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

by R. L. Perez

  “Maria.” The woman offered a curtsy and clasped her hands in front of her. Her brow furrowed when she looked at my outfit. “May I help you dress?”

  “No thanks. I’m fine wearing this.”

  Maria’s lips tightened. “The Count will not like it, my lady.”

  The Count can shove it up his ass. I cleared my throat. “How long have you worked here, Maria?”

  “I have been in the Count’s service for seven years, though it is hard to keep track with the blight, my lady.”

  “Blight?”

  “Yes. The curse.” Her eyes darkened, her brows pinching, and I knew she would speak no more of it.

  She must believe in this crazy time jump too. I refrained from rolling my eyes.

  Maria bent and gathered my bloodied outfit into her arms. “Shall I wash these for you?”

  “Um, yes. Thanks.”

  Maria bobbed another curtsy and headed for the door. “Dinner is in one hour, my lady. The Count expects all guests to attend.” She cast another disapproving look at me, her eyes raking over my bare shoulders and arms, before she left, closing the door softly behind her.

  I shook my head. A handmaid? Seriously?

  With a sigh, I slid over to the tray of food and popped a few grapes in my mouth. The cheese tasted fresh and the bread was buttered to perfection. Within minutes, I’d eaten everything.

  I ran a hand through my brittle blond hair and sighed, rising from the bed to take a look in the mirror. My hair still looked a bit wild, so I used the brush on the vanity to pull the tangles free and make it look a bit more presentable. Goosebumps tickled my arms, and I dug through my bag until I found a light jacket. After putting it on, I rubbed my arms and looked around, my hands itching to do something.

  I approached the bed and straightened the comforter and the sheets, then rearranged the pillows neatly. Then I put the first aid kit back into the messenger bag and slid it out of sight under the bed. My eyes roved around the room. It looked as untouched as when I’d first entered.

  For some reason, this brought me satisfaction. And with it, a sense of peace that eased my anxiety.

  I can do this.

  The holsters around my chest and waist felt empty, but I tried not to dwell on it. I kept them there on the off chance I could find a dagger or two during my stay here. With no powers, weapons were all I had to protect myself. Or a well-written spell.

  After taking a deep breath, I heaved open the heavy door and hobbled into the hallway. Voices echoed below me, and I peered over the balcony to see a few figures disappear around the corner. I recognized the bright red hair of Riker.

  I crept down the staircase and followed the hall to where I’d seen the others. It opened up to a magnificent dining hall filled with medieval-style tables that could seat twenty people each.

  I lingered in the hallway, peering around the corner to take in my surroundings first. A single figure stood at the head of the table, his fingers clasped in front of him as he watched the gaggle of people enter. He had long brown hair swept up in an elegant ponytail and a beard that fell to his collarbone. He was adorned in a regal white overcoat and a crimson cravat. A sword was belted at his waist.

  Twelve people approached the man—who was most likely the Count—with Riker among them. Many of them looked to be teenagers. When I thought about it, it made sense; the Council had told me I had until my sixteenth birthday for my powers to awaken. Perhaps the others had had a similar deadline.

  One of them seemed to be an older woman. She had stark-white hair pulled up in tresses that beautifully framed her face. But then she turned her head to laugh at something, and her face was youthful and wrinkle-free. I realized she was also young—she just had white hair for some reason.

  The guests all looked so different. Some had dark brown skin, others lighter brown or merely tan, and some were pasty and pale like Riker and me. It seemed like this ragtag band of misfits had come from all over the world.

  They were all dressed like courtiers. Even the white-haired girl wore a smooth satin dress and sparkling jewelry.

  It really did feel like I’d stepped into another time period.

  A burst of light made me gasp. Flames erupted in the center of the room, engulfing a boy with shaggy, blond hair. Then, just as suddenly, the flames died and he shook his head, his body and clothes untouched from the fire.

  “Watch yourself, Mr. Porter,” the man at the head of the table chided. He spoke in a deep, booming voice and a thick, Spanish accent. “We’d rather not have you burn our food.”

