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

by R. L. Perez

  The footsteps stopped. Then, the figure came closer to me.

  It was Ignacio.

  I swallowed. “I need water. Or food. Please, I’m begging you.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Gerrick, but I—”

  “Listen to me!” I shouted. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a shadow edging toward the staircase. I had to keep talking to mask the sound of her footsteps. “I’ve been down here for who knows how long. You’ve starved me and imprisoned me. I can’t sleep or eat or drink. I’m scared. I just want to go home. I haven’t done anything wrong. Have I killed anyone yet? No! There’s still hope for me, Ignacio. Please. If there’s any mercy in your heart at all, please help me. Just a small cup of water or a piece of bread. Anything.”

  Ignacio’s lips tightened. I heard a faint scuffle and then silence, which meant Izzy had gotten out. I exhaled and closed my eyes, no longer caring what Ignacio said.

  “I must obey my master’s orders, Miss Gerrick,” he said softly. “I am truly sorry. But if it’s a matter of saving you and saving the city, I choose my city.”

  He quietly stepped away from me and drifted down the row of prisoners. A jangle of keys and a loud creak told me he’d entered another cell. I turned my head, trying to make out who he visited. Was it Ronaldo?

  A low moan pierced the air. Ignacio whispered something. Then, the moan intensified until it was a howl of agony.

  It wasn’t Ronaldo, though. That much I could tell.

  My head slumped backward against the table as I struggled to drown out the screams of my fellow prisoner.

  26

  Brielle

  IZZY SNUCK BACK DOWN often to bring me food. The table I was strapped to was just close enough for me to stretch my fingers and catch the rolls and cheese she passed me. But the ornate goblets from the dining hall were too big to slide through the metal bars. Instead, I asked Izzy to pour some water into my cupped hand, and then I brought it to my mouth. I only managed to gulp down a few drops before someone started descending the steps. Then, I reprised my role as disgruntled prisoner, shouting at whoever had come down here that I was being mistreated—all so Izzy could get out.

  Each time she came to see me, I begged her not to come back. But she never listened. And despite how much I wanted her to leave me down here, a tiny, selfish part of me clung to the knowledge that someone was fighting for me. Someone cared for me. Even if it meant nothing—even if I would still die down here—I grasped that knowledge and held it close within me.

  I wasn’t alone.

  Izzy never mentioned Riker, and I never asked about him. Our silence confirmed what I already knew—he believed I deserved to be down here. That I shouldn’t be set free.

  I agreed with him.

  But it still stung, knowing he’d given up on me so easily.

  I wasn’t sure how much time passed. Each day Izzy came to see me, she told me how long it had been since her last visit. Three days after her first visit. Then, two days after that.

  When she didn’t come back for a long while, I worried she’d gotten caught. My heart twisted with anxiety, and the fire inside me roared hungrily as it tried to come to life again. The presence within me had been awakened by the Count, and it wouldn’t stay hidden any longer.

  My chest burned so intensely that I was covered in sweat despite the chill of the dungeon.

  Ronaldo spoke to me, but our conversations were stilted and brief. Neither of us had much to say. I told him what I could of his brother’s coven, and he told me everything he knew about the Count and Lilith’s cursed witch—but it wasn’t much, and most of it I already knew.

  Eventually, we both realized we were just trying to keep each other talking to avoid the inevitable—that we would both die soon.

  After what felt like a week, Izzy came to see me again. Her steps were slow and clumsy, like she carried something heavy. When she reached my cell, she had several items in her hands: a knife, a potion vial, and a few sandwiches.

  “Sorry it took me so long,” she panted. “I was working on a potion for you, and I kept messing it up. Here.” She slid me the sandwiches and I hungrily shoved them in my mouth. “This is a vanishing potion.” She held up a vial of orange liquid that I recognized. I’d used a few while Demonhunting to escape some particularly tricky situations. “And I also swiped a knife from the dining hall. It’s a butter knife, so it might not work so well, but—” She shrugged and slid the knife to me handle first.

