The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set

by Dianna Hardy

  Shit!

  He lunged at her just as she went for Elena's wrist. He hit an invisible force and went flying backwards.

  The she-demon laughed. "My magic is quicker than your legs, Dessec." She went again for the wrist.

  A scream filled the space they were in, just a millisecond after the light did.

  Pueblo jumped to his feet. Christ! It was literally like the sun had risen where they stood. Goldenboy had done it again, only this time, he wasn't the only one lit up – Elena was too, through what looked like some kind of luminous umbilical cord that ran between them.

  The scream had come from the Brujii Queen. She had fallen to her knees and was clutching her mouth, blood staining her fingers. "My teeth! They're broken!"

  Pueblo looked at Karl questioningly, but the angel – and he looked all angel now – was standing within his gold shield, a blank expression on his face.

  Pueblo's heart sank. Now that the queen knew Karl was an angel, there was no way she would help them find whatever magic hid Amy. He was yet another step away from finding her.

  Karl walked towards Elena. The queen didn't stop him, but stared at him with a strange mixture of awe and rage. "Angel!" she spat.

  "Not only that," Pueblo added. "They're soul-bonded."

  Genuine shock reigned her features. "An angel and a demon?"

  He nodded. "I don't know how that works either, but apparently it does."

  "Then it's true…"

  "What is?"

  "The Witching Pen is made manifest on Earth."

  All conscious eyes turned to her, and silence filled the cave.

  Elena stirred with a moan. Karl took her hand in his and pulled her upright against him, breaking whatever spell had kept her afloat. She slumped onto his chest, still not fully awake.

  "What do you know of the Pen?" Karl asked the queen.

  Her bloody mouth stretched wide in a grin. "The nib is a needle and the ink is thread; the nib is a blade and the ink is poison."

  "Riddles?"

  "Life is a riddle, angel, you're just too above yourself to accept it, all super-consciousness and light and love … it's what the Great War in Heaven is made of."

  "Light and love?"

  "Lack of acceptance."

  "Believe me, of all my vices in my short, complicated life, lack of acceptance is not one of them."

  She frowned. "Then, you are not fallen? What are you even doing here? Ah…" she suddenly smiled, "you and her." Her eyes fell on Elena's slumped form. "Shadow and light. The Great Shanka Witch of the Old Scrolls. That's quite a darkness you have to counter, isn't it? Truly, you cannot be fallen."

  Pueblo took a step towards her. "It seems you have a lot of information we could do with knowing."

  "Hmmm … but why should I divulge? I do not work with angels, although…" her eyes flitted over Elena again, "I could be persuaded just this once. And you…" She turned to Pueblo. "You're almost out of time, kitty-cat. Your woman is so lost, she doesn't even know who she is."

  A cold fist squeezed his heart. He remembered his dream, how Amy had seemed blinded, her eyes all white, no colour, no vision. Was it more than a dream? A connection?

  The queen stared at him, intensely, as if trying to pull out the details of the dream from his mind. "A blood bond is strong, Dessec, and it needs no sight work."

  Idiot. He was an idiot. All this time, he'd been tirelessly searching for her, minimum food, no sleep – not daring to sleep in case those lost few hours became fatal – when all he'd needed to do to reach her was fucking sleep.

  "Don't worry yourself, Dessec, your kind have never been known for their brains," she sneered.

  His panther let out a growl and this time, he didn't stop it. He let her see the cat in his eyes. "How do you know so much?"

  "I am magic. When magic happens around me in the world, I feel it – the ripple that expended energy causes. There was one hell of a ripple – more like a tidal wave – just a week ago. I investigated … learnt all about you, your girl, and … the other she is now with."

  Her words punched him in the gut … the other?

  "I'm saying no more." She turned to Karl, and nodded at Elena. "You want information, I want her."

  "You can't have her."

  "One taste, once only," came the meek voice, quietening them all.

  "Elena," Karl's tone was strained, "you don't know what—"

  "Yes, I do. I've heard every word. I wasn't unconscious, just poisoned into a stupor."

