“You gotta be kidding.” She cracked a smile and shook her head. Lucian and Zane would get a kick out of that. Irony, the tricky bitch, had a sense of humor and she never failed. Staring back at her in a flourish of fourteenth-century gold and scarlet calligraphy read: “How to Protect Against Wards and Black Magick.”
Pressed flat against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, Marabelle peeled her back off the wood far enough to steal a peek around the corner, her new location half masked by the cart of library books she’d abandoned before clocking out of work earlier that evening. Score one for the librarian.
A deep hum filled the room. “WTF was that?”
A massive army of tiny golden balls zoomed beneath the arched entryway and fanned out. No way! She knew better than to ask. Never ask. The answer is always shitty.
The spheres filled the large chamber. Probably on the orders of the very pissed off warlock she’d picked up between slipping out of the High Council’s secret vault and tripping the ward she’d somehow missed.
Which was a puzzle in itself. She never missed wards. They were her thing along with healing potions and spellwork.
Rookie move, sweet pea! Her father’s words played in her head.
Wards served as alarms for the magick folk. Pre-made spellwork, when done right, hid things from the humans, such as the actual gigantic size of the High Council’s palace to the smaller things such as hidden sections within the palace that held books the High Council would rather keep hidden. But they’d left her with no choice. If she wanted her magick back, this was the only way even if it all stood a good chance of blowing up in her face! Maybe she should have waited until Lucian and Zane could have helped. At least they could have taken out the dude trying to take her out!
Her nails bit into the wood as one of the orbs drifted down the opposite aisle within feet of her position. She clung to the rapidly reducing amount of shadows to hide in. Ignoring the fact her lungs cried for a deep gulp of air, she froze. If luck had any say in tonight’s events, the nasty bugger of a ward would confuse her for one of the many statues scattered throughout the library.
The magick may seem pretty on the outside, all sparkles and glitter. The truth of the matter was those things went off at the slightest twitch of movement and would send you on a nice, long trip with the reaper. That cloaked bastard didn’t know the meaning of second chances either.
Despite her less than noble actions tonight, kicking the cauldron didn’t have a slot on her agenda of sticking it to the rat-faced Royals. Marabelle squished her panic into the tiny black box it had come from in the corner of her heart and let her eyes slip closed.
Inhale. Exhale. Goddesses she wished she’d waited for her guys. Three were better than one.
Chocolate cherries, strawberry tarts, raspberry squares...
Her heart slowed and her breathing plateaued.
One by one, she rattled off her favorite childhood treats as she followed the shadow of the guard out of the corner of her eye.
Her mom had taught her as a girl to think of something that made her happy when an ugly situation knotted up her insides. She liked sweets, and chocolate always made her happy. It was that or tick off every place she’d gone down on her men or them on her. That list was shorter, even if more interesting.
With her eyes closed, Marabelle listened as Zane had shown her, which heightened her senses. Silence. Not a good sign.
In the past more often than not that obstacle had been her father’s protective wards.
Every Sunday they would spend a few hours practicing her spellwork. If she’d done well, afterward he’d let her have a go at counter-spelling his wards. She loved every minute of their time together and loved to push her skills at conjuring protection spells. Now... not so much. The lack of possessing any said magick, thanks to the High Council, had a big something to do with that.
She shoved the thought aside. Memories of her father only led to darker thoughts. She couldn’t prove it, yet, but the High Council irrevocably had a shady hand in his untimely death. Tonight was not about that though. Not entirely. First things first. Her magick.
Her fingers flexed around the green satchel slung across her body, the weight heavier than she’d calculated but manageable. Tonight was about taking back her powers from the thieving warlocks who’d stolen it from her.
Marabelle sucked in her breath and held it for a count of five, calculating the distance between her position and her next target. Since curiosity had a tendency to kill witches who went snooping, sticking around to uncover the current warlock’s next move could mean her last.
On hands and knees, she crawled to the next shelf that led her closer to freedom and the second phase of her great plan, which didn’t seem so great at the moment.
Wood splintered, followed by a booming shockwave that rocked her so hard her back teeth rattled. Bits and pieces of wood rained down. One large spike caught her along the check as another scraped the tender flesh of her chest despite the thick pullover she wore as a disguise. For a split second, all she could do was thank the goddesses she wasn’t a vampire. Silver linings had a way of showing themselves.
Tucked into the smallest ball she could manage, Marabelle rolled to the right and waited for the dust to settle. Before the other orbs could get in on the act of taking a shot at her, she lunged forward, dragging the satchel along the floor behind her.
Kneeling by the back stone wall, she chanced another glance at her watch. It wouldn’t be long before the warlock warned the others and from there it was only a matter of time before the Royals came looking for her. This time they’d throw her in the darkest part of the dungeon.
Adrenaline brought Marabelle to her feet. It was now or never. Hands to her sides and the satchel resting center mass, she counted.
One.
A fireball blasted the wall to her side, missing her by mere inches. She didn’t move.
Two.
A curtain five golden lights wide and ten high zeroed in on her location. She waited. Heartbeat after heartbeat hammered into her sternum.
