Every Witch Demon but Mine (Maeren Series Book 1)

by Mercedes Jade

  Perhaps, she had heard Kim wrong.

  “Did you say . . . cast?”

  Kim nodded. “I want to make sure it works.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes,” Kim confirmed.

  “But it’s magic,” she said, still confused. “We’re not in Maeren.”

  “This spell is from you,” Kim replied. “We will draw the activation from your chi.”

  Oh God, what if she made something explode?

  This was a terrible idea. She had bound her lightning so tight in her chest for weeks that now it was literally sparking on her skin at the end of the day, forcing her to purge.

  “I’ve never cast before. What if I’m too weak?” she asked, worrying more about being too strong.

  “Magic strength isn’t important for activation. The words and glyphs are inert on a human. On a witch, they connect directly to your chi and sip only the spark they need from your blood.”

  No explosions guaranteed?

  Did the spell come with a warranty?

  “Uh, we’ve seen spells blow up in our face before,” she reminded Kim.

  “Earth can be volatile. Why else do you think witches got such a bad name in the human realm?” Kim asked. “This isn’t earth. There are truth spells that require complex potions and that will only work after the intended target of interrogation consumes the potion. They are earth-magic based, but I cannot do them in my soulless state. The kind of magic I specialize in relies on the power of glyphs and ancient Maerenian spells. I’ve had more than twenty years to discover the power in words. Although my spells may not be as dramatic as traditional earth-spells, you will find the results are stabler.”

  “You mix potions as good as any earth witch,” Elizabeth scoffed, impressed at how much Kim had studied this forgotten branch of Maerenian magic.

  Most other witches would have given up after they lost their soul, but Kim found another way.

  “I took special care with your ink. It’s something I wish I could do for Daemon,” Kim disclosed.

  As she mentioned her estranged son, something changed in her eyes, as if she was looking inward for her last memory of him.

  This time, Elizabeth respected the privacy of her teacher’s mind.

  “He has more enemies who wish him dead than any of the other princes. Can you imagine being singled out for your magic?” Kim queried, although Elizabeth wasn’t sure she was supposed to answer.

  The truth was she could imagine it, could fear it so much that her entire life revolved around never putting herself in the same situation to find out.

  “They hate him,” Kim whispered.

  Daemon was a demon to everyone but his mother, just like Elizabeth was a monster except to her family.

  “I’ve learned not to judge others on the outside, not to be fooled. And power . . .” she added, looking Kim in the eyes, “. . . is not inherently evil.”

  Something like relief flashed in Kim’s gaze.

  “Doesn’t power corrupt?” Kim challenged.

  “Greed corrupts, and I find that a weakness which accompanies laziness,” she replied.

  Kim gave her a little smile.

  “You’re wise for a young witch.”

  “No,” she disagreed, shaking her head. “Experienced.”

  Kim looked like she was going to say something else, but Elizabeth quickly directed her attention to her glyph painted arm.

  “Do I draw the diagonal line going up or down?” she asked.

  Kim showed her and made her repeat the glyphs over in sequence a few more times before they washed it all off, salting and rinsing her skin thoroughly.

  Her clean slate was painted painstakingly with a dip pen as she drew gorgeous glyphs with indigo ink and a delicate hand.

  “You should practice swordsmanship,” Kim said once she was done with the glyphs.

  “I’m really more of a stake girl.”

  “The chalk is too thick and clumsy for you. Foils, something light and quick, as fast as your mind. I will look for an instructor while you are away.”

  Elizabeth found it easier to say nothing. It would hurt less.

  “Are you ready?” Kim asked, already aware of her delay tactics.

  “Please let the magic words be abracadabra.”

  The Maerenian was beautiful on Kim’s tongue and almost butchered beyond recognition by Elizabeth, but the spell connected effortlessly.

  The dark ink faded from her skin, until the only reminder that it had been there was a faint tickle, like a scratch she had to itch.

