“What’s that?” Scott pulled to a stop in front of the large white house that had served as Julia’s family home for the last two hundred and fifty years.
She blinked hard. This was it. The black iron rods encapsulating the grounds, the stone gargoyles and steel dragons that those who didn’t know better assumed to be simple decorations…
But Julia knew better. She had seen those trinkets put to use. Had seen them hurt more than a few people, including one person who meant more to her than she cared to admit at the moment.
She shifted her attention back Scott. “It was nice to see you again,” she said. “Glad you’re doing well.”
“I wouldn’t call it well.” He threw his car into park and turned toward her. “I sort of flaked out after graduation, but I’m in night school now, working toward getting my real estate license.”
Now that she could see his face fully, she did remember him. Not by name, of course. Her sort didn’t socialize with baseline mortals much, not even as children. But she did get a sense that she had seen that face before and, at a time when she was feeling more than a little on edge, it helped calm her somehow.
“We all have different definitions of success,” Julia offered.
“I get that.” His face turned toward the huge house she grew up in, eyes going wide.
Julia smiled softly. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I’d love to test that theory,” he said in the same voice everyone did when they saw this house but didn’t see the price you had to pay to live in it. “You know,” he said with a chuckle, “when we were kids, the guys on my street thought this place was haunted. They thought you guys were witches or something.”
“Imagine that.” She smirked, refusing to meet his gaze. “Well, I should—” The breath caught in her throat when she saw it. Faint red spots dotted underneath Scott’s right eye.
Blood vessels that had burst.
She shook my head, sighing loudly. They could have been nothing. They could have been just a result of a few late nights or a few drunken benders. Lord knows she wouldn’t have looked at them twice back in Iowa. But Julia wasn’t in Iowa anymore. She was back home. In Savannah. Back home with her family.
Back home with her coven.
“Really, Mother?” Julia said, sitting back and folding her arms over her chest. “You don’t trust me enough to let me take an Uber back from the airport?”
“What?” Scott grinned nervously. “I don’t think I understand.”
“I’m warning you, Mother. I will tell him.”
“Tell me what?” Scott asked.
When still Julia didn’t get the response she was looking for, she said, “Those blotches under your eyes are physical symptoms of a spell.”
“What’s that now?” He tilted his head to the side, probably thinking that she had lost her mind. But the other presence in Scott’s body knew better.
“A spell. As in magic—particularly witchcraft.” She rolled her eyes, growing more and more agitated by the moment that her mother was holding out from revealing herself. “You weren’t wrong about my family, Scott. You were just in the wrong place.”
“Ummm… Are you all right?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I mean, I’d heard you had lost your mind or something, but I figured that was a rumor.”
Julia winced. That hurt more than a little. She had hoped she’d been gone long enough that her little ‘incident’ might have been forgotten. Apparently, she’d been wrong.
It hadn’t been her, though. Not really. But there was little need in explaining that to a mortal like Scott. He wouldn’t have believed what she was, let alone the reasons she left. No one could.
Julia pushed the emotions down and gave Scott a stony stare. “Be that as it may, you’re not exactly learned in this particular area.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Consider us on opposite sides of the frog again, Scott. And you have no idea what you’re about to find.” She leaned forward. “This particular spell you find yourself under has the curious effect of letting another person—a witch or a warlock—see through your eyes. It’s why you’re starting to blotch up under there. From all the pressure. Now, if the witch that spelled you also opted to use mandrake root—and since it’s my mother, I’m fairly certain she did—it would also give her added ability of taking control of your body for a brief time. So, you’ll have to forgive me when I look you in the eyes and say, woman up and talk to me, you bitch!”
The color and expression drained from Scott’s face and was then instantly replaced with the self-aware aloofness that was her mother’s signature expression.
“Oh dear, really now,” Mother said through Scott’s lips, forcing his voice up into an uncomfortable falsetto. “Must you be so dramatic?”
“I don’t know, Mother. It depends. Must you be such a stalker?” Julia shot back. “I guess we’re both going overboard today.”
