by Erin Hayes
“It’s damn good to see you again,” Cassandra said, squeezing Julia tightly. Though she wasn’t even trying, Julia could feel the power coming off her in waves.
In the time that Julia was gone, Cass had been practicing, getting stronger. And what had Julia been doing? Licking her wounds and mending a broken heart.
“I could have picked you up from the airport, you know,” Cass said, releasing her cousin.
“It’s fine. I called an Uber. Besides, Mom sort of tagged along.”
Cassandra grinned. “Mandrake root?”
“She’s so overbearing,” Julia answered, instantly falling back into their old routine. It was as if nothing had changed. Funny how everything had.
“We all are,” Cass said. “It’s the Fairweather family curse. Well, that and the Blackwoods.” Her expression pinched. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Julia waved it off as if the words hadn’t just squeezed a vice grip around her heart. “He’s here. I get it. Hopefully, I can get in and out of here without running into him.” She blew out a thin breath, but it did nothing to alleviate the anxiety twisting in her stomach. “How is that stupid feud anyway?”
“Still going,” Cassandra said. “Though everything had been at a lull lately until the other day.”
Julia didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. It was Grandfather—the entire reason she was here.
“Speaking of,” Julia said, pursing her lips. “I suppose it would be bad form to keep them waiting much longer.”
“It won’t be that bad,” Cassandra offered.
“Speak for yourself,” Julia muttered. “The last time I was in this house—”
“I remember,” Cassandra said sharply. “Let’s not relive it.” She took Julia’s hand in hers. “Besides, you don’t have to do it alone.”
And, with that, they made their way into the belly of the beast.
Chapter Two
This kid had nothing. Even if he hadn’t been sweating like a whore in Sunday services, Roman would have been able to tell that.
It was in his eyes, in the way his arms were shaking. It was in the way he held his hands all wrong. Any conjurer worth his smelling salts knew heat was called from the earth, and that meant index fingers pointed down.
This idiot was palms up—a sure sign of a novice.
It was as if he was begging Roman to take his money. And sure enough, Roman was about to oblige him.
“As always, first spark wins. Start on my count,” Benji said, standing between Roman and the foolish boy with hair the color of washer fluid.
Benji leaned down, his face piercings glistening against the moonlight, and placed a pile of dry straw in front of the kid’s feet. He did the same thing with Roman, glancing at him on the way up.
He knew what was about to happen here, too. It was a safe bet that every witch and warlock surrounding us—about twelve in total—got a whiff of the new car smell coming off of this greenhorn.
He was maybe nineteen and, at most, a year out of training. What had happened to him, to send him out here on the bad side of Savannah with the dark witches and troublemakers?
Whatever it was, maybe this beating would be enough to send him scampering back home. If that happened, then the little punk should thank Roman for what was about to go down.
Of course, people probably wondered the same thing about Roman the first time he showed up here. It wasn’t every day that the son and heir apparent of one of the city’s most prominent witch families showed up on the docks ready to gamble away his birthright for a quick thrill.
Time, however, told a different story.
Roman hadn’t been the easy mark they thought he would be. As far as any of the street witches knew, he was a coddled little prick who didn’t know illusions from glamours.
But they didn’t grow up with Roman’s father. They didn’t know what it really meant to be a Blackwood. All they saw was money and circumstance, parties and events to mark the solstice and high holy days.
They didn’t see the marks on Roman’s chest from all the spells gone wrong. They didn’t know he almost drowned when he was five while trying to communicate with a spirit from the Titanic. And they didn’t know he was as blind as a bat in his right eye.
Of course, that didn’t come from his upbringing. He’d lost that the same night he lost something else. Something much more important.
He blinked hard, her face darting through his mind’s eye like a deer afraid of an oncoming car. But he couldn’t afford to think about that at the moment. Right now, he had to focus on this punk kid and the “game” they were about to play. If he lost to a wet-behind-the-ears warlock who still pissed his pants, he might as well have packed things up and left for good. He would never live it down.
Roman wasn’t going to lose, though. He was a Blackwood, and he was damn good at what he did. Besides, this was far from his first time.
“Commence!” Beji yelled, echoing the forefathers and pulling a small bit of tradition out among warlocks and witches who had probably never even heard of the Salem Witch Trials, let alone the Great Struggles.
But that didn’t matter now. The fact that Roman was learned about history, botany, and all the other crap somebody born with a silver cauldron up his ass would be expected to wouldn’t help if he couldn’t light this crap on fire.
He took a deep breath, focusing on the pile of straw in front of him.
The kid had probably eaten chili peppers and hot sauce, the sort of thing a novice would expect to pull the heat from you. But Roman knew better. Protein and iron was what you really needed. That’s why his dinner consisted of broccoli, tuna, and vodka.
To be fair, the vodka served a different purpose.
The kid fidgeted and struggled, then he moved a few steps to the right, out of Roman’s limited line of sight. He could have turned his head to follow, but he hadn’t hidden his “disability” this long to tip his hat for a thousand bucks and a teenager’s magical stash.
