Wicked Magic (7 Wicked Tales Featuring Witches, Demons, Vampires, Fae, and More)

by Deanna Chase

  A thick mane of black hair covered almost the entire half of the woman’s pinkened skin. But it was obvious even from a distance that she was a scarred and ruined mess. Her lips on the left side of her face looked to be in a perpetual frown and melted downward. A tight framework of scarring webbed the pieces of skin not covered by hair. The other half of her face was firm and smooth, and that side was exotically beautiful. A large blue eye stared back at her, obviously aware that Flint was staring and giving her an opportunity to look her fill.

  Flint had grown up in circuses, she’d seen and been around so-called freaks all her life. So instead of acting like she hadn’t seen it or embarrassing Abel’s mom by stuttering an apology, she smiled and nodded. “That’s me.”

  A brief flash of awareness flashed through the woman’s good eye. “Adam took Frank to the tent to work some of the fire out of him. Hot Italian temper and all that.”

  Her voice was softer now, more twangy. She had a natural Kentucky drawl in her speech. Abel’s mom leaned against the doorframe. She was dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt, her feet bare. She didn’t at all seem shy, but rather self-possessed. “Why don’t you come inside and wait with me, Flint? I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

  Flint wasn’t sure what to expect, so she entered in hesitantly.

  “Come on, come on.” Abel’s mom waved her hand. “Don’t be shy.”

  But being so close to her now made the rest of her body come into exacting focus. The entire left side of her body looked like melted wax that had rehardened. Generally people who were disfigured tended to become reclusive and antisocial, or so said all the books she’d read. A la The Phantom of the Opera.

  Even Abel had mentioned she didn’t do crowds or scenes, so honestly what she saw was not at all what she’d expected. The trailer was tastefully furnished. A small table and two chairs were by the kitchen, stained-glass sculptures hung in the window, and there was a white sofa and a massive worktable full of beakers and vials.

  Her eyes were drawn to the murky green flame spiraling from the top of a Bunsen burner.

  “Excuse the mess.” She wiped her hands off and held out her left one to Flint. “Name’s Layla.”

  Flint took her hand, surprised by the soft yet firm texture of the ruined flesh.

  “And yes, before you ask, I was named after the song.”

  Her smile was friendly, full of straight white teeth.

  “Song?”

  “You know.” Abel played some air guitar. “Clapton?”

  “Umm.” Flint gave him a confused look. “Should I?”

  “You young man, are in big trouble. How about you go to the back room and work on your classwork that you decided was such a good idea to ditch on today…”

  “How did you—” Abel’s brown eyes grew wide.

  Layla planted her hands in on her hips in a no-nonsense pose, red nails standing out in bold relief. “You can thank your father for that.”

  “Adam went to the school?” Abel’s voice picked up a whiny tone. “Ugh.”

  “March.” Layla pointed to the closed bedroom door.

  Abel gave Flint a discouraged flick of his wrist, then dragged himself back to the room, shutting the door a little harder than necessary.

  “So?” Layla turned around, the swooshing of her hair revealing for a moment the burned column of her throat.

  It was terrible that Flint suddenly suffered a desperate need to know how in the world she’d gotten so messed up and survived, but she didn’t ask.

  “Your father’s pretty mad.” Layla walked over to the desk full of what Flint could only imagine Dr. Frankenstein’s lair would probably contain.

  “Yeah, I screwed up big.”

  “Mmhmm.” She nodded, placing safety goggles on her face. “You know this place isn’t as safe as it might sometimes appear.”

  Flint sidled up to the table, fiddling around with an X-Acto knife, watching as Layla opened a couple of pouches of powder.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well…” Layla peered at her for a long second. “Last year we had a serial murderer here.”

  “What?” Flint went cold, like someone had just thrown ice into her veins. “Seriously?”

  “I wouldn’t lie.” Layla withdrew a pair of tweezers and took a pinch of the brown stuff in them, dropping the powder into a beaker of clear fluid. “Cops never caught the guy, but he had a thing for fourteen-year-olds with blonde hair. How old are you, Flint?”

