Price of Magic: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Witch's Bite Series Book 2)

by Stephanie Foxe

“Come to judge me?” I ask in a whisper.

  She swishes her tail behind her.

  “I know, it wasn’t my best decision.”

  It takes effort, but I stand and toss the half-empty tub of salve onto the counter. I need two things today; Zachary to stop stalking me, and apple pie.

  I find my phone, and I’m relieved it’s not even noon yet. It means I got hardly any sleep, not that passing out from misusing magic really qualifies as sleep. But it also means that I have at least seven hours before I have to deal with a single fucking vampire again.

  My hand twitches, still trying to heal and I flex it uncomfortably. I can’t walk around with these welts showing. Wearing gloves would raise even more questions than the welts themselves. I hurry back into the workroom. I have a cosmetic salve meant to cover pimples and dark circles under your eyes. If I put enough on I might be able to hide the marks on my hands.

  I rummage through a box meant for Maybelle’s and find a small case of them at the bottom. I open it and scoop some out, rubbing it on like lotion. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it hides them. Mostly. It’s good enough.

  It’ll only last for about eight hours, so I take the tub with me. I can’t have them reappearing and have no way to cover them back up if I don’t make it home again in the next eight hours.

  I grab a long sleeve shirt out of my closet and pull it on. I’m not going to bother trying to use the cosmetic salve on my arms.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and decide to put some on my face too. I look like shit. The dark circles under my eyes fade away, along with the bruise on my chin that I hadn’t even felt until I saw it. There’s not much I can do for my hair except put it up in a ponytail.

  I pause in the kitchen, my hand on my jacket, then go the cabinet and grab the whiskey out of the cabinet. I unscrew the lid and take a long, deep swallow. I’m tempted to just stay here and finish the bottle. I slam it back in the cabinet. That’ll have to be enough to dull the frustration for now.

  Now, to deal with Zachary. The pie can be my reward.

  The police station is quiet when I walk in. A woman in a uniform sitting at the reception desk looks up when I walk in. She seems to recognize me. I walk up, tugging my sleeves down, just in case a mark is peeking out.

  “I need to talk to Special Agent Brunson,” I say.

  “You’re Olivia Carter, right? That witch that got caught up in that NWR business?”

  “Yes.”

  Chief Timmons comes down the hall, a stack of files tucked under his arm.

  “Oh, Olivia, I wasn’t expecting you today,” Timmons says, approaching with a smile on his face. He shakes my hand firmly.

  “I’m actually here to see Agent Brunson, we’re old friends,” I say with a smile.

  “He hadn’t mentioned that,” Timmons says, his brows pinching together.

  I shrug. “He’s fairly private. Probably just didn’t think it was pertinent.”

  “Ah, understandable. Let me show you to his office. He and his partner have taken over one of our conference rooms for the task force,” Timmons says, pointing down the hallway to my right. It’s in an area of the police station I haven’t seen yet. “I’ll walk you there.”

  “Thanks,” I say, the fake smile still plastered to my face. The linoleum floor is dingy, and our shoes squeak with every step until the flooring changes to carpet at a fork in the hallway. We go right, but halfway down the hall, Timmons pauses.

  “I didn’t want to bring it up when you were here last,” he says, talking in hushed tones. “But Novak’s funeral will be in two days. I’ll be sending the details to Lydia. It will be in the morning, so, unfortunately the clan won’t be able to attend, but I did want to give you the option.”

  I’m not sure if it’s worse to go to the funeral of a man you killed or to avoid it. I swallow and clear my throat, trying to find my voice.

  “I’ll be there,” I say finally.

  Timmons pats my shoulder, then continues down the hall at a faster pace. I jog after him.

  “By the way, any updates on the search for Martinez?”

  “Not yet,” he says. “The NWR has always been effective at hiding their members. We did search the entire tunnel. It led to the middle of the woods, but we can’t find their trail after that at all. They treated the area with something that makes the tracking dogs lose their minds. The werewolves won’t go near it either.”