  “Perfect,” Kim exhaled quietly as if afraid the whole trick was a deck of precariously stacked cards about to cave in. “I’ll write it down for you to practice tonight. The words are meaningless without the glyphs and the ink.”

  There was nothing to see on her arm. The spell was completely invisible.

  “How does it work, other than hiding my temporary tattoo?”

  “Your glyphs will turn red,” Kim explained.

  “Isn’t that kind of obvious? Everyone will know I’ve cast a spell. Maybe, I should put them somewhere more discreet?”

  “Only you will see the red because the ink is attuned to you.”

  “Red warning,” she slowly said, turning her arm this way and that to confirm there was no tell-tale of her magic trick. “I really like it,” she told Kim. “Is there any way to test if it works?”

  “The ink faded into your chi. Can’t you feel it?”

  “I feel something, but are you sure the ‘red warning’ part works?” she asked, still uncertain. “I guess I could leave it on and go out hunting tonight. Lots of vampires threaten to suck my blood, occupational hazard. Do you think that will trigger it?”

  “Perhaps,” Kim replied. “Make sure you remember to reapply it every time you wash.” She handed the small pot of ink to her. “Stay safe, Elizabeth Norwood.”

  So formal.

  Elizabeth curtsied, carefully holding her ink pot upright. “Warm fires,” she said back to Kim, using the greeting and blessing meant for fire users.

  The other witch looked startled for a moment and then she smiled, the most wonderful, content smile Elizabeth had seen on her yet. It transformed her into a beautiful woman in her prime with at least a decade less of worries lining her face.

  “Fair winds,” Kim blessed her back.

  The words were like the crack of a bottle over a ship’s bow to christen it before the maiden voyage.

  Elizabeth was ready to sail deeply into the danger and intrigue of Maeren.

  Dressed to Kill

  Maeren

  Elizabeth hated hell!

  Being stuck in the royal ballroom of the Maerenian Court and forced to behave nicely with the blood-sucking males was a slayer’s nightmare.

  Her stake hand twitched, but her mother had wisely disarmed her.

  Even worse, she had to stand by and watch Jill force a smile at each monster while waiting for her prince to show up.

  She couldn’t believe they had signed up for this!

  They were supposed to figure out who was sending demons hunting in the human realm, and how—hoping to tag the portal being used with the spell Kim had painstakingly taught Elizabeth.

  Although an assassination wasn’t out of the cards if they actually found the culprit, it was a secondary goal compared to the portal. They were working outside of the court’s formal investigative system. It was preferable that they have irrefutable proof of the crimes committed first.

  An operation big enough to send so many demons over would take time to uncover.

  They had to investigate carefully. It wouldn’t do to get caught and killed by the other side. That was especially important.

  Elizabeth had mistakenly thought she’d risk death the old-fashioned way, from getting her throat ripped out with a pair of fangs.

  Boredom was what she was more likely to expire from at this ball.

  Jill’s fan was nearly full. Bright-red streaked from the pointed tips of the fan
that her sister’s suitors had pricked their fingers upon.

  Clever little tubes with pressure-sensitive suction were attached to the fan’s spines to collect a sample of blood from each suitor for Jill to keep as a memento.

  The vampires carefully wrote their names on tiny labels, although blood was even better than fingerprints for identification.

  It wasn’t romantic to list someone’s blood profile for identity.

  Etiquette lessons hastily taught to them by Kim for this mission were borrowed straight from the Grimm Brothers’ fairy tales.

  Humans had no idea that Maeren existed or that the rules of behaviour for Elizabeth’s hellish birthplace were better exemplified in the darkest fairy tales.

  A tasting ball.

  As witches of a noble family, it would have been naturally expected that Elizabeth and Jill would attend the most important ball of all for witches, once they were of age.

  They’d used that to gain entry. A little of Elizabeth’s lightning had allowed her to illusion their credentials.

  Technically, the Norwoods were nobles.

