Hector escorted us across the lawn and up the cement steps to the back of the house where Jared’s bike waited for us. Rosaria rushed out of the servant’s entrance and wrapped me in a hug tight enough to bruise my ribs.
“I prayed the rosary every day for Mrs. Harris to ask for your help searching for Prudence. Hector gave you the thermos? And the empanadas?” She released me from the bear hug and held me at arm’s length for a thorough once over. “You’re too thin, mija. And you....” Finished with her appraisal of my condition, she turned her attention to my companion. Jared paled under the intensity of her gaze. “Hector may not be a brujo but that doesn’t mean I don’t know any. If something happens to her—.”
“Rosaria.” I stepped in front of her to block her view of Jared and stop her before she made the mistake of threatening a black magic user because of me. “I’m going to do everything I can to find Pru and bring her home. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I promise.”
One day I’d learn not to make promises I couldn’t keep.
Chapter Seven
The two-wheeled death machine rumbled to life. Jared kept it balanced while I climbed on what marginally passed for a passenger seat. I’d never missed my beat up, backfiring truck more than when I straddled that race bike. Helmet secured, I wrapped my arms around his waist and held on for dear life as he peeled out of the staff parking lot and down the long drive. Without waiting for the iron gate to fully extend, he maneuvered the bike through the narrow opening and left the Heights behind.
I would do anything to find Pru but I hoped that was my last visit to the Harris estate. One trip down memory lane was enough.
Jared turned off the com units inside the helmets, sparing himself from my squeals of terror and prayers to the Goddess as he leaned the bike into the turns at death defying speeds. Still, it would have been nice to ask where we were going before he dropped me off in front of one of the shadiest hotels in Gaston.
I flipped the helmet visor up so he could see the indignation in my eyes. “Maybe the fact I’m currently living out of my truck gave you the wrong impression, Adams, but I am not the kind of girl who just goes off to a seedy motel with a guy she barely knows.”
“Maybe the seedy motel gave you the wrong impression.” Jared reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a few twenties. “We need to lay low—they rent rooms by the hour and take cash.”
“You mean, you need a place to lay low.” I grabbed the cash and stormed off in the direction of the red neon flashing sign that would have read “OFFICE” if three letters weren’t burnt out.
I avoided the engine oil slicked puddles as I crossed the empty parking lot and yanked on the glass door of the office. It didn’t budge. An open sign hung from a dingy suction cup, mocking me from the other side. I tugged again. The night clerk, engrossed in whatever show he was watching on the tablet propped up on the counter, didn’t so much as look in my direction while I struggled to get inside.
“Mind the door. It sticks.” The sound of gun fire and car crashes paused as the clerk touched the tablet screen with his pointer finger.
“I need a roo—.” The door swung closed and smacked me in the backside, knocking me two steps forward.
“I said mind the door.” The clerk scratched the inside of his ear and examined his finger before wiping it across the front of his shirt. He spun the guest book around. “How long?”
“How much for a double occupancy?” I counted the twenties Jared gave me.
“We only got singles. King or queen?” The clerk’s nicotine stained teeth poked through his mangy mustache when he smiled. “How long?”
“However long this will get me.” I slapped the money on the counter and spun the guest registry around.
Based on the list of questionable names, we weren’t the only ones hiding out at the Crescent Park Motel. After signing as Andrea Jackson, a cleverly devised pseudonym based on my method of payment, I spun the book back around and waited for the clerk to count the money and hand over a key.
“Check out’s at noon.” He slid the key to room sixteen across the grimy counter. “Up the stairs and around the back.”
“Thanks.” I took the key, unable to hide the shudder and look of disgust when he ran a finger across the top of my hand.
Key in hand, I barreled into the door, putting all my weight behind it to ensure it opened and made a hasty retreat. Jared waited for me at the end of the sidewalk closest to the stairs.
I tossed him the key. “Next time you check in.”
His expression darkened as his hand closed around the key. “Why? What did Henry do?”
“You’re on a first name basis with that guy?” I waved off my last statement. “Never mind. Of course you are.”
The preview of my four week term with Jared left little to be desired.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jared sounded genuinely offended but his attention was still on the motel’s office – and Henry.
“It means....” I opened my arms, gesturing to everything around us. “This is about what I expected. I have to say, I’m a little disappointed after the nice guy routine back in your workshop.”
“Well, that makes two of us who are disappointed. You’re not even half the witch I thought you were.” Jared turned his focus from the office and saw the hurt I knew was written all over my face.
I slung the first insult and should have expected him to react. Still, his words stung. Probably because they were true. As far as witches went, my magic was a disappointment.
Jared jammed the key into the lock, opening the door with more force than necessary and stomping inside the dark and dingy motel room. I reached inside, fingers fumbling along the wall until they came into contact with the light switch and something sticky that I tried not to over analyze. The yellow fluorescent light revealed worn carpet, peeling wallpaper, and threadbare blankets on the single queen size bed.
“This is romantic. I can see now why it’s such a popular place.” I muttered to myself as I set my bag on the small table opposite the bed.
