “How is your good ole pops doing these days, anyway? Perhaps I’ll stop by and say howdy, for old time’s sake.”

  Her panic dissolved, replaced instantly with blistering fury. “You stay away from him.”

  “Still protecting the very ones who robbed you of your youth? An admirable, if not foolish trait.” A taunting smile curled Seven’s mouth. “Deprived of youth but not foolishness. Pity, that.”

  Her hands clenched in her lap. “Why did you bring me here? To amuse yourself and torment me?”

  “Am I tormenting you, sweet Clarissa?”

  She winced at the mocking, silken purr of Seven’s voice. Damn it, after all her talk about not showing any weakness, she blew it within the first five minutes of their meeting.

  “Imagine. Me having the ability to do that to you.” Something resembling hunger flashed in the bottomless black depths of Seven’s eyes. “You who refuses to crack under any pressure. Who contains more strength and power than her entire coven combined.”

  An icy sliver of fear trickled down her spine. She didn’t know which to blame more for the sensation—the intensely covetous way Seven stared at her, or hearing this strange and disturbing creature speak of her coven. There was no reason to interpret a hidden menace there, but the fine hairs standing to attention on the nape of her neck didn’t seem to agree with the assessment. She swallowed past the thick apprehension clogging her throat, desperate not to reveal her anxiety. “Flattered as I am by this conversation, I’d prefer if we just cut through the bullshit, and you tell me exactly how long I have before you call in my marker.”

  “Seven days.”

  She might have known. If nothing else, Seven was consistent with the freaky symbolism. “So that’s it? You brought me all the way here to tell me I have a week? Wouldn’t another of your infamous letters have been easier?” And less painful. But she knew with every fiber of her being that Seven wouldn’t have had it any other way. No, much better to lure her to this hellhole, where memories were like daggers piercing her guilty conscience.

  “I’m afraid it isn’t that easy. Since our contract isn’t fully sealed, a letter wouldn’t have sufficed.”

  She blinked, trying to digest the implications of the startling revelation. “Isn’t sealed? You mean…”

  A scratchy chuckle rumbled from Seven. “Don’t get too excited, sweet Clarissa. The contract laid down the groundwork, so there’s no going back. Your soul is still mine to take.” Another glimmer of that covetous lust flared in Seven’s dark pupils, making her shiver. “I trust that you’re a woman of your word. Come to me willingly, and there will be no complications.”

  She frowned. “Complications?”

  “For those you hold dear. Your coven sisters. Your father. Others whom you may not be willing to allow admittance to your heart.”

  Her pulse leapt at the unmistakable threat. “I’ve already given you my agreement. I’m not breaking the contract.”

  “Good. Then you only owe me one more thing to complete the seal.”

  “What?”

  The smile that stretched Seven’s thin lips made her skin crawl. “A kiss.”

  Logan grunted as he struggled not to drop the heavy amp for Kegan Justice’s Stratocaster. “Son of a bitch. Would you get some fuckin’ wheels bolted on this thing already?”

  “Why? That’s what the dolly is for.”

  Logan’s eyebrows slashed low. “What dolly?”

  A chuckle came from Mica Chaffour, Kegan’s band mate and fellow familiar. “The one sitting inside the service entrance over there.”

  Logan’s gaze swerved to the back wall of Tatum’s and the Employees Only sign hanging over a propped-open door. He shifted his attention back to Kegan and noticed the grin stretching his mouth. “Shithead. I’m tellin’ Constance you tried to bust my nut.”

  Kegan’s smartass grin instantly vanished. “Hey now. No need to get your jockeys in a twist.” Looking suitably worried, he dashed in the direction of the doorway, presumably to snatch the dolly and avoid a potential scolding from his witch. For a bear shifter, he could hustle his ass pretty damn fast when he wanted to.

  “That was mean and sneaky, man.” Mica’s lips twitched. “I’m gonna have to remember it for future reference. Might help score me a month of kitchen duty from Keg. And his Coltrane collection.”

  Logan crooked his arm, using the sleeve of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I don’t know how you guys manage to get along so well, much less live together.” Mica and Kegan were one of the few familiars who shared a witch. The typical competitiveness that existed amongst familiars usually prohibited doubling up, for everyone’s sanity.

  “Yeah, it’s a miracle. Especially since Keg is such a damn slob.”

  “Spreading vicious lies about me again, dickhead?” The rattling of metal announced Kegan’s approach with the dolly. “Think you can maybe hold off for a few and actually give me a hand setting things up?�
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  “If I must.” Mica glanced at Logan. “You gonna stick around for a set? We’ll buy you a round if so.”

  “Well, shit, who am I to pass up free beer?” Besides, not like he had anywhere else to be. Shoving that dismal thought to the rear of his mind, he left the two bear shifters to finish situating their gear. He stepped into the service entrance of Tatum’s and bypassed the kitchen, following the corridor to the main section of the restaurant. He coughed, nearly hacking up a lung as the acrid smoke from what undoubtedly amounted to ten thousand packs of cigarettes ambushed him. His heightened lupine senses always made walking into a bar a dicey prospect. Thankfully Champions had a state-of-the-art smoke-filtering system—something this joint was in dire need of. If not for the promise of those free beers, he would have walked his ass right back through the exit.

  Steeling himself, he strode toward the jam-packed bar. After elbowing a path through the throng and requesting a beer from the bartender, he moseyed out of the way and scoped the room for an available seat. The majority of tables close to the stage were already taken, but he spotted a vacant booth that still afforded a decent view.

  Hoping to sweet talk his way into the primo spot, he swiveled toward the hostess stand, only to slam to a standstill when he spied Clarissa sitting at a table near the back of the dining room. She wasn’t alone. Even while his brain scrambled to process that disturbing revelation, he watched the stranger’s hands bracket Clarissa’s face, right before the guy leaned in and kissed her.

  Numb disbelief froze him. What. The. Fuck.

  Jealous fury detonated inside him, instantly eradicating every thought but the one screaming in his mind—the fucking asshole had his tongue rammed in Clarissa’s mouth. His woman.

  Fists balling in preparation of punching the dickwad’s nose off kilter, Logan growled low in his throat and stalked in Clarissa’s direction. A seat suddenly swerved in front of him, almost jabbing him in the hip. He snarled at the clueless guy straddling the chair before shoving the seat out of the way. Ignoring the guy’s sputtering retort, Logan jerked his focus back to Clarissa. And did a double take.