The Cursed Witch: A Paranormal Enemies to Lovers (Nightcaster Chronicles Book 1)

by R. L. Perez

  “What the hell is that thing?” Dad demanded.

  “A portal,” Hayes said. “It will take Miss Gerrick to her destination.”

  I shot Hayes a bewildered look. “You’re a Jumper! Can’t you just take me there?”

  He shook his head. “There are wards preventing Jumpers from reaching it. It’s heavily protected. This is the only way.” We stopped, finally facing the portal. A faint vibration thrummed around it as if it let off some kind of frequency.

  I swallowed as uncertainty numbed my bones. Something didn’t feel right.

  “Mr. Gerrick,” Hayes said softly.

  Dad stiffened and looked at Hayes, who stood a few feet behind us. “What?”

  “You must remain here.”

  My body felt numb. “I have to jump through that weird thing . . . alone?”

  Hayes nodded like this was the simplest thing in the world. “You are the only one authorized to. Only those admitted to the Institute are permitted to enter.”

  Unease spread through me. I turned back to the portal. My body froze. Something within me screamed that this wasn’t right, that I shouldn’t go through.

  No way am I stepping through that thing by myself. I knew nothing about this portal. For all I knew, it could take me to a pack of ravenous werewolves.

  I looked at Dad, whose panic matched my own. This isn’t right.

  “Go on,” Hayes urged.

  I hesitated, searching inwardly for the resolve that had pushed me to agree to this in the first place. But it was gone. “No,” I said.

  Hayes stiffened. “You must.”

  I shot him a sharp look. “Like hell. I’m not going there unescorted. Do you even know where that portal goes? What if I’m attacked?”

  Hayes reached for me, but Dad swatted his arm away. “She said no.”

  Hayes fixed a fearsome scowl at him. “It’s the Council’s orders. She doesn’t have a choice.”

  I backed away from the portal, my limbs itching to break into a run. “You go first so I know it’s safe,” I said to Hayes.

  “Miss Gerrick . . .” Hayes reached for me, and I bolted.

  Dad took my cue and sprinted next to me, carrying half my weight as we ran in a weird sort of gallop.

  With a pop, Hayes appeared in front of us, arms outstretched to grab me. Dad shoved the man aside, and I ducked underneath him to keep running. Over my shoulder I cast a spell.

  “Magic above and powers that be,

  Freeze this man who’s chasing me.”

  My hands glowed blue, and Hayes cried out with a roar of anger and frustration. I kept running, ignoring the pain searing up my leg and the stitch that formed in my side.

  “Run, Brie!” Dad shouted, his voice muffled. I knew Hayes was fighting with him, and for a moment, I hesitated. “Get out of here!” Dad cried. “Hide!”

  My survival instincts kicked in, and I kept running, my injured leg pulsing with pain. I didn’t know what I would do or where I would go, but I knew that portal meant nothing good for me.

  Another pop made me stop in my tracks. A new man appeared, his thick eyebrows lowered and his jaw rigid. He closed a hand around my wrist, his grip firm and unyielding. I thrashed and yanked my hand, but it was no use.

  He Jumped, and we were back in front of the portal again. I struggled, kicking and flailing like a toddler, but the man dragged me forward. Then another pop, and Hayes was by his side with my enchantment broken. They each grabbed one of my arms and hauled me toward the portal.

  “Dad!” I screamed.

  “Brie!” His voice was faint. Too far. He wouldn’t reach me in time.

  The two Jumpers hauled me forward, and I struggled uselessly against their steely grips.

  “What are you going to do, throw me like I’m a piece of garbage?” I shouted loudly. My voice echoed in the empty warehouse, mingling with Dad’s shouts. He was only a few yards away now. Maybe he would reach me in time.

  The purple portal warbled at my approach, and a fresh wave of panic overcame me.

  “Stop! Please!” I dug my heels into the floor, but still they pushed me forward. “Dad!”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Gerrick,” Hayes said with a grunt.