  I shake my head. No one can ever accuse the NWR of doing a half-assed job of things.

  The hallway opens up into an open area with six desks arranged in pairs. Each desk faces another in a line down the center of the room.

  The conference room isn’t hard to find either. There is a large window in the wall that provides a clear view of the room. Zachary is standing at the head of the table next to a woman with long black hair and eyes that look blue even from here. There’s a whiteboard behind them with pictures of faces I recognize and notes under each. Martinez, before half of his face was melted off. Chevy. Even Novak.

  The woman nudges Zachary as we approach. He stops talking and turns to see who is coming. His jaw tenses as soon as he spots me.

  “Brunson, Ms. Carter requested to see you,” Timmons says, poking his head into the conference room.

  Zachary looks at me, barely keeping his face blank. I cross my arm and stare him down. We can talk in there in front of everyone, but he won’t like it.

  He says something quiet to the woman, then steps out of the conference room.

  “Thank you, Chief Timmons,” he says.

  “Let me know if you need anything else, Olivia,” the Chief says, patting me on the shoulder as he walks away.

  Zachary and I stare at each other in middle of the room.

  “What do you want?” He asks, crossing his arms to match my posture.

  “Just wanted to chat. See if you found anything interesting last night on your little surveillance run.”

  He scoffs, but brushes past me, taking the hint that this should be a private conversation. I follow him down the hall to an office. He opens the door and I brush past him. He slams it shut behind us.

  “I have a right to investigate everyone connected to the attack. Especially anyone who has a questionable history.”

  “Oh please,” I snap, whirling around to face him. “You just want an excuse to give me shit. Quit trying to make this anything other than you just trying to get some kind of pointless revenge.”

  “You are so selfish,” he says, shoving his finger in my face. “My dad believed in you. He said you wanted to help people, but he was wrong.”

  “I am helping people!” I say, slapping his hand away. “I’m doing good here, but you don’t know any of that because you came here with your mind already made up.”

  “You abandoned us!” He shouts, a red flush darkening his face further. “You could have saved my mom, but you were gone and I couldn’t find you!”

  I take a step back, my heart dropping into my stomach. “What are you talking about?”

  “Brain tumor. She lived for barely two months after we found out.”

  The room tilts and I can’t breathe. I had just assumed, that if I left, they could just be okay. Debra had always been full of smiles and eager to feed you. She was ageless. I can’t imagine her dead. I don’t want to.

  I try to walk past Zachary, I don’t want to be here anymore, but he grabs my arm. His fingers dig into my skin right over a welt and pain shoots through my arm. I stop and don’t try to pull away, but I stare at the floor as I speak.

  “I couldn’t have saved her Zack.” My voice wavers. I have a lump in my throat I can barely talk around. “My healing, it’s weak. I can’t touch things like cancer or tumors. I wouldn’t have been able to—I’m sorry.”

  I pull my arm away and his hand drops to his side. I open the door and leave him standing in the office staring straight ahead.

  9

  I sit in my car, hot tears rolling down my cheeks. My ar
ms are aching again but I can’t bring myself to care.

  My mom is dead. Brunson is dead. Debra is dead. Patrick is basically feral. And then there’s Reilly. The devil incarnate who will no doubt find a way to get me to sell him my soul.

  I bash my hand against the steering wheel and shake it like it’s the source of all my problems. I hate this. All of it. Life shouldn’t be like this, just one tragedy after another.

  Still grinding my teeth in frustration, I turn the car on and shift into gear. I’m going to get pie and a bottle of tequila, then go home and drink until I can’t remember my name, much less how shitty my life is.

  It’s still the lunch rush at Maybelle’s, so I have to park three blocks away. I wipe away any evidence I’ve been crying like a little bitch from underneath my eyes, then get out of the car and hurry down the sidewalk.

  Maybelle’s is crowded as usual, but the line at the counter isn’t very long. An old man with a long, white beard bumps into my shoulder as he hurries past me. He mumbles an apology then hurries out of the store. I don’t even have the energy to glare at him.

