by K.N. Lee
"We're not going back there," he told me firmly as he pulled me away from the building. "She's a demon. You shouldn't trust her."
"She helped us once, Vale. She's one of the good guys."
"Only because she feels indebted to you. Once that's satisfied she'll be just another demon, looking to take advantage of the rest of us."
I didn't argue because I couldn't say with certainty that he was wrong. Liliana might look like a woman but she wasn't. It would be dangerous to project my humanity onto her.
"You know where we need to go now, don't you?" I asked him.
He sighed. "You're going to say Orlaton's."
"The kid knows everything about everything. He's our resident brainiac."
"That may be true, but it would be quicker going directly to a witch for help."
"Who?"
He squeezed my hand. "I'm taking you to her right now."
Vale took me to an apartment downtown. But with our bad luck, no one was home. He leaned against the wall beside the door, clearly frustrated. I sympathized. I wouldn’t want to be under someone's hex, either.
"We'll go to Orlaton's," I said gently. "He'll know something that will help."
"And if he doesn't?" Vale's voice was low. Rough. It made me shiver. "What if he can't stop this? What if I end up hurting you?"
"That's completely ludicrous and you know it. You'd sooner chop off your own hand than hit me with it."
"Maybe I wouldn't hit you."
Before I could react, he grabbed me by the upper arms and spun me to push me up against the wall where he'd been leaning. I wasn't afraid. Not of physical violence, anyway. I feared that when he leaned in and brushed his nose along my cheek that this wasn't him, that it was the hex driving his desire.
"Vale," I said, not so much to warn him as to remind him of the hex.
He laced our fingers together and brought our shared grip above my head, pressing them to the wall there. My breath caught when he moved up against me, all heat and hardness.
"Is it wrong that I find you beautiful?" he murmured as he returned to nuzzling my cheek. "That's not a hex talking; that's me."
"How can you be sure?" I asked, slightly breathless as he pressed a soft kiss to the tender skin covering my throat.
"I just know, Moody."
I tried to resist, I really did. Vale was compromised and I didn't want to add to his angst by giving in to advances that might have been driven by the hex. But the reason he was my boyfriend was because we had a connection. I felt that connection now, deeply. It was chemistry that made me drunk and prevented me from thinking clearly. His warm lips moving down my neck, his tongue slide along my collarbones…these things made me weak.
"Moody," he groaned, and it was a groan of sex, the sound bringing a flush of heat to my cheeks and turning my legs to rubber. I wrapped my thigh around his hips and then shuddered when he rolled his pelvis against me, slowly but firmly, making sure I felt every excited inch of him. The nerve endings in my body burst to life, singing with electric pleasure.
"We can't," I gasped, even as I turned my face to try to capture his mouth.
He rose up to meet my lips but tortured me by avoiding a full kiss, only brushing our mouths together. The tip of his tongue slipped out to tickle my upper lip but darted away before I could open to it.
"I want you, Moody," he rasped. He pressed me harder to the wall. It was what I wanted: him on me, over me, inside me.
"We can't," I repeated, hating the words but they had to be said. We were on some witch's porch…
"We can."
He released one of my hands only to press it wrist to wrist with my other hand so he could pin them both with one of his. Then, he reached between us and began opening my jeans.
The first pinprick of unease pierced me then, the pain growing sharper as he pulled the zipper down. "Vale, no. I'm serious."
He kissed me, muffling further protests, as he began tugging at my jeans, trying to get them down over my hips. I clutched him tighter against me with my leg, making it impossible to lower my jeans any further. But he only growled against my mouth, grabbed my leg beneath the knee, and roughly shoved it down.
It was then that I knew.
I’m sorry, I thought at him. My heart seized with regret but I had no other choice. Lucky burst into life behind Vale's shoulders. My dragon was small, maybe ten feet in length and barely glowing. Using him in public like this was dangerous and it made me nervous.
What made me even more nervous was directing Lucky to coil around Vale's chest and yank him away from me. Vale let out a grunt of shock as he was dragged backward, wrapped up by Lucky's muscled, serpentine body.
