The Bewitching Hour

by Mallory Crowe

  “What?” Claire jumped up. “This is crazy! Are you seriously telling me that you’re going to a giant orgy with your family?”

  Well, this conversation had gotten out of hand. “Family members rarely sleep together.” By now the families were so big that all the cousins were so far removed that a bit of fun was rarely noticed. And the immediate family members avoided each other carefully. No one needed an inbred witch or warlock running around.

  “So can I go with you?”

  Sam froze in the middle of digging through her tops. “You want to go to a crazy witch-filled orgy dance under the moonlight?”

  “Well, this is who I am, right? The strange things I can do, I’ll be able to control it better once I go to this thing. I’ll get more power, right?”

  “I might’ve oversimplified it,” admitted Sam. “Besides, the person who ordered those sentries to wipe your brain might be there. I’m trying to get a protection order on you, but it won’t work if you’re taken before then.”

  “I was kind of getting the idea that these things weren’t really... monitored. Do you really think I’ll be in danger if I go?”

  Sam discreetly looked Claire over. She was wearing a plain, powder-blue shirt and an elastic pair of black shorts that Sam usually slept in. The girl looked young. She looked innocent. Sam had a hard time imagining her in the candlelit ballroom of her mother’s house during a solstice party.

  But looks could be deceiving. “Where did you live before this?” asked Sam.

  Claire shrugged as she walked around the bed, holding the skirt up to her waist. “Wherever I could. Usually churches would have a bed.”

  “That’s tough. Was it hard to find a job?”

  “I don’t have a license or Social Security card, so I was stuck with a bunch of dishwashing gigs. I usually got more when I was out on the street.”

  Sam believed it. With her face, she could imagine that girls would feel sympathetic and guys would pour out their whole wallets. “I’m working on getting you an ID. My guy is in the DMV, so it will be a good product.”

  “Really? You’d do that for me?”

  “You’re already in my house, wearing my shorts. Why would the ID thing surprise you?”

  “Well, I’m still surprised by the shorts. But I wanted to have my ass covered so I didn’t want to question your judgment on that one.”

  “Fair point.”

  “So... in this ID you’re getting me... how old is it going to say I am?”

  “Well, you look like you’re sixteen, so I think we’d be lucky with eighteen.”

  “Come on. At least put it at twenty-one.”

  Sam scoffed. “I didn’t realize you were a big drinker.”

  “I never really had much chance.”

  Sam shook her head as she finally decided on a top and set it next to the leather skirt. “Bullshit. You’ve just never been drunk before. Or high, I’m guessing.”

  “I—” She broke off as she saw Sam’s disinterested expression. “Oh. That happens to you too?”

  “Yep. Alcohol, crack, heroin... nothing hits us the same way. If you want a dopamine rush, you need to get it the old-fashioned way. With magic.”

  “What about all the pot you said you have stashed around the apartment? You just smoke it because you think it looks cool?”

  Sam snorted. “Please. I already look cool. I smoked it because I was off magic for the past ten years and it dulls the burn from going without.”

  “Smoked? Does that mean you’re not doing it anymore?”

  “That means that for once I think it’s safer if I have access to my powers.”

  “Safer?”

  “I’m not really good at the whole witch thing. You should see my sister, Heather. From the second she was born, she could pretty much wiggle her nose and get whatever she wanted.”

  “What happened when you wiggled your nose?”

  “Usually snot came out. I wasn’t a cute child.”

  Claire smiled. “Seriously. What happens?”

  She sighed. This wasn’t her favorite thing to go over. She reached over to grab a pencil off the desk. “You see this pencil? Let’s say I wanted to make it levitate. One of two things would happen. Either it would do nothing and laugh at me through all the smug graphite. Or it would go shooting out of the room with so much force it would almost kill someone. Needless to say, my lessons were stressful.”

  “Wow. That’s harsh. Did your parents ever get mad about it?”