Jared’s mouth turned up in a half smile but he didn’t laugh or otherwise acknowledge my comment. He plopped down on the bed, kicked off his boots, pulled one of Pru’s journals out of his bag, and settled in to read.
Rather than saddle up next to him, I made a quick stop in the bathroom which was marginally cleaner than expected before setting up camp at the table. I reached into my bag for the other dream diary we found in Pru’s cottage. My stomach growled as my fingers brushed past Rosaria’s care package. The empanadas. I’d almost forgotten.
I grabbed the thermos and grease stained bag from my pack, poured myself a cup of the warm café au lait, and ate one cold, apple stuffed fried pastry in two bites. The second and third empanada went down just as easily. The fourth, not so much. My stomach grumbled its discontent. Too much, too soon. I nursed the coffee and started reading.
I ignored my gastrointestinal distress, the awkward tension sucking the oxygen out of the room, and the pins and needles in my butt from sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair, and read every entry my sister wrote. Jared did the same from what surely had to be a more comfortable position on the bed.
At least I was less likely to get hepatitis while sitting at the table.
My invasion of Pru’s privacy began almost a year prior in the spring. Some of her journal entries were mundane, some were terrifying, but each passage was written with the same flourish as if she were addressing a penpal. But more curious than the formal way she wrote each entry was their subject matter.
Not a single one was about her.
While Pru was absent from her own dreams, there were two women who appeared over and over again. One of them was clearly in danger from the other. I couldn’t make out who they were but what they were was obvious.
Witches.
Oh, Prudence. Why didn’t you tell me what was going on? The entries became more disturbing with each passing night. One woma
n hunting the other. Each night she gained ground, closing in on her prey, until she had her in her clutches, devouring her magic in a carnivorous display.
Tears tracked down my cheeks as I set the diary on the table. Pru managed to put on a happy face while plagued with such violent and terrifying nightmares. She was the better, the stronger, of the two of us and it had cost her everything.
Unable to stomach the sweet smell of the apple empanadas or the rich café au lait after everything I read, I pushed the treats to the other side of the table.
“You’re not going to finish those?” Jared set his copy of Pru’s journal on the bed beside him and eyed the food on the table.
Neither of us had spoken since our little spat in the parking lot. It seemed Jared was an equal match when it came to being stubborn. Still, he wasn’t the source of my anger or frustration. That laid squarely with my lack of progress. I was no closer to finding Pru than when I started. Which wasn’t an excuse for starving the person trying to help – even if it did cost me four weeks of freedom.
“Help yourself.” I tossed the grease stained paper bag at Jared. “Find anything useful?”
The hope of discovering a viable lead in one of Pru’s journals soured along with the food in my stomach. The book he read was no doubt more of the same. Or was it?
Jared hesitated, his gaze shifting from me to the journal and back again. He dropped the bag as if the contents burned him and snatched the book of the bed, clutching it to his chest. Jared went from ally to suspect in a flash. What was he hiding?
All the anger, fear and frustration bubbled to the surface – along with something else. Something wild and untamable. My magic. It roiled inside me, begging to be unleashed with a veracity I hadn’t felt since the Harris’s discovered what I was. Overcome with emotion and energy, I gave it what it wanted.
A target.
The magic surged through my body only to fizzle out on contact with Jared. It was a small shock, rather than the high voltage I aimed for. Still, it was enough to force him to drop Pru’s journal. It hit the floor and landed on its spine. The book began to split at the center, its pages fluttering in dramatic fashion until it laid open at the center and revealed its secrets. One word was scrawled over and over again across the two pages.
My name.
“Is it all like this?” Without waiting for an answer, I dropped to my knees and picked up the book, flipping through its pages. The second half of her journal was nothing but my name, her handwriting deteriorating with each page I turned. “You saw this back at Pru’s and didn’t say anything. Why?”
“I didn’t want to scare you.” Jared held out a hand to help me to my feet. “I thought I’d find something... more. I have no idea what that means.”
He looked me dead in the eye and lied.
I swatted his hand away and gripped the journal tighter. “You’re lying.”
“I’m lying? Really? I’m trying to help you.” Jared did a better than average job of pretending to be offended.
I wasn’t buying the act.
It was a good thing, too, because Jared was a snake oil salesman and the snake was standing right outside our motel room door.
“Knock, knock, knock.” The singsong voice spoke in time with the raps on the hollow door. “Room service.”
“Shit, it’s Helene.” Jared grabbed my arm, yanked me up from the floor, and shoved me inside the tiny closet in our room. “Stay here.”
“She’s a witch, Jared. She’ll find me. And why am I the one hiding? She’s after you.” I asked, confused why our roles weren’t reversed.
He pulled a small knife from his pocket and sliced his left palm. Ignoring me and my numerous questions about why I was in the closet, he dipped his fingers in the blood pooling in his cupped hand and wrote symbols on the inside of the closet door. He wrote a symbol on my forehead and ran a bloodied thumb across my lips. I tried to protest, to scream my objection to being shoved in a closet and blood smeared across my face but nothing happened. I couldn’t move or talk.
Again.
You son of a bitch. You better hope I never get a lock of your hair....
