Forgotten Destiny Book One

by Odette C. Bell

  I took another step forward, swinging my head to the left and noting a half-open door. I tilted to the side to get a better look through it. It looked just as well-appointed and fancy as the rest of this place. Hell, I even caught sight of a sitting chair atop an intricate Chinese silk rug. And was there even a fireplace?

  Out of nowhere, I felt Josh’s hand lock on my arm. “I told you to follow me – not snoop around my place.”

  “Do you mind?” I trilled.

  “Not particularly,” he snorted derisively, looking up at me from under that insufferable flop of his equally insufferable hair. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t mind long hair on men. And on any other man, I wouldn’t judge. But every single thing about Josh was insufferable, and the more time I spent with him, the more my stomach kicked with regret.

  If there was some way to get out of this – if there was some way to be contracted to a different job – I would find it.

  “This is my house, Missy. And you heard the testing officer. You are to be on your best behavior. Any report from me will be critical. So if you prance around my house and stuff up my things,” he said as he plucked the vase from my hand and put it down precisely where it had been, “I’m going to tell the government you’re not conforming.”

  He still had his hand on me, so I took a solid step back, breaking his grip. Then I looked at him defiantly. As I’d already told you, I wasn’t exactly the kind of person who liked confrontation. I steered clear of it. I much preferred diplomacy.

  But you know what? There was a time for diplomacy, and then there was a time for this.

  I took another solid step back, brought my arms up, and crossed them tightly in front of my chest. “You have no right to handle me. And I wasn’t stuffing up your things. I was just looking.”

  He brought a hand up and tapped the skin near his eyes. “You look with your eyes, sweetie. You touch,” he brought his hands up and made star fingers, “with your fingers. Are you that stupid?”

  I stared at him – just as any reasonable human would – in complete dumbfounded shock.

  Did people like him actually exist? Arrogant, truly insufferable weirdos who were almost as good looking as they were annoying? Sure, you got his kind in TV shows all the time. But it was one thing being depicted in fiction, and another to be functional in the real world. Surely Josh’s personality would have been beaten out of him by now?

  But it hadn’t been. And he continued to make his star fingers. “You’re going to need to quickly learn the rules of this world, or you’re going to fail, Missy.”

  I made a suitable face at being called Missy. But before I could say anything, he snorted.

  He also leaned forward and adjusted the vase until it was sitting perfectly straight. Was this guy an anorak or something?

  “More than anything, if you’re going to work with me – and you’ve got no option but to, considering your rare skill set – then you’re going to need to learn the rules of my house. We’ll be staying under the same roof, but that does not give you a right to anything,” he said abruptly. “You don’t get to touch my stuff. You don’t get to sit on my couch. You don’t get to look into my drawing room,” he added as he leaned forward, grabbed the door to the open drawing room, and slammed it shut before promptly patting the wood as if to check that it was okay. “All you have to do is follow my command. My every command. You got that?”

  I stared at him. I used to be one of those people who believed in the government. I believed in the laws of the land and the regulations those in charge enforced. I had hope in society, in other terms. But that hope was rapidly diminishing. Because in a reasonable society, things like this simply wouldn’t be able to occur. “I thought I had a choice where I could stay?”

  He snorted. It was his turn to cross his arms. He also took several seconds to roll his eyes. “You really are stupid, aren’t you? Which is a pity, because with your power, I’m sure the government is hoping for so much more.”

  “Excuse me? I’m not stupid. And I know the rules. Though I have to stay in regulated accommodation, I do get a choice. And it was never part of the deal that I would stay here under your tyrannical rule.”

  “I’m sorry, who are you calling a tyrant? This is my house.” He actually put his foot down, and he pointed a stiff, rigid finger at the floor.

  It was my turn to snort. “I get that. A little overprotective and obsessive,” I gestured toward the vase, “aren’t we? That’s not the point. I’m not staying here. I don’t have to. And I don’t choose to. I may have been forced to work with you, but I’m sure if I apply, I’ll be able to work with someone else.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have let that last bit slip. Because Josh? Tipped his head back and laughed. He seemed to take stupid amounts of pleasure in the move. I swear his nostrils would split apart with all that rattling. “I’m sorry, but do you genuinely think that you’ll be able to,” he brought his fingers up and made air-quotes, “apply to be released from my contract?”

  I stiffened as I looked at him. It was that or bring my foot up and kick him in the knee as hard as I could. “Yes, yes I do. I understand I have to be regulated now,” I said in the most professional tone I could manage, “but I still have rights. And one of those rights is not to stand here and be abused by you. I have no intention of staying here,” I added for effect, in case he’d forgotten that most important point.

  “Well, Missy—”

  “Would you stop calling me that? Who exactly taught you how to speak and act around women? You’re like some kind of caricature out of a seventies cop show.”

  This one got to him. He allowed his arms to drop. It was a slow move, but I wouldn’t exactly call it menacing. Sure, he was trying to make it look menacing, but he looked too offended at the same time. “I think you’ll find I know exactly,” he emphasized that word with a puff of air from his stiff lips and equally stiff jaw, “how to act around women. It’s never been a particular problem of mine,” he stressed. “But you know what’s starting to be a problem?”