  Most witches from the prominent families prepared for a royal tasting ball as soon as their daughters could hold a curtsey.

  Exchange names, pleasantries, then blood. Preferably, with a prince.

  The tiny punctures dotting Jill’s wrist were ghastly.

  It was acceptable for the vampires to leave their fangs tattooed upon the witchy debutantes, their blood-smeared handkerchiefs dangling from their jacket pockets for them to dab their lips after each sampling.

  The witches didn’t write their names on the handkerchiefs as the male names scrawled on their fan spines.

  Talk about old-fashioned hypocrisy!

  A vampire caught Elizabeth’s attention as he crossed paths, close in front of her.

  He spilled his drink, halting fast to avoid getting any closer to her dark vicinity.

  She tried to straighten her scowl.

  Better lighten up on the murderous intent if she planned to blend in, as ordered by her mother.

  Curtsies and offering her wrist for a bloody taste? As if!

  Her birthplace was a hell meant for caging monsters. How had she forgotten?

  They had left Maeren when Elizabeth and Jill were so young. Their only memories were tainted by blood, fire, and evil.

  Had it all been a child’s nightmare?

  She had to wonder. It was a natural curiosity.

  Fucking killed the cat.

  This evening was everything Elizabeth could have hoped for, to her bitter resentment.

  There was dancing, laughter, and a spark in the air. Jill proved as popular as their mother had predicted, although her target prince hadn’t shown up yet.

  He would be fashionably last, instead of merely late. Royalty wasn’t expected to endure hours of tedious small talk between samplings.

  Elizabeth was sure each debutante was told to save at least one or two fan sticks in hopes that she could tempt a tardy prince to taste her when they arrived.

  Likely, their mothers would force the girls into a buffet line. The princes could quickly sample their choices without dealing with the niceties beyond names.

  After a vampire had sampled, it was only a matter of blood memory to track down their preference to feed again. Names were irrelevant.

  At least, for the first few days after the bite that formed the blood bond.

  It also wasn’t romantic to track down a lady like a hound scenting a fox, especially for something as mundane as feeding.

  They framed bites in a different way. The taking of blood for a bond was to allow the vampire a connection to a witch that offered his protection.

  What a blood-fevered fantasy!

  Their mother had warned them against relying on protection promised in the heat of a bite.

  Vampires who were more serious about binding a witch offered a taste of their own blood. It made a reinforced bond that could last weeks instead of days.

  The most significant bonds were called claims. They involved injecting magic-imbued ink specific to each vampire that lasted as long as the tattoo they marked into the witch’s skin.

  Elizabeth wasn’t here to be bitten, claimed, or otherwise bonded.

  She had a different job to do. Besides, Jill was the bait.

  Their mother had put it more bluntly to her than Jill. She said for Elizabeth to keep her fan handy to rap the knuckles of any bloodlust fevered suitors.

  It was too bad their mother didn't trust Elizabeth with any real slayer weapons in the ballroom. Her glare would have to do.

  Thankfully, most vampires had given her a wide berth.

  Elizabeth’s fan had been unsoiled through a concentrated effort of being as mannerless as possible.

  She gulped her punch and trampled on the toes of anyone that dared asked her to dance.

  The dark, gothic monstrosity of a dress she wore covered her arms right down to the black lace dangling halfway over her palms. It purposely hid those delicious wrists every other debutante had on display.

  Elizabeth’s dress was a dark rock in a sea of whites and pastels that screamed: ‘stay away or sink.’

  Jill had also dressed with care and was doing a little too well as bait.

  She wore a rose gown as fine and delicate as her blushes. Her thick, layered blonde hair shone with vitality and health that drew the vampires like bees to honey. Sweet, wide baby blues fluttered with lush, darkened lashes, looking modestly down as Jill offered up her wrist.

  Their mother would need a stick to beat the suitors off before Jill filled her fan. Even better, the suitors could use their ceremonial swords to battle for Jill’s favour.