Palm flat against the cool stone, she skimmed her fingers along the cracks and rough edges until a notch caught her forefinger and thumb.
Three.
She pushed. Pitch black swallowed her whole as she tumbled into a hidden room. Stone grated against stone and she was finally alone. If anything, at least the orbs were gone.
Grit filled her mouth as the bombs hammered into the sealed off wall. She smirked but didn’t stick around to find out how close the warlock was to her position.
Grime and something remotely like moss squished beneath her soft-soled boots. Standing, she ground her boot into the floor for traction. Yeah, she’d go with moss.
Night-blind, Marabelle stumbled more than walked her way through the passage. Cold, musty air clogged the small space. No way she’d dare to take in a lung full of the stank air.
Other than the sound of her feet dragging along the cobblestones, silence brewed, but she didn’t trust the quiet.
Another step and then another. Gooey muck covered her hands every time she reached out for the wall. Goddesses, she hated this. She liked antiques as much as the next girl, but dank, dark and clammy sat up there with the top ten worst possible ways to spend a Friday night.
Nervous energy swarmed and crackled along the lay lines and reached into her as though it fed off her fear. It jolted her system like a wet finger in a wall socket.
Ice slivered along her spine and it had nothing to do with the winter air rushing through the old passageway.
Muted light broke through what looked to be vines hanging over an opening a few paces ahead. Her heart rate spiked and forced a rush of energy through her body. Each step grew harder to take, like quicksand clinging to her feet. Maybe her imagination needed a kick in the ass. She didn’t want to know, but from the sound of it, whatever coated the flooring slogged and squished every time she moved. For all she knew, it could be the blood of the Royals’ enemies, a number
that grew daily. Honestly, with them you just never knew.
Marabelle slowed to a full stop. The cold knot of betrayal that lived in her gut for the last year doubled and choked off the fear rising up her chest.
No. No, this can’t be. Anger made her movements choppy as she yanked and shoved the hanging vines aside. From a few yards away they did a great job of hiding the grate welded over the tunnel exit. Dread steeled her movements.
Chocolate cherries...
She took a deep breath. Several muffled shouts echoed through the tunnel and brought her head around. Damn! Pissed off warlock brought friends. So much for trying her hand at a great escape.
Without her magick, she couldn’t blast her way through. And none of her sisters could help. No way she’d put them in the middle of her battle even if they could help her steal back her magick.
With her fingers wrapped around the cool steel, Marabelle rattled the rusted grate. The only thing she got for her efforts was a dust cloud. She spat and waved a hand to clear the air. Gnarled vines swayed but nothing else happened.
No way it ended like this! Marabelle leaned over, hands braced on her knees.
Inhale. Exhale.
Freaking candy apples....
Another shout barreled toward her. She tightened her grip and rocked the bars again, this time putting her entire body behind the move.
“Come on, Mara!” With a couple of tugs she pulled the vines free, exposing two of the bars dead center of the grate. Could she? If she could angle her body just so, she could press through...
Yellow lights grew closer and bounced off the arched ceiling. She quickly took a couple of steps back, pulled the satchel free of her shoulder and shoved it through the bars, satisfied at the loud thud it made on impact. In one long exhale, her shoulder squeezed through, her torso and finally her head.
Free, she crouched low in case someone lurked close and surveyed the surrounding grounds. No one seemed the wiser to her location except for the goons on her ass. Moving so fast everything was a blur of white, she retrieved her loot and hot-footed it across the snow, not stopping to look back.
Heavy footfalls resounded in the tight space and spurred her into overdrive.
A feral growl chased after her. “Ya’ witches a’e outa you’ league.”
She didn’t wait around to see if the freak could break through the bars or if he had a key. Fingers crossed the rust would work in her favor and keep him locked on the other side and away from her. One foot in front of the other, in record time Marabelle covered the long distance to her car hidden beneath low hanging branches.
Score two for the librarian!
Remnants of goo clung to her fingers as she fumbled in her pocket for the keys. Note to self: remember gloves for next B&E black ops.
Seconds later she slid into the driver’s seat, shoved the key in the ignition and turned. Rubber hit pavement and her getaway ride hit zero to sixty in four point five seconds as the salesman promised. She smiled. Her cherry red Mustang left the eighteenth century palace in her rearview mirror and brought her closer to the one thing she wanted more than her next breath: cold-hearted, calculated, knife-in-the-throat revenge.
Fingers wound around the wheel, she hugged the curves and let the moonlight guide her along the back road.
Before heading out she’d stopped by Enchanted Embers, her sister’s magick and herbal shoppe while everyone was out for dinner or preparing for the winter solstice.
From the second she stepped over the threshold, something didn’t sit right. Tiny pinpricks flushed over her skin and caused her to shiver from head to toe. Black market items didn’t make their way through Sweet Briar Hollow and much less through her sweet coven sister’s shoppe. From the evidence she had found, something was up, but what she didn’t have a clue. Within their race and their laws, blood magick was illegal. Shifters, vampires, Fae. It didn’t matter. For her sister to have a vial of dragon’s blood meant her sister had somehow landed in the middle of trouble or trouble had found her. Either way, she’d be no help without her magick. Marabelle reached across the front seat and brushed her fingers over the old spell book.