  “Seventeen. They really never caught him?”

  The liquid turned an almost fluorescent green before returning once more to its clear color. Layla stirred it with what looked like a large swizzle stick, then set the beaker directly over the green flame.

  “No, never did. That’s why I’m telling you, you shouldn’t cut school.”

  Flint narrowed her eyes, studying Layla as she turned around and leaned against the desk, her arms crossed over her chest. Flint tried to find Abel and Cain in her features, but it was too hard, although the blue eye reminded her so forcibly of Cain that her stomach grew ticklish.

  “I think you’re just trying to use scare tactics on me,” Flint said with a smile. “Though I already promised Cain I wouldn’t cut again, so no worries.”

  “Cain, huh?” Layla’s good eye narrowed shrewdly while the good side of her mouth turned up in a semi-smile. “Speaking of which, Abel was back here a whole twenty minutes before you guys. Wanna explain where you were exactly?”

  The woman pulled no punches, and she was smart. Super smart. Mouth suddenly dry, Flint shook her head. There was absolutely no way she was going to talk about Cain with his own mother. Not yet, maybe not ever. They didn’t even know each other all that well. And she was sure they weren’t even a something worth mentioning at this point.

  “He brought me here.”

  “Right.” Layla slid the goggles off. “Well, I can tell you this—my oldest child has never been known to be extremely friendly, or much able to make friends with those outside his immediate circle. That he’s asked you to make that promise is… interesting.”

  What exactly was she hinting at? And why in the world was Flint suddenly sweating uncontrollably? Was it possible that the jerk kind of sort of maybe liked her too?

  Fighting a ridiculous grin, Flint turned and glanced back down at the table. “What’s all this stuff?” she blurted.

  “Before I became the beauty that you see today—”

  Flint sucked in a hard breath. “I wasn’t…”

  Layla touched the sleeve of her arm gently. “Honey, I’ve had ten years to come to grips with me, it’s really okay, and pretending that I don’t look like I do helps no one. Better to tackle it head-on so we can move on.” She winked and Flint smiled.

  “Anyway, I was a geneticist working at Berkeley. Studying the fundamental functions of cells, cell manipulation—”

  “What’s that exactly?”

  She smiled. “Ever see that weird picture of the mouse with a human ear growing off his back?”

  Flint grimaced. “That’s kind of disgusting.”

  Layla laughed. “That was my project. One of.” She shrugged like it was no big deal and pointed to a blacked-out steel locker unit. “I’m working on the generation of skin cells. It’s the biggest living organ on our body, generates millions of new cells daily, and…”

  “You’re trying to grow some new skin for yourself?” Flint asked softly.

  “Exactly. You see, once skin has been damaged to the level mine has been, I can never grow it back to look like yours. However, the new cells I’m growing, I’ve implanted genetic information into them to essentially make the skin as impenetrable as steel. Well…” She shrugged. “That’s what I’m trying to do. We’re not quite there yet.”

  Impressed, Flint made a quiet noise in the back of her throat. “I see where Abel gets his genius from.”

  “Not just Abel. Cain too.”

  Flint held her snort in, but just barely.

&n
bsp; Layla cocked her head, the silken fall of black hair again revealing a wide expanse of her face. “You like him.”

  It wasn’t a question. Which meant she didn’t have to answer.

  Thankfully a shadow fell across them, and for the first time since she and Abel had been caught, Flint was happy to see her dad, even if it meant a tongue-lashing.

  But it wasn’t her dad.

  Katy poked her dark head into the trailer, and instantly Flint had to bite down on her tongue to keep from snapping. How long had she been out there? Judging by the gleam in her eyes, long enough to know she and Layla had been talking about Cain, which meant her dad would probably find out soon.

  “Yes, Katy?” Layla asked in that peaches-and-cream voice that did little to hide the edge of scorn beneath.

