Witch Fury

by Bast, Anya

“How’d you get past the warding on my apartment, anyway?”

  “I created them, Sarafina, that means I can break them.”

  Of course. Duh. She mentally slapped her forehead. “So you were watching my place? Sitting out there on the street, monitoring me?”

  “Yeah.”

  That was a little creepy. “So, I guess you still think I’m a bad guy.”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. “No. Not after tonight. I was watching you to see if—”

  She nodded, anger prickling through her. “You were using me as bait, weren’t you? To see if Stefan showed up again.”

  “Yeah, there was that,” he answered with a one-shouldered shrug. “But it was also to make sure you stayed safe. Scout’s honor.”

  Her lips twisted. “Somehow I can’t see you as a Boy Scout, Theo.”

  “Got me there. I never was.”

  “I don’t want to even know what my apartment looks like after that battle. Is my landlord going to sue me for damages to his property?”

  Theo shook his head. “It’s taken care of. I used earth magick to clean it all up. Almost looks good as new. It’s a little messy, but there’s nothing your landlord will sue you over. I even put up a sound barrier around the place so you won’t get any complaints about the noise.”

  “Wow. Thank you.”

  “It’s standard operating procedure. The Coven doesn’t need non-magickals asking too many questions. We’re better off left to myth and Hollywood where they’re concerned.”

  He winced again as she swiped more disinfectant over a gash.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You know healing is a part of fire magick,” he gritted out. “It hurts a fuck of a lot less than antiseptic.”

  “So I read in the handy-dandy witch handbook. However, I’m not even close to trying that out.”

  “Why not? You’re going to have to learn sometime. Might as well be now.”

  “Are you qualified to teach me this lesson?”

  He grabbed her wrists and she jumped a little, startled. His fingers were warm on her skin and his dark, intense gaze drilled into her. “Just find your seat, be one with it, and it will flow naturally. There’s nothing to it once you find acceptance of your power. Doesn’t matter you’re coming to it late in life.” He forced her seat to warmth, made her feel the pulse of power that dwelt within her.

  Her lips parted a little and her warm breath trickled over him. There was an energy between them. Something hot and fierce. Something that had nothing to do with the way he was currently manipulating her seat.

  Theo felt . . . dangerous to her.

  She suppressed a nervous laugh. “That’s very Zen of you.”

  He shrugged and released her hands. The little pulse of magick between her breasts died. “Everyone’s always training, teaching. It’s not necessary. Those skills are already a part of you. Natural. Organic. All you have to do is tap them.”

  “What if I burn the hell out of you in the meantime?”

  His full lips twisted. “You think my body can’t take a few more scars?”

  “I actually didn’t mean that wimp comment. I think you can take anything.”

  “Enough.” He grabbed her hand and placed it over one of the gashes on his chest. She fought the urge to euuuw out loud. “Now close your eyes, tap your seat, and concentrate on healing.”

  “Okay.” She did as he asked.

  It was the same thing they’d shown her how to do at the farmhouse during those first terrifying twenty-four hours. She took some deep, even breaths and concentrated on the space between her breasts. The area warmed a little and began to tingle once she’d located it. The warmth spread down her arms, jumped between her fingers with little electric shots that she concentrated on keeping from Theo’s skin.

  He was right. She could do this; it was a part of her. This was her, the part of her that had always been missing up until now. Now she was whole and it felt good.

  The tingling warmth down her arms and jumping between her fingers gradually relaxed into a manageable heat, something that almost felt moldable. Instinctively, she directed it at the gash her palm covered.

  Theo flinched and she pulled back a little, allowing him to once again settle against her hand. This time she regulated the heat better, concentrating on making magickal tendrils of a therapeutic nature, instead of a burning one. She allowed curative waves to sink into the injured flesh of his wound, promoting healing and knitting it back together.

  Under her fingers the wound shifted and smoothed, the edges of the gashes coming together. The heat coming down her arm eased and she sensed she’d given all she could give.