I hastily refastened my jeans. "Vale, I'm sorry, but you lost control."
"Dammit, I didn't!"
His vehement denial caught me aback. Vale only did vehement when he was fighting demons and evil beings. With me he was unfailingly mellow and kind.
"Vale," I said carefully, watching as his handsome face twisted with anger as he tried in vain to free himself from Lucky's anaconda-like grip, "it's the hex. It's not you. We need to get you help."
"The only one who needs help is you," he snarled.
He transformed instantly into his gargoyle form. Lucky's body clinched around Vale's empty clothes as the gargoyle shot up into the air, driven by its bat-like wings.
"Vale!" I yelled in panic.
But his gargoyle wasn't leaving me. It turned in mid-air and then dive-bombed me with its fangs bared in a snarl.
I yelped and threw my hands over my head but Lucky dove between us, knocking Vale's gargoyle off-course so it spiraled through the air to my left. It recovered quickly, spinning to snarl at Lucky before it flew at my dragon with its claws extended.
"Stop it!" I cried as the two creatures clashed. Lucky managed to deflect the gargoyle without injury, but that wouldn't last long. I could feel the lust to fight building within my dragon.
At the sound of my voice, Vale's gargoyle dodged Lucky's sweeping tail and barreled straight toward me again. It was like having a vicious, muscular bald eagle fly at you with its talons open to tear out your guts. I stumbled backward but there was nowhere to go and I was unarmed.
The sensation of moving scales rippled across my bare arms. Heat and congestion built in my chest as though I had a horrible cough that needed expelling. But I was familiar with these sensations and they had nothing to do with illness. My connection to Lucky meant I felt his fury rising. I opened my jaws wide. My dragon did the same. I coughed.
Lucky spewed a streamer of fire.
The moment the flames left his mouth I moaned with regret because I hadn't wanted things to get this far. Vale's gargoyle deftly avoided the fire but Lucky followed him through the sky, jaws widening for another shot.
No! I thought firmly at Lucky. He was somewhat sentient, but he existed because he fed off my life force. I was supposed to be in control of him, though sometimes that didn't seem to be the case.
To my tremendous relief, I had control of him this time. I felt my dragon's disgruntlement as he stopped the pursuit of Vale's gargoyle. Even though I could have used Lucky's help, I didn't trust the situation any longer. I pulled back on my energy, reigning Lucky in. Since he was in a small form, he didn't resist for long. His golden light quickly blinked out of existence.
That left me alone with Vale's gargoyle, and it looked maliciously thrilled at the chance to attack me.
"Remember who you are!" I yelled up at it.
Then I turned and ran.
Chapter 5
My escape wasn't dignified. I crawled over rock gardens, pricked myself with cactus needles, scraped my forearms on a fence I scaled, and tripped and skidded face first across a dirt lot. But I got away, which was all that mattered.
Keeping to the shadows in peoples' yards, I managed to make it back to my neighborhood north of Fremont Street. I didn't head to Moonlight Pawn, though. My destination was directly across the street: the occult bookshop ca
lled Tomes.
While keeping a wary eye over my shoulder, feeling a bit crazed that I was watching out for an attack from my boyfriend, I pressed the doorbell. After a wait that felt more than a little deliberate, the slot in the door slid open, revealing the watery blue eyes of my friend Orlaton.
"What do you want?"
He was seventeen years-old, super intelligent, and completely obnoxious and full of himself. But he possessed an occult library to die for and he knew a hell of a lot about the magickal world.
"I need your help," I told him. "Vale has been hexed."
"You don't have an appointment."
He started to slide the window closed.
"Wait! He's trying to kill me!"
He hesitated for far too long, then eventually heaved a sigh. "Fine."
Once he let me inside, I led him into the gloomy interior where bookcases formed a veritable labyrinth of spooky knowledge.