  I swallowed the last bite of sandwich and took the knife and vial. “Izzy, you shouldn’t have done this.”

  “Shut up, Brielle. You’re my friend, and I’m not going to leave you to rot down here.” She paused and glanced back toward the stairs. “I may not visit for a while, though. The Count’s been asking me questions about you and about what I know, so I need to keep my head down. But that’s why I brought you the knife and the potion. If you get a chance to escape, do it. You hear me?”

  “Izzy—”

  “I’m serious, Brielle. I’m not giving up on you, so if you decide to stay down here, I’m just going to keep coming until I get caught.”

  I swallowed and closed my eyes. Agony and fire clouded my mind. I couldn’t think. “I . . . Izzy, I . . .”

  “Look, Brielle, I’ve got to go. But know that I love you and I’ll find a way to get you out. Just hang on for a bit longer, okay?” She pressed a kiss to her hand and stretched through the bars to grasp my fingers. My lips trembled as I squeezed back, though there was little strength left in me.

  Then, she was gone.

  For hours, I lay there strapped to the table, my stomach growling so loudly it felt like the whole dungeon quaked. The food Izzy brought had staved off my hunger, but now my stomach demanded more as if I’d been taunting it. I clutched the handle of the knife in one hand and the potion vial in the other. My grip was so tight my palms started sweating, but by now I was used to the heat. The fire rumbled within me so consistently it felt like a rhythmic heartburn that never left. And stirring just beneath the surface was the monster. Just longing to be unleashed again.

  I tried to take my mind off it, but the scorch marks on the wall kept drawing my gaze. I did that.

  If I would destroy an entire city, then I deserved to be down here.

  But if I didn’t try to escape, then Izzy would keep coming for me until she got caught. And I shuddered to think what the Count would do to her.

  I closed my eyes as tears rolled down my cheeks. This was the most I’d cried in years, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. The tears kept coming until they formed a waterfall cascading down my face, mixing with the grime and sweat already plastered to my skin.

  I miss you, Angel. I missed her warm, comforting presence. The way she shone a light on any situation no matter how grim. How she was always optimistic and cheerful even though her body often failed her and she had plenty of reasons to complain.

  Though I longed for her in that moment, I felt a slither of gratitude knowing she had no idea where I was or what I was enduring. It would break her to know this. At least if I died down here, she would never know. She could imagine me living somewhere else and working on my magic. Living happily.

  Loud footsteps jolted me awake, though I didn’t remember falling asleep. The knife slipped from my grasp, but I tightened my grip before it fell. My heart lurched in my throat as I rubbed the smooth vial still clasped in my other hand. Then, I let out a breath. If I’d let those fall because I’d been dumb enough to fall asleep, then I deserved to die down here.

  I shifted and wriggled until my hands were behind my back, still clutching my secret weapons.

  I’ll get out, I vowed. I’ll get out for Izzy. And then I’ll find a way out of this city, so no one gets hurt.

  I held my breath, waiting for the Count and his mages to return to my cell. But when the door creaked open, it wasn’t mine they entered.

  “No,” moaned a voice. “No, please . . .”

  My heart stopped. It was Ronaldo.
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  Something metal clinked. Then, a burst of blue light, and—

  Ronaldo released a piercing scream that shook me to my core. My blood chilled as his anguished cries resonated in the dungeon. My eyes clamped shut, and I clenched my teeth so hard my head throbbed. For several minutes, Ronaldo shrieked in pure agony.

  At long last, I cried out, “Stop! For the love of Lilith, just stop!”

  Miraculously, Ronaldo’s screaming stopped, and a terrifying stillness swept over the dungeon. Then, footsteps shuffled, and Ronaldo’s cell door creaked open and shut again. The footsteps drew nearer, and my limbs tensed in preparation for some kind of retaliation.

  My cell door opened, and the Count whispered, “Do you pity them, Miss Gerrick? The demons?”

  I swallowed. “I pity anyone who’s tortured like that.”

  “Even those who are already damned? Those the devil himself has claimed?”

  I turned my head and spat in his direction. “I’d rather go to Hell with all the demons in the world than spend a minute more with the likes of you.”

