Witches Can't Fly

by Nova Archer

  He bowed to her, and then offered her his arm. “Would you care to dance?”

  She glanced at Caine and Eve, who shrugged, then back to Theron. “I don’t dance.”

  “That dress was created for dancing. Please don’t disappoint it.”

  Without a word, she took his arm and he drew her into the ballroom, through the crowd and onto the dance floor in the middle of the enormous, lavishly decorated room.

  Keeping her hand, Theron set the other at her waist and twirled her around the floor to a traditional Viennese waltz. Although she claimed to not dance, she moved with grace, fluidly like a meandering stream of fresh cool water.

  Staring down at her as they moved around the room, he had to suppress the urge to kiss her, knowing she would taste like spring. Despite his hurt from her expected rejection, Theron still wanted her. He ached mind, body and soul for her. If only she could trust him for one more night. Maybe if he could sate his desire for her one time, he could move on and leave her to her anger. But he knew it wasn’t possible. She’d never give him one night; he had hurt her too much, and he knew he couldn’t leave after having her completely. He’d want more. Need more of the things she just wasn’t willing to give him—not after betraying her trust.

  “You dance beautifully,” he commented, wanting to see her smile if only for a moment.

  “I’m surprised I haven’t stepped all over your feet.”

  “You have. I’m just wearing steel-toed shoes.”

  He was rewarded with a smile, and it lightened his heart to see it. He returned it and spun her around in a circle. Pulling her back in, the music slowed and he shifted his hand to her back and drew her close. He nuzzled his chin along the side of her head, reveling in the feel of her silky hair against his skin. She tensed under him, but he didn’t pull away, he couldn’t, not when he had her close.

  “I’m sorry for not telling you, Lyra,” he murmured. “You never gave me a chance to apologize before so I’m doing it now before you pull away from me again.”

  She flinched but didn’t shrink away from him. She shrugged. “I suppose I can understand why you didn’t.”

  “Good.”

  “But it changes things between us.”

  “I know.” He pressed his lips to the side of her head and drank in her scent, knowing this might be the last time he ever held Lyra close again.

  “Can I cut in?”

  Startled, Lyra pushed out of Theron’s arms and swung around to gape at the icy beauty Nadja Devanshi as she stood off to the side eyeing them, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

  Theron was about to protest when Lyra nodded. “Sure. I was hungry anyway.” Without another word, she smiled then walked off the dance floor. Theron watched her leave, hoping she’d glance over her shoulder at him, but she didn’t. She just disappeared into the streaming throng of party goers.

  Nadja settled herself into his arms, pressing her body close, and cupping his neck. She was bold, the chanteuse. Theron had no misunderstanding of what she clearly wanted from him.

  “I had hoped you would come to see me at the club,” she said as she twirled a finger through his hair. “I thought it was clear I was available to you.”

  “It was clear, yes.”

  “We have much in common, you and I.”

  “Do we?”

  She smiled and nuzzled her mouth against his neck. He could feel the brush of her fangs on his skin. He shivered, but not in pleasure. “You smell like power, Theron. We could do amazing things together.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like change the world.”

  “I like the world just the way it is.”

  Nadja searched his face then brushed her lips against his to whisper, “She’s beneath you, the witch. You have better breeding than to soil yourself with her.”

  Theron stopped dancing and pushed Nadja away. Others on the dance floor stared at them. “I’ve only sullied myself by dancing with you.”

  Mouth gaping, Nadja glared at him. “How dare you speak to me like that. You forget your place, Theron LeNoir.”

  “I forget nothing, Nadja Devanshi. It’s best you remember that.”

  Turning on his heel, Theron marched through the path the crowd opened for him to search for Lyra. He wiped at his mouth. The bitter taste of lavender remained on his lips. Had the vampiress poisoned him? Or used the same drug the mistress had used on him to induce strange visions? He couldn’t be sure which.