Jared seemed to pick up on my thoughts. The look of daggers I shot at him may have played a role. “I’ll explain everything. I promise. Please, Ellie.” Jared pleaded, before shoving the braided lock of my hair in the front pocket of my jeans.
If my arms worked, I would have throat punched him.
Interesting things happen when you’re immobilized and alone inside a tiny closet in a seedy motel room. It’s dark, you can’t see anything, but you find clarity. It’s quiet, you don’t make a sound, but you hear everything. And what I heard ignited every cell in my body.
Jared set me up. The question was why. If I wanted to survive and save my sister, I needed to find the answer. There was just one problem – I was trapped in a closet.
Chapter Eight
Three more rapid knocks preceded Helene’s entrance into the motel room. “Jared, just hand over the girl. Things will go much smoother if you just do what I hired you to do. Don’t make me come in there and get her myself.”
The knowledge that Jared worked for Helene cut deep. Almost as deep as the realization I’d never find Prudence once he handed me over to her.
“Oh, come on, Helene, it wouldn’t be the first time you got your hands dirty.” Jared replied. The chain jangled against the door as he fumbled with the locks.
“But I just had a manicure.” Helene complained. “It’s a lovely shade of red – the blood of my enemies. Now, where’s the girl?”
Jared cleared his throat. “I lost her.”
“You lost her?” Helene asked, disbelief heavy in her voice.
“I dozed off reading her sister’s journal. She must have dipped out while I was asleep.”
“He fell asleep. Do you believe that?” Helene spoke to someone other than Jared, I assumed one of the two goons she had with her back at the store.
“I set a ward on the door but forgot about the window. It was open when I got up.”
The worn shag carpet was enough to muffle the footsteps but I managed to make out three sets. Two clomped passed the closet door, confirming my suspicions about Helene’s backup. The third was softer with the distinct sound of a high heel snagging in the carpet fibers. The window slammed shut.
They turned and walked back in the direction of the door but this time they stopped at the closet. My heart raced, pounding so hard, so loud, it threatened to give me away before they even opened the door. The knob turned. The sound of my own blood pumping was deafening. Light rushed in, chasing away the dark shroud I hid behind.
Helene found what she was looking for.
One of her goons stepped forward, blocking some of the light and my view of the room with his blocky frame. “Empty.” He slammed the door hard enough to rattle its hinges.
“You have twelve hours left on your contract, Jared. You read and agreed to the terms.” Helene snapped her fingers and the sounds of someone choking followed. “I suggest you find her and bring her to me.”
There was a loud thump as something heavy hit the floor.
“I want this wrapped up before the end of the lunar cycle. Don’t disappoint me, Jared. Things get messy when I’m disappointed.” Helene snapped her fingers again and called for her bodyguards. “Come along, boys, I want to stop at the apothecary for a fresh bundle of belladonna.”
Belladonna? Helene has Pru? Of course she does.
Anger and betrayal fueled a fire within me until it raged wild and threatened to burst from my body; annihilating everything and everyone around me. Magic built behind the emotions, dousing the flames with gasoline rather than water. The pressure built and built, pushing against muscle, sinew, and bone. It reached the surface, searing my skin from the inside out and consuming all the oxygen in my lungs. Multicolored dots danced along the corners of my vision.
Of all the ways I thought I’d go, spontaneous human combustion never made the list. Witc
h dies in closet in ironic twist. Burned to death by her own magic.
When the pressure became too much, I blinked out of consciousness. Within seconds, having consumed all the oxygen and energy within me, the fire snuffed itself out. But the damage was done. With nowhere to run and no way to defend myself, my emotions and magic left me hollow – a charred and desolate wasteland on the inside.
My muscles burned for an entirely different reason. Not from the flames of my feelings but exhaustion. I would have collapsed, curled up into the fetal position inside the cramped closet and wept if not for Jared’s spell. Curse was more like it.
Right on cue, the betrayer opened the closet door. “Ellie, I....” He looked at me, a spark of fear in his eyes, and took one step back, no doubt rethinking his decision to reverse his spell. “I know you’re upset.”
Under statement of the century. The blood he smeared across my lips cracked and began to flake away. His magic was unraveling. Had I done that? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. The second I was freed from his spell I was out of there. I didn’t have a lot of magic but I had a hell of a right cross.
“Ellie, you have to believe me, I didn’t have a choice. I was a dead man if I refused her contract and I’m a dead man if I don’t deliver. You’re the best shot I have of walking away from this.”
The spell dissolved and I rocked into motion. My fist hit his jaw with less oomph than normal due to my exhaustion and the cramped space but it was enough to hurtle him backwards. He hit the wall and slid the rest of the way down to the carpet.
“Only one of us is walking away, Jared.” I stumbled out of the closet on wobbly legs and stepped over him, resting a hand on the corner of the mattress for stability as I made my way to the table. By the grace of the Goddess I managed to grab my things and walk out of the motel room. The street lights and motel’s flashing neon sign assaulted my eyes after being trapped in the dark but I trudged through the puddles, avoiding potholes as I crossed the parking lot.
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