There were people around who would love to pinpoint Roman’s limitations, and not just on the docks.
The Blackwoods, same as all powerful people, had their fair share of enemies.
The Fairweathers trickled into his mind. Those witches would savor the opportunity to exploit any weakness. They had hated his family for generations. In fact, there wasn’t a supernatural creature in three states that hadn’t heard about the feud between the Fairweather and Blackwood covens.
It was legendary in the worst sense of the word.
Julia was different, though. She might have been a Fairweather, but she’d looked past his last name. That was what made her special.
It’s also what made her impossible.
Enough of that. She was gone, and thinking of her was nothing more than a means to build up the anger he needed to trigger his inner energy. Now it was time to stop playing with this kid and make some damn sparks.
His lips curled into a smirk as the flicker started in his chest. It mirrored itself in the straw, igniting it in the sweetest little flame this side of the Savannah River.
“And that’s how it’s done,” Roman said, staring at the spot where he figured the kid was standing.
“We’ve achieved sparkage!” Beji yelled, lifting Roman’s hand high into the air. “The winner, and still undefeated champion, Roman Blackwood!”
Roman almost felt bad as the kid counted out his money and put it in his waiting palm. Almost. But whatever sympathy he felt vanished when he saw the stash Roman had won.
“Three quail eggs and some goji berry?” Roman asked, scoffing. “I could get better crap from Costco.”
Before the boy could respond, Roman’s brother’s voice echoed from behind him. “What do you expect when you deal with the riff-raff?”
Roman spun around to find his brother, Adam. He was the taller and lankier of the bothers, with father’s wide nose and same sense of self-importance. Still, he was Roman’s blood—his coven—and they would d
ie for one another if ever necessary.
Apparently dying would have been preferable to spending another moment on these docks though.
“Honestly, I don’t understand why you insist on frequenting this place. It’s like you’re trying to give the family lice.”
Roman marched toward him, wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder, spun him around, and started back toward his car.
“And it’s like you’re trying to get your ass beat,” Roman said. “You might not think that much of these people, but that doesn’t mean they won’t stand up for themselves.”
“Please.” Adam chuckled. “I saw what happened back there. That child would have needed two rocks and a bottle of lighter fluid to get a fire going. I’m more afraid of heart disease than these peons.” He shook his head. “What I don’t understand is why you don’t see that.”
“You’re the ones who pushed me into it,” Roman said, pulling his arm from his brother’s shoulder.
“Don’t blame me for Father’s decisions. Besides, I very much doubt that, when he instructed you to study the dark arts of our ancestors, he thought it would lead you into the laps of the city’s least common denominator.” Adam smiled. “Though I don’t suppose the magic is entirely to blame for that.”
“Watch yourself, little brother,” Roman said, tightening his fist and his jaw. He might have loved his brother more than himself, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t blacken his eye if he even hinted at bringing her up.
Adam turned to Roman. “I was going to say the same thing to you. Something’s happened. I heard it through the grapevine, as they say.” His face took on a very serious tint. “I didn’t want you to hear it from somebody else.”
“What is it?” Roman asked, a pit forming in his stomach. “Is it April? Did something happen?”
“Our sister is fine,” he assured. “She’s troublesome. Not nearly as troublesome as you, but she’s fine. It’s the other woman in your life. She whose name shan’t be spoken.”
Roman’s body tensed. “She’s not in my life anymore,” he answered as flatly as he could manage.
“You might want to rethink that, big brother,” Adam answered. “Before you go making promises about yourself that we both know you can’t keep, you should know that Julia Fairweather is back.”
Roman pretended it didn’t matter. When Adam said her name, when he mentioned she was back in town, Roman shrugged it off and acted as if he didn’t give a damn.
That was what men were supposed to do. They were supposed to crawl under the next woman who would let them and convince themselves that the one they lost never mattered in the first place.
Roman had managed the first half of that on more than one occasion in the six hundred and three days since Julia had breathed the same air as him. The second half, though—that always caused him trouble.
He pulled his car to a stop on the hill—the one looking out over the city—and crawled out onto the hood.
Stretching himself across it, he looked up at the stars. She loved the constellations so much. She had laid with him on this hill, on this hood, so many nights, pointing out these damn stars.
“That one’s Orion’s Belt,” he said, mimicking what she used to tell him. “And that’s Ursa Major.”
“The other one is Ursa Major,” a voice called out to him. “That’s Ursa Minor.”
He leaned up and looked at her. Breath didn’t run his body anymore. Air was useless now that she was here.
Julia Fairweather stood before him, her hair in the wind, her eyes in the moonlight.
The sight of her was like a dream. It had been a dream, in fact. On more than one occasion, Roman’s sleeping mind had played tricks on him. It told him she was back, that she’d never left. It told him she still loved him and that she would never spend another night outside of his company. And then he would wake and realize that she just did.