  A sword fight would liven up this ball.

  It was a slow, boring evening. The exact opposite of what you would think a vampire tasting ball would be, with none of the danger and a lot of terrible fashion sense.

  The prissy males that made up the nobility were more worried about getting blood on their fine silks than making a swaggering impression.

  Elizabeth had thought infiltrating the top level of Maerenian security would be more exciting than this trumped-up harem party.

  She supposed the real warriors were out there fighting monsters, while she played dress-up with the rich sons and daughters of the nobles the king favoured.

  She had not pictured herself counting down the minutes left in the ball like a Cinderella with blisters from her glass slippers.

  The clock chimed the early hour as if to taunt her.

  If one more vampire asked her to dance, she wouldn't make it without staking someone.

  The lace on her gown itched. Her chest burned with tightly bound lightning that she had to keep well-hidden. Indigestion from too many sweet cakes and punch was warring with her stomach to give up its contents.

  Wait a minute. She actually did feel queasy—doped.

  The refreshments at the ball were drugged?

  She looked around.

  Most of the witches had a bit of a glazed look as they proffered their wrists for tasting.

  Those lazy vampiric jerks! They couldn’t even be bothered to seduce a witch for a taste on their own merits, so they had laced the punch?

  Jill had wisely avoided the punch, unlike Elizabeth, but only a fool would try to drug an earth witch.

  The sedative didn't even work right on Elizabeth. She felt hot and restless, and maybe a little horny—because no way should she think breeches could look manly on the right kind of muscled thighs and that front cup couldn't hide—

  She was drugged harder than a frat girl at an initiation party!

  Elizabeth needed a red-eye stat. A few seconds of Jill's earth-healing touch should sober her faster than a shot of caffeine.

  She spun around to look for where her sister’s fair rose form had gone, sending the room spinning, as well.

  A little air directed at her face fought back any nausea she felt before she embarrassed herself.

  Jill was shyly giv
ing up her last stick to a pimply vampire barely old enough to be sampling.

  Elizabeth wanted to shout down their mental connection for her sister to jab the ambitious brat with the blunt end of her fan over his noggin. Jill should be saving her last stick for the prince she was supposed to seduce.

  Their mother's earlier warning not to reveal her lightning telepathy was all that kept Elizabeth quiet.

  There were other vampires and a demon prince with lightning of their own in the castle.

  She didn't know yet if they could detect when she used her power on imagined illusions.

  Nobody did.

  Elizabeth lurched forward, wondering where her mother had gone.

  Their mother’s chaperonage was imperfect. One daughter was giving it up for a minor and the other about to puke her drunken brains out.

  Of course, her daughters were both old enough witches to know better. Their mother was present more for custom than necessity, but then, who else would take the blame for what was about to go down?

  The pimply vampire, having finished pricking his pinky on Jill’s fan, held her wrist up to examine her fang-marked skin for a spot to bite.

  He mulled over his choices with a disgusted look, like a picky child refusing to eat because the peas and carrots touched.

  Oh, for pity’s sake.

  Jill silently endured it, although as a nurse maybe she could have given him some pointers on drawing blood.

  Pimples glanced up at the tender crease of Jill’s unmarked elbow. Her fine skin showed dainty, blue veins. His gaze fixated as he squeezed Jill’s wrist, making her sister wince.

  Elizabeth took another woozy step, intending to scare off Jill’s immature suitor before he got blood on his chin.

  Really, they ought to be checking ID before letting just any vampire in.

  The irony of such a demand wasn’t lost on her. Faking credentials was the only way their family had slipped in themselves.

  She wobbled a bit and there were suddenly two vampires in front of her.

  Geez, she was really drunk. She better poke the real one, although even missing should be enough to scare him off of Jill.

  She stabbed down on one of the doubles with the business end of the fan. It felt natural, like her favourite kind of stake in her hand. Impact was made.