Enspelled

by Samantha Stone

  Time could never be reversed and someone had pressed the fast-forward button on Briony’s clock, whisking the rest of her life away.

  “I’m just happy you care about me.” Briony kissed a freckle on the shell of his ear and laughed when his hair refused to flatten down despite her attempts to brush it with her fingers.

  She had no intention of telling him his hopes were in vain. There was never any reason to take hope away, even though bad things did happen. Not everyone lives happily ever after, but almost everyone has bits of happiness in their lives.

  This is what living is for. This time she tugged Sebastian’s head down to hers, claiming his lips in another kiss. She’d lived a beautiful, magic-filled life.

  Briony was lucky to spend her last days with this man.

  “Can I stay here until…” She trailed off, unwilling to upset Sebastian further by finishing her question. He knew what she meant. His eyes grew cold, his hand clenching tightly at her waist.

  “Of course you can,” he snapped. His gaze became impossibly more intense, the pure blue of his eyes brightening. “How long do you have?”

  “A little less than two weeks, give or take a day or so.” She didn’t know whether Radburn’s power had increased over the years of their separation. If it had, it would limit her time even further.

  I should have kept tabs on him. He was her only enemy, unless you considered the owner of that Goth club where she’d painted one of her flowers. That man hadn’t appreciated her addition of color.

  She’d been told it was wise to keep your enemies close but did the absolute opposite with Radburn, preferring not to know the murders he’d committed, people whose lives she’d feel responsible for because of her inability to save them. It was cowardly, avoiding him like she had, yet she’d reflexively turn in the opposite direction if he came her way. The evil, the wrongness in him, made her want to shield her eyes and run.

  Sebastian’s feather-light touch to her hands jarred her from her thoughts. He ran his thumb along the fine line stretching from her pointer finger to where it disappeared into her perfectly youthful wrist. It was faint even as it became subtly more visible by the second. The line hadn’t been there yesterday.

  Last night, she’d counted every mark on her hands. This morning she’d lost count.

  When Sebastian brushed his lips over the line she couldn’t help but wonder, shivering, whether he could be right. Could the impossible happen, and her immortality be given back to her?

  Miracles happened, after all. The man of her dreams was touching her, making her feel more safe and cared-for than she’d ever felt in a life full of warmth and shelter.

  More than that, for the first time she could feel a man’s touch in her heart, a ripple effect that deliciously shook every part of her.

  No, she couldn’t take away his hope because she wouldn’t take away her own. There was an air about Sebastian that made anything seem possible, and she was beginning to believe it, to believe him.

  Chapter 8

  “HOW are you?” Leila asked Birgit, marveling at how strange her wobbly voice sounded to her damaged ears. It was lower than she’d expected it to be and husky from disuse. To her relief, she didn’t have speech traits common to those in the deaf community who chose to speak, which generally constituted a high, nasally voice.

  She hadn’t spoken a word to anyone but Birgit, terrified her voice would hurt them. It had made Birgit’s nose bleed two weeks in a row, yet this week and the previous week she’d caused no physical symptoms in her mentor.

  Even so, she was too cautious to risk her friends and family, especially Alexandre. He’d cut off his own hands before hurting her, and she was determined to treat him the same way, even if that meant taking out her own vocal folds, the place in her throat that made banshees like her so dangerous to all creatures.

  “Good,” Birgit murmured distractedly, her eyes fixed somewhere over Leila’s left shoulder.

  Suddenly the older woman’s arm jerked and sharp pain bloomed in Leila’s hand.

  Leila couldn’t stop the sound; she cried out in pain even as she reminded herself, Birgit isn’t an enemy. I’m not threatened, though my heart’s racing and that really, really hurts.

  Birgit had stabbed her through the hand. Leila didn’t dare move, knowing the blade had sunk through sinew and bone, into the now-bloodstained wooden table.

  Tears blinked into her eyes, but Leila was more interested in Birgit’s pain than her own. That outburst could have easily killed the woman, and Birgit knew it.

  No blood marred the other banshee’s face. Her eyes were clear of burst blood vessels. I didn’t hurt her.

  That meant she wouldn’t hurt Alexandre if she accidentally vocalized pleasure. She smiled, elated.

  Finally, she could become more intimate with her beloved boyfriend. She’d been with him for seven months and never once had he complained about her lack of giving or receiving one single kiss on the mouth.

  She hadn’t been willing to risk his safety, even if that meant she couldn’t allow herself to do the only thing she’d dreamed of night and day since the moment she’d met him: to hold him as tightly as she could, sinking them so close together she could practically crawl into his warm, honey-colored skin.

  No man was as patient and loving as Alexandre. He deserved so much more, and she could finally give it to him. It would take time and even more patience from the man she loved, but now they finally had a chance at a future.

  Her smile grew when someone hit the door with a loud smack.

  “Open this door or I’ll take it down,” Alexandre warned in a low, uncharacteristic growl.

  He almost always had a smile on his face, but was fiercely protective when it came to his pack and Leila.

  “I’m coming!” Birgit shouted when an eerie quiet followed Alexandre’s declaration. He really would have knocked down the door for her. The notion warmed Leila’s heart.