  The Count merely chuckled, igniting the anger within me. “You will get your wish soon, Miss Gerrick. But not yet. We must draw Lilith out. She responded so eagerly last time.”

  A blue light blazed to my left, and I turned my head, my neck aching from the stiffness of being latched to the table for so long. Two mages were huddled over a small bowl that emitted a strange blue smoke.

  “What—what is that?” I couldn’t hide the terror from my voice.

  “Essence of Mr. Serrano,” the Count said, his voice reeking with pride. “His bloodline lured Lilith once before. I want to see if combining it with your blood will provide an even stronger incentive for her to emerge.”

  Oh please, no. I thrashed against my restraints, but it was no use. My hands were slick with sweat, but I still gripped the knife. I just needed the opportunity.

  The Count faced me, watching me with sharp eyes. If I pulled the knife out now, he would see. And my attempt would be over in a second.

  “What’re you going to do with that?” I jerked my head toward the bowl while the mages muttered a spell in Latin.

  The Count’s mouth stretched into a wide, sinister smile. “Feed it to you.”

  Bile swirled in my stomach, and I shook my head. “No. No, please!” I wriggled again, trying to slide my hands out. I no longer cared if the Count saw me—I couldn’t let him feed me the mixture in the bowl. My stomach crawled just thinking about it.

  But before I could slide the knife out, a mage approached me and pressed a hand against my chest, locking me in place. I screamed, but then another mage drew nearer with the bowl, ready to pour the mixture into my mouth. I clamped my lips shut and turned my head away, trying to avoid the contents of the bowl. The bowl gave off a sharp vinegar smell—clearly demon—along with a metallic, copper scent that I knew too well.

  Blood.

  One of the mages gripped my jaw and turned my face toward the bowl. I fought and lurched, but there were too many of them. The Count took the bowl from a mage and thrust it toward me. I tried turning away, but it was no use. Someone pinched my nose, but still I resisted. My body pleaded for air, my lungs screaming in protest, until finally my lips parted, and the awful gooey substance slid down my throat. I gagged and choked, but I swallowed the mixture. Then, a hand closed my mouth and held it shut like a muzzle. Bile climbed up my throat, threatening to spew out, but the grip on my mouth kept it down. I swallowed, and my eyes burned. The gritty, sour taste filled my mouth, and spots danced in my vision. My head throbbed and ached, pulsing with its own rhythm of agony.

  The presence within me burst forward with a mighty roar. My body seized and bucked so violently that one of the mages stumbled backward in alarm.

  “Hold her!” the Count yelled.

  My body shook more intensely. My head rattled, and my vision swam.

  Then, all I saw was fire. Fire and death. Screams surrounded me. The flames licked my skin, charring my soul.

  But it was beautiful. It was freeing.

  I found myself grinning. Laughing so hard that tears sprang to my eyes. Glee I’d never known before swept over me, a soothing caress compared to the agony I’d endured.

  “I am fire,” I hissed. But it wasn’t me. It was a foreign voice that poured from my lips. “I am death. And I am free.”

  27

  Brielle

  THE FIRE CONSUMED ME, eating away at my flesh, and I was too powerless to stop it.

  But I didn’t want to stop it.

  The blissful release from the agony of starvation and fatigue was a comfort I clung to. I hadn’t realized how much of a strain it had been to keep this presence at bay, but relinquishing my hold, my control over myself was so easy. Effortless.

  Why had I fought this for so long?

  The beast within me roared its assent and spread its wings wide. Flames surrounded me like an ethereal glow, but they no longer harmed me. The flames were a part of me.

  I am fire. And fire is me.

  “Brielle,” a voice whispered.

  Suddenly the flames stopped as if someone had frozen time. I went very still, and the voice within me fell silent.

  “Brielle,” the voice said, louder this time.

  Mom.

  “Come back, Brielle!” Mom shouted. “You must come back!”

  I shifted, trying to bring the feeling back to my body, but the flames roared in protest. The beast within me clawed at my mind, trying to take hold again.