  Flint whipped around to look at Layla. Was there some drama between the two? Did Layla not like her either?

  Katy stood just inside the door. “Adam needs a hand in the tent. Some of the rigging has come loose and”—she glanced at Flint—“your father wants to talk with you, Flint.”

  “Give us a few more seconds, Katy, I’ll send Abel out to help.”

  Katy looked dubious of Layla’s choice. Rigging was heavy, which meant muscles were needed.

  “Abel can handle it; it’s not his first time helping out.” Layla smiled, and Flint almost laughed. Layla had the Southern shtick down, barbed words wrapped in velvet, which made it impossible for the other person to fight back. “Now go on back—I’ll send them out in just a bit.”

  Katy glowered, shooting a look at Layla’s back when she turned. Wide green eyes looked at Flint and there was a demand written in them. Come with me.

  Flint started to rifle through her jeans pocket, pretending she hadn’t a clue what Katy wanted.

  With a dainty stomp of her foot, Katy turned and marched out.

  “You don’t like her.” Again, not a question.

  “No,” Flint replied.

  “Good. Me either.” Layla winked. “Abel, honey, Adam needs you in the tent.”

  There was some shuffling and then a second later the door opened. Abel’s hair was poking out all around his face. “Fine.” As he slipped on his shoes, he looked at Flint. “She’s not going to stop bugging you until you tell her you like Cain.”

  “Abel!” Flint cried, wishing she could punch him. “How long were you eavesdropping?”

  He gave her his wicked dimpled grin. “Long enough.” Then he sailed out the door.

  Flint turned around, ready to deny it until she was blue in the face when a horrible shrill pierced her ears.

  “What the—” Abel cried.

  And then it was total chaos.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Oh my God,” Layla breathed, throwing her arm in front of Flint, who could barely remember to breathe as a woman dressed in shiny black leather pants and stilettos advanced.

  She was tall, filling the doorway, and her eyes were pure red. Her skin was flawless, void of a single mar or imperfection. The toffee tone of her skin seemed to almost gleam from the inside out, and her hair was black as oil and coiled tightly on her head.

  She was gorgeous.

  And deadly.

  And reminded Flint of a black widow the way she moved gracefully inside. In her hands were two long silver blades.

  “Who are you?” Layla’s voice trembled.

  Flint was in a state of almost total shock. All she could think about was the moaning sound coming from outside. What had the woman done to Abel?

  But she didn’t get more than a second to think about it before the woman jumped, literally seeming to sail toward them. And like flipping on a light switch, Flint realized that she was hiding like a baby behind Layla.

  She was the more able-bodied of the two. Brave from adrenaline, she reversed positions, but not before the woman’s knife flicked through the air. Everything was moving so fast and yet so slow. Chaotic and ordered.

  Flint saw the curve of the blade, saw it nick into Layla’s right arm, saw the red beading of blood began to leak to the surface.

  “Adam! Cain!” Layla screamed and the slow motion stopped.

  Now everything was moving in a blur.

  There were grunts and Flint realized it was her. The woman was grabbing her around the throat. Shutting off her oxygen. She gasped like a fish as she sank to the floor, clawing at the powerful hands clamped around her neck as her vision spun with white light.

  She kicked and screamed and thrashed, then the woman was leaning in and there were sharp teeth. Teeth that sank into her neck. The pain was immediate and white-hot.

  Vision down to a pinprick, she knew she was dying.

  Whatever the woman was, Flint couldn’t fight it. She wasn’t strong enough.

  She beat at the hands weakly, and then there was a thunderous roar, and for a second Flint would have sworn that the face in front of her was Cain’s.

  But it was bloated and swollen and the eyes were red. Redder than any blood she’d ever seen, and then there was sweet relief as the hands were ripped off her neck.

  “I have failed,” the black widow whispered, right before the sound of violent rending.

  Like someone ripping trees apart. Something hot and liquid splashed all over her. It stank.

  Like sour milk.

  “Flint. Flint. Can you hear me?”