  And they shoved me forward through the portal and away from the life I knew.

  4

  Brielle

  MY STOMACH CHURNED. Lights spun in my vision, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Nausea built up inside me until I was certain I’d puke.

  Then everything stopped. Something hard collided with my face, and pain split through my head like an ax. I groaned and shifted, my head throbbing. Slowly, I opened my eyes and found a wide expanse of elaborate marble. My face was planted right in the middle of some decorative octagon with an array of bright colors and tiles.

  I sat up, my head spinning. The ground was cool to the touch, and I suppressed a shiver. The injury in my leg pulsed as I tried to stand. I looked up, craning my neck to view the magnificent ceiling high above me, surrounded by ornate sculptures. A balcony wrapped around the room I was in, indicating there was at least a second floor—maybe more, judging by the height of the ceiling.

  Where am I, some sort of castle?

  “Bloody hell,” said a voice.

  I jumped and found a boy about my age standing opposite me near a narrow hallway. Short, copper hair framed his face, and his blue eyes were wide as he stared at me, his face white as paper.

  I swallowed and frowned at him. He wore a gold overcoat that fell past his butt, decorated with gleaming buttons. On his neck was a white ascot of some sort—maybe a cravat?

  He seriously looked like some royal courtier from a play. If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve expected him to start belting Shakespeare or burst into song.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  The boy blinked and looked behind him like he thought I spoke to someone else. Then he turned back to me, gaping. “Uh, my name is Riker. Riker Wilkinson.” He spoke with a thick, British accent. Which explained the “bloody hell.”

  “Where are we?” I looked around the vast room again, taking in the small details like the grand paintings hanging on the wall and the beautiful rugs lining the floors of the hallway. Something sharp stung my nose. Something familiar.

  There were demons here.

  I stiffened, my fingers itching to grab weapons I didn’t have. Unfortunately, Solano had forbidden me from bringing any.

  “Where are we?” I asked again, louder this time. I stepped toward Riker, prepared to slap the shock off his face if I had to.

  “The Castillo de Coca,” Riker said. Fear stirred in his eyes at my approach.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “It’s a castle located in the province of Segovia. Central Spain.”

  I staggered back a step. Spain? This top-secret Institute was located in Spain? “Mother of Lilith,” I whispered, feeling faint again.

  “You’re unwell.” Riker strode toward me and offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you to the guest room.”

  I shot him a bewildered look. “Escort me? I’m perfectly capable of walking myself.”

  “Most of us weren’t well enough to arrive without vomiting,” Riker said in a conspiratorial whisper. “So, it’s not a question of your capabilities, Miss . . .?”

  I sighed. “Gerrick. Brielle Gerrick.”

  Riker raised his eyebrows. “Brielle? Are you French?”

  I snorted. “No. My mom just has an odd sense of humor. I’m Cuban, actually.”

  Riker frowned and cocked his head, eyeing me up and down. “You seem rather fair for a Cuban.”

  I nodded, rolling my eyes. “Tell me about it.” I stilled and narrowed my eyes at him. “What do you mean, you didn’t arrive without vomiting? There are others who . . .” I trailed off, unsure of how to word my question.

  Riker nodded. His gaze darted down to his elbow, which was still extending toward me. “I’ll explain on the way. It’s quite a long walk.”

  As much as I wanted to shove
him away and find the guest room myself, I knew I wouldn’t last very long with my injured leg. Begrudgingly, I rested my hand on the inside of his arm, surprised by the strength I found there.

  “We all arrived at different times,” he said, guiding me down the hallway he’d just come from. “Armin was the last to arrive. He came from Mumbai and he’s been here about three years.”

  I tried to focus on his words and not the number of statues we passed that put the statue of David to shame. “Arrive how?” I didn’t want to outright say “through a magical portal,” on the off chance he was just a mortal.

  Riker smirked. “I think you know. An abandoned warehouse with a glowing purple light? We were all taken there.”

  “So, this . . . castle is really the Institute then?”