  “Brielle! You must resist!” Mom’s voice was changing. It was deeper and . . . closer.

  “Silence him,” a different voice muttered nearby.

  In a flash, I was back in the dungeon. Though my body was on fire on the inside, the flames had vanished from my vision. The darkness of the dungeon took over, slamming into me with such force that my head throbbed.

  “What?” I whispered dizzily.

  Then, Ronaldo screamed again, and I froze.

  He’d been calling for me. He’d been the one trying to bring me back.

  “Stop,” I mumbled, trying to shout, but my mouth was too dry. Numbness took over my body.

  Ronaldo’s screams intensified.

  I shook my head and gritted my teeth. “Stop!”

  The Count leaned close to me, his foul breath hissing against my face. “I will not let that vile demon stand in the way of everything I’ve been working toward these many years.”

  I stared at him, trying to ignore the way my vision swayed. Then, I frowned. “Many years? What the hell are you talking about? You told me you’ve been trying to find a way out of the time loop all this time.”

  Ronaldo’s screams subsided into sobs. A creaking sound told me whoever had hurt him was leaving his cell now.

  The Count leaned away from me, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Foolish girl.” He laughed. “I’m the one who cast the time spell.”

  Ronaldo’s sobs suddenly went quiet.

  My heart turned to ice, and I stared numbly at the Count, not comprehending. “You—you?”

  The Count shrugged, but his face oozed smugness. Like he was proud of what he’d done. “I had to do something to protect my city. This was the only way to keep everyone here. So I could weed out Lilith’s cursed witch myself. Of course, it did complicate things, having so many male pupils in my castle when I was looking for a witch.” He shook his head. “But my years of waiting paid off. I finally found you.”

  “Found me,” I repeated, my eyes widening. “You sent for us? For all of us? You meant for us to come here?”

  The Count nodded. “I needed to draw her in without arousing suspicion.” His eyes gleamed. “And it worked.”

  Her. Meaning Lilith.

  The presence inside me.

  “You’re a Jumper,” I remembered suddenly. Of course. I’d once asked him why a Jumper hadn’t just used teleportation to get everyone out, and he’d made up some excuse about not having a caster with that kind of abi
lity.

  But he’d had the power this whole time.

  Horror numbed my body, freezing over every part of me. Crumbling my resolve and determination to escape. Quenching even my disgust toward the beast inside me.

  All these people—all of us who’d been trapped in this castle. It was the Count’s fault. He’d done it—on purpose.

  “You asshole,” I spat at him. “You son of a bitch!”

  “Silence her,” the Count said, looking over me at one of the mages.

  “You’re a monster!” I screamed as a pair of hands clutched my shoulders. “I hope you burn in Hell!”

  Something warm pressed against my chest. Blue magic tickled the air, flashing against my eyes.

  Then, a cloudy emptiness filled my mind, and my head slumped over as I blacked out.

  “BRIELLE,” HISSED A voice.

  I mumbled incoherently, turning my head. Maybe whoever it was would go away if I said nothing. Sleep overcame me, beckoning me forward.

  “Brielle!” the voice said more urgently.

  My eyes snapped open, and the familiar darkness of the dungeon filled my vision. Drool and sweat stuck to my face. Something in my arm throbbed, and when I glanced down, I found a trail of blood running from my shoulder to my elbow.

  I shuddered. What the hell had the Count done to me while I was unconscious?

  Mercifully, my hands were still tucked behind me, though I’d lost my grip on the knife. Scrambling, I fumbled until I found it wedged on the right side of the table. Then, I exhaled.

  “Brielle, you must wake up.” It was Ronaldo.

  “I’m awake.” I turned my head toward his voice. “Are you all right? What did they do to you?”

  “Worry not for me, Brielle. You must get out.”

  I released a hollow chuckle. “Yeah. I’m aware.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Metal clanged as if he’d gripped the bars of his cell. “The Count has cursed this city. He is responsible. You must get to my brother and tell him this.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “Leo has been working on a counterspell. To lift the curse. If he knows who cast it, it might help him succeed.”