  When Birgit unlocked and opened the door, Alexandre moved past her so fast it sent her small blonde braids flying behind her back.

  “What the hell did you do to her?” His tone was low, dangerous, but his touch on Leila’s shoulder was gentle. He moved a hand to her injured one, pressing down gently as he swiftly lifted the knife, freeing her.

  Her hand throbbed, but she tried to sign as best she could with one hand. It’s okay; it had to be done, she signed sloppily while he bound her cut with a clean rag he plucked from the kitchen counter.

  He looked up at her, his eyes flashing. “Hurting yourself had to be done? That’s bullshit.” He turned to Birgit, his teeth bared. “Was this your idea? She trusted you.”

  “And I haven’t broken that trust.” Birgit wasn’t a petite woman, standing a few inches taller than Leila with a build no one would consider delicate. Next to Alexandre, however, she looked almost childish.

  He towered over her and despite the rod-straight set of her spine, the two looked like angry, mismatched cartoon characters.

  Still, Birgit didn’t back down. “Speech isn’t always controlled. Gasps of pleasure or pain, screams and grunts can be reflexes we’re wired to produce whether we want to or not. Wouldn’t you rather Leila have the ability to keep these sounds that she will make from hurting others? Or do you want her on her guard, terrified she’ll kill someone, for the rest of her life?”

  Alexandre shook his head. “Of course I don’t want that for her.”

  Birgit crossed her arms, seeming satisfied with his answer. “Then don’t accuse me of hurting her for no reason. She needed to know what she’d produce when I stabbed her.”

  I didn’t harm her. I controlled my voice.

  Alexandre looked far from happy, but his eyes warmed and a proud smile broke across his face. “See, you’re never going to hurt anyone.”

  He pulled her into a tight hug. For once, Leila didn’t stop herself from falling into it. I can do this. She just let him hold her, trying her best to tell h
im how much she loved him with her touch.

  This man meant everything to her.

  I’m so damn lucky, she signed. Alexandre laughed, brushing a light kiss to the top of her head.

  Thank you, she told Birgit with a smile. I think we’re going to head out. Same time next week?

  At Birgit’s nod, Alexandre steered them to the door he almost brought down, his hand unmoving at her waist.

  As they walked out to Alexandre’s car, black specs flew through the air, lifting from a pile where Leila could have sworn a large potted plant had been when she’d entered Birgit’s apartment earlier.

  Mentally shrugging of the puzzling sight, she put her head on Alexandre’s shoulder while he called Aiyanna, asking her to meet them at Wish’s house to heal Leila’s hand. The pain had already waned significantly and the bleeding all but stopped, a side effect of her immortality. It was a clean cut; Aiyanna wouldn’t have to exert herself to heal it completely, something the healer did often when she helped the pack.

  In the car, she picked up the invitation to the Bachelor’s Ball, where a group of women her age would make their debuts tomorrow night. Better than that, Alexandre said it would be a great party. “This is the first year I’ve brought a date,” he’d told her.

  What did you do every other year, then? she’d signed back curiously.

  A familiar, mischievous expression crossed his face. “I stole someone else’s date once I got there.” His eyes had softened then. He’d raised his hand to touch her cheek. “Those women were stunning, but here you are, making the most beautiful women in the city look average. I didn’t feel a fraction for them as I do about you.

  “I love you, Leila.”

  She closed her eyes, love for him rushing within her so intensely she almost thought she was going mad.

  Tomorrow night she’d kiss him for the first time. She’d physically show him her love after all the times she knew he’d so desperately wanted her to but hidden his need to spare her feelings.

  He’s going to be so happy. Finally, she could give him something. She’d been so busy with school and her work with Birgit that she hadn’t yet returned the kind gestures he constantly did for her, like dropping off lunch at Tulane’s dance building on the day she forgot to bring it.

  But she could touch him now, and in a matter of months she’ll graduate, freeing up some time to just enjoy Alexandre.

  Someday they’d be mated like Mary and Raphael. It would take time, but tomorrow could only be a step in the right direction.

  I can’t wait.

  * * * *

  Aloysius Southerland threw his giggling daughter in the air as joy flooded him. Two opened letters sat inconspicuously on his kitchen table, bits of paper no one would guess had not only changed his life, but someone else’s too.

  The first letter included a list of courses Mary Newman Saar, Raphael’s new wife and mate would have to complete in the coming semester in order to graduate with her sister in May. Attached was a graduation request approval signed by the dean of the Arts College, which included a note that portrayed how taken he’d been by her paintings. She had no idea Raphael had been sending Wish pictures of them for months, slowly building her portfolio.

  Mary had attended Louisiana State University until March of her senior year, when she’d discovered her parents had been brutally murdered in their home. She dropped out of school to take care of her almost eighteen-year-old sister, throwing away her vision of becoming an artist in order to support her sister’s dreams of being the next great principle ballerina.

  Wish couldn’t let the years Mary worked so hard in school go to waste because of barely two months of missed work. The administration of Tulane University agreed, especially once they saw the art Mary was capable of producing. Even without the degree she wanted, she was becoming renowned as the artist behind the new Full Moon labels, boxes and posters.