  "Brujii sleeping venom," explained Pueblo.

  "It keeps my victims still until I'm done. I would have reversed it once I'd had my taste." There was that pout again that looked so out of place. "Although, it seems your soul-bonded angel is your personal, walking, talking anecdote. Lucky you."

  "Elena—"

  "Karl," she said, and turned to look up at him. "I'm okay, really. A bit dizzy, but fine. Kiss me."

  He glanced around, uncomfortably. "What, here?"

  Elena smiled. "Yes." She grabbed the collar of his sodden shirt and pulled him down onto her waiting lips.

  Pueblo looked away, and studied the queen instead. She was staring openly at Karl and Elena, her face now as an empty shell, hollowness where life should be … where love should be. He wondered, if his heart had a face, would it wear the same expression?

  "Can you feel it?" whispered Elena. "What we have? How unbreakable it is?"

  "Yes," came the hushed reply.

  Pueblo thought of Amy … and 'the other'. If the dream was more than a dream, was it himself she had actually been with? Or had all her heat and pleasure been for… Something pricked behind his eyes … tears?

  God damn it, I've gone fucking soft. The last time he'd cried must have been over two centuries ago, and it hadn't been over some woman.

  Enough. He hadn't given her a choice when he'd offered her his blood, not really. Elena was right. He hadn't asked her if she'd known about her shifter abilities, just taken the situation at face value and ignored the complications. Why? For his own selfishness. He'd felt a connection. He'd wanted in. His cat had risen to the surface of his fire and, after denying its existence all of his life, he'd let it reign – for a split second, he'd let it call the shots. He'd done her wrong. But he could put it right. She was human, not a demon. The blood bond would mean less to her – she wouldn't feel it as intensely as he could, so she could move on – be with someone she really wanted to be with. And he … he had lived alone all his life, excluded from his family, from his tribe, from demons and humans alike. If he had to do it again for another three hundred years so he could fix the mistake he had made – so she could be with whatever 'other' she was supposed to be with – so be it.

  A grating noise interrupted his thoughts. He realised he was grinding his teeth.

  "This is how it's going to be," said Elena, stepping forward to address the Brujii Queen. "You are going to come back with us. You are going to tell us everything you know about Amy's disappearance and about the Witching Pen. After we have found Amy and we know what you are saying to be true, I will give you my vein and the pleasure you seek, on the condition that Karl stays with me."

  The demon regarded Elena suspiciously. "The word of a Shanka doesn't mean that much to me."

  "And the word of an angel?" asked Karl. He extended his glowing hand. "It will be done," he vowed.

  "So," said Elena. "I guess it all rests on how much you value one moment of Earth-shattering bliss. When did you say was the last time you'd experienced that?"

  The queen took Karl's hand in a firm grip, and beamed with triumph. "It will be done."

  Chapter Four

  Mary called out a final goodbye to the part-timer as she locked the door of Elena's new age shop, and turned the sign over so it read Closed.

  Exhaustion weighed heavy behind her eyes, but she ignored it – sleep was overrated as far as she was concerned. And it wasn't as if she ever got any real sleep anyway, what with all the garbage her twisted mind liked
to throw at her.

  So, another successful day, she thought, as she placed the cashing up in the safe. Elena should rip holes into reality every October in the run up to Halloween and Christmas – it'll carry us through the whole bloody year.

  It hadn't escaped her notice that every single one of their angel statues had been sold over the past two days, and they weren't cheap, ranging from sixty to two hundred pounds depending on their size. Interesting. God had a healthy sense of irony.

  A knock on the door brought her out of her musings. John, Karl's right hand man at his antiques shop, Royal Treasures, was standing outside. Unlocking it, she ushered him in.

  "Thanks," he smiled. "It's nippy outside for October – we'll be getting the winter weather early this year, I reckon."

  Mary smiled. Small talk was just not her thing. "So how did you do today?"