  It was now imperative he find Lyra and keep her safe. He had felt the malevolence radiating from Nadja, like a blast of cold, artic wind. The woman had no heart—it had to have been frozen inside her rigid form. He’d met vampires like her before. Women who leeched onto men with power, their only purpose to literally suck them dry and use the power for their own nefarious reasons. His father Lucien had introduced him to people like that, when Theron had been practicing the dark magic. It was those people who sought to use the dark to gain whatever they could from it without a care about the consequences.

  It was people like that whom he feared were now rallying in Necropolis around a dark practitioner to gain power. More power than they even knew existed, more than they could harness or control. Theron could sense a storm brewing. And at its center he feared only one woman stood to defy it—Lyra.

  From across the room, Lyra had watched Theron dance with the famous chanteuse. Jealousy stabbed her in the gut as they glided gracefully around the dance floor. Although she was angry at Theron and hurt that he had not told her about his dark past, she still couldn’t help the treacherous pang in her heart. Her feelings for him hadn’t changed. And that’s what bothered her the most.

  Not wanting to endure anymore heartache, Lyra left the ballroom to do the job she had come to do.

  Earlier, she had talked to Caine about their plan for the evening, and it was decided Lyra’s knowledge of an invisibility spell made her the best candidate to do the sneaking around.

  Slipping into one of the many bathrooms in the house, Lyra locked the door, sat down on the lid of the toilet and concentrated. Closing her eyes, she murmured the words under her breath and clung onto the reserve of magical energy inside. Within moments, Lyra’s skin began to tingle. Soon, a heated sensation surged over her body from the inside out. Another minute later, Lyra lifted her hands to her face and saw through them to the other side of the bathroom. The spell worked. She was invisible.

  Carefully, she opened the door of the bathroom hoping no one was standing there waiting. The area was clear and she stepped out into the hallway and made her way across the house to the room Theron said housed the mistress’s collection. She didn’t know if she’d find anything there, but it was a place to start. The mistress showed Theron her things for a reason, or so everyone hoped.

  Maybe they were just grasping at straws, anything to lead them to the killer. The team had been so thoroughly shut down at every corner they turned; maybe they were now seeing evidence and suspects in the shadows of those corners.

  As she hustled down the hall, she peered into every room. The very last one contained Lady Ankara’s collections and was the room she was looking for. Slipping inside, she partially shut the door and started to look around, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

  She moved to the books in the corner first. Unassuming, three thick leather-backed texts sat on a shelf, a set of plain unadorned bookends keeping them pressed together. To a casual observer, the books would seem unimportant especially compared to the items in the rest of the room, on display, spotlights pointing on them. The books had nothing to mark them as important, which was likely the idea.

  She slid one volume out and right away noticed it was the same book as Theron’s. Setting that aside, she looked at the other two books. Both were old grimoires, spell books from an era Lyra couldn’t decipher just from the text. The language used in some of the spells was old though and unrecognizable. And she knew both Latin and some Aramaic.

  After searching the books, Lyra moved a
round the room, along the back wall. In every display case she inspected, she saw nothing but the art inside. Finally, she came on the statue Theron had said was over four thousand years old. She stared through the glass at the horned beast and wondered what it was about this piece that made the mistress show it to Theron.

  Something glinted through the glass. Squinting, Lyra moved her head back and forth to see where it was coming from. It didn’t seem to be glaring from the statue but beyond it. Stepping to the side, she looked around the display case and saw something metal flash on the floor along one wall.

  Side-stepping the case, she hastily moved toward the wall and bumped a hip into another display case. This one didn’t have any glass around it, and the vase sitting on top of the thin pillar started to wobble.

  Lyra reached for the vase. Her fingertips brushed against it, but she failed to get a grip. As if in slow motion, the priceless porcelain vase fell to the ground. Cursing, she watched as it hit the floor.

  It didn’t break. But it did roll across the room hitting the back of the door and pushing it all the way shut. The noise of the lock engaging echoed in the room. There was no way the lycan standing guard down the hall hadn’t heard it.