  “Is it me, Josh?” I snapped back. “It’s me, isn’t it?

  Josh was uncovering aspects of my personality I’d never known existed. Blame it on the stress of finding out I was a witch and that my life would now never be mine again. But somehow I was starting to find my pluck. I just hoped this wasn’t a transient thing, because right now it felt like my only defense against this jerk.

  “That’s it – that’s a mark against your file. You haven’t got many more,” he added ominously.

  “When you’re done threatening me, I’d like to know how it is I can apply to work with someone else.”

  “You can’t work with someone else. And it’s time for you to get it through your thick head that you won’t be staying anywhere else, either.”

  I opened my mouth to protest.

  Josh got there first as he unwrapped one of his hands from around his middle, brought it up, and spread his stiff fingers wide. “You’re under a protection order, Bethany, so no, you don’t get to decide who you work for and where you stay. The State does.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d heard someone mention a protection order. I’d seen the testing officer scribble it on my sheet. At the time, I’d dismissed it, wondering if all new witches went under the same thing to ensure they didn’t go wayward.

  Now? I went to open my mouth to snap at him but paused and let my lips drop open.

  A mistake. Josh rounded on me in seconds like a lion sensing a gazelle’s weakness. He took a step forward and squared off in front of me. “Finally seeing reason? Took long enough. Now it’s time for the tour – though it will have to be short, as we’ve already got work to do. This,” he reached forward and opened the door of the sitting room, “will be where you will sleep.”

  “But that’s a—” I began. I stopped. As soon as the door was opened, it was no longer a sitting room.

  The door creaked open to reveal a beautiful fourposter bed in the middle of the sunlit roo
m with several walnut chests of drawers arranged around it.

  “What on earth?” My voice shook.

  Josh snorted. “Magic. You live in a world of magic, remember?”

  I shuffled forward and peered into the room, soaking in the elegance. Though I had a taste for the finer things in life, I didn’t have the wallet to match. For the very first time since I’d found out I was a witch and my life was going to Hell, I let the smallest of smiles spread my lips. This was actually going to be my room?

  Suffice to say, the smile didn’t last. Josh wouldn’t let it. He shoved in and pointed to a bunch of suitcases and boxes. “That’s your stuff. It’s already been moved. I suggest you keep it in the boxes – by the sounds of your attitude, you will be shipped off to a facility soon enough for noncompliance.”

  Though Josh’s irritating insults usually always got my goat, I managed to ignore them as I continued to stare at the room. My gaze ticked down to the boxes and bags. The bags really were mine, and one was half unzipped, my clothes spilling out of it. “Hold on – where did my stuff come from? How did it—”

  “It was moved. Keep up, idiot. Your life is in the government’s hands now. Now come with me.”

  Before I could take a step forward to investigate my things to check that everything was there, Josh closed the door with a bang. He turned to me and nodded forward. “Down there is the kitchen. Down there is also the bathroom. And those are the two rooms you are allowed to visit. Everything else is off-limits. You understand that?”

  I looked at him askance. “How exactly am I to know which door will lead where? I mean… is it stable? If I go to open one door, will I end up somewhere else?” If you’d asked me, it was a good question.

  Josh just chuckled stupidly. “You’re a finder, Beth. You’re not a general warlock. You don’t have the ability to alter space. You locate things and nothing more. You’re the lowest on the pecking order of the witches. Now get that into your stupid head and come with me.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “If I was the lowest on the pecking order of witches, why would I be under a protection order? And why would I have to put up with you?”

  Josh actually snarled. But you know what he didn’t do? Point out that what I was saying was stupid. Instead, he turned on his foot and walked forward. We strode through an open doorway into the kitchen.

  It was just as nice as the rest of the house. It was old, but it fit the building, and at least it was big enough that it looked as if it wouldn’t be a pain to cook in.

  “Stop ogling my stuff,” Josh said as he walked over to a chair, pulled it out carefully and sat just as carefully. It was completely at odds with the way he’d behaved in the testing facility. There, he’d kicked chairs, pulled them out with his feet, and rocked back and forth on them. Now, when he was dealing with his own stuff, he was utterly respectful. It seemed completely at odds with his underlying personality.

  He cleared his throat. “Come and sit down already,” he barked.

  Though once upon a time I would’ve scurried over if someone had snapped at me in that tone, I took my time. I walked over and deliberately hooked my foot around the chair and pulled it out, just to see his reaction.

  It was worth it. He cringed, and a cloud crossed over his face. “Do you mind? That chair is worth more than you will ever be able to afford. Respect it,” he snapped.

  I sat down roughly. “Whose house is this?” I suddenly demanded. “It’s not yours, is it?” The statement came out of nowhere, and I honestly wasn’t sure why I was saying it, but I went with it.

  And it paid off. Because the exact way Josh’s face stiffened told me I was onto something.

  He opened his lips, pressed them down, and appeared to run his tongue over his teeth. “It’s my house—” he tried.

  His tone was off.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been one of those people who can read others like an open book. But I’ve always been a good observer, and right now it was abundantly clear that Josh was lying. I crossed my arms and leaned back in the seat. “It’s not your house, is it?” I demanded in exactly the same tone. Was it just me, or was there… a little power behind my words? A little more power than I was used to?