If this didn’t work, well she’d not consider what else she might be willing to do to reverse what the Royals had done to her.
Marabelle tightened her grip on the wheel and little by little the knots in her stomach loosened as resolve settled over her. Hopefully the few things she’d borrowed wouldn’t get Harmony in any more trouble.
She cast a glance in her rearview. Lucian and Zane were probably either waiting for her at her place or were on their way. Darkness swiftly swallowed in on itself as the high beams sliced through the thick fog rolling in from the mountains. Change clung to the air and there’d be no taming the hornets’ nest she’d just drop kicked as though the final winning point rested on her shoulders. Wheels squalled along the last curve and a few minutes later she cut the lights as she rolled up outside her place.
Nerves sprang to life, and she pushed them back down with a few swallows and one long drawn-out sigh. Good. No growly mates waiting for her. That had to be a positive sign.
Snowflakes fell and for a second she almost believed the mirage of peace before her. A vibration in her pocket broke the spell.
“Sorry, my loves. I’ll be with you soon,” she reassured the still ringing phone.
Without losing a beat, Marabelle strode across the yard and slipped her cell phone into the box she’d taken from Enchanted Embers.
With one last, longing stare at the familiar number of her two lovers displayed across the screen, she shifted the box and pushed inside.
Aside from her sisters, they were her only stability in the storm that had become her life in the past year. A flash of pain pierced her heart as her thumb roamed over the end button.
Lucian and Zane would kill her, but they’d have to take a number and get in line.
CHAPTER THREE
Back pressed against the door, Marabelle reached over her shoulder and twisted the lock into place despite her trembling fingers. One. Two. Not until she heard the third click of metal hit metal did she inhale a hard, deep breath. It wouldn’t keep them out forever, but it should buy her the time she needed.
For several seconds she couldn’t do more than lean against the pine wood. Wobbly legs barely braced her weight and her heart rate had tripled its maximum speed about an hour into her B&E Black OP otherwise aptly renamed Operation FIREBALLS. Irony had a way with showing its face at the oddest of times.
With her free hand she loosened her ponytail and tossed aside the snow-drenched ski mask that matched her all black cat ensemble and knee-high flat boots. Pieces of pine clung to her pullover and a few fell from her hair as she mused the long locks. Despite the cliché, you couldn’t slink around like a bad-ass ninja in cute heels and stuffy librarian clothes. If you’re gonna do something, do it right, her momma always said.
In her world, she might as well have pulled off a total Mission Impossible, high fortress, laser grid snatch ’n grab. Outwitting the Council at their own game put a flutter in her heart. On the flip side, simply thinking the name of her people’s government conjured a sickening amount of dread. How long before they came looking for her? She splayed her fingers across her stomach to squelch the butterflies wreaking havoc on her insides.
Cracking into their warded vault single-handedly, without the use of her magick, ranked up there with super-mad agent skills. That made score three for the librarian, right? If only Lucian and Zane could see her now. She’d steal a kiss from Lucian as he shook his head in denial of her super agent skills. Hell, it surprised her too. Zane would be on her side, offering himself as her personal backup.
She pursed her lips and whistled out the tune to her favorite spy flick. If getting her powers back didn’t pan out, maybe she’d rock her newly found skills as a private sleuth.
With a mental flick, she switched gears. The High Council didn’t like it when a mere witch bested them. No telling how they woul
d handle a powerless witch kicking their asses. Over the last twelve months, she’d battled her senses with little results with controlling them. Having your powers ripped from her ethereal body made hot pokers in the eyes seem like a fun idea. Everything felt out of whack, which left her unbalanced and broken inside. Tonight helped to take back a little of her inner power. A multitude of emotions swirled, and her throat thickened as her eyes grew moist. Cruel and unjust were polite words for what the Royals had done to her. Nightmares plagued her constantly despite how much Lucian and Zane tried to comfort her. Only they understood her pain. By day, she played the weak, helpless orphan and it left a nasty taste in her mouth, but she did whatever it took to gain their trust.
She fought against the fear that worked through her body to freeze her in place. “Calm down, Marabelle. You’ve come too far and you’re not done yet.” She had to have faith in her plan. It may not be the best, but sitting by and letting them punish her for helping a human in need of her healing powers sat like a lump of coal in her belly that goaded her into action.
Shit, she was lucky.
The kick of adrenaline that kept her in motion ebbed. Muscles shook and her chest tightened with masked anxiety. Exhausted, out of breath and a little bit freaked out, Marabelle dropped her head against the door with a soft thud as her attention locked onto the woman staring back at her through the hall mirror opposite the front door. Without her glasses, everything homed in with a slight fuzzy blur along the edges. Black streaks of soot marred her cheeks. Gauzy moonlight filtered through the thin curtains and reflected against her midnight black strands of hair knotted into a tangled mass to create a look of full-on crazy witch, but a happy one. Or, a relieved not-to-be-dead witch, anyway.
That made her laugh. Sticking it to the stuffy Royals made her feel powerful even without the magick she was born into and that made her really, really smile for the first time in a long while.
Charming the Alphas (Hex My Heart, #5) Page 3