  Sam turned around so Claire wouldn’t see the flash of pain that crossed her features every time she thought about her dad. But she wasn’t going to get into that tragedy right now. “My mother always encouraged my teachings. She is pretty well known among the families and she wanted her daughters to carry on her lineage. But, hey. One out of two ain’t bad.”

  “I guess so.”

  “What about you? Did your powers hit around puberty?”

  “Oh yeah. B cup boobs and telekinesis all in one year. It was one hell of a party.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. My dad, well, the guy who adopted me, couldn’t handle it. He was really religious, but he’d never been crazy religious. He was one of the good guys who actually wanted to help his neighbor and was so nice to everyone. But once he saw the things I could do, it was like a flip was switched in his head and—”

  “That sucks.”

  “Tell me about it. I tried to hide it for a year, but things kept happening at the worst times.”

  “Living with that kind of fear is like a constant charge. Unless you’ve been trained, it would’ve been impossible to truly hide it.”

  “Good to know it wasn’t just me. I figure he’s probably happier now that I’m gone anyway.”

  Sam wasn’t as sure about that. As cliché as it was, sometimes people didn’t know what they had until it was gone. Though some people were eternally assholes, so Sam wasn’t about to tell Claire to go running back home.

  She slid into the leather skirt that probably would’ve been a decent length on most women, but her legs were long enough to push it dangerously close to indecent. From there she put on the button-up black blouse made of a soft, almost see-through material. Okay, it was see-through, but the lighting at the party would be dark enough that barely any skin would be visible.

  She turned around and Claire’s jaw dropped. “You’re wearing that?”

  “Don’t give me that look. You saw it on the bed.”

  “Yeah, but there was less boob showing when it was on the bed.” She held up her hands. “You look great. That’s not an issue.”

  Sam shook her head even as she buttoned up an extra button. “You can take the witch out of the orgy but you can’t take the orgy out of the witch.”

  She crossed past Claire and into the bathroom, where the counter was littered with makeup products. Claire didn’t make any surprised comments or jokes about the mess, so Sam was betting she’d done a little exploring on her own while Sam had been out.

  “I promise I’ll get you into the next solstice party, but for tonight at least, I need you to lay low.”

  “Fine,” said Claire.

  “Fine as in you understand or fine as in you’re being that annoying passive-aggressive person?”

  “Fine as in I don’t want to be stupid. I already almost died this week. No need to tempt fate.”

  This week. Sam had already forgotten how recently Claire had been tied to that table in Tommy’s apartment. She seemed to be handling it well. Maybe too well. Damn it, Sam wasn’t qualified to deal with this. “How have you been dealing with... that?”

  Claire shrugged. “I think at this point I’m firmly in denial mode. It’s almost like it happened to someone else.” Except as she spoke, she rubbed at her wrists, which were still bruised from her captivity. The concrete proof that it had happened to her. “That’s probably not healthy, right? Pretending it never happened....”

  “I think healthy is a really abstract word. And I thin
k that if denying it makes you feel better, what’s the harm? Remember, I’m in no way a therapist and nothing I say should be taken seriously.”

  Claire smiled but it didn’t really reach her eyes. “I don’t think any therapist could take on my problems.”

  “You and me both,” muttered Sam. “Now are you going to help me get ready or are you going to give me space?” she said, trying to cut the tension in the room.

  Claire backed up. “Bathroom is all yours.” After she left, Sam found herself staring at the doorway. That poor girl had already been through so much and Sam had the sinking feeling that things were going to get much worse before they ever got better.

  Derek pulled the car to a stop after the parking attendant directed him to the parking section in the back of the large estate. It looked different at night. The columns were illuminated by bright spotlights, making the place seem even bigger and more foreboding.

  Worst of all, it was crowded. Dozens of cars were parked along the side of the house in a gravel paved lot. If he went in, he was going to be outnumbered and surrounded. Even though Abigail had promised she wasn’t going to try to kill him, he had no illusions. He was dealing with things he could barely comprehend and he needed to be on his guard all the time.