  Maybe it had an effect on Josh, or maybe he realized this was one game he would lose. He leaned back suddenly, the chair legs grating. Far be it from a rebellious move, he winced, and he locked his deadly gaze on me. “That would be my benefactor’s house, then. But it’s essentially mine. And I’m in charge between you and me, and I get to set the rules. And the rules are this,” he leaned forward and stabbed a finger onto the table, but it was a delicate move in case he actually thought his finger might mark the old wood, “you respect everything in this house, you stay only in your three rooms, and you don’t touch anything, got it?”

  “Who’s your benefactor?”

  “None of your damn business.” There was a real edge to his tone now.

  So the bully had a weakness, ha? And that weakness was whoever had given him this house.

  “Who exactly do you work for, anyway? I mean, I understand that you must have some affiliation with the government considering I was contracted to you, but at the same time, I’d like to understand the organizational structure—”

  “I’m gonna tell you what you need to know, and you’re going to finally shut up and stop asking questions.”

  “How will you know what I need to know?” I usually wasn’t this insufferable, but Josh was really pulling it out of me. And considering it was irritating him, I wasn’t going to stop.

  “Jesus Christ,” he leaned back, clamped a hand on his head, and ran his fingers through his hair, “have you always been this irritating? Or is this just a symptom of your power?”

  “I opened my mouth to point out that I’d always been this irritating – at least around jerks like him – but I stopped.

  Could it be a symptom of my power? After all, I was being a heck of a lot ballsier than usual.

  There was something I wasn’t quite prepared for. Something I hadn’t had the chance to think through yet. My mind had been locked on how much my life would change now I was a witch, but what about my mind? My personality? It wasn’t impossible for someone to completely change who they were when they found their powers. Heck, if you believed the TV, it happened all the time. Happy families would be broken apart when one spouse discovered they were a witch, veritable saints would turn into demons, and demons would transform into saints. The fact of finding out you were different from everyone else was, understandably, a monumental one. The question was, was I really prepared to change that much?

  As I became lost in my thoughts, I stared off to the side, and I looked up to see Josh watching me. For the first time, there wasn’t a bullying edge to the move. But it didn’t last. He shifted forward, pressed one finger lightly onto the wood of the table, and started drawing something. He wasn’t practicing writing – he was casting a spell. I’d seen more than enough TV shows and documentaries to recognize that.

  My stomach clenched as I watched him. This was the first magic I’d ever seen practiced in front of me, and my belly tickled with nerves as I felt something build in the room. There were no sparks, no leaping flame, no ethereal lights. Just the lightest cracking noise which I could only catch at the very edge of my hearing.

  All of a sudden, a Manila folder appeared on the desk.

  I was expecting it. Goddammit, I knew he was practicing magic – but that didn’t matter. I still jumped and yelped like a three-year-old.

  Josh looked up, unmistakable satisfaction pressing his lips wide. “If you’re going to become that surprised at just a little display of magic, I’d hate to see what you’ll be like when you meet some of the big boys.”

  I straightened up, trying to gather back my dignity. Before I could make a comment, Josh opened the file and started pulling out photos. “Listen up, Missy, because this is the only lecture on magic you’re ever going to receive from me. You already kno
w about how witches are regulated. And presumably you understand what magic is and where it comes from. If you don’t, go back to primary school. What I’m going to talk to you about now is the dynamics of magical control in this city and exactly what we’re expected to do as bounty hunters.”

  “Don’t we just work for the local courts?” I asked, my tone actually reasonable considering it was a genuine question.

  “Yes and no. A lot of our work comes from them, but some of it comes from the three kingpins.”

  I didn’t need to ask who the three kingpins were. You didn’t grow up in Madison City without hearing about them. The three kingpins were the most powerful warlocks in town.

  “There’s Helena Hancock,” Josh said as he selected a picture of her and pushed it forward.

  Helena was beautiful – statuesque and stunning. She was 6’1, had one of those elegant forms you only associate with old ‘50s starlet flicks, and had a perfectly manicured visage, from her perpetually ruby-red lips to her bouncing blond locks. When it came to stunning socialites in Madison, she was it.

  But she was more than a pretty face. She was the head of the Hancock family. And they?

  “The Hancock’s own pretty much every single construction company in town. If somebody builds something in Madison, the Hancock’s have a finger in that pie. But you probably already know that. What you care about is how she affects our work. Helena, just like the other two kingpins, is one of the primary contractors of witches. Being a witch family, they happily take witch contracts from the government for a hefty sum. They think of it as a public service. Witches who would otherwise,” he looked right at me now, his gaze pointed, “be unsuitable for work, can find themselves back on their feet and back in society with a contract with the Hancock’s. Plus, if you’re one of the more tactile witches with actual power, unlike you,” he took the opportunity to insult me, “you make a damn good construction worker. It’s cheaper than buying cranes all the time. But moving on.” He grabbed back the picture of Helena, patted it fondly, and placed it back in the file reverentially. The next photo he practically chucked at me.