"I need your help figuring out how to lift this hex," I told him. "If you don't, Vale is going to keep attacking me until he kills me and that would destroy him, too."
"Two birds with one stone?" Orlaton mused, but then offered a faintly apologetic shrug when I glared at him. "Very well. Tell me what you know of this curse, who applied it, how, and when."
I gave him the details, as scant as they were. He didn't look impressed.
"It could be anyone having done anything," he complained in annoyance.
"Well, we know she's a witch. Doesn't that help narrow it down some? Witches use grimoires so there's gotta be a grimoire in here containing a hex that sounds like the one used on Vale. Or is your collection incomplete?" I goaded him, knowing his ego was as large as a gray whale.
"My collection is thorough, Miss Moody," he replied haughtily. He adjusted his bow tie with a snippy little flick of his fingers. "What's not thorough is your information. There is no one-size-fits-all hex. They're modified and personalized for a witch's use. I need more to go on."
Aggravated, I paced a circle. "She was there with two other friends…Her left front tooth was slightly crooked…She wore a swingy metal belt—"
"Describe that belt," Orlaton interrupted me.
I dared to hope. "I didn't get a good look at it. I only noticed it because it was so bright." I closed my eyes and tried to picture it again. "Maybe tassels hung from it? Three of them?"
"Or perhaps three mini thuribles on chains?"
"Three mini whats?"
With a huff, Orlaton strode to a bookcase, plucked a book from the shelf almost without looking at it, and thumbed it open. He held the open pages to me. "A thurible."
"Oh, one of those swinging incense ball-thingys."
He looked pained by my ignorant description. "Is this what you saw on her belt?" he ground out.
"I think so, yeah. But they weren't smoking."
"Not to the naked eye, no. But I can almost guarantee you, Miss Moody, that this witch deliberately surrounded you and Vale with a substance that likely is currently affecting you."
"But what you're saying isn't a spontaneous thing. It would have required planning, the hex ready to go. She would have to have followed us—and made the decision to wear the thuribles…" I trailed off. I smacked my palm against my forehead. "I'm totally going to sue them for libel. Totally." At Orlaton's impatient look, I explained. "The Magickal Meddler accused me of causing an impending apocalypse."
"I wouldn't know. Such trash is beneath me."
"Yeah, it's beneath me, too. Especially since their article has apparently challenged this kooky witch to come after me. She must have seen what they'd written and decided to remove the threat that I present by using Vale as her proxy. That way the crime wouldn't be traced back to her. The hex is targeted at me because I am the danger. It has nothing to do with him. She probably only did that odd vamp routine to throw me off the scent."
Orlaton said nothing, which I took as agreement. I cocked my head at him. "So what about a cure or a reversal?"
"Either would have to be applied by the original witch. Only she knows what went into this hex. As I said, it's custom made for you."
"Great. How the hell am I going to find her, then?"
"Perhaps try a Missed Connections ad?" Orlaton drawled.
He was being a brat, but I snapped my fingers with excitement. "I hate to say it, Orlaton, but you're a genius."
He straightened his bow tie again. "Of course I am."
The office of The Magickal Meddler was in actuality the corner booth at the Downtown Slam Café. And it wasn't even the booth beside the window with a view onto Fremont Street; it was the one near the restrooms.
"Cool digs," I said as I slid onto the duct tape-patched vinyl bench and folded my hands serenely atop the scarred table.
Across from me, a middle-aged man gave me a twitchy look, like he expected me to explode into my dragon form at any minute. As I continued smiling at him, the tip of a horn began to emerge from the center of his forehead.
I waved at it. "Might want to watch that. Ordinary people are in here."
He gasped and slapped his hand over his forehead. When he lifted his hand away a couple of seconds later, the horn was gone and his skin was smooth.
The shapeshifter was as nervous as all get-out, but that worked in my favor so I did nothing to make him feel more at ease. If anything, I sharpened my smile slightly, like I was playing nice, but only barely.
"So you wrote an article about me the other day," I said.