  “Ah, yes. The Count doesn’t like the term ‘Institute.’ He thinks it diminishes the grandeur of such a place. Honestly, he treats it more like a shrine.”

  “The Count?”

  “Count Antonio de Silva. He runs the place. So, ah Miss Gerrick, what time are you from?”

  I stared at him. What time?

  Riker glanced at me and then stopped walking. “We’re in the year 1735. The portal you stepped through sent you through time.”

  I raised an eyebrow, waiting for the punchline. When he didn’t say anything, I said, “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  Riker laughed. “We all questioned it at first, but it’s true. You’ll see soon enough.” He patted my hand and continued walking.

  I gazed at the tapestries and paintings through narrowed eyes. Whoever decorated this place certainly went all out. There was nothing modern about it.

  Which could only mean that someone desperately wanted me to believe I was in a different time period.

  But I was no fool.

  “So, tell me more about the rest of you,” I said, hoping to get him talking so he could feed me useful information. “You’re all . . . handicapped somehow? Something’s wrong with your powers too?”

  Riker nodded. “I’m a Seer who can’t control his visions. They’re often violent. Sometimes others get hurt. Sometimes I hurt myself.” He shrugged, but his eyes darkened. “Others have it much worse. One bloke sets himself on fire spontaneously and has no control over it.” He looked at me. “What about you?”

  I pressed my lips together. “I don’t have any powers. Well, not an affinity. I can cast spells, but that’s it. No specialty. No gifts.”

  Riker frowned. “How peculiar.” He faced forward again as we climbed a giant stone staircase.

  I watched him as we walked, but he said nothing else. Nothing in his expression indicated discomfort or fear or even disgust.

  Relief swelled in my chest. He didn’t think I was a freak. A defect.

  Of course he wouldn’t. Everyone here is defective.

  I tried not to let that thought squash my spirits.

  “Why did you seem so surprised to see me?” I asked.

  “Well, like I said, we haven’t had a newcomer in three years. It was startling.”

  “No one told you ahead of time?”

  Riker chuckled. “We don’t have reliable communication in the eighteenth century. And certainly no way to communicate with other time periods.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes again. Right. This time travel nonsense. “I see.”

  Riker’s smile widened, and he winked at me. “I know you’ve still got your doubts. You probably think I’m insane. Don’t fret, I don’t think any less of you for it. We all had to come around in our own time.”

  We reached the top of the staircase and passed by several doors with gold handles and elaborate, swirling patterns carved into them. I gazed down the long hallway lined by a crimson carpet. It seemed to stretch on for miles.

  “How many others are here?” I asked.

  “A dozen.”

  “And where are they?”

  “Training. They sent me to fetch more blankets to keep Izzy warm.”

  I frowned, and he laughed again.

  “Izzy’s hands keep turning to ice. Yesterday it was fire. I’m sure tomorrow it will be something else. Perhaps her wind will be uncontrollable. Who knows?”

  Unease spread through me. He was suspiciously cheerful about a girl who might die of frostbite at any second. “Shouldn’t you go help her? What if she freezes to death?”

  “She won’t. The Count has the situation well in hand should the worst happen.”

  “Who is this Count? And why is he in charge?”

  “He’s a . . . distant relation of some duke or other. He owns the castle.”

  “And what time is he from?” I tried to hide the scorn in my voice, but Riker winked at me again.

  “This time. He’s one of the founders of Spain’s magical Council.”

  My eyes widened. I knew from my lengthy studies of the American history of magic that our Council wasn’t founded until the early 1800s. A dozen questions and doubts circled my mind, and I shook my head to clear them.

  “I know it’s a lot.” Riker stopped and jerked his head toward the closed door in front of us. “Go rest. I’ll make sure someone sends a meal up for you.” He patted my hand.

  I swallowed and nodded numbly. Though I still didn’t believe him about the time travel, I somehow knew something was off about this place.

  “1970s?” Riker asked.

