“My family doesn’t have magic?” Heather leaned forward against the pillow in her lap, grateful that apparently Herja’s magical light had taken all of the blood out of her sheets as well.
“No, they do not. Was this not your goal?” Herja’s golden eyes moved between the two of them.
“That’s exactly what I wanted,” Neil answered her, shock tainting his voice.
“Then you would be willing to pay the price for completing this rite?” Herja stared at Neil and Heather’s stomach dropped.
“What—”
“As you pointed out, mortal, the Pritchett family has been providing me men to take to Valhalla for centuries. Before the Pritchett line I, like my sisters, had to wait on battlefields for the cry of a dying warrior, for them to beg for the freedom of death. You chose to take the Pritchetts from me. Therefore, I want you.” Herja’s voice was clear, and it rang in her small bedroom. For once, Neil had the intelligence to show a fear response. He backed up until he bumped into her dresser, his blue eyes jumping around the room.
“Me…” Neil’s voice was quiet, empty of all that bravado, that righteous indignation. His eyes fell on Heather.
“Yes, you, mortal.”
“Wait—” He raised his hand, but Herja snapped her fingers and Neil simply collapsed, a flash of light flying from him to her palm.
“Holy shit!” Heather jumped, clutching the pillow to her chest as she stared down at his crumpled form on the floor. His ribs were still. He wasn’t breathing. She gasped and pushed a hand into her hair. “He’s dead. He’s dead!”
Herja looked at her and Heather panicked. She wanted to run, but it was pointless. “Yes. He is dead, and you are not. Did I heal you appropriately?”
“I’m — uh, fine.” Heather looked back at Neil’s body and tried not to be sick. He’d died anyway. After everything, he’d died anyway. She felt kind of vindicated. He had lied to her. Tied her up. Hurt her. Tortured and raped her, all to summon Herja.
And he had got his wish.
But she had planned on killing him all along. She had gone to that damn speed-dating event to find someone just like him. Her family had killed his best friend, and he had spent years figuring out how to destroy them. And he’d done it, he’d succeeded — and in a way, so had she.
No one’s hands were clean.
Heather made herself speak, “So, we don’t have magic anymore?”
“Oh, every Pritchett that had magic no longer has it.” Herja smiled slightly, sitting on the edge of Heather’s bed, and it was weird. They were not girls at a sleepover. “But you have magic.”
“ME?!” Heather screamed, and Herja’s golden eyes widened. Heather calmed her voice, clutching the pillow tighter to her chest. “Wha— How do I have magic?”
“Your father, of course.” Herja stood up, and Heather’s head spun again. “You did not know that your father was a warlock? How strange your mother did not tell you. Of all the Pritchetts, you alone have always had access to magic, for some reason you just chose not to release it. I assumed that was why you did not call upon me the last time you used my rune.”
Heather shook her head slowly. “That’s not possible, that can’t—”
“Your attempt to complete this rite unlocked your magic. When my power passed through you it freed the locks on it. You are now who you were always meant to be. However, that man’s runes did something to the rite your family has used. My gifts have been stripped from the Pritchetts. Which is not my problem.” Herja walked around her room, the Valkyrie’s huge steps making it a very short journey. She stopped at her bookshelf, glancing over the titles before she sighed. “I am leaving now. There is nothing more for me here.”
“Herja, Ma’am, um, great Herja, what am I supposed to do about him?” Heather pointed at the body on her floor, and then looked back. “And about my family? About me?”
Herja’s golden eyes flicked between the two of them, and she blinked. A wave of her hand and the body disappeared in a flash of light, along with his bag and the knife. “He is not your worry, he is but carrion. Your family is, as he said, what they would have always been without my gifts. And you, Heather Lynn Pritchett — you should live your life. Most mortals do not appreciate just how short it can be.”
Chapter Six
February 20th
A week later and Heather was still going to bed on her couch with a bottle of wine every night. Her world had been turned upside down, there were still some nights she had nightmares that Herja returned, or Neil came back from the dead for further vengeance — but it was always a dream. She always woke up alive and free of marks and physical reminders.
It was always just a fiction created by her guilt-ridden mind.
If she had ever really prayed, she would have prayed for forgiveness. For some kind of absolution for her actions. Some kind of peace that could rid her of the insane guilt that settled in her stomach when she thought of Neil’s still form. But one encounter with an immortal was enough for a lifetime, and Heather wasn’t going to risk praying when someone might actually answer.
Herja’s suggestion to live her life, just before she’d disappeared in a golden flash of light, had seemed a little too much like a fortune cookie — but it was also strangely appropriate. Heather had never really lived her life, always terrified to put the wrong man in the crosshairs of her family, afraid of the person she might become if she did the rite. She wanted to listen, wanted to do it, but it was hard.
The day after Neil’s twisted rite and his death, she had gone to the shop hungover and miserable, only to discover everyone losing their minds. Wendy was drinking potions that had turned to simple teas overnight, testing them without success. Bonnie was pouring some of them across the counter, making a horrible mess as she desperately tried to still the liquid with her mind.