  Only by that time she was long gone, lost in the concentration it took to maintain the heat. Her breathing came deep and steady, keeping time with her heartbeat. She was slipping farther and farther away . . .

  Theo took her hand in his, his thumb rubbing the underside of her wrist. Her eyes came open slowly; they’d rolled all the way back in her head like she was in meditation. She focused on his face.

  Theo continued to hold her hand and now her gaze, too. He had really beautiful eyes, a rich dark brown like the most sinful chocolate. The slow stroke of his thumb on her sensitive skin made bad things—or good things, depending on one’s perspective—happen lower in her body. She couldn’t bring herself to pull her hand away or to rip her gaze from his.

  He released her hand. “All right?”

  She blinked and came out of her trance like she’d been freed from a witch’s spell . . . funny thought, that. She only nodded in response.

  Theo looked down at his gash. “Incredible. I don’t think it will even leave a scar,” he murmured. “Weren’t we just talking about natural skill? It appears you have a lot in the realm of healing.”

  Sarafina focused on his wound and gasped. His gash was almost completely healed. She jerked her hand away and stepped backward. “I did that? Fire magick can do that?”

  Theo studied the pinkish mark. “I’ll be honest, that’s a little beyond the ordinary scope. How do you feel?”

  “Drained.”

  He grunted. “You expended a lot of power to accomplish this.”

  “What else can fire magick do?”

  “All witches have their specialties. You’ll have to find yours.”

  “Okay, but what else can fire do?”

  Theo grinned. “Burn things. Explode things. It’s a great weapon.” He paused. “But I think maybe we just found out why you’re special, Sarafina.”

  HOW TO CONTROL THE ATRIKA. NOW, THAT WAS A DILEMMA.

  Stefan had thought that holding the thing they wanted most over their heads would compel their obedience. And, for the most part, the leverage he possessed had been effective.

  For the most part.

  Ironically, the Atrika couldn’t control their emotions very well . . . or their libidos, it seemed. One would think such a killing machine would have no emotions, or their emotions would run icy and remorseless. Yet the heart of an Atrika beat wild and fierce, their emotions hot and strong. In a way they were like children, acting always from the id.

  It made it damn hard to control them and Stefan had been working too long and come too far to allow Bai’s dick to screw it up.

  “What should we do with the recalcitrant demon, sir?” asked David, a lanky water warlock. He looked so innocent, David did, so . . . geeky. Yet David would slit your throat for a twenty-dollar bill. Stefan loved that about him.

  David had been on his father’s staff. He’d been there the day William Crane had been pushed out the forty-story window of Duskoff International in New York City by Mira Hoskins, that little bitch of an air witch. He’d also been there when Isabelle Novak had caught Stefan by the balls—literally—a couple years ago. Both times David had escaped. He had a knack for survival, just like Stefan did.

  “What to do with a recalcitrant demon? Oui, a question for the ages.” Stefan sighed and drummed his fingers on the boardroom table of Duskoff I
nternational and stared out the window where his father had fallen to his death. Just being in this room made rage boil the seat of his magick, made it shoot through his limbs like he was about to explode.

  It made Stefan feel very motivated.

  Thomas Monahan and his organization of weak do gooders had killed his father. He’d told them he’d make them pay and he would.

  “Didn’t Boyle give you any tips for how to control an Atrika?”

  “Boyle told me many things, but how to bring an Atrika to heel was not among them. That daaeman was loyal to his people.”

  “Of course, sir, silly of me to think he would reveal such secrets.”

  “Oui. How is the air witch?”

  “Weak. She is depressingly fragile.”

  “We’re done with her. If you can’t break her to our cause, kill her.”

  “We cannot bring her to the Duskoff, sir. It seems she’s too cemented in her former life and lacks our aspirations.” David rolled his eyes. “She’s constantly crying for her husband and child. It’s annoying.”

  Stefan waved a hand. “Then do with her as you wish and dump the body when you’re done. We don’t need her anymore.”

  “Yes, sir.” David turned to leave.

  “And send Bai to me. All I can do is try and reason with him. He’s already tipped our hand.”