  “I apologize, Your Excellency.” The boy inclined his head. His accent was American, like mine.

  The guests gathered around the Count, seating themselves in front of the empty plates and bowls.

  I took a deep breath and emerged from around the corner, keeping my head held high.

  The Count, who had just sat down, rose again, his eyes lifting to meet mine. His lips tightened, and he looked over my unorthodox appearance. He sniffed.

  “Ah. You must be our newest arrival.” He stretched his hand to the empty seat next to the white-haired girl. “Please, join us.”

  I hobbled forward and slid into the seat without preamble. The Count wrinkled his nose, no doubt offended that I didn’t curtsy or address him.

  The white-haired girl glanced at me with raised eyebrows, her charcoal-colored eyes amused. I looked around at the others. One boy had dark skin and dreadlocks. Another had light brown skin and short black hair. Next to him sat Riker, who winked at me. On his other side was a short, chubby boy with jet-black hair and a round nose. Then, the shaggy-haired blond named Porter, a tall and skinny brown-haired boy, a boy with shoulder-length black hair, another blond with light facial hair, a boy with skin as dark as the one with dreadlocks, a pale-faced boy with sandy-brown hair, and a short and stocky blond who looked like he could belong on the wrestling team at my high school.

  I knew I’d never keep all of them straight. My head spun just looking at them all, so I directed my gaze to the shining silver plate in front of me.

  “We are pleased to have another guest here,” the Count said. “I am Count Antonio de Silva, son of the twelfth Duke of Alba. My brother is Fernando de Paula de Silva Mendoza y Toledo, who is the tenth Duke of Huescar.”

  Lilith, what a mouthful. My eyes widened for a moment before I realized the Count expected an answer. I inclined my head politely. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “You may address me as ‘Your Excellency.’”

  I cleared my throat. “Um, okay. Your Excellency.”

  I hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic. Honest.

  But he still heard the bite in my voice, and his lips tightened again. He lifted a hand to the boy with dreadlocks next to him. “This is Abraham Abernathy. Next to him is Wesley Cunningham. Then Riker Wilkinson, who I believe you’ve met. Elias Wood, Harrison Porter, Jacques St. Clair, Juan Arévalo, Alexei Petrov, Armin Patel, Samson Schubert, Christopher Knox, and Isabel Stark.” He finally gestured to the white-haired girl, who smirked at me.

  Ah, I realized. This must be Izzy.

  I nodded, offering a smile I knew looked fake. But I couldn’t help it. “It’s nice to meet all of you. I’m Brielle.” I considered asking them to call me “Brie,” but my throat felt tight as I thought of my family. They were the only ones to call me that— even people at school called me Brielle—so the words died on my lips.

  The Count cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I understand there are certain . . . customs where you come from. But here we abide by the principles of this time and do not use Christian names.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Yeah, right. I met Riker’s gaze across the table, and half his mouth quirked up in a knowing smile. He’d used the name Izzy with me earlier. There was no way they all followed this rule.

  I realized the Count was waiting for me to respond, so I said, “Uh, okay. Miss Gerrick is fine then.”

  The Count nodded and directed his gaze to the door, where
several servants poured in carrying trays laden with food: a roast pig, potatoes, seasoned vegetables, sliced bread and cheese, and fresh fruit. The aromas wafting from the food swirled in my nose, making my mouth water even though I’d just eaten.

  When a servant placed a heaping plate in front of me, I immediately started eating. The flavors burst on my tongue, and I had to suppress a moan of satisfaction.

  The Count cleared his throat loudly at the head of the table. I looked up and realized no one had started eating yet. Riker was smirking at me again.

  I set my fork down and raised my eyebrows expectantly.

  “We say Grace before each meal,” the Count said stiffly.

  I had to refrain from rolling my eyes. Of course. Keeping up the time travel facade.

  The Count bowed his head and said a prayer in what sounded like Latin. When he finished, several others around the table whispered, “Amen.” Many didn’t, however, including Isabel next to me. The Count crossed himself and then began eating. I stared at him, frowning. Once again, the translation charm hadn’t converted his words to English. I made a mental note to do some research with whatever texts I could find here about the translation charm and how it worked.