When they finally noticed her all of her cousins grilled her about her rite, asking if she’d discovered any kind of power. She had given them the story she had decided on. Normal rite, rush of power, he’d left in the morning. No, she hadn’t been able to figure out what her power was. A complicated lie, but the only one she could tell. After all, there was no blood, no cuts on her chest, no bruises on her wrists or jaw. No body. Nothing.
No evidence.
Theresa stopped by and spent an hour at the shop trying to boil water with her hands with no success, but when she finally gave up she really didn’t seem that upset. Hers had always been an oddball power, but Tisha, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop throwing tantrums that her powers wouldn’t work. She kept randomly grabbing people, trying to surround them in the twisted illusions she used to create — but nothing worked.
Laura and Jenny, both sisters with similar incredible powers over the mind, simply shrugged it off. Jenny had been avoiding a boyfriend because when you could brainwash someone with a touch it was pretty challenging to know if they actually liked you. Laura actually cried because she couldn’t read anyone’s minds anymore — and that Heather understood. To know exactly what someone thought of you? She’d always pitied the girl who spent ninety percent of her time alone.
Katy called Carol the next day, enraged that she wasn’t able to move things with her mind, desperate for help from the older witch — but Carol couldn’t do a thing either. As soon as she’d heard the confirmation she had supposedly screamed and hung up. Aunt Carol had started researching solutions, spells, and Heather felt like she was in a daze as she watched her family scramble to hang on to their gifts.
Over the next week there were phone calls, urgent text messages, and panicked questions from across the country — it was insanity. There were family members kicked out of their houses as supposed boyfriends or husbands awoke from spells, others arrested for theft, fired on grounds of sexual harassment or embezzling. All of them demanding help, support, because they only saw the loss of power, their pending weakness. None of them saw their own guilt, their own crimes, for what they were.
There were some relieved calls, Pri
tchetts from around the globe trying to reach Marguerite to confirm they were free of whatever curse the rite had laid upon them — but that was so small in comparison. Because in all the drama and panic, two really amazing things happened.
Two impossibly wonderful, impossibly perfect things.
First, Marguerite had been in the middle of using her ability to phase through walls, to effectively disappear, when the rite inverted. She had used her power for years to steal items of artwork that she would sell in private auctions, like the illegitimate and evil businesswoman she was. When she lost her power she had been inside a private vault, sitting next to a very convincing forgery, on the wrong side of a very large metal door. The police had her now. They were confused beyond belief, investigating her, investigating her company, and since she was in jail she was not able to do anything to the family. Or, more importantly, Heather.
Then, Heather had gone to see her mom for their dinner date. She had an idea of what she’d find but she needed to see the proof of it herself. And for the first time in Heather’s entire life, Patrice Pritchett was totally awake. When Heather arrived she was standing in the middle of the front yard with Michael, laughing, jumping up and down, and telling her that the earth was quiet. Finally quiet. Michael had spun her around before crushing her in a hug as they’d kissed. Heather stood on the sidewalk, watching with tears in her eyes, before they eventually went inside.
They’d had dinner together, and Patrice had called it a miracle. A gift. And she said over and over how happy she was that Heather hadn’t gone through with the rite, that she wasn’t cursed with magic.
Heather chose to keep her mouth shut.
After things had started to settle down, the phone calls spacing out, the urgent panic fizzling, Heather knew she needed to live. She knew where she wanted to be, knew what she wanted more than anything. It had just taken her a couple of weeks to get around to it, to get the courage to do it, and enough nights drinking herself to sleep to put some space between her and her night with Neil. The night when she’d effectively killed him by choosing him, suffered for her decision through his torturous spell, and then been avenged all at once. A twisted, karmic solution just like he’d said.
And as much as Heather wanted to keep running, to keep hiding, she had to choose to start living her life.
Chapter Seven
February 24th
She pressed the doorbell twice and stood back, bouncing on her toes to try to stay warm as the wind whipped the snow through the air. The door opened wide a moment later.
“Well, hello again.” Rick smiled at her. He was dressed this time, a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and thick socks. But it was only seven at night this time, and not two AM. “Coming in?”
“Yeah, I’d like to, if that’s okay.” Heather smiled back as he held the door open and waved her in. She shook off the snow and pulled off her coat, hanging it up this time. Setting her messenger bag down by the table she turned back to see his arms crossed, leaning against the wall across from her.
“So… what’s the plan tonight, pretty girl? Did you come here to be punished again?” There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his tone. No snide comments about how she’d ignored his text messages for eleven days. Just an open offer.
He was perfect.
“I want to talk, can we talk? Just talk. For now, anyway.” Heather was babbling. She forced herself to breathe. “What I mean is, after we talk, if you still want to go to bed, if you still want to play tonight, I’d like that. You have no idea… but you may not be okay with me anymore, and if so, that’s okay too. I don’t have any expectations, that’s all I mean.”
“Oh-kay.” Rick took a step forward and cradled her face in his hands, leaning down to be eye level with her. His brown eyes radiated concern. “Heather, what’s going on?”
“Can we sit down?” She pointed towards his dining table, and he nodded, letting her go while he walked towards the kitchen.