  “Right away.”

  It took Bai a long time to answer his summons. Long enough for Stefan to down two glasses of Scotch and become even more agitated. However, even though he had leverage over the demon, Stefan wasn’t dumb. You didn’t push an Atrika and expect to keep your head, leverage or not.

  The demon entered and Stefan studied him for a moment over the rim of his glass. All the daaeman, regardless of breed, were tall and muscular. Physically intimidating. All of them—all that he’d seen, at least—were also good-looking in human terms. The Atrika were especially beautiful. Chiseled features, handsome faces. He’d never seen a female demon, but reportedly they were also attractive.

  Stefan supposed their good looks had helped to lure women—and men—way back in ancient times to mate with them. It was a sort of weapon, built into their DNA. Perhaps he should be grateful, since it was those couplings, with a little magickal help, that had produced elemental witches. It was the daaeman from which all witches sprang.

  Those randy daaeman.

  “I don’t enjoy answering when you call,” Bai said, first thing. His voice was thick with the sharp, blunt syllables of the accent common to the demons. “Like a common mongrel.” Bai was one of the few who spoke English well. That was why Stefan put up with him and all his demands.

  Stefan’s hand tightened on his glass and he forced himself to release his grip. “Et merde. J’en ai assez,” he murmured to himself. “I’m sorry, my lord demon, but we need to have a conversation about your rash interaction with the woman, Sarafina Connell.”

  Bai’s face relaxed a degree, his jaw unlocking and his thick lips parting a little. “Sarafina? What of her?”

  “The agreement was that you could have her after you finished your task. You have not yet finished your task, therefore you cannot have her yet. Do you not recall the agreement, or is there some reason you cannot comprehend it?”

  Bai shifted and his eyes flashed red. Most demon’s eyes only went red when they were about to go on a killing rampage. Bai’s eyes went red whenever his emotions got the better of him and that seemed most of the time. Bai was an especially dangerous demon. “That was the agreement before you lost her.”

  “I didn’t lose her.”

  “You miscalculated the factors related to her induction.”

  “No, I was perfectly correct to assume her history would make her a good candidate for us. Without the meddling of the Coven and with a little more time, I feel sure I could’ve won her to our cause.” His jaw locked as he thought of the raid on the farmhouse. “But I know exactly where she is and when this is all over, she will be yours. Until then, no contact.”

  “Do not give me orders.” Bai’s eyes flashed red again and Stefan’s breath choked in his throat for a moment.

  For a moment he almost took a step back, away from the demon who had been denied his candy, but retreating would make him appear weak. And that would be suicide.

  Bai bared his teeth, now pointy and sharp, a mouth full of fangs. “You are making an error. I care not for anything but Sarafina. She is mine whenever I decide to take her.”

  He jumped from the room—in that eerie way they had of bending space to travel between two points—and Stefan was alone.

  EIGHT

  “SO THAT’S TWICE NOW THE DEMON HAS VISITED you.”

  Theo watched Sarafina shift uncomfortably under Thomas’s gaze. She was flanked by Claire and Isabelle. Mira stood nearby. The three had immediately taken her under their wings.

  “Yes,” she answered. “The first time was like he was simply watching me. Watching me sleep. The second time he was knocking around in my apartment like he owned the place.” She shuddered and her voice hardened. “Then I hit him with the baseball bat.”

  Thomas averted his gaze and looked out the library window for a moment before speaking. “Since Stefan just brushed off the incident at the farmhouse, we’re going to assume that he’s found a way to ally with one or more Atrika.”

  “Bai is obviously pretty cozy with Stefan,” Sarafina answered. “Had the run of the house, apparently.”

  “My point exactly.”

  Micah sat in one of the leather chairs near Thomas’s desk. He shook his head and frowned. “But that seems totally impossible. The Atrika are unable to open any portals between Eudae and Earth.”

  “It’s my understanding that Rue, the head of the Ytrayi, is the only one with enough power to do that,” Claire broke in. Her lips twisted in an odd smile. “I remember it well.”