  “It’s nice to finally have another girl around here,” Isabel said, nudging me with her elbow. Her skin felt ice-cold.

  I looked at her, trying to place her accent. “Australian?” I asked.

  Isabel grinned. “Pure Aussie right here. You’re American, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “You can call me Izzy, if you like,” Isabel said. “It’s Brielle, isn’t it?”

  I nodded, taking another bite of food.

  “Just so you know,” Izzy said, pointing with her fork, “St. Clair, Arévalo, and Petrov don’t speak English.” She gestured to the skinny brown-haired boy, the one with shoulder-length black hair, and the blond with facial hair. “Patel speaks some broken English, but he’s still hard to understand.” She pointed to the dark-skinned boy next to Petrov.

  Armin Patel, I remembered. The newest one here besides me.

  “What do you mean, they don’t speak English?” I asked. “The translation charm should allow us to understand each other, right?”

  Izzy shook her head. “It hasn’t been invented yet.”

  I gaped at her. “Invented? But . . . it’s built into our bodies.”

  “Right. But it developed from some serum in the late eighteenth century that the Council mandated we inject ourselves with. From there, all magical offspring were born with it in their bloodstream.”

  A chill swept through me. It hasn’t been invented yet.

  Lilith, it couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.

  “You’re looking kind of pale there, Brielle,” Izzy leaned closer to me. “You all right?”

  I swallowed. “Uh, what . . . year are you from?”

  “1968.”

  I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling sick.

  “You?” she asked.

  “2020.”

  “Crikey.” Izzy whistled. “What’s it like? Do we have vehicles that fly? Or communication devices small enough to fit in our ears? Or a cure for the deadliest disease?”

  Merciful Lilith. I can’t breathe. I ducked my head, sucking in sharp gulps of air, trying to ignore the way her questions circled through my brain. She was right about all but the flying cars.

  “It’s true then?” I asked in a raspy voice. “This really is—”

  “The year 1735. It’s a bloody inconvenience. There isn’t a single dunny around here.”

  I blinked, feeling dizzy. “Dunny?”

  “Right, uh, latrine. Toilet. John. Loo. Whatever you Americans call it.”

  “I’m gonna be sick,” I muttered.

  Izzy just laughed. “We’ve all been there, Brielle. Trust me. You’ll get over it.”

  I gritted my teeth. “I don’t want to get over it. I want to get the hell out of here.”

  I jumped up from my seat so fast that the dishes clattered on the table. The chatter surrounding me died, and the Count looked at me, his dark eyes sharpening.

  “I’m sorry,” I said loudly. “I just . . . I can’t do this.”

  Without preamble, I fled from the room as fast as my injured leg would allow.

  6

  Leo

  “ARE WE CLOSE?” I ASKED.

  “Yes,” Jorge said, poring over a thick text of Spanish spells. “Just a few more ingredients, and the spell will be complete.”

  I nodded, looking around the vast, homey cavern of our library until my gaze rested on my cousin, Guadalupe. “Do you have it?”

  Guadalupe lifted a large, ceramic bowl. “A drop of blood from everyone here.”

  I knew this, of course. I could smell the unique tang to every creature’s blood—both from my vampire coven as well as our human Donors.

  But I needed reassurance all the same.

  “Are you certain the right spell is in Spanish?” Jorge asked, glancing up at me. “What if he used Latin?”

  I shook my head. “Latin spells are risky. There are too many variables. Too many interpretations that might go awry if cast incorrectly. If the Count wanted to be certain the spell would work, he would use his native tongue. I’m certain of it.”

  Jorge pressed his lips together doubtfully but made no argument.

  Estrella strode into the cavern, her cheeks still flushed from our last feeding. “The other Donors are secure.” Her warm brown eyes met mine, and my blood boiled, coming to life from her proximity.