  To make matters even worse, Lyra raised her hands to her face and realized the spell was starting to wear off. She could see the faint outline of her fingers.

  Footsteps sounded down the hall. The guard was coming. She was going to get caught. She was going to lose her job or worse.

  In a panic, Lyra raced around the room looking for a place to hide. Scooping up the vase, she raced to the far side of the room, set the vase back onto its pillar and pressed into the shadows along the wall.

  She sucked in a breath as the knob turned and the door opened. Her heart raced like wildfire and sweat soaked her back and chest. The lycan guard filled the doorway. His eyes glowed in the dark.

  She was dead. He was going to see her.

  “Pardonez moi, monsieur.”

  Lyra swore under her breath as she heard the French accent coming from the hallway. Theron. What was he doing?

  The guard turned. “You’re not allowed in this part of the house, sir.”

  “Pardon. Pardon. I seem to be a bit lost.” His voice sounded slurred, his accent thick.

  “You need to turn around and go back the way you came.”

  Through the open doorway, Lyra could see Theron slouching in front of the guard. Theron never slouched. She didn’t think he even knew how to do that.

  He put his arm around the guard. “I need to pee, mon ami.”

  Theron was acting drunk. To her chagrin, it was the perfect distraction. She didn’t want to be rescued. She hated that she needed him to get her out. Self-reliant for so long, she didn’t want to need anything.

  The guard tried to shrug Theron’s arm off, but the dhampir was determined to keep it on. He succeeded in turning the lycan around so he faced the hall and not the room. Unbelievably, Lyra saw the fingers on Theron’s hand waving at her to make a move. To get out of the room.

  Praying she was still see-through, Lyra quickly crossed the room and slipped out the door behind Theron and the guard.

  “If you go back the way you came sir, you’ll find the bathroom.”

  “Merci. You are a good man.” Theron’s grin was lop-sided. “You have many beautiful ladies here.”

  Lyra hugged the wall and quickly made her way past the distracted guard and down the hall. When she reached the corner, she broke into a run. She needed to get into a bathroom before the spell faded.

  Finding the same bathroom she changed in empty, she went in, shut the door and locked it. She ran water in the sink and splashed some on her face. She watched in the mirror as the enchantment faded and she became visible again.

  Breathing another sigh of relief, she splashed more cold water on her cheeks then patted her face dry. She repinned her hair, smoothed down her dress, then opened the bathroom to go back to the party and find Caine. Her mission turned out to be a bust.

  She’d failed. She’d never failed before. She’d always been good at what she set out to do. School, magic, crime scene investigation. Now, she’d let the team down on something that should’ve been so simple to accomplish. And she hated that Theron had been there to see her fail as well.

  When she opened the door and walked out, she literally ran into Theron. He had been leaning against the doorframe, waiting for her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She was relieved she escaped exposure but she was angry it had been Theron who had rescued her. She hated he had known where she was and she was in trouble. It felt odd having someone, especially this man, know that much about her. He shouldn’t know her so well. She hadn’t given him permission to. This whole arrangement was unfamiliar and unnerving. And scary as hell.

  “I’m fine.” She brushed past him. “I didn’t need your help.”

  He followed her behind. “That guard would’ve caught you if I hadn’t come to the rescue.”

  “I didn’t need rescuing. I’m not a damsel in distress, you know.”

  “Oh, you’re distressing all right.”

  She whirled on him. “You’ve no right to save me, Theron. I didn’t ask you to.”

  “No, you didn’t, but I was there. You’re just going to have to get used to that.”

  “What?”

  “Me, being there for you. However much you dislike it Lyra, I’m not leaving you alone. I told Caine I’d protect you, and I plan to.”

  She was so mad she could scream, but instead she bit down on her tongue and moved past him into the main ballroom.