  I stared at him. “What?”

  “Are you from the ‘70s?”

  I shook my head. “2020.”

  Riker sucked in a breath. “Blimey.”

  I frowned. “Why? What time are you from?”

  “1981.”

  My gaze moved up and down, taking in his outfit that seemed fit for royalty. “Right.”

  Riker snorted and gestured to his clothes. “Don’t mind this. It’s all they have here, and the Count likes to keep to his rules. I showed up here in jeans just like you did.” He exhaled, shaking his head, his eyes full of humor and amazement. “2020. Bloody incredible.” He pointed to the closed door in front of us. “This is your guest room. I’ll inform the Count and the others that you’re here.”

  He didn’t move. Then his arm shifted, and I realized I still had an iron grip on him. I relaxed my fingers, but my hand shook.

  “You’ll be fine, Miss Gerrick.” He bowed his head to me. “We’ll help you transition. Don’t fret.” He offered a charming smile and turned on his heel before disappearing down the hallway.

  5

  Brielle

  I ENTERED THE ROOM and closed the door behind me. A large four-poster canopy bed rested in the middle of the room. A chaise sofa was on the opposite end, flanked by mahogany end tables with vases that surely cost a fortune. The walls were decorated with swirling crimson and gold paint that stretched around the entire room.

  I sucked in a breath at the sheer elegance of it all and slid my bag off my shoulder. I pulled out my cell phone from my pocket and tried calling Mom. No signal. No bars. I couldn’t connect to the internet or even send a text message.

  Then again, this place was supposed to be super remote. Maybe that was why I had no service.

  Groaning, I flopped down on the bed and rubbed my eyes. Despite the sun streaming through the window, I was exhausted from the effort of Demonhunting and saying goodbye to my family. My stomach twisted at the thought.

  How was I supposed to contact them if there wasn’t any signal out here? Perhaps there was a landline somewhere, but if they were keeping up this whole “eighteenth century” ruse, then I highly doubted there would be a phone anywhere.

  Maybe I could convince someone to escort me to the nearest town and find a phone or computer to use. After all, I wasn’t a threat if I had no powers, right?

  I wanted to collapse and sleep right then and there, but my outfit was still covered in blood, and I needed to check out my injured leg. With a sigh, I undressed, wincing as I slid my stained pants off my legs. Three long gashes marred my shin, courtesy of the vampire’s claws. The bast
ard.

  I dug through the bag Mom had packed for me and found a first aid kit. Thank you, Mom. Gritting my teeth, I dabbed my wound with an alcohol wipe and then wrapped it in a bandage. Then, I hobbled over to the magnificent wardrobe on the left wall and eased open the doors. Dozens of silky satin gowns hung before me in a rainbow of every color imaginable. I swallowed down bile at the thought of dressing in those frilly, dainty dresses. Over my dead body.

  Thank goodness Mom had packed me extra outfits. If I found a way to wash them myself, I’d never have to wear a dress.

  I reached into my bag until I found an extra pair of jeans and a tank top. After changing, I collapsed on the giant bed, which smelled of honey and roses, and instantly fell asleep.

  A LIGHT KNOCK SOUNDED at the door.

  “Mmm?” I grunted sleepily, turning over on the pillow.

  “Su criada, mi señora,” said a soft voice.

  I opened my eyes and frowned. “Criada?” Handmaid?

  “Sí, mi señora. ¿Podría entrar?”

  I cleared my throat and sat up, patting down my hair. “Um, yes. Sí.”

  The door opened, and a dark-skinned woman entered. A white bonnet covered her black hair, and she wore a plain gray dress. She carried a tray with fruits, bread, and cheese and carefully set it on the table next to the bed.

  I watched her, racking my brain. Was she magical? Ordinarily the innate translation charm among casters allowed foreigners to understand one another. In my case, I was fluent in both English and Spanish, so I wasn’t sure how that worked for me.

  It was also possible she was mortal.

  In Spanish, I asked her, “What’s your name?”