  "Really well. I can't believe the sales the past week, and really unusual things too. Karl needs to give me a raise," he joked. "He and Elena are both back tomorrow, right?"

  "Yep, should be."

  "Can't believe they finally got together. You know, when I first started working for Karl, I never knew they weren't together; it took me six whole months before I figured it out."

  "Yeah, they certainly are meant to be." More than you know, she added silently.

  John cleared his throat. "So… "

  Warning bells went off in her head.

  "Do you think you might like to, you know, hang out some time?"

  Oh, no.

  "You mean, like on a date?"

  His cheeks grew pink, as his smile grew hopeful. "Yeah."

  Fuck.

  Mary's sex-life flashed before her eyes – it was almost as dark as her dreams, because of them, even. A guy like John, well, if he knew what she really needed – craved – he'd run a mile.

  "I don't date," she told him, bluntly, then cursed herself for being so curt. The guy was nice enough. He just … couldn't give her what she needed.

  "Oh … of course… " he mumbled, his face now beetroot.

  "Look, John—"

  "No, no, it's okay … you don't have to explain. It was a long shot – a girl like you, and a guy like me…"

  She rolled her eyes. "John—"

  "I'm going to go now, and maybe we could just pretend I never lost my marbles exactly thirty seconds ago … I don't know what got into me," he laughed, nervously.

  Mary nodded, saying nothing.

  John gave her a appreciative look then swiftly turned and headed back out the door.

  Well, that was awkward.

  She stuck her woolly hat on, set the alarm, and grabbed the last of her stuff before heading out and locking the door behind her.

  Bloody hell, it is cold, she thought, shivering, then wondered where to go. Karl's place would be best to catch up on the day's events, but a bit of alone time wouldn't go amiss either. Everything the past week had happened so fast – too fast – she'd barely had time to breathe. Her time at the shop was equally as crazy; so much so, she had to eat her lunch while serving people. And her nightmares had not let up.

  With a sigh, she decided on heading back to Karl's place in Wimbledon, but to take a slightly longer route back to South Kensington tube station so she could grab her alone time whilst walking. The longer route included questionable alleyways, but it wasn't quite dark yet, and at five-eleven tall with a confident stride, not many people got in her way. The ones that had, had regretted the meeting with her mean right-hook.

  As predicted, she didn't collide with a single soul along any of the dark passages, and it didn't take long enough for the tube to arrive at Wimbledon station. Ten minutes, and she'd be at Karl's. So much for alone time.

  A movement to her left caught her eye as she walked out of the station. It was the fading light glinting off a helium balloon, which was cut out in the shape of an angel. A girl, who looked about eight years old, was holding the balloon and staring at Mary.

  Mary got that a lot. She was tall, kids were small – they always had this awe thing going on when they looked at her, like they thought she was really pretty, or wanted to be her or something.

  Sporting a little smile, she gave the girl a half-wave, then carried on out of the station. A few seconds later she felt a tug on her coat. The girl was at her heels.

  "Oh, hey … er … where's your mum? Or dad?"

  The girl ignored her question, but handed her the balloon instead. "This is for you," she whispered.

  Mary smiled. "Well, that's really nice of you, but—"

  "It's the last one."

  "The last balloon?"

  "The last angel."

  "Oh."

  "You should have it, but you need to take really good care of her."

  "Her?"

  "The angel's a girl angel. And if she's the last one, then all angels will be extinct when she's gone."

  Mary searched above her blonde bunches for a clue as to where the girl's parents were. She decided to humour the girl for a bit. If she kept her in one place it would be easier for her parents to find her. "Well, we wouldn't want angels to become extinct now, would we," she agreed, inadvertently thinking of Gwain.

  "No, we wouldn't," she shook her head in earnest, "because then the human race would fall too."

  Okay, she eyed the girl, stunned. Those are some pretty deep words for an eight-year-old…

  "How old are you?"

  "Sophia!" came the voice ahead of her, behind the crowd emerging from the station's entrance.