  He said nothing. He didn’t need to. Lyra could see the lashes of pain she’d just inflicted on him all over his face. A knot twisted in her gut as he had stared at her, his jaw tight, his brow furrowed. Did he deserve her ire? Probably not, but at this point Lyra was beyond caring. She could feel her life spiraling out of control and she resented the fact she wanted to reach out and hold onto Theron. Knowing he possessed the power to stop her spin and keep her sane.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Pained, Theron watched as Lyra marched through the crowded ballroom to the buffet table.

  He knew she lashed at him out at him out of fear of almost being caught. And a recognition that she needed to be rescued. Lyra was a woman who prided everything on her independence, her strength to fend for herself. He just wished she knew he didn’t find her because he though her weak or in need of his help. He had followed her, sensing her despite the invisibility spell, because of his desperate need to keep her safe. If anything happened to her, he would come undone. But the witch was way too stubborn to listen.

  From a distance, he watched her pile decadent desserts onto a plate. Her lips were moving but it appeared she was speaking to the air because there was no one else near her listening. He could just imagine the names she was calling him under her breath.

  Despite her demand to leave her alone, he couldn’t do it. Not with a clear conscience. He vowed to keep her safe, and that was what he was going to do. Even if he had to protect her from herself.

  Jace and Tala found Theron on the outskirts of the room still watching as Lyra shoved chocolate pastries into her mouth.

  “Where’s Lyra?” Jace grunted.

  Theron motioned toward the buffet. Scowling, Lyra was digging into what looked like chocolate mousse while she continued to speak into the air. “I believe she’s angry with me.”

  Jace nodded as if that was the answer he was expecting. “Uhuh, so what did you do wrong?”

  “I saved her from being caught while she was looking around a certain room.”

  Tala shook her head but said nothing.

  “What did you do that for?”

  Frowning, Theron looked at Jace. “Because I didn’t want her to get caught.”

  “The girl’s pretty resourceful, if she was in trouble she would’ve gotten out on her own.”

  “I thought she could use my help.”


  Jace slapped him on the back. “Well, you see that’s your number one problem. Don’t think.”

  “Yes, I’m starting to learn that.” Theron straightened his shoulders and started to move in Lyra’s direction. He was going to explain to her his intentions. He had to make her see that what he had done was for her own good.

  But he didn’t get very far before the lights in the ballroom dimmed and the crowd started to jostle and move back, pushing him with it.

  Glancing around, he tried to see what was causing the commotion. He knew there was to be entertainment, a floor show, but didn’t think it would be so soon. Because of his height, Theron was still able to see the top of Lyra’s head through the milling crowd. He focused on her, making sure he didn’t lose sight of her.

  The room went black as the eerie thump thump thump of a single drum reverberated off the walls. Heartbeats from the people surrounding him beat to the same rhythm in anticipation of what was to come.

  Four colored spotlights flashed on pointing in four different directions. One red light moved near Theron as a path was made through the crowd by a person walking on stilts. Covered by long red gauzy veils, the form moved to the beat of the drums cutting a route through the murmuring throng of people toward the center of the room. For a moment Theron watched the spectacle, just as mesmerized as everyone else by the visually stunning characters moving through the room, their stilts so tall it was as if they walked on the air itself.

  Theron had the pleasure of seeing Danse de la Lune before when the acrobatic performing troupe had made an appearance in Nouveau-Monde. The show was spectacular, but his mind and gaze needed to be on Lyra. Shivers raced up and down his back. Something wasn’t right. He could sense it all around him, despite the haunting music starting to play or the collective enthrallment of the swaying crowd.

  Jostling for position, Theron craned his neck to peer over the heads of the crowd toward the buffet table. He couldn’t see Lyra. Panic took hold of him. Heart racing, he pushed through the crowd, searching for her. Although the room was too dark and the crowd too big, he had to do something. He’d never forgive himself if something had happened to her. He was supposed to be protecting her. Fine job so far, he thought disgusted with himself.