  Yes, so did Theo.

  About a year and a half ago, Claire had been trapped on Earth, after having lived her whole life on Eudae. After the Cae of the Ytrayi, Rue, had imbued her with a weapon called the elium, he’d pushed her through a portal and snapped it shut after her when the Atrika—the enemy of the Ytrayi—had stormed their palace. Two Atrika had managed to dive in after her and there had been a life-and-death chase all over the Midwest to avoid them.

  That was how Ingrid and many other witches had been killed. That’s how Theo had ended up with a broken leg. He’d walked with a limp for months.

  “Right,” answered Micah, “and we all know how difficult it is to open a portal from this side because we tried it.”

  “Without using blood magick, you mean,” Theo interrupted. “You don’t think Stefan would sacrifice witches to open a portal?”

  Micah turned and looked at him. “Of course he would, but that spell is complicated. It took Erasmus Boyle years to execute it from this side of the veil.” Micah shook his head. “I just don’t see how it’s possible that Stefan could have forged an alliance with the Atrika.”

  “Maybe,” Mira put in, “we should explain what a portal is. Sarafina looks confused.”

  Sarafina nodded. “That would be nice. It was explained in the book Theo gave me, but I didn’t really understand it.”

  “Who does?” answered Micah. “But here’s what we think. Eudae and Earth are layered on top of each other. The matter of each location vibrates at a different rate, creating a barrier. I call the difference in the vibrational rates the veil. There are ways to alter the vibrational rate in small patches of these tiny strings of energy, equalizing them and making a place in the veil where it’s possible to step through.”

  “So close, yet so far away,” murmured Sarafina.

  “Yes!” Micah’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Once you step through the area of matter that has been equalized, your body changes in structure, mimicking your surroundings and thus allowing you to stay on that side of the veil. For whatever reason, stepping through seems to affect us more coming from Eudae to Earth. It makes you nauseous. And when�
�”

  “Be careful,” Theo drawled. “He’ll talk about this all day if you let him.”

  “I think it’s fascinating.” Sarafina leaned forward a little. “How do you equalize the patches of matter, Micah?”

  “That’s the big mystery. We know how it can be done, we’re just not sure why it happens. Blood magick will do it.” Micah jerked his head toward Claire. “Once upon a time, we were working nonstop on a way to get Claire back from Eudae. Without murdering a bunch of people, it’s nearly impossible.”

  Sarafina looked at Claire, questions clear on her face.

  “It’s a long story,” Claire answered.

  She turned her attention back to Micah. “Performing blood magick means killing people or animals?”

  “Witches. Specifically, witches of certain elements and levels of power. They must be killed in certain places and at certain times in order to open a portal.”

  “Yuck.”

  “Vast understatement.”

  “Okay, I have a question,” Isabelle broke in. “When Boyle broke Stefan out of Gribben, we all thought Boyle had killed him, right? Then Stefan called me later to taunt me about his continued well-being. When I asked him why Boyle hadn’t killed him, he told me other arrangements had been made. I know we’ve speculated at length that Stefan somehow made a deal with Boyle—”

  “But any deal would have been rendered non-executable with Boyle’s death on Eudae,” answered Thomas.

  Isabelle stabbed her finger in the air. “On Eudae. Those are the key words. Yes, perhaps Boyle’s death was unexpected and threw a kink in the original deal Stefan made with Boyle. But let’s say, hypothetically, that Boyle had a backup plan and planted something on Eudae that would help . . . I don’t know . . . open a doorway or leave some way for the Duskoff to make some kind of a deal with the Atrika.”

  Micah shot out of his chair and began to pace.

  “Micah?” Thomas asked. “Could she be on to something?”

  Micah stopped in the middle of the room and rubbed his chin. “It’s a possibility, but there are lots of questions.”

  Theo shifted his weight and uncrossed his arms. “The primary question must be why Boyle would help Stefan and what possible reason the Atrika would have to agree to ally with the Duskoff. Their goals are not the same. The Atrika want Eudae and the Duskoff want more control on Earth.”