  I get behind the last person and check my phone. The only message is from Lydia, and it’s informing me she has no updates. I shove it back in my pocket and wait impatiently for the line to move.

  It takes less than five minutes, but it feels like longer than that.

  “One apple pie, please,” I say before the girl at the counter has a chance to ask what I’d like.

  “Whole pie?” She confirms, fingers hovering above the register.

  “Yep.”

  “That’ll be twenty-five dollars,” she says, holding out her hand for my payment. I grab the money out of my wallet and pass it to her.

  She puts the money in the register then walks back to the pie warmer and takes one out. It smells amazing. She sets it in one of Maybelle’s pretty fall colored boxes, and then in a bag so it’s easier to carry.

  “Here you go,” she says, passing it across the counter.

  “Thanks.”

  I turn around and almost walk into Georgia.

  “Olivia,” she says, smiling warmly. “I was hoping to find you here.”

  “I guess I come here too much,” I say with a half-hearted chuckle.

  “It has become predictable,” she agrees. I’m not sure if she’s making a joke or not, so I simply nod.

  “I understand that you heal the people the vampires feed on, I have a similar request.”

  “Alright, is someone hurt?” I ask.

  “Yes, since the fight with the NWR. We had hoped he would on his own, but there must be silver deep in his wounds that we cannot smell. I do not think he will recover without help. Will you heal him? I can pay you whatever is necessary. Name your price.”

  “I’ll do it. And you don’t need to pay me, we can just call it a thank you for helping with the fight in the first place,” I say, jumping at the chance to help. This is someone I can actually save. If I was in my right mind I’d just take the money, but I can’t. I don’t want Zachary to be right about me.

  Georgia looks surprised, but nods. “Alright. I have to run one more errand, can I meet you back here in twenty minutes? I’ll drive you out to the house.”

  “Sure, sounds good.” I wanted to check out the apothecary anyhow. “Here, let me give you my cell number just in case.”

  She hands over her phone and I type in my contact information.

  “Thank you, Olivia. I will text you as soon as I am done.” She walks briskly out of the store.

  I grab a plastic fork, then back out. The apothecary is only a few stores down. I reach down into the bag and open the lid to the container the pie is on. It’d be a crime to not eat some while it’s still warm.

  The first bite is almost orgasmic. The crust is just flaky enough. The apples inside are soft and covered in just the right amount of cinnamony, sugary, filling. I hurriedly scoop another bite into my mouth.

  For all my skill in brewing, I can't cook anything this good. Debra had tried to teach me and laughed when my pie crust was dry and crumbly. I drop the fork in the bag and smash the lid down on the pie.

  I hadn’t lied when I told Zachary I wouldn’t have been able to save her. Perhaps someone could have, but there’s no way they could have afforded it. The waiting lists for those healers are also years long, just like organ transplants. Part of me is relieved I didn’t have to watch her die, but I’d rather have had a chance to say goodbye. My fingers tighten on the bag. Who am I kidding? I had the chance, I was just too afraid to go back and face them.

  The large coming soon sign hanging from the front of the apothecary distracts me from my thoughts. The storefront is with thick glass and ‘Maybelle’s Apothecary’ is etched into the glass in large, looping letters.

  I cross the street and peer in the window. It’s still empty inside. It looks like the contractors are still putting up sheetrock and building out the back. I still can’t believe this is happening. It’s something my mother had dreamed of. She wanted to open a little shop with just the two of us, she was working on getting her guild membership approved before she disappeared. My hands and arms still ache, a physical reminder of the pain of missing her that I’ll never be rid of.

  My phone buzzes and I turn away with a sigh. It’s a text from Georgia. I’m looking forward to a distraction. Maybe they can eat this stupid pie for me too.

  I don’t hear anything, not a shout, or even the explosion itself. I’m flying through the air and I can’t see. I hit the ground and slide, asphalt scraping my cheek and chest.