  He stepped out of the car and made sure to lock it as he felt for his shoulder holster. One side held his Glock 17 and the other side held two extra loaded clips. He doubted he’d need to use it tonight, but damn if it didn’t feel good to know it was there.

  He’d known that Abigail hadn’t been completely honest when she told him she was having a “little get-together” but he hadn’t expected this mass of cars or the pounding music emanating from the house. It wasn’t techno music like a rave, either, but a steady drumming set to some rhythm that seemed too primal for this day and age. It didn’t fit with the classic exterior of the house, but he’d come to learn that there was a lot about this family that didn’t fit.

  He strode down the lane to the front of the house. A couple walked ahead of him, laughing loudly. Apparently they were already in the party mode.

  At the door, the blond guard from earlier stood and nodded his approval at the couple, allowing them through. When Derek approached, the guard moved in front of the door.

  “If you remember, I got a personal invite.” Derek kept his hands at his side so he could easily draw the Glock if needed.

  The guard looked him up and down. “I remember.” For a second, Derek thought the guy wouldn’t move, but after a few terse moments, he turned around and motioned for Derek to follow.

  “Aren’t you worried about someone sneaking in?” Derek stepped into the house. He glanced around at the foyer. Like the outside, the inside was mostly white, with marble floors and bright walls that almost made up for the dim lighting. Derek could hear the pounding music coming from his right, but the guard turned left, leading him down a dark hallway.

  “No one will come in without permission,” said the guard.

  “You trust them that much.”

  “They all know better than to come into this place without protection.”

  The warning was evident. Derek was now behind enemy lines and he had a feeling his gun, no matter how many backup clips he had, wouldn’t get him far.

  The guard led him into a state-of-the-art kitchen, where a slew of servers were quickly whipping up drinks and appetizers before carrying the trays out of the kitchen and through a back door, presumably to the place where the music was blasting.

  “Heather,” said the guard.

  A blonde who was sampling one of the appetizers turned around as she wiped crumbs from her mouth. “Garrett! You scared me.” At that moment, her face registered Derek’s presence and her eyes widened. “Who’s the beast?” she asked as heat filled her eyes.

  Derek squared his shoulders. He didn’t remember the last time a woman had looked at him like that. Not that he never got hit on, but this chick was taking things to a whole other level.

  “This is the detective. Abigail said she wanted you to talk to him about Tommy.”

  The heat immediately left her eyes. “Oh. Damn. You’re not what I expected,” she said sadly.

  “What did you expect?”

  “Gray hair. Big gut over a belt a few notches too tight. Not....” She motioned up and down. “That.”

  He didn’t know whether he should be flattered or scared, so he tried to pretend the awkward introduction didn’t happen. “You know Tommy Collins?”

  “I’m heading back to the door.” The guard turned and left without waiting for Heather to respond.

  “I knew Tommy.” Heather abruptly turned to where a big pot was boiling on the stove. She stirred it a few times before using a big ladle to pour the hot liquid into a dark-red glass. “Did you want a drink, Detective... what was your name again?”

  “Derek Pierce, and no thanks on the drink. I just want to know about Tommy Collins.”

  She pouted and he had a feeling she didn’t hear the word no often. “Come on. It’s an old family recipe. You’ll love it. I promise.” She walked around the big stainless-steel island to stand in front of him, looking up with impossibly big green eyes.

  Recognition hit him hard. “You’re related to Sam.”

  She stepped back; the pout vanished, replaced by surprise. “You’ve met Samantha?”

  It looked as if Abigail had sent Heather to deal with him but hadn’t told her the complete truth. “She’s part of the investigation I’m working on. You’re her....” He took a guess. “Sister?”