She rolled Scott’s eyes and put on her best guilt face, which didn’t work as well in this particular visage. “Forgive me if I wanted to look after my daughter. You do know it’s been well over a year since I’ve laid eyes on you. Did you ever think I just wanted to see you sooner?”
Julia opened the door and stepped out. “There’s a thought…”
Scott’s body moved to follow her. “Believe it or not, I’m happy to see you,” Mother said, sticking Scott’s hip out in a way Julia was sure he never would have himself. “This place just hasn’t been the same without you.”
“And I haven’t been the same without it,” Julia answered. “Though I think that was the point.”
“You had a weak moment.” Mother scoffed. “Let’s not make more of it than it is. The important thing is that you’re back now. And not a moment too soon. I assume you heard about what happened?”
“Why else would I be here?” she asked, turning to face the house. “Now get out of that poor man’s head, Mother. You’ve put him through enough.”
“Enough is what you’ve put me through.” She huffed. “Imagine what I thought, finding you up and gone in the dead of night like that. And what I had to tell my friends. Why, they were looking at me with actual pity in their eyes. It was revolting.”
“I’m sorry my breakdown was so hard on you, Mother,” Julia answered. “I’m sure you’ll find a way for me to make it up to you. Now will you please vacate that man, or do I have to get the hose?”
“Fine.” She huffed. “I’ll see you inside. Don’t doddle.”
After a moment, Julia turned back to Scott. His expression had returned to normal, except for that whole mouth-twisted-into-terror look people get about them after coming out of a spell like this.
“Wh-what on earth just happened?” he asked.
“Nothing you’ll remember,” Julia answered, sticking out her hand. “Do you have any gum?”
“Gum? I just got possessed and you’re asking for gum?!”
“Keep your voice down. It was barely an inhabitation.” She stuck my hand in his jacket pocket and fished around until she found a pack of gum. Pulling it out, she read the list of ingredients.
“Real cinnamon,” she read. “Fantastic.”
Scott stumbled backward. “Get away from me!”
“I will in just a minute,” Julia said, plucking out a piece of gum, wadding it up in her left hand, and blowing on it.
She murmured under her breath, “Forget,” and just like that, the horrible memories that would have no doubt kept Scott up at night vanished forever from his mind. His body relaxed. His face reverted to a polite smile. If only magic were always so easy.
“Well it was really nice to see you,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets.
“You too, Scott,” Julia said, pulling some crumpled bills from her pocket and handing them to him. “And keep the change. You’ve more than earned it.”
His face lit up freely. “Thanks so much! And have a great night, Julia. I’m sure you’re happy to b
e home.”
“Something like that,” she said, grabbing her bag.
Walking through the gate, she tried to keep my wits about her. This place could play tricks on you if you let it. God knows she learned that the hard way.
As she neared the house, the door—the one with the crescent marking—opened slowly, beckoning her back to it after all this time.
“Lamb to the slaughter,” she said, swallowing hard.
And then she did the only thing I could do. She went home.
The steps lay at her feet as she paused at the front door. Would this ever feel like home again? Would she ever feel like herself again?
Julia smelled the roses even before she heard her voice, which should have been a dead giveaway. Whether it was by power or preference, Cassandra always smelled like roses.
“There she is,” Julia said.
“My favorite cousin in the world,” she replied, a smile in her voice.
Julia turned to her, relaxing as her eyes fell on Cass’s brown curls and easy smile. She had always been Julia’s favorite person here, and the only she’d ever dared tell about what happened last year.
About Roman.
“It’s not like the competition is very stiff,” Julia said, walking over and scooping into a hug the only person she had really missed.
“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.
2
Roman
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 if he was begging Roman to take his money. And sure enough, Romance was about to oblige him.
“As always, first spark wins. Start on my count,” Benji said, standing between Roman and the foolish boy with hir 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 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’s not every day that the son and heir apparent of one of the city’s most prolific witch families shows 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 I 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 die 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 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.”
Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection Page 2