“I’ll grab us some water, take a seat. I’ll be right back.” Rick disappeared through the doorway and returned a moment later with two glasses and sat down. He didn’t reach for her, he didn’t try to start talking or prod her or push her. He just gave her a small smile and waited.
“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I pushed you away, and then I showed up with no warning and—”
“I liked it when you showed up, Heather.” He rubbed a hand over the scruff on his cheeks. “I like it every time you show up.” His honesty made her chest ache, and at the same time it made hope flare inside her. She bit her cheek so she wouldn’t smile.
“I like you, Rick. A lot. More than I would have ever admitted before.” Heather grabbed her glass of water to take a sip and he leaned forward with a big grin on his face.
“You like me, do you?” He reached for her hand, but she pulled it back, her eyebrows pulling together as he froze.
“Wait. Just wait. Yes, I like you.” She laughed bitterly, because the next things she had to say could ruin everything. “But, if I want to be with you, and I do, I have to be honest. You have to know everything.”
“All right, give it to me.” Rick still had the ghost of a smile on his lips as he leaned back from her.
“I slept with someone.”
“I’ve slept with—”
“About two weeks ago. Actually, two days after I slept with you. And the reasons behind it I can explain if you want to hear it, but the short version is that my family—” She shook her head. “My family is really fucked up. Or was. Or may still be, I’m not sure. But they were the reason I had to break it off with you before… Look, they made me go out and bed this guy for an insane reason, but they can’t do any of it anymore.”
“They made you?” He sounded shocked, and then a cloud of anger passed over his face.
“Forget that, forget I said that. It doesn’t matter, the guy doesn’t matter, trust me. Just, forget it. There’s more.”
He laughed, looking at her like she was crazy, and she hadn’t even said the crazy part yet. “More?”
“All of it. All of the weird shit, all of the cryptic explanations, everything — it’s because… it’s because I’m a witch. And my whole family are, or were, witches.” Heather turned and focused on the cabinet against the wall. She’d decided it would be better to show him than to try to explain it. After a moment it lifted off the floor before hovering about a foot above the carpet. The burning smell of magic filled the room. Rick’s eyes were wide, and she let it down as easy as possible, but her concentration flickered and it dropped the last two inches, the loud rattle of objects inside making her wince. He turned back to her, and she shrugged, her voice incredibly nervous when she finally had the courage to speak. “I’m a witch. A real one. And I may be the last Pritchett witch on the planet right now. And even though my life is a mess, I really, really like you. I want you. I want to be with you.”
For a moment Rick just looked at her, all dark eyes and messy hair and five o’clock shadow. The silence stretched and Heather’s chest ached. She’d never let herself admit how much she cared about Rick, how much he had meant to her, and she’d finally put it out there. He reached over and took her hands in his, his elbows resting on his knees. “Heather. I like you too.” He shrugged, his hands squeezing hers as he raised that perfect gaze back to hers. “I’ve always liked you, and I knew you had to have a lot of personal shit going on in your life. You never talked about it, and I didn’t want to make you, but I knew. And I didn’t care that you didn’t tell me. I have never cared, Heather, because I like you for who you are, even with your eyes glowing all crazy like that.”
“Rick…”
“You told me that all of this rested on whether or not I was okay with you.” He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I’m more than okay with you, Heather. So you slept with someone else? Had some weird family reason to fuck some other guy? I’ve slept with four women since you broke it off, just trying to find someone like you. So you have a crazy fa
mily? We all have issues. And apparently you can levitate furniture—”
“I can do a lot more than levitate furniture, Rick.” She couldn’t wipe the grin off her face, because he was smiling at her, he was holding her hand, and he wasn’t running.
“I honestly don’t care if you fly on a broomstick at night and cackle over a cauldron, if you’re willing to be with me — to really be with me — then I’m in. I was always in.” His eyes met hers and he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I don’t even own a cauldron,” she muttered. He laughed and tugged her towards him so he could kiss her. His lips were warm, and the kiss went from gentle to really fucking hot in the time it took him to grab her hips and pull her onto his lap. She was straddling him, his erection already very apparent against her.
“Then I’ll buy you a fucking cauldron.” He kissed her again and she laughed.
“I don’t want a cauldron. I don’t even use one — you know what? You have a lot to learn about witches.” She smiled down at him as he ran his hands up her waist, cupping her breasts with a growl.
“You’re being awfully bossy, pretty girl.” His hand dropped hard onto her ass and she yelped at the spank.
“You do realize I can levitate you as well? And I’m pretty sure I can do other stuff that I haven’t figured out yet.” She grinned at him, but the look he gave her made her instantly wet.
“You do realize that I can and will punish you if you misbehave, right? Especially if you levitate me?” His thumb traced her lip, and she opened her mouth nodding slowly. “Good girl.”
Heat washed over her at those words. Rick was perfect, and he cared, and out of the hundred ways today could have gone, she wouldn’t have predicted this.
“Now, the other thing you said was that once you’d said your peace, we could go to bed.” Rick lifted his hips against hers, and she bit down on a moan. “Did you mean that?”
Deviant Attraction: A Dark and Dirty Boxset Page 29