  The voice was deep, deep and weird and so wrong. But the smell, oh God, the smell. Like the woods… She closed her eyes and passed out.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  He watched her, aware that he’d very nearly lost her.

  Sitting in the deepest shadows of the room, Cain breathed through the violence festering like an open wound in his mind.

  The bug had attacked her.

  Her.

  Flint.

  God, he’d been so stupid. Clenching his jaw, he grabbed his pant leg and squeezed so hard his arms shook with the restraint he forced upon himself. What he wanted to do was kill. Kill everything.

  He’d walked away from her.

  Left her in the car.

  He’d known they’d been stalking her—there were no excuses. They’d attacked on his turf. With so many ragers and demons around, the hive had come into his home and dared to touch her.

  She was pale. Barely moving.

  The first night, he’d thought she’d died. Every night he snuck in. When the sun set and he should be hunting, he came here. To her hospital room and watched. Listening to every creak, every groan, every murmur… almost wishing another Aswang would appear so he could rip the thing’s head off for daring to hurt her.

  Tonight she was restless, moaning and whimpering.

  Had she seen him?

  Adam had told him that if she’d seen, she’d need to be dealt with.

  There was only one way demons dealt with problems; they either mated with them or killed them. And he was positive Adam had no intention of Cain claiming Flint as his own.

  Her breathing hitched and her foot twitched.

  The sun was barely beginning to crest the horizon.

  Seth and Eli were out hunting. But for the past few weeks, the hive had become nearly impossible to track. And in the past few days since the attack, they’d burrowed in deep. They weren’t even coming to school anymore.

  How could he keep her safe when he couldn’t even find the enemy?

  Flint’s entire body shuddered and his heart clenched when a tear gathered in the corner of her eye.

  Standing, he walked to her side and reverently took the tear from her eye with the tip of his finger, tucking it close to his heart.

  “I’ll get them, princess, you’re safe.”

  Imprinting her delicate face to memory, he traced the line of her fine brows. She stilled almost immediately and his entire body trembled.

  Staying away from her, it wasn’t an option anymore. And killing her, out of the question. Someway, somehow, he was going to figure out how to save her.

  “I swear to you. I’ll keep
you safe.”

  A tiny smile ghosted on her lips before she calmed and returned once more to her dreams. Hearing the familiar tread of her nurse making the rounds, Cain walked to the window and, with one final glance, made a silent vow that there would be blood and there would be lots of it.

  ~*~

  There were dreams. Lots of them. It all started in a trailer, with her talking to Layla, looking at a freakish display of science experiments, and then she couldn’t breathe and she was screaming and slapping at her body.

  “Ssh, baby doll, you’re okay.”

  Flint recognized her father’s voice and struggled to open eyes that felt glued shut. “Daddy?”

  “Oh thank God, Flinty. Thank God.” He hugged her neck, leaning his head against her tender chest as he wept openly. She rubbed her fingers through his brown hair.

  “What happened?”

  He laughed, and it was a wild, high-pitched sound. “You don’t remember. God, Flinty, I was so scared. The doctors said you were in a coma. You woke up yesterday, thrashed around for a bit. I think because of the tube in your throat. They had to sedate you again to get it out. Do you remember any of that?”

  “A coma!” She glanced down at herself, finally realizing she was full of needles and lying in a hospital bed. The white walls and dull decorations were definitely hospital grade. “I don’t remember… Wow, seriously? A coma?”

  “You’ve been asleep almost four days.”

  “But…”

  “You had a fever of one hundred and five. Flint, it was so close.” His jaw wasn’t just stubbled, there was the beginning of a full beard, and his brown eyes were totally bloodshot. “I thought I’d lost you too.”

  Her mouth pulled down in a frown. “What happened?”

  “All the cops can tell me is that one of the performers snapped.”

  Flint scrunched her face, desperately trying to remember the woman. That woman had been no performer. She’d have recognized the face. Unnaturally perfect, like a living Barbie doll with freaky red eyes.