  The bond between vampire and Donor was a volatile thing. And too dangerous for me to toy with during an event as important as this.

  I waved a hand at Estrella. “Thank you. Please go to your quarters and stay hidden until we are through.”

  Estrella bowed her head, reading the need in my voice, and left the cave quickly. She understood the bond too. It thrived within us like a living creature. Awakening when we drew near. Growling when we parted.

  I shoved the discomfort down and willed my blood to take control again. My body was always chaotic after a feeding, but I had to be sure I was at full strength.

  Today was the day we would break through the Count’s barrier surrounding the city. I was sure of it. We’d been trapped in his magical dome for months now, unable to travel outside the province of Segovia.

  But no more. Today we would break the enchantment and free ourselves.

  I clapped my hands together, grinning at Jorge and Guadalupe. “The time is near, my friends. Gather round and bring the ingredients.”

  Guadalupe hefted the large bowl and strode toward me. Jorge brought the book and the cauldron of ingredients, which reeked of mucus and rotten leaves. Jorge placed the large text on the table in the center of the room. Guadalupe set the bowl on the floor and used a dagger to etch runes into the cavern floor.

  I stood over the cauldron, running my hands along the rim. Black wisps of magic poured from my fingertips and settled on the mixture within. Power thrummed from the cauldron.

  This is it, it seemed to say.

  Guadalupe rejoined us once the runes were complete. She slid her dagger along her palm and passed it to Jorge, who did the same. I followed suit, ignoring the stinging cut against my skin that quickly healed itself. The three of us clasped hands. Though a full coven would be more powerful, I couldn’t risk it if something went wrong. Besides, we were part shapeshifter and part vampire. Two lines of magic flowed through our veins.

  Our power would be enough.

  I peered at the text and the notes I’d jotted down on the edge of the page. Then, I uttered the spell in Spanish.

  “Magic above, I call upon thee

  Respond to this spell

  Seal this blood and free us

  Unlock the curse and enchant us

  Eliminate this force that traps us

  And break us free of this magic.”

  More magic poured from my fingers like smoke, engulfing the cauldron and the bowl of blood.
The ground trembled. Magic crackled in the air around us. Guadalupe’s hand tightened in my grip. Energy thrummed in my chest, swelling and growing until—

  Like a snuffed-out candle, the magic vanished. The cave grew still, and the energy seeped out of my body, leaving me cold and empty.

  “No,” I whispered.

  “It didn’t work,” Guadalupe said in a hollow voice, releasing my hand.

  A flash of heat bolted through my chest, and I sucked in a breath. I looked at Jorge with wide eyes. His stunned expression indicated he’d felt it too.

  “That feeling,” he murmured, his eyes unfocused. “I have felt it before.”

  “I have too,” I said, struggling to remember. Images flashed through my head. Bits and pieces of memories I couldn’t grasp.

  Then, finally, an image I recognized: the Castillo de Coca. That same bolt of heat seared through me the last time I’d entered the castle, which was several miles away from our caves.

  I stiffened and stared at Jorge, finally putting the pieces together. I hadn’t considered the Count had enchanted the castle as well as the city.

  A wide grin stretched across my face.

  “The castle was enchanted?” Jorge asked slowly.

  “Yes,” I said, laughing at this unexpected victory. We might still be trapped within the city, but at least we had another advantage. “And we’ve just broken that enchantment.”

  7

  Brielle

  I DARTED DOWN HALLWAYS and up and down staircases, trying to find the marble floor I’d appeared on earlier. I had to find a way back through the portal. My injured leg throbbed with each step. Panic raced through me, urging me to go faster.

  Footsteps echoed behind me, but I kept going.

  I have to get out of here. They’re all insane. Every one of them. It really is an insane asylum.

  I thought of the food I’d ingested. Had it been drugged? Was I about to take part in the same collective hallucination?

  “Brielle!” a voice shouted. Izzy.

  Ignore her, I told myself. Keep going.

  I rounded the corner, and there it was: the colorful octagon of tiles on the floor, shining in the moonlight pouring from a window up high.