Shadow Witch Rising (Copper Falls Book 1)

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  “You want me to come and look out for you? We know he's not going anywhere,” he said, nodding to his father, still pacing in his prison.

  Calder shook his head. “You're just as much a bear as I am. You need to get out and run. Maybe even more than I do. Take care of yourself. All right?”

  Relief flooded Jon's expression, and Calder realized how much he'd been looking forward to running as his bear during the full moon. It had that way of making a shifter feel alive again, and, Calder guessed, he needed that pretty badly, considering what he saw every day.

  Calder clapped Jon on the shoulder, gave his dad another glance, then the brothers walked around the house. Before he drove off, Calder promised to keep his brother updated about any headway Sophie made with the curse.

  Chapter Ten

  Sophie finished scrubbing out the toilet, humming a little to herself as her mind raced, trying to think about any spells she might have heard mentioned that had anything at all to do with breaking curses. Between that and running through what she'd learned from Thea about Migisi, it felt like her mind just kept spinning. And, really, it was best that way, because when she let her mind wander, it seemed to wander in the one direction she most definitely didn't want it to go.

  So much better to think about life-destroying curses than to start dwelling on the man who'd been cursed. That was a road she could not travel, for about a million different reasons.

  So, curses.

  The thing was, Lightwitches didn't usually deal with curses. At all. As she wiped down the countertop, then the large mirror, Sophie turned over the tiny bits of knowledge she'd gleaned from the few books and websites dedicated to Lightwitch knowledge and history she'd managed to get her hands on. For the most part, the information about curses amounted to: just don't. Don't do it, because that profanes the magic the Light has given to us. Don't do it, because curses go against every single thing a Lightwitch stands for. They stand for everything a Lightwitch was created to fight against. There is no such thing as a benevolent curse.

  Sophie finished up, gave the hotel room a final glance, then carried her cleaning supplies with her, set them on top of the cart in the hallway. She wheeled the cart down to the next room, knocked softly. “Housekeeping,” she called, and, after a few moments and no response, she opened the door with her master key. She got to work, stripping the bed, opening the drapes. She headed into the bathroom, mind still on Migisi and Luc. She flipped the light on, and screamed in surprise.

  She clamped one hand over her mouth and stared at the man standing before her. She reached behind her to the small pistol in a holster at her back, pulled it out, keeping her eyes on the man.

  Him. It was him, and he was here, and she was not in a warded place. His dark eyes watched her every movement, dark, wavy hair, tanned skin, perfectly pressed suit giving him the appearance of authority and affluence. He stood watching her, hands clasped comfortably behind his back, as if he was merely waiting for her to compose herself.

  “Sophie. Little girl, how I've missed you,” he said, a voice so deep, so warm, like dark melted chocolate. Alluring in every way. Shadow doesn't work through fear and horror. No. Shadow comes looking like a dream, sounding like salvation. And she knew this mask almost better than she knew her own face.

  “Marshall,” she said, focusing on magic, on keeping her personal wards, those that would at least prevent him from touching her, intact.

  “Miss me?” he asked.

  She started backing out of the bathroom, not wanting to be in such an enclosed space with him. An almost lazy flick of his fingers, and the bathroom door slammed shut before she could go through it.

  “You disappoint me, Sophie,” he said, voice still smooth, still almost tender. “You ran from me. Leaving like a criminal in the dark of night. You hid your tracks well, little witch. It seems you learned a thing or two along the way.”

  She held the gun tighter, prepared, if she had to, to use it.

  “You are not going to use that against me. We both know it.”

  She trembled, tried to force herself to stay calm. It wasn't just that he was physically imposing, though he was, towering a foot taller than she was and at least three times as broad. It wasn't that he even acted all that threatening, because all he did, really, was stand there. That was as it always had been.

  It was in knowing that he was stronger than she was, and it irked him that he couldn't break her wards. He tried, even now, standing before her, looking for all the world as relaxed and casual as it was possible for a man to look, to break her. She could feel his magic, dark, slithering, oily feeling, testing her wards, resorting to brute force only after finesse didn't work.

  He grinned, sharp white teeth glinting under the fluorescent light over the sinks. “You've gotten stronger, my little witch.”

  “What are you doing here, Marshall?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay calm.

  He ran his hand over the marble countertop. “Did you really think you could hide from me forever?”

  She didn't answer.

  “Well. At least I know you won't be running from this place. That land, huh? I wondered when you'd finally make your way back here. Safe haven and all that.” He smiled again, a smile that, for those who couldn't feel what he was, could have made them do anything he wanted. Even knowing what he was, it was hard not to react to it. She never denied that the Shadow was powerful. She just relied on her faith being stronger.

  “Of course, it's more than the land. Curses, old loves. History. History is a beautiful thing, especially when I already know how this chapter will end.”

  She felt her magic holding strong, though he'd begun, yet again, to test her. She wanted to bolt, but she knew he'd just chase her, or, worse, reappear where she was trying to run to. She knew, after all these years, that he'd test her, that he'd taunt and threaten her, that he'd try to get her to lose her focus, and then, growing bored of the game, he'd leave until next time.