  “You’re so happy, Daddy,” Molly, Wish’s daughter observed curiously. The child was wise beyond her years, picking up on subtleties Wish would have never anticipated a four-year-old to discover, like the expectation for her to be quiet in Octavia books, her favorite bookstore. She even shushed someone, her expression quite serious, last week when a teenager came in, laughing and shouting about how terrible a book was.

  Wish had wanted to tell him of course he wouldn’t like a memoir about a seventy-five-year-old woman in the twilight of her life, but Molly had beaten him to the point, embarrassing the boy enough that he left, his ears turning very red.

  “I am.” Wish settled her next to him on his couch. “I received two letters that made me really happy.”

  Instantly finding the letters in question, Molly rushed to pick one up and bring it back to Wish.

  “What’s that word?” Wish asked, pointing to the large-print letterhead at the top of the page. Molly had what and who questions down pat, but if he asked her a question beginning with when, she’d hold up a small hand and say, “Five,” every time.

  Even the times he asked her when she went to sleep, or when she ate lunch.

  “Tulane University,” Molly answered confidently. “That’s Tulane green.”

  “Very good.” Wish squeezed her slight shoulders in a hug. She was beginning to read in truth, rather than just pointing at pictures and making up a story for herself. Of course, her ability to tell stories was also a skill.

  He was so damn proud of her.

  Wish read the letter to her slowly, following along the small text with his finger in case she could make out the letters.

  “What does tenure mean?”

  Grinning, he said, “It means Tulane wants me to stay a professor there forever. We won’t have to move to another school.”

  Molly scrunched up her nose. “Another school like Alabama? They’re not green.”

  Laughing, Wish nodded. “Exactly. We’re going to stay right here.”

  Before he could have blinked she had out a picture book about a librarian who was also a dragon, her small finger pointing to everything that was green.

  Everything was going well for him and Molly. She would begin a private elementary school the next year, and he wouldn’t have the notion of uprooting her scratching the back of his mind.

  In fact, he was almost certain he was the first dead man to ever receive tenure at a major university. Then again, his department had no idea he’d died after only a year working there, murdered by Molly’s stepfather.

  He was a haint, a relentless spirit determined to stay on Earth, and powerful enough to have solid form. No longer was Wish the nerd who’d edge away from a fight, certain he would lose.

  Some days he wondered who would win in a fight, him or the werewolves he’d become so fond of. He considered asking Cael to become his exercise partner in the coming months—Wish was full of raw energy but knew almost nothing about the correct way to throw a punch.

  Cael had the opposite dilemma. His powers had been taken away, so he relied on brute strength and precise form in order to beat his opponents.

  The werewolves had no shortage of enemies.

  By no means was Wish superstitious. He believed science could provide an explanation to all the seemingly supernatural pieces of his life, like the shapeshifter who sneaked Molly candy every time she visited, and even Leila’s immortality brought upon by her first death at the hands of her parents’ killers. The problem was, the vast majority of scientists were either humans completely ignorant of the creatures that shadowed their lives, or creatures determined to make sure humans never discovered what they were.

  Even so, there was logic behind the madness that made the Fey attuned to all elements and metal, the same “magic” that caused one bite to turn humans into immortals who changed into the forms of rabid wolves during the full moon.

  The same “magic” or science was warning Wish that something was coming…and it wasn’t for him. He was almost certain the werewolves were in for a tragedy so catastroph
ic, it would change everything for them.

  How he wished he could stop it, and he would try, but he already knew there was next to no use.

  The plans were already in place, the damning decisions made. It was a feeling he’d been aware of for over a week, but today it became stronger, a certainty.

  He was about to pick up his phone to call and warn Raphael when he felt another presence in the room. Ghosts. He couldn’t see them clearly, yet the blurs were moving about his kitchen calmly, unlike a crazed spirit would.

  They stopped over the letter regarding Mary.

  The taller ghost seemed to turn. Despite his inability to see the spirit’s eyes, Wish knew it was looking right at him.

  “Thank you,” came the grateful voice of a man before both ghosts disappeared.

  Wish smiled, instantly knowing the identities of the spirits. “You’re welcome, Mr. Newman.”

  Chapter 9

  KATARINA Hval wanted to shrink until she was so small, she could slip through the gaps between particles until she fell into a realm, any realm other than this one.

  There were only so many times she could be made into her float of warlocks’ Class Dunce before wanting to back out of the whole operation.

  I should have left this place before Mildred made a target of me. Inwardly cursing, she looked around surreptitiously. Among warlocks, there were Orwellian thought crimes. Their accompanying punishments would make Big Brother’s hair curl.

  Lucky for her, no one was paying her enough attention to scan her thoughts. Most likely, they couldn’t justify wasting the energy on her small mind.

  “Fledglings!”

  Like the rest of her peers, Katarina’s response wasn’t calculated; it was a reflex created by self-preservation and scars healed so perfectly no one would ever know she rubbed the places sometimes, phantom pain reminding her of brands that hit bone.