  She took a nervous gulp. “Technically. We haven’t talked much lately.” Once again, she pushed the drink toward him. “Come on, Detective. If we’re going to get through tonight, we’re both going to need some assistance.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t drink while I’m working.”

  “It’s a party. No one should work during a party.”

  He didn’t budge. “I just want to know about Tommy Collins.”

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “Ugh. You’re no fun.” She brought the glass to her lips and tilted her head back, downing the contents in two big gulps. As it went down, she closed her eyes and sighed. “Tommy Collins?” she asked, eyes still closed.

  “Yep.”

  She turned and set the empty glass on the counter, where a server promptly whisked it away. “He was a distant cousin. We’re close to his family. He came to a lot of the parties and stuff and he was in my class at school.” As she talked, she went to the industrial-size refrigerator and pulled out two plastic water bottles.

  “What school is that?”

  “You’ve never heard of it. Tommy was a loner. He didn’t talk much so I never got to know him really well.”

  “He was a loner who came to a lot of these parties?” One of the cooks threw some alcohol onto a pan and flames shot up. Derek stepped aside as the heat permeated the kitchen. Even though the fire was out as soon as it began, he tugged at his collar.

  “Detective, I can take your jacket if you’d like.” The heat was back in Heather’s eyes as she stared him down.

  He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  She glanced knowingly to where his gun rested in its holster. “Hiding something?”

  She handed him a bottle and he took it without answering her question. “Why did Abigail want me to talk to you? Did she know you weren’t going to answer anything? Or did she think this whole flirting act was going to distract me?”

  Heather smiled and bit her bottom lip. “Oh, Detective. My mother didn’t send me to flirt with you. I’m doing that part all on my own.”

  “I’m not here for that.”

  She tilted her head. “Give it some time. I think you’ll be up for a lot soon.”

  Another plume of flame shot up from the burners, and Derek stepped aside as the heat seemed to reach out and around him. The cold bottle in his hand suddenly seemed more appealing. He glanced at the still sealed cap before he untwisted it. “Stop bullshitting me and t
ell me the truth. Did you know Tommy Collins was a killer? Why is your family trying to sweep what he did under the rug?”

  “My family just wants to be left alone. I promise that anything Tommy did, it wasn’t representative of us.”

  Derek took a deep swig of the water. “I thought Tommy was part of your family, isn't he?"

  Heather smiled at him and brought her finger to her mouth, biting down on the very tip of her finger. “Tommy is a cousin. But a distant, loner one. Trust me, there’s no love lost here. His parents aren’t exactly thrilled.”

  Derek stared at where her finger pressed her lip down and felt his own mouth go dry. Reflexively, he drank more water, suddenly realizing that the bottle was empty. When the hell had that happened? He needed to switch tactics. “What do you know about your mother’s relationship with the police department?”

  Heather took her finger out of her mouth—thank fuck—and walked closer to him. Her hips swayed with every move and Derek glanced down at the generous amount of cleavage her halter top bared. All it would take was one tug of those white strings and she’d be topless....

  “The police department and my mother have a very... close relationship.” Heather had reached him by then and set a finger on his chest to emphasize her point.

  Derek took a breath as he looked down at her finger and, by default, her breasts. His vision blurred and for a second, all he could see was him pushing her back against the island and grabbing both of those breasts as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  He twisted around and blinked, trying to clear the vision from his mind. What the fuck was wrong with him?

  “Is everything okay, Detective?” Heather set a hand on his arm.

  He jerked away from her. “Where’s Abigail?” The water. There had to have been something in the water....

  “Of course. Follow me.” She moved past him and out of the kitchen, leaving him to stare at her other set of curves as she led him back down the hall and closer to the pounding music. Except the music didn’t seem so out of place anymore. The pounding of the drums matched the pounding in his head and his heart. Derek stumbled and reached out to steady himself against the wall. Heather stopped and glanced over her shoulder, giving him a knowing smile. “We’re almost there.”