  "This is for you," said the girl again, with more force this time, and thrust the string in her hand before turning and rushing back towards the voice. Then she stopped mid-track and looked at Mary one last time. "You do know how to stop an angel from falling, don't you?"

  Before she could utter a response – not that she had one – the girl hurried back in the opposite direction and was engulfed by the rush hour bustle of bodies.

  ~*~

  With the evening drawing in, things seemed a little less apocalyptic to Lizzie. Okay, so she'd slept with Paul. Unintentionally. But it was no big deal, right? He was her husband, not a stranger. Well, okay, he was a stranger, but only because she had no memory of him – that wasn't his fault. So everything was fine.

  The reflection staring back at her from her dressing table mirror didn't look like it believed her. She sighed and continued the argument with herself. "This is a good thing; this is what you want, remember? To build bridges; to secure your marriage once more…"

  The girl in the mirror, with the face that still seemed all too unfamiliar to her, raised her eyebrow in a challenge to her questions.

  Giving up, Lizzie huffed in frustration and turned away from herself. "Well, it's not like the sex was bad or anything," she muttered, then recollected the heat that ran through her body while she was having that elicit dream. And it's not like the sex was with your husband.

  With some hesitation, she conceded that that final thought rang true – she could have sworn it wasn't Paul she was thinking of when she … well … when she had the most blinding orgasm ever. She skimmed across the fact that she'd still felt incomplete after her climax. And what was with the being blind thing anyway?

  She gasped as the realisation dawned on her. It hit her so suddenly it almost knocked her off her feet. "I'm having an affair!"

  No way…

  "No, I must be – it's the only thing that makes sense. And my subconscious knows who it is, which is why it's remembering this person who isn't Paul. That's why I felt incomplete, and why I was blind in my dream – because I didn't want to see it… Oh my God, what if this is why I tried to kill myself?"

  There was a knock at her door.

  Suddenly feeling like she'd been caught red-handed doing very bad deeds, she stared at it, not knowing what to say.

  "Lizzie?"

  Does he know? Does he know I'm having an affair? Maybe that's why he's so quiet around me. And why he was so happy that we—

  He open
ed the door.

  Damn it, why does he always just let himself in?

  He stopped when he caught sight of her.

  I must have guilt written all over my face. She tried her best to make her expression blank.

  "I wanted to make sure you were all right after … you haven't said much since…"

  "I'm fine," she nodded and hoped that her smile reached her eyes.

  "Good," he sighed, with obvious relief, and before she could blink, he was taking her in his arms, rubbing her back, kissing the top of her head… "I thought you might want to come back to our bedroom tonight. You must be so lonely in here by yourself."

  Yes, she was, but she really didn't know if she could do bed-sharing with a man she couldn't remember, despite their earlier sexual encounter. "Oh, erm…"

  What was she supposed to say in this situation? Did scenarios like this come with instructions or guidelines? Did How To Cope With Your Amnesia books cover accidentally sleeping with the husband you can't remember and how to behave afterwards?

  "Please, Lizzie," he all but pleaded, quietly. "It may help you to remember."

  Fuck it, he was using her own words against her – that was her trump card. "Well, I suppose so, but—"

  "Don't worry, I know you're still trying to understand things. I'll keep my hands to myself, I promise."

  Relieved, she smiled. "Thank you."

  "All right, well, I'll leave you to gather your night things." And he turned to walk out of the room. Pausing for a moment, he spun back around to face her. "Were you talking to someone in here just before I knocked?"

  Oh, God, what had she said?

  "No. Sorry, I seem to talk to myself quite a lot at the moment." A side effect of having no one else around … oh yeah, and no memory. "It helps me to gather my thoughts."

  He nodded, and shut the door behind him as he left.

  It was only then, that she wondered what exactly her sleeping self would do if she were to have another sexy dream of the man who was not her husband … while her husband was lying next to her. She'd been asleep earlier and she'd practically mauled him. Dread played havoc with her guts. What if, whilst in her sleep, she spoke of the affair she'd been having?