  “Yeah? Well, I know that this particular chapter will end with you failing to break my wards, just like every time before.”

  That wiped the smug smile off of his face.

  “Don't get smart, little girl,” he said, voice still smooth. “It's not about wards anymore. I have you right where I want you. All I have to do now is wait and let the pieces fall into place.” He smiled again. “Of course, that doesn't mean I'll stop trying to break your wards. I have to admit, the last couple of years have done good things for you. It'll be even more rewarding to make you kneel.”

  “I just threw up in my mouth a little,” Sophie said, forcing herself to sound calm. “If that's all, I have work to do.”

  He laughed. “Sure thing, witch. Go back to scrubbing your toilets. It's all you're any good for until the day I break your wards, anyway.” He made a lewd gesture with his hand, and then, as if he'd never been there, he was gone.

  Sophie wasted no time in opening the bathroom door and stumbling out into the main part of the room. She kept the gun in her hand, leaned back against one of the walls, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down. This was his thing. This was exactly why, when she'd tried to report him for stalking and threatening her, no one had believed her. He was so smooth, good-looking, confident. He never let anyone overhear the things he said to her. And, of course, no one other than the two of them knew that when they faced off like that, a battle was being waged. She was exhausted from trying to keep her wards intact, exhausted from holding strong against the merciless assault he exacted upon her.

  She was fighting, yet again, for her body and her soul, her sanity, her free will. Because if he broke through, he could overpower her so easily. And if that happened, she wouldn't want to live to remember the things he'd make her do. This, she knew for sure.

  She pulled herself together, holstered her gun, and finished up the room, forced herself to move on to the next room rather than run screaming for home.

  There were stories. Well-documented stories in the books she owned
about Lightwitch history and practices, about Lightwitches who'd been defeated by Shadow. How they'd been degraded, humiliated, forced to use their Light-given magic in ways it was never meant to be used, until one day it just faded away completely. After that, they were often murdered.

  Burning at the stake was a popular method. The 1600s had been a dark time for Lightwitches, and a period of victory for Shadow, who used their powers to stir hapless humans into violent mobs.

  Of course, there were other stories as well. Stories about Lightwitches who turned their back on the Light willingly, seduced by Shadow. Those, every book agreed, were lower than low. Those beings, the books proclaimed, had never been deserving of the magic they'd been given in the first place.

  Was Migisi one of them? It certainly looked like it. And it both shamed and worried Sophie that she had that in her history, in her bloodline. She'd rather die than betray the magic she'd been given, especially after working so hard to build it, to learn about it, to make it work.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sophie had Layla and Cara helping her go through the rest of the attic. At the pace she'd been going, the chances of getting through it all alone in time to make any difference to Calder and his curse were slim. As they sorted, they talked and joked and sang along with the radio Sophie had propped up on one of the boxes.

  They were on hour two, and had about three-quarters of the attic sorted. Sophie listened to Cara teasing Layla about Bryce, and she smiled to herself, pushed yet another crumbling cardboard box out of the way. She knew she didn't have to do it all that day, but she didn't have to work and all of her orders were filled for her soap business, and the twins were available. And it helped to stay busy.

  It was better than letting her mind wander. When that happened, she started feeling panic settle in over Marshall's appearance in her life again. Or, Calder's face, those ice blue eyes, and, more specifically, the way he'd looked at her at Bryce's studio. She really didn't want to think about either man, but, just then Calder felt like the more dangerous. She knew what she faced with Marshall. She knew damn well he was dangerous, devious. Obsessed, and more than a little psychotic. All of that, she knew for a fact.

  But Calder was something else. Drop-dead gorgeous, protective, gruff and wild. The boy she'd once loved, and a man worth daydreaming about, all in one package. It was a combination that made her heart pound, made her want things she knew better than to want. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to accept the protection she knew she'd find in his arms.

  She'd been down this road before. She'd believed, stupidly, that she could have a life, a marriage, someone to protect her from the cold, dark nights. For six months, she'd lived in wedded bliss with a man she'd met at work. They'd dated, and he'd asked her within a year to marry him. As ashamed as she was of not loving him the way he deserved, she'd said yes anyway, because everything seemed a little less terrifying with someone warming the bed beside her at night.

  Six months later, out of nowhere, he was dead. She came home from shopping one day to find him in the bathtub, wrists slit. Marshall had laughed through her grief, proudly taking credit for driving him to it. There was no way to convince the police otherwise, and they'd deemed it an open-and-shut suicide.

  “Let this be a lesson, little witch. You belong to me, whether you believe that or not.”

  She would rather die than let anyone be hurt like that again. So she'd take the long, cold nights, and she'd take the loneliness, because losing him that way, no matter how weird things were between them now, would destroy her completely.

  “Hey,” Layla said, and Sophie jerked her mind to the present, focused on her friend.

  “What?”

  “What's wrong?”

  Sophie shook her head. “Just thinking.”

  “You look like you just lost your best friend or something,” Layla said.