He nodded quickly. "It was an opinion piece. Not necessarily reflecting the opinion of The Magickal Meddler."
"Then whose opinion was it?"
A weighted pause. "The Editor-in-Chief's."
"And who's that?"
The pause that followed my question was heavy enough to bore a hole through the center of the Earth. "That would be me."
I swallowed a laugh as his horn began growing again. "I'm not here to cause any trouble," I began.
"That's good," he said quickly.
"Your paper has a lot of influence. That's good and that's bad."
"We strive only to inform the magickal community of—"
"A load of crap that you make up in order to get more eyes, yeah, I get it." I leaned forward and he flinched back. "This time, you're going to use your garbage paper for the forces of good, not evil."
"We're not—"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You're going to do this thing for me, you got that?"
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. His horn now jutted two inches from his forehead. "Or else what?"
"Or else my dragon eats you."
He released a whimper and his horn shot out like a banana, curving toward the ceiling. I wasn't sure what kind of shapeshifter he was, but that horn was a riot. It was a struggle not to snicker at it.
"We have a deal, Editor-in-Chief?" I prodded.
Sweat trickled down his temple. "We at The Magickal Meddler strive to incorporate input from the members of the community at every opportunity."
I frowned. "Does that mean yes?" I conjured Lucky and had him pop his head up from beneath the table, just your friendly, fire-breathing dragon peek-a-boo.
The editor nearly fainted. "Yes, Miss Moody," he gasped as he gripped the edge of the table with whitened fingers, "that means yes."
"Cool." I sat back. "So how's the chicken fried steak here?"
Sunrise approached.
Vale's gargoyle would be turning into its stone statue form soon. I doubted that it would want to do that at Moonlight where I could lay my hands on it, so I took a ride-sharing service to the Naked City, a super shady neighborhood in the shadow of the Stratosphere.
On the nights when Vale didn't stay with me, he rotated through a few hiding places around the city where he felt safe to leave his vulnerable stone form. A dingy old house with boarded up windows was one of them; no one with any brains would break in expecting something to steal, so it was an ideal hiding spot.
I loitered in the weed-speckled yard until the s
un rose over the mountains, then I used Lucky to unlock the front door and let me in. The place was empty of furniture. It could have been a place for squatters, but so far none had thought to try. I moved to one of the bedrooms and pulled back a corner of the ratty, stained carpet. A stone gargoyle grimaced up at me.
"Hello, there, cutie," I said brightly as I pried the statue out of the hole that Vale had made for himself. After replacing the carpet, I carried the statue out of there and called for a ride home.
Moonlight was typically closed during the day because that was when I slept. I'd learned that people tended to want to hawk things when they were desperate, which usually came in the late hours after they'd blown all their money on blackjack or slots.
I lowered the wards in the yard. I kept the Open sign unlit but unlocked the front door. A customer might drift in, but it was doubtful. If they did, I'd politely send them on their way.
After setting Vale's statue on the counter beside me, I settled in to wait.
First, Melanie called me.
"Oh, my god, Anne, did you see the paper? I'm gonna cry!"
"Hold the waterworks. Just chill for the time being. I'll explain it later."
"Should I come over there? What's going on?"
"I promise I'll tell you," I told her. "Just wait for my call. Don't come down here."
Though I could tell she was chomping at the bit, Melanie agreed to stay away. It was some kind of miracle.
Good thing, too, because my favorite red vamp sauntered in twenty minutes later.
"Oh, hey, what's up," I said casually as she stepped inside. I continued checking Twitter on my phone. What the hell was #MacaroniMakestheBestPets?
"Hello, Anne."
I didn't react to her use of my name even though it was borderline creepy.
She cleared her throat. "It's good to see you again. I forgot to tell you last night how nice your hair looked."
"Uh huh."
Another weird hashtag: #MyFeetTasteLike. Like what? Macaroni?
"I think last night I might have given you the wrong impression," she went on. I still didn't know her name. But at that point, I didn't care to know it. "I think I might have come off slightly…aggressive," she said.