  There’s smoke. I blink. Sirens. Blink. Someone is shaking me. Blink. Brown eyes and dark hair and a pale hand reaching for me. Blink. Georgia’s face over mine. Blink. Blood in my mouth.

  10

  I gasp awake, reaching for someone who isn’t there. It’s dark in my room and dark outside. Javier is leaning over me, his wrist bleeding sluggishly. I can still see my mother’s face like an aura in my vision. It’s like I looked at the light for too long and now it’s all I can see.

  I blink, trying to dispel it. The blood in my mouth distracts me and I reach for Javier’s wrist. I want more. I need it.

  “Olivia,” a sharp voice shocks me into full consciousness. There is an IV strung from my wrist to a pole next to the hospital bed. Fuck. I’m in a hospital.

  “What happened?” I croak, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. It leaves a smear of blood and I have to fist my hands in the sheets to keep from reaching for him again. He tastes even better than I remember.

  “The apothecary was bombed. You were caught in the blast,” Javier explains. His face is downcast, I think he feels sorry for me. I’m furious.

  “Was it the NWR? Is Martinez back? Do the police have any leads?” I bite out each question, my hands twisting further in the sheets. My entire body aches and if my face looks how it feels, then it looks like someone tried to scrape half of it off. It would hurt worse if Javier hadn’t shared some of his blood. It’s an odd thing, the way it helps to heal. It can’t really save anyone’s life, but if you’re a witch the magic gives you a boost that helps your body heal itself. Most people find it disgusting and not strangely addicting like I do though. My jaw aches for another taste.

  “They’re assuming it’s the NWR, but they have no idea who set the bomb,” Javier says.

  “Fucking fantastic,” I say, shooing Javier out of the way and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I bat away Javier’s hands and yank out the IV’s. “Is Georgia okay? I think she was there, it’s all fuzzy.”

  “She found you after the explosion, she’s fine,” he says, trying to push me back down.“Olivia, they want to keep you overnight.”

  “No,” I snap. “I’m fine, I’ll go home and take a couple of potions. I can’t pay this hospital bill anyhow.”

  Javier steps back, his hands held up in surrender. “Come to the clanhouse at least, it’ll be safer for you there.”

  The door opens and Patrick steps inside, his eyes
wide as he takes in the hospital bed and the IV. The wince he makes when he looks at my face confirms it’s about as bad as it feels.

  He walks toward me slowly, glancing briefly at Javier, but ignoring him for now.

  “You look like shit,” Patrick says, a smirk on his face that fills me with relief.

  “That’s what happens when someone tries to blow you up, I guess,” I say, grinning at him even though it hurts my cheek.

  Neither of us are the type for apologies. Not the traditional kind at least. I know he means he’s sorry, and he knows he’s forgiven.

  “Let me guess, you’re trying to escape the hospital already?” He asks, walking around to the side of my bed opposite Javier.

  “You guess right,” I say. “Where are my pants?”

  Javier crosses his arms. “You can have them when you agree to come to the clanhouse.”

  “I just want to go home! I need to feed my cat.”

  “It’s not safe,” Javier insists,

  “Is anywhere safe?” I ask, throwing my hands in the air. “I was in a public place in the middle of the day and someone set off a fucking bomb.”

  Javier opens his mouth to retort, but Patrick holds up his hand, stopping him.

  “Javier, give us a minute?” Patrick asks.

  Javier stares at Patrick over my shoulder, breathing hard, then nods and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Patrick waits a moment, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “I’ll go back if you go back.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. He must be serious if he’s actually helping Javier get me back to the clanhouse. It’s a sharp change from the night before. I briefly wonder if Reilly is somehow coercing him to do this the same way he got me to go to the coven to look for Aaron Hall. Instantly, I feel guilty for doubting his intentions, but it could actually be the case knowing Reilly.

  “If they’re setting bombs, I’m not necessarily safer there,” I say with a sigh. He’s already won the argument, and he knows it.

  “Then we might as well die together,” Patrick says lightly, grabbing my jeans out of a bag sitting by the window and tossing them at my face. I catch them and roll my eyes.