  “Guys,” Sophie said, knowing they needed to be warned. “Marshall found me.”

  She was immediately overrun by a barrage of questions, promises of threats to his nether regions if he hurt her, and promises of protection. She held up her hands.

  “I need you to listen,” she said, and her friends both sobered. “You're both a couple of badasses and I love you. I know your first instinct is to stand around here guarding me now. I need you to not do that. I need you to go on with your lives, and if you see him around at all, especially if I'm not there, I need you to run.”

  “But—“

  “He uses people I care about to get to me. To try to break me. I need you to do this.”

  Both of the twins watched her silently. She could read easily in their faces how much they wanted to argue, how much they both wanted to run out in wolf form that instant and track him down. They'd drawn the story out of her, bit by bit, in her first few months back. They knew what he'd done.

  “Maybe we could get the jump on him,” Cara said, and Sophie shook her head.

  “I didn't even want to tell you, because I know you want to hurt him. I also know that, strong as you are, he would end you. Or worse. Please don't make me deal with another David.”

  They both pulled her into their arms at the mention of her dead young husband's name. “Promise me,” she said, voice muffled against Cara's shoulder.

  “Okay. Okay. We promise,” Layla said.

  “Watch yourselves. Run if you have to.”

  They nodded, promised again.

  “I'm so sorry, sweetie,” Cara said, squeezing her again before releasing her. She studied Sophie's face. “I hate to even say this, but do you think maybe you should just leave? This thing with Calder, and now Marshall showing up… Maybe it's time for you to disappear again.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I need this land. Now more than ever. This is my best chance of protecting myself and anyone I care about from him. My magic is getting stronger. I need it. And I'm not leaving Calder to deal with this curse alone. If I can break it, I will. I need to find a way.”

  Layla hugged her again, looking both relieved and annoyed at the same time that Sophie wouldn't be running.

  That settled, they each retreated to the corners of the attic they'd been working on, and work continued in silence, the mood definitely darker than it had been before.

  Sophie sorted through three more boxes, carried down another box of stuff for the dump, lined it up in the kitchen with the others. She trudged back up the stairs. She was really getting kind of sick of the attic, but there was no doubt that it was looking better. She shoved another box of what looked like threadbare fabric out of the way, and behind it, sitting in one of the corners of the attic, was a black steamer trunk, its sides battered, scuffed.

  And it was warded.

  She smiled to herself. “Please be what I'm looking for,” she whispered as she crouched in front of it. She ran her hands over the trunk, sensing for the wards. They weren't complex, but she could feel familiar power in them.

  She opened her eyes and looked at the trunk. The wards had been set by one of her ancestors. And one with, from the feel of it, at least a decent amount of magic.

  “What's that?” Layla asked. The twins had come over at her muttering to herself.

  “This trunk is warded,” Sophie said with excitement.

  “It could just be some ancestor's collection of witch porn or something,” Layla warned, trying not to let Sophie get her hopes up.

  “Witch porn? Really?” Sophie asked, laughing.

  “Oh, come off it. I have no doubt that witch porn is a thing,” Layla said.

  “I wouldn't know,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes. “I need some stuff so I can open this.” She stood up and left the twins in the attic, heading back downstairs.

  She went back and forth across the cozy living room, gathering herbs, candles, matches, a few stones she used often.

  Many wards, the maker would work into it that they could be opened if the right person came across them. This was like that, but with an added twist, from what Sophie had seen in the few mom
ents she'd focused on the ward. The person had to have enough skill or magic, or probably both, to be able to counter-ward it.

  It was one of the frustrating things about her magic, Sophie thought as she rooted through the kitchen drawer, looking for her spare needle. She understood magic just fine. She could see how even the most complex of spells worked. It wasn't a mystery to her. Which made it even more maddening that her meager amount of power prevented her from actually doing so many of the spells she saw.

  She found the needle and put it in the pile of other things. She was just about ready to go upstairs again when there was a knock at her door.

  She took a deep breath to fight back the panic that immediately rose, hating it. She knew damn well it wasn't Marshall. Her wards, the wards set on this property by her ancestors, kept him away, and she appreciated that.

  Why it let Calder through, who was very likely the one standing on the porch by the sound of the heavy knock, was impossible to say.

  Sophie peeked out the peephole and saw that, yes, it was him. She shook her head, forced her impassive face on, hating the way her heart sped up at the sight of him. She unlocked the three locks she'd installed, then pulled the door open, bracing it with her foot.

  He was standing there, and it was like every cell in her body screamed for him.

  She wondered if maybe her ancestor hadn't cursed them all. The way she wanted him, even though it was the last thing in the world she should want, was terrifying.

  “What?” she asked as she opened the door, and it sounded even bitchier than she'd meant it to.

  “I need to talk to you a second.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I'm a little busy trying to break curses and things like that. Can it wait?”

  “Not really,” he said, watching her. “It won't take long. Look. The full moon is tomorrow night.”

  “It is,” Sophie said, watching him. He blew out a breath, and she watched him roll his shoulders. He was so tense, so angry. “Can we get to the point, Calder?” she asked.