But he wasn’t sleeping now. Roman was staring right at her, right at the girl who stole his heart and broke it without ever giving it back.
He wanted to say so much, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let her know how she affected him, how broken he’d become since she left.
He was a man. He was a Blackwood. He couldn’t be that person.
“Hey,” was all Roman could manage.
“Hey,” she answered, seemingly unaffected by his aloofness.
“You’re back,” he said, finding himself sliding off the hood and standing in front of her. She’d always been a magnet to him, and now was no different. He was close to her before he knew what was happening. Close enough to touch.
“I’m back,” she confirmed needlessly.
“Why?” He kept his voice as steady and distant as he had to.
She blinked hard. “I…because I have business to deal with.” She swallowed. “Family business.”
“Of course. Family is important.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better.”
Her cheeks reddened, giving them that blush that haunted his dreams. “I didn’t…the last time I was here, that wasn’t me. I wasn’t myself.” She looked down at the ground and then back up at him. “I wanted to apologize about what happened. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine.”
“Is your eye—” She reached for it, but he grabbed her hand.
“It’s fine,” he repeated, but his hand was on her now. His skin was touching her skin. And both of them knew it. “We shouldn’t live in the past.”
Roman breathed heavy, his gaze burning deep into hers. He was helpless against her. Always had been. This must have been what the kid at the docks felt like—hopelessly outmatched.
Neither of them stood a chance.
“I don’t plan to,” Julia said. “I’m not back,” she added quickly.
“What does that mean?”
“For good, I mean. I’m not back here for good.”
“Oh,” he said, not letting his disappointment show in his voice or face.
“Does that surprise you?”
“Honestly?” he asked. “I thought maybe you had missed this place… Or certain things about it.”
“Roman,” she said, biting her lip. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything.” He might have even believed that, but it wasn’t true. Even now, he was pulling her closer, her lips closer to his. Her honey-suckle aroma that reminded him of the taste of her sugar sweet lips and milky skin.
“Roman,” she repeated. “We can’t. It doesn’t work.”
“We did, though,” he said, still pulling her so close he could feel the hardening of her nipples against his chest. “And, if I remember, it worked pretty well.”
With her body pressed to his, his cock throbbed with desire, with delicious memories. He could remember what it felt like to squeeze inside of her, the feel of her nipples against his tongue, the way her soft moans vibrated through his whole body. He needed that again. After years of darkness, he needed her light.
He pressed his lips against hers, and it was right. There were no other words. It was just right.
Except she didn’t seem to feel the same way. A shock sparked in his chest, and he stumbled back.
“Did you spell me?” he asked, breathlessly. “Was that a darting?”
“I told you no!” She shook her head, the blush still in her face. Her breathing had shifted, which told Roman that was a ‘No, I can’t handle this,’ and not a ‘No, I don’t want this.’ “I told you no, Roman, and I mean it!” She blinked back what had to be tears. “I can’t do this to myself again. I only came to make sure you were okay. That’s all. But you need to stay away from me, okay?” She took several steps back. “Just please stay away.”
Then she turned away and left him standing, staring hopelessly after her, stealing away all the progress he had made to build a wall around his heart.
Chapter Three
She should have known better than to go out there. Seeing Roman was the last thing
she needed right now, especially with the coven meeting minutes away. She needed to keep her head clear, to keep her thoughts concise and firm. That was the reason she went out to the cliffs in the first place.
If she’d known he would be there, she would’ve avoided it like the plague. But why would that possibility have even crossed her mind? As far as she knew, Roman never wanted to see her again. She was the loose cannon who flipped out on him and cost him half of his eyesight.
Was she wrong about that? Maybe she had been wrong about everything.
Pulling into the manor, she shook her head. Get it together. She stepped out of the car and stalked toward the house.
Once again, the door opened for her, but she didn’t have Cassandra to hold her hand or give her strength this time. She was on her own. At least until she made it to the inner sanctum.
As she pushed through the door, the voices of her ancestors whispered through walls, as always, too quiet to make out what they were saying.
Mother used to say that being able to hear them made Julia special, but “special” was not the word Julia would use to describe hearing voices. Crazy was more like it, and after the events of last summer, Julia’s description was certainly more fitting.
“Not now,” Julia muttered to the ancestors, though anyone watching would probably think she was talking to herself. Things had been quiet back in Iowa, with the cows and the hay. Which made the low rumbling of all the witches that had served her family’s coven before her an unwelcome nuisance she still hadn’t readjusted to.
Running her hands through her dark hair, she closed her eyes, trying to free her mind of the useless noise. “Please just stop.”
They didn’t listen. They never listened. All she could do was steel herself and try her best to quiet her mind. Hopefully, that would be enough.
“Ms. Julia,” Jenkins said, nodding as she neared the inner sanctum. “Seeing you does my old eyes good.”
“You, too, Jenkins,” she said, genuinely smiling at him. Of all the things about this place that she had been happy to leave behind, Jenkins was not among them.